by John Norman
I moved a little in the box, to ease my body. Its iron sides were so strong. I was so cramped within!
Such boxes are sometimes used for slave discipline.
I had been taken out of the box at various times, to be fed and watered, and permitted to relieve myself, on a leash, only to be returned to it later. Too, once, while I was out of the box, the golden collar had been cut from my neck. Even the fittings from the saw had been gathered in a silken napkin, laid under my head and neck, my hair tied up, over my head. The collar, even the filings, were of value. The two men continued to wear masks. Their accents were like those of most of the guards in the house, but I did not recognize them as from among those guards. They were, I think, local hirelings, indeed, ruffians of some sort, brigands. It was only too clear that they were interested in the collar, for its gold. But then, too, of course, it would make sense that it be removed, as it bore on itself, engraved upon it, the name of the house of my master. After the golden collar had been cut away, and the napkin, with its filings, carefully gathered up and folded, I had been led, held by the hair, my head held at the hip of one of the men, to an anvil. My head and neck were laid upon it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sturdy, rounded bar of iron. This bar was bent into a curve, but the curve was not closed on one side. It was shaped rather like the letter C. this was put about my neck. I saw a heavy hammer rise. Then, as I closed my eyes, this bar, with powerful, expert strokes, was shaped about my neck. The C had now become a closed circle. The curve was regular; the two ends were flush. It had been well put upon me. I suspected that my captor, he who had wielded the hammer, might be, or might once have been, of the Metal Workers. I could no more removed the collar, of course, than I could have opened a link in a heavy chain, one which might have held a ship, with my fingers. No longer, then, did I wear a collar of gold. I now wore a simpler collar, indeed, a collar that was no more, in fact, physically, than a ring of iron. To be sure, legally, socially, and psychologically, a collar is a collar, and it marked me as a slave. Indeed, it marked me as a very lowly slave, or, more likely, one who had now been put, for one reason or another, in a temporary collar, perhaps for purposes of transit, or prior to her sale, or such. There are also strap collars which are similar, in which a flattened strap of metal is beaten around the neck, usually also for similar purposes. “Do not fear,” had said one of the men to me. “Even this will be removed, if your ankles are to be tied together and weighted, and you are to be cast into a carnarium.”
It was three days ago, I think, that I had been brought to this place.
From where the box had been put on the floor I could look out though the perforations and, in the light of the lamp in the room, it set on a small table, see Aynur.
Shortly after we had first come to this place the box had been put on the floor and one of the men had ascended the stairs again, to put down the trapdoor, and lock it shut, from the inside.
When he came downstairs, putting the key away in his wallet, he went to Aynur, who was standing, and brushed back her hood. He then unhooked the cloak and opened it, holding it open for a time, regarding her. She was in her silks, again, the sleeveless, silken scarlet vest, tied shut with a mere string, and the belly silk, scarlet, too, in the Harfaxian drape, fastened at the left hip with a golden clasp. Her earrings, her bangles and bracelets, her armlet, her talmit, had been removed before the mat check. My ornaments, including even the tiny golden earrings, had been removed earlier, before I had been switched in the garden. It is common to account for, and lock up, such valuables at night. One would not want, for example, a girl trying to barter such things, bracelets and such, for, say, the caress of a guard. Before coming to arouse me, on the pretext of taking me to the master, I supposed that she must have donned her silk. That would have been safer than wearing it under her silken sheets. For mat check, Aynur, under the lamp of the house master, under her sheets, was to be as bared as any other girl. She was, when all was said and done, only another flower. Let her beware then lest the house master should in his check lift back the sheets and not find her naked.
The fellow then slipped the cloak from Aynur’s shoulders. It fell back, behind her, on the floor.
“Turn about,” he said.
She obeyed, and, in a moment, he had unlocked her slave bracelets, those which he had put on her in the small room, those lovely, linked, twin confinements by means of which her wrists had been pinioned behind her. He returned the bracelets to his wallet.
“Go to the straw by the wall,” he said. “Stand there, in the light of the lamp.”
She did so.
I realized that Aynur was a quite beautiful woman, and, without her talmit, and her switch, and, now, in the presence of the men, did not seem, really, different from the rest of us.
“May I speak?” asked Aynur.
“No,” said the man.
Yes, she seemed rather like the rest of us now.
“She is a high slave,” said one of the men to the other.
“That was before,” said the first man.
“She was first girl in the house of Appanius,” said the other.
“Do you think you are first girl, and that you are now in the house of Appanius?” inquired the first man of Aynur.
“No, Master,” she said.
“Do you think you still wear the talmit?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
“Are you a high slave?” asked the first man.
“Yes, Master,” she said, hesitantly.
“No, you are not,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Are you a proud woman?” asked the first man.
“I do not know, Master,” she said, uncertainly.
“If you are,” he said, “you will soon be cured of that.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, frightened.
“We do not coddle slaves here,” he said.
“No, Master,” she said.
“You have ten Ihn,” he said, “to strip, and kneel where you are, on the straw.”
