by John Norman
“Harta!” I heard. “Harta!”
But we were hurrying! How could we go more swiftly?
Again cam the terrible crack of that snapping coil!
Gasping, crying out, sobbing, we moved even more swiftly!
We were terrified by the very sound of those supple implements.
Surely they could not be used upon us!
Surely these men, those leonine males, like gods and beasts, did not regard us as being subject to such attentions!
But somehow I suspected that these men, these unusual males, these incredible males, our striking, magnificent captors, were not likely to be patient with us. We were a kind, I gathered, on which such men were not likely to lavish patience.
But what kind could that be?
Of what kind was I now, or had I been, and now was explicitly, openly?
I dared not conjecture, but knew.
Somewhat behind me, to the side, I heard again that terrible sound, that sharp, fearful crack of leather.
I sobbed.
I hurried.
5
I was kneeling in the garden, on the lavender grass, as it was in that part of the garden, my head down, the palms of my hands on the grass.
I had earlier crossed the perimeter of small, sharpened stones, a foot or so deep, about ten feet wide, which lined the interior wall of the garden. I had gone to the interior wall, the marbled wall, and touched it, and looked upward, to its height, and the incurved blades at the top. It had hurt, of course, to so approach the wall because of the sharpened stones, and one’s being barefoot, but I had wanted to do so. The garden was within the city itself. On the other side of the wall there was, I thought, a street. One could hear people talking, calling out to one another. One could hear vendors hawking their wares. One could hear wagons passing, drawn by four-legged tharlarion, ponderous draft creatures of this world. But not all the draft creatures of this world have four legs. Some have two legs. Sometimes, too, I could hear the snarl of animals, doubtless leashed. Too, sometimes one could detect the tramp of men, and, sometimes, too, they sang as they marched. Sometimes there were altercations outside the wall. Once I had heard the clash of metal. At other times there was the laughter of children, running, sporting in games, games which might be common, I suppose, to children anywhere. Occasionally heralds, or criers, would pass by, calling out news or announcements. Many on this world, you see, cannot read. Thus the importance of the heralds, the criers, and such. Many things are advertised, too, in such a way, by calling out bargains, the fruits in season, the markets, the cost of cloth, and such. Too, one may hear men, or, often, boys, for it costs less to hire them, calling out the pleasures of various taverns, and the delights that may be found within. I should not have gone to the wall, of course. We are forbidden, even, to step upon the perimeter of sharpened stones, that lining its interior side. But I had wanted to do so. I had wanted to look closely upon, and even to touch, the ascendant surface of that looming confinement, so beautiful, and yet so practical, and formidable. Did I expect to find within it a chink, or a secret door? No, I am not so stupid. I think I wanted to touch, and to understand, if only a little better, that which held me in this place. I have always wanted to touch, and to understand. The wall, in its way, aside from its height and thickness, its weight, its formidableness, its rearing terribleness, was mysterious to me. Perhaps better I might say that it, in its way, symbolized a mystery for me. What was I doing here? Certainly I was not one of the finest flowers in the garden. There seemed nothing so unique, or different, or precious about me. I did not think myself such that I might be selected out from hundreds to be brought here. There seemed to me no special reason why I should have been brought here. I did not know why I was here. Too, my curiosity was roused by the transition which had taken place in my fortunes, so abruptly, and with how I had been brought here, so secretly. One does not, commonly, go from what I was, within my kind, to one of the gardens. Usually one is either selected out almost immediately for the gardens, almost from the beginning, or, later, after one has attained various intermediate levels or degrees. One seldom goes, so to speak, in one moment, from straw mats and clay bowls to silk and gold. Betwixt there are many things, sheets of copper, plates of bronze, ingots of iron, tablets of silver, such things. To be sure, one may be seen, and have a fancy taken to one. There is little predictability in such things. Too, it must be admitted that one is sometimes brought secretly to such a place. I do not mean, of course, merely one who is not of my kind, that is, as yet, legally, or officially, but who will doubtless soon be of my kind, legally, and officially, but those who, to begin with, brought to such places secretly. Just as they may be acquired secretly. What the garden contains, you see, its contents, and their value, need not be for everyone to know. But I did not think I had been brought here merely in the light of such familiar, comprehensible considerations. Of course, I did not know. It may have been that someone noticed the turn of an ankle, the movement of a hand, the fall of one’s hair on the back, the hints whispered by a tunic, an expression, such things. I did not know. Could things be that simple? Perhaps they were that simple. I hoped so. But I was uneasy. I was not sure of it. Could I be different from the others, in some sense I did not understand? I thought, somehow, I might be. To be sure, I