by John Norman
"Cage her," said the pit master.
"On all fours," said the brunette.
I went to all fours, in my chains.
The brunette went to the small cage and opened the gate. She indicated the entrance. "Enter the cage," she said.
I crawled to the cage and entered it.
The gate was shut behind me.
I turned about, on my knees, inside. I put my head down, in the collar, when the pit master came to check the closure of the cage. Then he went back to the table. I then lifted my head. I knelt there, behind the bars. The cage had a floor and ceiling of solid iron. The four sides, on the other hand, were open, save for the bars. The bars were stout and closely set. They must have been an inch in diameter and some three inches apart. I put my face against them. I grasped two of them. There was a tiny clink of chain from the linkage on my wristlets, they touching the bars. I looked up at the brunette. One cannot begin to stand upright in such a cage, nor can one extend one's body fully within it. Within it one must kneel, or sit, or lie, one's body curled up.
"Mistress," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Why am I here?"
"For the same reason as the rest of us," she said. "It is the will of men."
"But what am I to do?" I asked.
"What you are told," she said.
"Are there others here?" I asked.
"Others?"
"Men," I said.
"Yes," she said.
I regarded her, plaintively.
"Guards," she said.
"Am I available to them?" I asked.
"At the discretion of the pit master," she said.
I briefly closed my eyes.
"But these are not their quarters. They do report here from time to time. Doubtless they will be pleased to learn of your addition to our number."
"That is what I am here for," I asked, "for the guards?"
"Your availability to them is incidental," she said. "The pits are, in effect, in this area, a prison, and one in which, for the most part, the lowest and most dangerous prisoners are kept."
I shuddered.
"There is little danger," she said, "if you watch your step."
I swallowed, hard.
"I do not know what will be your precise duties," she said, "but I would expect that you, as the rest of us, will be given some corridors, within which you will discharge assigned tasks."
"Tasks?" I asked.
"Bringing food to the prisoners, replenishing cisterns, emptying wastes buckets, carrying fresh straw, cleaning cells, that sort of thing. One cannot expect the guards to do that."
"No," I said.
"In many cities," she said, "such work is performed by free women of low caste, but here it is done by slaves. Do you know why?"
"No," I said.
"That a token be conveyed to the prisoners of the contempt in which they are held."
"I see," I said. I rather doubted that this token was likely to be interpreted by the prisoners in the same fashion that the judiciary of the city, or the free women of the city, whatever city this might be, had anticipated. It was my guess that a male prisoner might more enjoy a glimpse of a slave than the lengthy scrutiny of a free woman. To be sure, it might be different if the free woman were a prisoner or criminal, sentenced to the prison for a time, to serve there, perhaps denied her veil, perhaps being forced to reveal her ankles or even calves to the prisoners. They might enjoy that. But I recalled the pleased howling and catcalls of the prisoners above, those I had passed on my journey along the ledge. They had seemed vital and strong. I had felt myself relished, even to my terror. To be sure, I was not serving them. Also, there surely seemed a paradox here, for free men, outside of the prisons, and such, apparently delighted in being served by slaves, and the strongest and most powerful, it seemed, would have it no other way. It must be the principle of the thing then, I supposed, that in the prison it was imposed upon them, presumably as some sort of insult or disparagement, while in their freedom, on the other hand, it was something they would themselves relish and require.
"Too," she said, "you may upon occasion be used to torment and taunt them, that they may, in their misery and frustration, the better understand their helplessness."
"I see," I whispered.
"Their time in the pits," she said, "is not intended to be pleasant."
"I see," I said.
"It is a form of torture," she said.
"I understand," I said.
"In all things," she said, "remember to be pleasing to the pit master."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"For you may be given not only to the guards," she said, "but to the prisoners."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"They might tear you to pieces," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"I trust that you will rest well," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
"How is your back?" she asked.
"It hurts," I said.
"Mistress!" I said.
"Yes?" she said.
"The free woman said that my accent was terrible. Is it terrible?"
"How vain you are!" she smiled.
"Please," I said.
"Speak," she said.
"I am a barbarian," I said. "I come from a world I call "Earth." I and several others were brought here to be slaves. I do not know the city to which I was first brought, nor where I am now. I do not even know my name. I do know that I am a slave."
"You speak very well," she said.