Frenziedly Aynur fumbled with the string at her vest, at last jerking the vest open and slipping it back. With her right hand she seized the golden clasp at her left hip and opened it, flinging the silk to the side and dropping to her knees.
“On your back,” said one of the men.
Swiftly Aynur obeyed.
She then served them.
After a time, I heard one of the men ask her, “Are you proud?”
“No, Master,” she cried. “No, Master!”
and then I realized that Aynur, indeed, was now no different from the rest of us. She was now only another slave, at the mercy of masters.
That had occurred, I think, three days ago, at any rate within a few minutes of our having come to this place. I could now see Aynur though the perforations of the slave box. She was sitting at the wall, naked, on the straw, her knees drawn up, her head down, hair before her face, her wrists up, tied together, over her head, fastened to a ring in the wall. I thought the men were very cruel to her. Surely they showed her little mercy. Sometimes felt sorry for her, even though she had brought me into their power. These men, masked ruffians, brigands, I thought, were not gentle with slaves to begin with. They were the sort of men who would master a woman with great strictness, the sort of men whom we know we must please and obey, with no nonsense about it. But, too, I think they were cruel to her because she had not kept properly the office of the first girl, because she had dishonored her trust, because she had entered into an intrigue, because she had coveted gold, because she betrayed her master. Such things tend not to be overlooked by the men of this world. They tend to disapprove of such slaves. She was now theirs, and helpless. I did not know what they would do with her.
I looked at her, though the perforations in the slave box.
She now had her head turned toward me, looking at me, or the box. I did not know if she could see me within or not. Much would depend, I supposed, on the light. She shook her
head a little, to move the hair from before her face. She would certainly realize that I would understand, if only from the voices, and the sounds, what had been done to her, and the sort of treatment which she had been accorded. Many times she had been made to thrash, and squirm, and howl with pleasure, within feet f me. She had been forced, many times, to show herself, to prove herself, helplessly, irreservedly, a female and a slave before me. Perhaps that cost her much, I such a lowly slave, and only a barbarian. Was she not made to squirm and thrash before me like the commonest pleasure slave in a tavern or brothel? Did she not kick and howl like the lowliest kettle girl? But why was I not used? These men had not so much as touched me. Her feelings must be complex, and mixed. She was a passionate woman, and all her passion had been liberated by her slavery. She, then, like the others, must have been starved in the gardens. How often could she have lain in the arms of her Camillus? Surely, seldom! And now she found herself, suddenly, at the mercy of masters who were callous, lustful brutes, being put frequently, mercilessly, to their pleasure. Her needs now, it seemed, were richly satisfied, and, as the men would have it, ruthlessly so. But her pride had been stripped from her, and before one she despised. With what joy and anguish must she have suffered, never knowing, too, what her fate was to be. And I, my feelings, too, were mixed. I envied her her uses, and had even, upon occasion, begged that I, too, might serve, but, for some reason, this had been denied to me. My slave needs were aroused, but I must not satisfy them. Once I was cuffed when I begged to hard. Too, I did not know for what I had been brought here, or who had arranged that it be so. And I did not know, either, what my fate was to be. The tiny things said to me upon occasion, or overheard, served in no way to allay my fears. I looked out at Aynur, through the perforations. She turned her head away. Her golden collar, too, had been removed, cut from her neck, the fillings, even gathered in the napkin. She, too, now, as she sat at the wall, her hands bound together, over her head, fastened to a ring, wore on her neck only a simple collar, like myself, a rounded, shaped bar of metal. And these were fitted closely to our necks.
We heard, suddenly, a tapping from above, on the other side of the trapdoor. It was not an ordinary tapping, but manifested, rather, a certain pattern, a complex pattern, which was thrice repeated.
I did not doubt but what it was a prearranged signal.
The men looked at one another.
Then one came toward me, carrying the cloak which had originally been put about Aynur in the house of Appanius. As he neared the box. I could see only his feet. He tossed the cloak over the box. I could then no longer see out through the perforations.
I heard the other man climbing up the stairs, toward the trapdoor.
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I lay tensely in the box, on my side, my head lifted, trying to listen.
The men conversed with the newcomer in hushed tones. I could not determine what they said.
At one point the box was struck and I jerked back. One of the men had apparently kicked it, the cloak spread over it, indicating it.
“Masters?” I heard Aynur ask, fearfully.
Then I thought she was being removed from the wall. I also heard, a moment or two later, to small clicks, from which sounds I gathered that she had been bracelted. I also heard a stirring of straw, and supposed that she was pulled forward, presumably to kneel, as free men were present, closer to the box.