served here, as the others, and was subject to the same perfections of keeping as they. In this sense I was no different from them. Many of them seemed jealous of me, and resented me, for no reason I understood, but such things are natural, I gather, in such a place. But I did not think they really thought it strange that one such as I should be here, nor did the guards seem to think so. These all took me for granted, much as it is common to take for granted those in the gardens, saving perhaps one or another who might enjoy greater or lesser favor now and then. I was, from the point of view of the others, and the guards, as far as I could tell, only another adornment here, only another flower. Doubtless there was no more to it. I had touched the wall, and looked up to its height, and the knives. I did not want to be within the garden. To be sure, there are doubtless worse places to be. Many doubtless long for the garden, its plenty, its security, its beauty. It is doubtless safer here than on the other side of the wall. One could tell that at times from the alarms, the running of feet, the cries, one heard outside. At such times we looked at one another, in fear. Muchly then were we pleased to be within the garden. We were sometimes frightened that the portals of the house might be breached, that the hinges of barred gates might be broken from the stone, that the garden might be entered, and we might be found, helpless in the garden, like luscious fruit in an orchard whose supposedly impregnable walls have been rent. These fears were not as ungrounded as one might suppose. Times were hard in the city, I gathered, though I had not understand much of what was occurring. Sometimes something like anarchy seemed to reign in the streets. Certain gardens, we had gathered, had been breached, and plundered, their contents taken away, to what places and for what purpose who knew. But our house, I understood, was immune from such ravages. Our house, it seemed, enjoyed some special status. It stood high, it seemed, in the favor of those who controlled the city. We had been, until now, at least, exempted from exactions, confiscations, taxations, and such. To be sure, it was in its way an uneasy existence for us, in the garden, for we could hear what occasionally went on in the streets, on the other side of the wall, and we had gathered, from remarks of guards, overheard, and such, that not every house in the city, with such a garden, had been spared rude, abrupt attentions. In the garden we were pampered and soft. We need only please and be beautiful. We had silks, perfumes, cosmetics, and jewelry. Let such things be our concern. We were ignorant, almost entirely so, of what went on outside. Indeed, that was appropriate for us. It was not ours to be informed. That is not the sort we were. Sometimes, when there were harsh sounds in the street outside, I looked at some of the others, and saw them regarding one another, fear in their eyes, drawing their silks more closely about themselves. There was a worl
d on the other side of the wall, a world quite different from that to which they were accustomed. It was a harsh, violent, impatient, exacting world. Were they to find themselves within it I did not doubt but that they would discover their lives considerably transformed. I myself, however, did not wish to remain in the garden. I had seen a world much more real outside the wall. It was in that world that I wished to be, even with its cruelties and dangers. It was not that I was dissatisfied with my condition, you understand, because I had come to understand what I was, and to rejoice in it. It was, rather, that I wished to be what I was outside the wall, not within the wall, not within the garden. Indeed, within the wall, I could not fully realize my natural condition, not to its fullest extent, what I was. One required for that a full world, with its thousands of ramifications and perils. I would have preferred a rag, if permitted that, outside the wall, to the silks and jewels of a favorite within.
I had heard voices coming from the house. I had then, swiftly, as swiftly as I could, given the stones, withdrawn from the wall. It had hurt to do so, cruelly, but it would be far worse to be discovered there, as the wall is forbidden. Indeed, it is forbidden even to enter upon the expanse of stones inside it, at its foot. Oh, I should not have gone to it, of course. It is forbidden. I had looked about, however. I had done my best to make sure that I had not been observed.
I had been sure that I had not been observed.
It had been my intention to circle about, though the shrubbery, and the tiny, lovely trees in the garden, to the vicinity of the fountain.
But I had scarcely entered upon the grass when I had heard a man’s voice. “Stop,” he had said.
I had knelt, of course, immediately, and put my head down ot the grass, the palms of my hands, too, on the grass.
How could it be a man, here, at this time of day?
I did not raise my head. I had not received permission to do so.
I did not break position.
I had not received permission to do so.
I was in the light silk. It was extremely brief, and was, for most practical purposes, diaphanous. Certainly it left little doubt as to my lineaments.
I knelt before him, my head down to the grass, my palms on the grass.
Who was he?
What could he want?
6
“On your belly,” had said a man.
I complied.
It is unthinkable on this world that such a command not be obeyed instantly, or, at least, that one such as I not obey it instantly.
And so I lay on my belly, on the colorful tiles, in one of the sales rooms in the pens.