"My accent is not terrible?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But it is, at least at this point, a slave accent."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"But accents," she said, "do not matter, you must understand, whether or not you have one, or of whatever sort it might be. What matters is what you are, that you are a slave. Most slaves, you see, such as myself, do not have accents, or at least in any ordinary sense. But we are total slaves, I assure you, just as you are, and will remain, others things being the same, even should you be able, masters permitting it, to lose your accent."
"I understand," I said.
"Mistress," I said.
"Yes?" she said.
"Is the pit master truly human?" I asked.
"Of course," she said. "He cannot help that he was born as he was."
I looked down.
"He is afraid to go to the surface," she said, "in spite of his intelligence, and his great strength, for there even children mock and ridicule him. It is better that he is here."
"He makes me sick to look upon him," I whispered.
"Then do not look upon him," she said.
"He must make you sick as well," I said.
"No," she said.
"Why do they call him "the Tarsk"?" I asked.
"I would suppose that would be obvious," she said.
"What is a tarsk?" I asked.
"You have never seen one?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"It is a form of beast," she said. "To be sure, I do not think he really looks like a tarsk. I think they call him that not so much because he looks like a tarsk, really, as because, in some ways, in what they take to be his ugliness, he reminds them of a tarsk."
"He is hideous," I said.
"I am not sure of that," she said.
"No, he is hideous, hideous!" I said.
"One grows used to him."
"Never!" I said.
"What manner of man is he?" I asked.
"He is actually a gentle creature," she said, "save when aroused. To be sure, he is strict."
"You must loathe him," I said.
"No," she said.
"You must fear him," I said.
"Of course," she said.
"You seem to have some sort of special relationship to him," I said.
It was she who had carried the torch and assisted him, she who had fed me, and such.
"He sleeps me at his feet," she said.
&n
bsp; I shuddered.
"You will not compete with me for his favor?" she smiled.
"No, no, no!" I said, shuddering.
"You yielded well," she smiled.
"I could not help myself," I said. "I am a slave. Any man can make me yield!"
"Any man?" she asked.
"Yes!"
"Even one you resent or loathe?"
"Yes!"
"Even one you dislike, or despise, or hate?"
"Yes!" I wept.
"And yield fully, even against your will, unreservedly, unstintingly, unable to help yourself?"
"Yes!" I sobbed. "I cannot help myself! I am helpless in their arms! You must understand such things!"
"Yes," she said. "I understand them quite well."
A tear ran against the bar, against which was pressed my right cheek.
"You are beautifully vital," she said.
"Are you not, too, a slave?" I asked, my eyes burning with tears.
"Men must find you a very beautiful, and very valuable, property," she said. "You would undoubtedly bring a high price in the market."
"Are you not, too, a slave!" I wept.
"Yes," she said. "I, too, am a slave."
I put my head down a little. I could feel the two bars against my forehead. My hands, chained, continued to grasp the bars.
"Do you think you are the only one whose belly has screamed in the darkness for a man's touch?" she asked. "The only one that has desired to kneel? The only one that has desired to serve, and love, and with her whole being, holding back nothing? The only one that has cried out, and squirmed gratefully under the haughty, audacious touch of one who owns you?"
I looked up, regarding her, tears in my eyes.
"And we would not be other than as we are," she said.
"No," I said. "We would not be other than as we are."
"We are slaves," she whispered.
"Yes," I whispered.
"It is time now for you to rest," she said.
"I am afraid!" I whispered.
"There is much to fear when one is a slave," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
Then she had turned away.
I knelt in sirik, in the cage, grasping the bars, looking after her.
The "Tarsk," the pit master, or, to use his more exact title, the depth warden, was still at the table. His small legs were under him on the bench. His large upper body, swollen and disproportionate, boulderlike, leaned forward, over the table. He had put aside the papers, which may have been mine, and was now, by the light of a small lamp, perusing a scroll. It was doubtless late.
