Witness of Gor coc-26
Page 32
At this point she desisted in her discourse and I heard, in the darkness, an angry, futile rattling of bars. I also detected, again, the creaking of a chain, as though some object, suspended on it, might be swinging back and forth. I did not know in what sort of incarceration she was, of course, but I did not doubt, from what I knew of this world, that it would be effective. I also heard a churning below us, the water. The sound must have excited the curiosity of something down there.
“He then put his hands to my head,” she continued, “I helpless before him, confined in the broad band of leather, held in place by the rope on my neck. His hands were at my veil! ‘No!’ I cried. His hand removed the pins. He held the veil in place. ‘No!’ I begged. I was helpless! He could face-strip me at his pleasure! ‘You did not care, as I recall,’ he said, ‘to lower your veil, that even for an instant your features might be glimpsed.’ ‘No!’ I sobbed. These words reminded me, of course, of my own, in the shop. I was terrified. His hands were on my veil. He could remove it, in any fashion he might wish, at any time he might wish. ‘If you do not wish your veil lowered,’ said he, ‘then let it be raised.’ He then lifted my veil upward and bound it about my face. In moments, the veil and other cloths, I was blindfolded. A cloth, too, over the veil, was drawn back between my teeth, deeply, and tied, within my hood, behind the back of my neck. I was thusly gagged. My hood then, too, was drawn forward, over my features, and tied beneath my chin. The rope remained on my neck. I was lifted from my feet, and sat upon the wooden floor. To my horror my hose and slippers were removed. ‘She has pretty feet,’ said a man. ‘Like a slave,’ said another. ‘Yes,’ said another. I drew back my feet, but a man crossed them, the right over the left. They were then lashed together, with the hose. ‘The slippers are rich, and intricately embroidered,’ said the leader. ‘Doubtless there is not another such pair in the city. They will be easily recognized. They will serve as token that she is within our power.’ Then said the leader to me, ‘One whimper means “yes,” and two whimpers means “No.” Do you understand?’ I whimpered once. There is apparently a code in such things.”
This was true. Such a convention was, as far as I knew, commonly observed on this world. At any rate I, who had been fitted with, and subjected to, and had learned to endure, a considerable variety of gags, and mouth bonds, in my training, was familiar with it. It had been taught me as early as my first gag. I understood, of course, that such things might well not be familiar to free women. To be sure, they are not stupid, no more than other women, and can be taught them quickly. Most slaves, after all, doubtless, were once free women. One interesting from of gag is being “gagged by the master’s will,” in which the woman is simply forbidden to speak, except, of course, for whimpers, in response to direct questions. One may also be “bound by the master’s will,” in which case one must keep one’s limbs in a given position, perhaps wrists crossed at the back of one’s head, as though they were literally bound, forbidden to separate them without permission. I do not know why one whimper is used for “Yes,” and two for “No.” It is probably because one usually thinks of such responses, for whatever reason, in terms of “Yes” and “No,” rather than of “No” and “Yes.” It does not seem to be correlated with the greater frequency of affirmative to negative responses to questions. For example, “Do you wish a blanket in your cell?” is likely to elicit a piteously affirmative response, whereas “Do you wish to be lashed?” is likely to elicit one which is earnestly negative.
“The rope was removed from my neck,” she said. “I was then lifted in the arms of someone. ‘We expect you to be cooperative,’ I was informed by the leader. His voice was from before me, so it was not he in whose arms I was held. ‘If you are not cooperative, or choose to be troublesome,’ he continued, ‘your clothing will be removed, and you will be lashed, as though you might be a slave. Do you understand?’ I assumed he was bluffing, but with such a man, with such men, such beasts and brutes, I could not be sure. I whimpered once. ‘Take her away,’ said the leader. I sobbed, and whimpered, and struggled, but it was to no avail. I was later placed in a trunk of some sort, I think. I heard the latches fastened. Indeed, I thought I heard, as well, the closing of four heady padlocks. This was placed on a cart. Several times I was transferred from one container or vehicle to another. I was ungagged only in darkness and then to be fed and watered. More than once I was aerially transported.”
I, too, at least once, had been so transported. Well I recalled my helplessness, the whistling wind, swaying of the basket. It would be by air, it seemed, in one fashion or another, one would most likely arrive at this place, this apparently remote aerie. She had claimed to be clothed. I supposed it true, but in the darkness I did not know. She must be fortunate. Certainly most of the women I had seen brought here, when I was in the cell in the side of the mountain, had been brought here as stripped, or scantily clad, captives. Slaving, it seemed, was part of the business of this place. On this world, as I have indicated, women count as loot. Perhaps the women were then transported beyond the mountains, to far markets.
“Often did I recall,” said she, “how they had spoken of having a place in mind for me, one for my safekeeping, one in which no one would ever find me!”
I heard her shake the bars in the darkness.
“Oh, yes!” she cried. “Here I am surely theirs! Here I need not fear rescue!”
I thought it true.
“Where is the ruby necklace?” I inquired. I thought it must be very pretty, and of great value.