A moment later the box, with the cloak, was turned, so that my head was oriented away from the men, toward the opposite wall. The cloak was then lifted away from the box. But I could see nothing but the room though the perforations before me. “Close your eyes,” said a voice, that of one of the men whose captive I was, he whom I took to be first of the two. I closed my eyes. I heard the locks undone, the lid put back, in its hinges. I was on my side in the box. I felt a hand in my hair. I winced, as it urged me up. Too, it turned my head toward the wall, away from the men. “Kneel upright, back straight, head down,” said the voice. I was then kneeling in the box, my head down, my eyes closed, facing the wall, away from the men. I felt my wrists pulled together, behind my back, and corded together. The cord was then run down to my ankles, which were crossed, bound together, and tied to my wrists. “Put a knife to her throat,” said the man who was near me. I was afraid, but it was Aynur whom I heard whimper. Certainly I felt no blade at my throat. “We will now see if you have given us the right girl,” said one of the two men, he whom I took to be second of the two. He was some feet away, in the room. “Let us hope, for your sake, you have delivered the right slave to us.”
“I have tried to do so, Master!” wept Aynur.
“have you sought to trick us, or betray us?”
“No, Master!”
“Have you made a mistake?”
“I hope not, Master!”
“Is she the right girl?”
“I hope so, Master!” cried Aynur.
“If she is not, you will die,” said the man.
I heard Aynur cry out with misery, as though her head had been jerked back by the hair.
I was startled as a cloak, doubtless that which had been put on Aynur in the house of the master, and which had just been over the box, was put about my shoulders. Too, it was loosely draped about me. I felt it on my calves, as I knelt. I was then lifted from the box, in the cloak, and turned, and knelt facing the men. I kept my eyes closed, as I had been commanded. A salve does not disobey such commands. Too, now that I was again kneeling, I kept my head down. Disobedience is not permitted to us. We are kajirae.
“Lift your head,” said the man near me.
I obeyed, but kept my eyes closed.
“It is she, is it not?” said the other man, eagerly, addressing himself, doubtless, to the newcomer in the room.
“Open your eyes,” said the man near me, just a little behind me, to my left. I gather he may have received some sign from the new comer.
I opened my eyes, and found myself kneeling some feet before a seated man. He was in a dark cloak. Its hood was thrown back, but I could not ascertain his features, as he was masked, as were the other two. Aynur was before me but to the left. She was kneeling, naked, her hands behind her, presumably braceleted. Her head was cruelly held back by the hair, but one of the two men whose captive I was, he whom I took to be second amongst them. He was crouching a little behind her and to her right. His left hand was in her hair, holding her head back, and his right hand grasping the hilt of a knife, its glace at her throat. I looked again, wildly, frightened, at the seated man.
I saw him nod.
“It is she!” said the man holding Aynur. He released Aynur and sheathed his knife. Aynur’s head came forward, and she sagged, shuddering.
“Do you dare to look boldly on your master, slave?” inquired the man behind me, to my left.
Quickly, frightened, I lowered my eyes. Why had he spoken of this man as my master? I did not think that he was Appanius of Ar.
Had I now a new master? But perhaps this was in the sense that Aynur now had a new master, our masters, that she had belonged, in effect, to those who had captured us. But I, what of me? Would I not, too, in that sense, belong to them? But it seemed not. It seemed, rather, that it was to he who had come most recently down the stairs that I belonged. My submission, my obedience, all that I was, it now seemed, was his. I had been stolen, it seemed, and he was my new master.
And so it was that I knelt before him, in that secret place, far below the streets of the city, bound hand and foot, the cloak about my shoulders, concealing my body.
I knelt very still.
I did not move as I feared to dislodge the cloak. I was afraid it would slip from my shoulders. I did not know what the sight of my body might do to him, a man of this world, what activities, what agencies, what behaviors, it might precipitate. These are not tamed men, these Goreans. They are brutes, beasts, men of power, men of passion and violence, of inordinate desire, men who relish and celebrate women in every fiber of their being, who take them in hand, and deliciousl
y completely uncompromisingly, own them, and master them.
He regarded me, not speaking.
Aynur had lifted her head. Perhaps she, naked and braceleted, envied me the cloak. One of the men, he who was first amongst the two, as I understood it, was still behind me, a little to my left. The other was before me, still a bit behind and to the right of Aynur. But both were now standing.
Both Aynur and I were helpless. We might as well have been chained in a market, or have been in heavily barred, triple-locked capture cages.
“Would you care to see her?” asked the man near me. He bend down, and his large hands, reaching about me, were on either side of my neck, on the edges of the cloak, near my throat. With a simple movement he might have drawn the cloak down and away, slipping it back and to the sides. I tensed. But the seated man made tiny gesture, a negative gesture. The man behind me removed his hands from the cloak and straightened up.
“She is pretty,” said the other man, encouragingly.
I did not understand why the cloak had been put about me. I did not understand why, now, it had not been removed. Nor, I think, was this clear to those who had been my captors.
I bit my lip, a little. I knew what it was to be looked upon, to be assessed, to be examined, as a female and a slave. But now I was frightened, for I feared my value to this new comer, he who had been announced to me as my master, had little to do with whatever features or properties I might possess as a woman in bondage, with such things as beauty, intelligence, character, personality or talent. There was, I feared, a different interest in me, one which might be far more sinister or insidious, one far less immediately intelligible than those associated with the typical, obvious values of a slave.