Too, of course, one does not simply sprawl on one’s belly. There are ways, diverse ways, of assuming this position. We are taught them. Other women, women unlike us, one supposes, do not know them. They, too, of course, can be taught. In this house, such a command, unqualified, requires that the head be turned to the left and the arms be placed down, beside the body, the palms up. A slightly different command requires the crossing of the wrists behind the back and the crossing of the ankles, as well. This is sometimes used when one is to be bound. If one receives permission to look up, or is commanded to do so, which is frightening, the hands are normally placed to the sides, at the shoulders, and one then lifts one’s upper body. The belly itself, of course, remains in contact with the surface on which one lies, the grass, the dirt, the gravel, the deck, the floor, the tiles, whatever the surface may be. But there are numerous variations in such things, as there are in ways to kneel, ways to hurry, ways to serve, ways to crawl to the furs, and such. There are even ways in which the whip, if called for, is to be brought. In our training, as you might suppose, we learn many things. In time our training, extending even to the tiniest nuances of attitude, and to the smallest movements and gestures, is internalized, indeed, in such a way that we are no longer, or seldom, even aware of it, it having become, in effect, the way we are. There is a world of difference between us and certain other women, women unlike us, as you might suppose, but what is perhaps less obvious, and what might be pointed out, is that there are considerable differences amongst us, even those such as I, as well. Consider merely the matter of training. One of us who is trained will normally, other things being equal, be appraised more highly than one who is not, one who is superbly trained will normally, other things being equal, be appraised more highly than one who is merely well trained, and so on. I refer, of course, to appraisals in a practical, factual manner, having to do, for example, with what men will pay for us.
“She bellies well,” observed a man.
“Has she been long in the pens?” inquired another.
“Not long,” said he who had spoken first.
“Has she made progress?” asked a fellow.
“She has made excellent progress,” said another.
“Can she understand what we are saying?” asked another.
“Yes,” said another.
“She is quite intelligent then,” asked one of the men. I did not recognize his voice. I did not think I knew him. I had not, of course, looked boldly about. Too, when one is on one’s belly, with the head turned to the side, one is scarcely in a position to study the countenances about one. Too, even if one is standing, or working, or serving, one seldom meets the eyes of such men directly.
“Considering her origin, and what she is, she is extremely intelligent,” said a man.
“Good,” said the fellow who had spoken before, him I did not recognize. But, to be sure, he was with three or four others who, too, I did not know, or doubted that I knew. They were from outside the house. I was sure of that.
“She is absolutely ignorant of the political situation?” asked the fellow I did not know.
“Yes,” said a man.
“She is from the world, Earth,” pointed out another.
“There is such a place?” asked a man, one of those I did not know.
“Yes,” he was assured.
“It is an excellent source of stock,” said another.
“And she has only recently arrived on our world,” asked one of those I did not know.
“Recently enough,” he heard.
“She has been in the pens?” asked another, one of those I did not know.
“She has not been outside them since her arrival,” said a man.
That was true. I had little, if any, idea of the nature of the world to which I had been brought.
“Are you interested in her?” asked one of the men I knew, one from the house.
“Have her stand, and turn,” said a man.
I heard the snapping of fingers.
Quickly I rose to my feet, and turned, before them.
“Interesting,” said a man.
“Clasp your hands behind the back of your head,” said a fellow from the house.
I complied.
“Arch your back,” said another.
My left foot was now slightly advanced. I was bent backwards, by back arched. My hands were clasped behind the back of my head.
“Yes,” said another. “Interesting.”
“Belly,” said the fellow who had first spoken to me.
Instantly I returned to my belly, as I had been before, my head turned to the left, my arms back, down at my sides, my hands turned so that my palms, their softness, faced up, exposed.
The new fellows, those who were strangers in the house, I gathered, were not to be shown more, not without having requested it, it seemed, not without having, in effect, committed themselves to some degree, in virtue of the expression of some explicit, rather more tangible, interest. Those of the house were skilled in what they were doing.
“Perhaps we should look at others.” Said one of the fellows I did not know.
“We have items from various cities, and from villages and districts, brought in from time to time, requisitioned, and such,” said the fellow from the house. “We have an excellent item from Besnit, blond, whose hair comes to her ankles.”
“It must be an ou
tworlder,” said a stranger, impatiently, he who seemed to be first among those I did not know.
“That was my understanding,” agreed the fellow from the house.
“But there must be other outworlders,” said one of the strangers, rather lightly.
“Yes, we still have several,” said a fellow from the house. “As you recall, you looked upon them last night, by lamplight, while they slept, in their kennels. This one, as I understand it, was your choice.”
I lay there. I had not realized that I, and the others, had been looked upon last night, while we slept. There is, of course, no way to prevent that.
“You have seen the papers,” said one of the fellows of the house to someone. “You have seen the reports. You have spoken to the teachers, and trainers.”
“They have other outworlders,” said the cautions fellow, one of the strangers.
“We do not have as many as we did,” said a fellow of the house. “They tend to be distributed about. We get only our share. Too, of those we receive, we normally have orders for several. Some we ship without training, to other houses and such. You must understand that, over the past few years, as their value has come to be more generally recognized, such items have become more popular.”
“And more expensive,” observed a stranger, irritably.
“Sometimes,” it was admitted.
“Are you sure you want an outworlder?” asked one of the fellows of the house.
“Yes,” he was told.
“Given your specifications,” said the fellow from the house, first among those of the house, “I really think this item is your likely choice.”
There was a silence.
“You must understand,” said the fellow from the house, first among them, “that your specifications are not easy to fulfill. If an item is reasonably skillful in the language it is not likely to be ignorant of the world, and, if it is ignorant of the world, it is less likely to be adept with the language.”