“They left it on me, the sleen,” she cried, “until I arrived here. It was their joke, I think, that I should wear, fro all to see, hung about my neck, when I arrived here, what I had sought so avidly, so greedily, that with which they had baited their trap, that by means of which I had been snared, that in virtue of which I had come so simply into their power! But, their joke finished, it was removed from me before I was put here.”
“You do not know where it is?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Perhaps it is now once again at its work. Perhaps, even now, it is being used to snare another.”
“They are clever wretches!” she cried, suddenly. Again I heard the movement of what must be bars, shaken. She wept.
It seemed, indeed, she had been deftly, and cleverly, taken. The men here, it seemed, were not unskillful in diverse endeavors. Many businesses might be herein practiced. Certainly her acquisition, the arrangements, her transportation and such, spoke of a tried methodology, of some sort of experience or acumen in such matters. I gathered that she was rich. Her ransom, I speculated, would be considerable. It would doubtless be far more than she, or, I supposed, almost any woman, would be likely to bring on a sales block. If that were not the case, it seemed unlikely that the men here would be holding her for ransom. Rather, they would simply sell her, perhaps individually, or in a lot, with others. She was, it seemed, a free woman. I myself, on the other hand, was the sort of woman who is most appropriately owned. I had known this, even on my old world. And here, on this world, I was owned. To be sure, I would have preferred a private master. You might think, incidentally, that all of us would prefer to choose our own master, and not merely a private master, but an individual master, but that is not true. I think I would have preferred to choose my own master, but that is perhaps whom I had knelt even before my body had grown used to bonds of iron, one whom I had never forgotten, one whom I had failed to please, one whose whip I had kissed. But some of us, at least, would prefer not to choose our own master, but, rather, to have one imposed upon us, whom we must then, in the fullness of our bondage, willing or not, strive to please. Indeed, had I not met a particular man, one I well remembered, I, myself, might have preferred this latter alternative. I did, of course, hope to have a kind master, or, at least, one as kindly as was compatible with the clear, strict relationship in which we stood to one another. I wanted to win the love of my master, whoever he might be. I asked only the opportunity to serve and love. I was waiting to
serve and love. But, in any event, it is not we who choose the masters. It is the masters who choose us.
“Hist!” she said, suddenly. “Someone is coming!”
I sat up, as I could, in the net, my hands bound behind me, my ankles crossed and tied. The net swung.
I heard nothing.
I saw nothing.
I was very still. I strained to hear. If she had truly heard something, her senses must have become considerably sharpened in this environment. To be sure, she might have learned, somehow, to detect and interpret the slightest of sounds in such a place. I did hear a stirring in the waters somewhere beneath. I had heard that sound before.
I thought I saw a light, dim, far off.
What would be done with me?
I recalled that the man in the chair had speculated that Dorna, the high slave, would not be displeased with my disposition. That recollection did not hearten me.
Closer grew the light.
“He is coming,” whispered the woman from the darkness. I heard the slight creak of the chain.
It seemed to me that at least two were in the passage, but it may be, I thought, that only one counted.
of what use, I asked myself, would be my beauty, if beauty it was, or the helplessness of my sexual reflexes, taken as a matter of course in a slave, in a place such as this?
But doubtless I would be assigned my duties!
The light came closer.
I did not even know my name! I had a name. One had been given to me by my masters. But I did not know what it was. It was on my collar. I knew that. But I did not know what it was. Indeed, I could not even read.
Now I could hear tiny sounds, unusual sounds, in the approaching passage.
I shuddered, waiting, bound in the net.
I recalled the girl from the surface, a slave, who had been whipped and sent, plunging, into the depths. She was terrified. I had no doubt she would do her best to be found pleasing.
The light was now closer, and I could determine, clearly, that there were two figures in the passage. The first was a woman, in a brief tunic. No more than a rag. She was excellently curved. She was doubtless a slave. She carried a torch. I was not sure what was behind her. I did not even know, for certain, if it were human or not. It seemed large, broad thing. But it had tiny legs. It walked bent over. I did not know if it could straighten itself or not. It less walked than shambled. It moved with small steps.
I blinked against the light. It was now bright, contrasting with the precedent darkness.
The woman continued to approach.
The thing, whatever it was, with its small steps, its lurching gait, came shuffling, shambling, behind her, snuffing, sniffing, and grunting. It was not, I surmised, human.
The woman stopped.
She now stood a few feet from me, behind a low wall. This wall was apparently circular. My net, I know discovered, was suspended almost over the center of what appeared to be a large, circular, well-like enclosure. The enclosure was perhaps some sixty-five to seventy feet in diameter. The water, several yards below, was very dark. I saw that my net had some ropes attached to it, which extended to a wall behind the walkway where the woman stood, behind what appeared to be the exterior wall of the well-like structure. I heard a creak of chain to my right, and I looked there, quickly. It was from that direction that I had heard the voice of the free woman earlier. I gasped. There, a few feet to my right, there hung, suspended from heavy chain, fixed in the ceiling, a narrow, conical-topped, cylindrical cage. It was perhaps some six feet in height, and some two to three feet in diameter. In this cage, standing within, veiled, in robes of concealment, was a woman. The arrangement of the veils suggested that they were merely tied about her features, and not pinned. Her robes of concealment seemed soiled and, at the hems, were torn. Her small hands grasped the bars of the cage. It was these she had, it seemed, futilely tested from time to time. She did not have gloves, which must have cost her modesty somewhat, but I did not find this surprising. From time to time, her wrists might have been corded before her, or behind her, and men on this world seldom, as I understand it, put bonds over such things as gloves or hose. They prefer on the whole, it seems, to place bonds upon, and to check and test their knots, the arrangement and such, on the bared limbs themselves. In this approach one obtains greater security, of course, as layers between the bonds and the flesh are avoided. I recalled her slippers had been, by her own account, taken from her to be used as evidence of her capture. Too, as I recalled, her ankles had been bound with her own hose. That sort of thing is not unusual. Indeed, the guards in the pens had said that free women were eager to oblige their captors, for they carried about with them, for the convenience of the captors, their own won bonds, one stocking for the ankles, and the other for the wrists. The free women pulled their feet back, a little more under her robes. She was doubtless terribly distressed that her feet were not covered. She was not, after all, a slave. Slaves, I might mention, are often kept barefooted.
“What is that on your neck?” suddenly cried the free woman. “I see it though the cordage of the net! It is glinting! It is a collar! You are a slave, a slave!”
I was too frightened to answer her. I had not told her that I was not a slave, of course. On the other hand, I had not corrected her misapprehension as to the matter. I hoped this would not count as lying. We can be punished terribly for lying.
“Lying slave!” she screamed.
“No, Mistress!” I cried. “Please, no!”
“Oh, you are a well-curved slave!” she cried, angrily. I hoped she would not hold this against me. What could it matter to her, a free woman, if I might bring a good price on the block?
“Deceptive, deceitful slave!” she cried.
“No, Mistress!” I said.
“Well-curved, lying slave!” she screamed.
“Forgive me, Mistress!” I begged.
“Beat her! Beat her!” she called toward the walkway, that behind the wall.
“Please, no, Masters!” I called over my shoulder.
“Deceitful, deceptive, well-curved, lying slave!” screamed the free woman.
“Forgive me, Mistress!” I wept.
“See her ears!” suddenly cried the free woman. “They are pierced!”
the torchlight, doubtless, had reflected from the tiny objects, dropletlike, with their steel pins, which were fastened in my ear lobes. The tiny pins, studlike, had snapped into small disks on the other side. I did not think that these things were intended to be so much ornaments in themselves as devices by means of which to guarantee that the penetrant channels wrought in my body by the worker’s needle could not, even in the healing of the flesh, close. They must remain open, held open by the tiny posts about which the wounds would heal, which posts could later be removed, their work done. And thus it was that portions of my body were made such that they would be ready later, at a master’s convenience, should he so desire, for the affixing of ornamentation. Even so, of course, the devices made it rather clear that my ears were pierced, as they were.
“Beat her!” screamed the free woman.
“Please, no, Mistress!” I begged.
Then I turned back, blinking against the light, for I felt myself, in the net, by means of ropes, being lowered, and being drawn toward the wall.
I did not want to be beaten!
The net neared the wall. The light was very bright.
“Close your eyes,” said the woman with the torch.
I closed my eyes, gratefully, against the light, but, too, of course, I was frightened. The light hurt my eyes. But, too I wanted to see. But, of course, I had no choice. I had been commanded. I must obey. I am a slave.
I felt the net drawn over the low wall and then I was on the walkway, supine in the net, behind the wall. I could sense the torch, reddish, though my closed eyelids. Its radiated warmth was welcome. I lay on the stones. I heard a sniffing and shuffling, a grunt. I shuddered, my eyes closed. I felt the toils of the net being drawn aside.
I felt something large, almost pawlike, brush back my hair. I felt my head turned, from left to right, and back.
“Its ears are pierced,” said the slurring voice.
“Yes,” said the woman.
They had apparently now determined by actual inspection, at close range, that my ears were indeed pierced, that the objects in view were not otherwise affixed, held in place by, say, clips, or tiny plates, tightened with tiny screws.
“A pierced-ear girl,” slurred the voice.
“Yes,” said the woman.
“You are a pierced-ear girl,” said the voice.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered, my eyes closed.
“You are so low?” it asked.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“You may open your eyes,” said the woman.
I opened my eyes, blinking against the light. I could see her fairly well, standing over me, the torch lifted. She was a brunette, and indeed shapely, and beautiful. She wore a ta-teera, a slave rag. On her neck was a collar. It was narrow, and close-fitting, like mine, this is the sort of collar found most frequently on this world’s numerous kajirae; most of us wear it. I could not well see the features of the large, shaggy head which hung over me, as the light was behind it. I knew it could speak. But I did not know if it were human or not. I was sure, whatever it was, it was free. It was the woman behind it, in the collar, the torch lifted, who was slave.