I sat down in the cage, my knees drawn up. The sirik fitted me very well. My measurements might have been sent down from above, earlier. I looked about. I was well exposed to view, on four sides, given the construction of the cage. To be sure, I might have been even better revealed, had it not been for the bars, which were thick and closely set. There are a great many varieties of slave cages, with respect to the number of occupants for which they are designed, and, within such parameters, with respect to shape, size, and materials. I was in a fairly standard, common-model, single-girl cage, one involving a design compromise between display and security, security not from the point of view of containing the occupant, which a lighter cage would be fully effective in doing, but security against being broken into by thieves. At one end of the spectrum one has cages which are designed primarily for display, cages within which the woman is held as helplessly as a kitten but which are not thought to afford adequate resistance to men equipped with suitable tools. Cages of this sort are usually used temporarily, as during daylight hours in enclosed courts, and such, when slavers' men are about. At the other end of the spectrum are heavy cages in which the bars may be two inches in diameter and spaced but an inch or so apart, in which the occupant can be barely discerned. Cages of the sort in which I was currently kept are sometimes spoken of as "tantalizers," for a great deal of the woman is displayed, surely enough to arouse interest, but, because of the bars, perhaps not enough to make a satisfactory determination. The slaver then, of course, agrees to draw the occupant forth for more careful examination. In this way, a girl's charms, she now drawn forth from the cage and displayed, are assured their due consideration. It is easy to insufficiently attend to, or even neglect, or dismiss, these charms when she is merely one of a number of others, chained, say, in a sales barn or on a cement shelf in an open market. But let the buyer now, his interest aroused, his attention focused, examine the occupant. What now of her visage, and hair, of the delicacy of her throat, the slightness of her wrists, the trimness of her ankles, the smallness of her hands and feet, and her slave curves? And thus might an excellent buy, perhaps one even fit to be a love slave, be brought to his attention, a buy which, otherwise, might have passed tragically unnoticed. To be sure, he might only be buying for investment purposes, or perhaps he merely wishes to pick up a gift for a friend. There are also, of course, a large number of other incarceratory devices, such as slave chests, or boxes, and slave sacks. These, of course, are not designed to display the slave, but are intended for other purposes, in particular, punishment or transportation. The sort of cage in which I was held is also suitable, incidentally, for transportation. There was no need, of course, that I be chained in the cage. That was only, I supposed, to help me keep in mind that I was a slave. I had no blanket. The others had blankets. I hoped I might be given one later. I was a new girl. There were three women in the kennels, the brunette and the two blondes, and, at the wall, there were five women, each chained there by the neck and left ankle. Two of the kenneled women were chained, the brunette and one of the blondes. I hoped that I might, in time, be adjudged not only worthy of a blanket, but even of a kennel, for there were five such, and two were empty. I did not expect to be given such luxuries now. I was a new girl. I was not certain that I wanted to be chained at the wall, for I feared the other women there. I was a barbarian, and my ears were pierced.
I lay down in the cage, curling up.
I saw the slave who had borne the torch, and who had locked me in sirik, putting out the two wall lamps. This left only the tiny lamp on the table, recently lit, where the monster read. I could see the glint of the lamplight on the bars of the kennels, and on some chains hanging on the wall. On the wall, too, I saw, briefly, for I quickly looked away, hanging on its peg, the whip. How placid it seemed, how quiet now. Yet its very sight filled me with fear. I was subject to it. The brunette removed furs from a chest and spread them near the table. From the same chest she removed a coil of chain, and put it carefully, presumably not to disturb the monster, by a ring, toward the foot of the furs. She then lay down upon the furs, toward their bottom. High status had she amongst us, certainly! She was the only one amongst us, for example—of me, and the women in the kennels, and those at the wall—who had clothing. And she was at the foot of his furs, not that I envied her that privilege! It was not as though he were one of those powerful, handsome brutes, as many I had seen here, before whom a slave might faint with weakness and desire.
He moved the scroll a little, rolling shut what he had read, unrolling, opening, a new vista of ideas.
The slave at the foot of his furs, I thought, might be asleep.
I rose to my hands and knees in the cage. The chain from my collar dangled to my wrists, and went thence to my ankles. There were so many things I wanted to know. I did not know under what city I might be, I did not even know the name of the world on which I found myself. I did not even know my own name. I wanted to call out to the brute at the table. But I did not dare to do so.
Then I lay down again.
I glanced toward the wall. One of the women there, sneeringly, with her blanket about her, formed words toward me. I could dimly make them out in the tiny light. "Pierced-ear girl!" she had said. I looked away. I knew I might have to fear her, or the others. They might not only treat me badly, as I might expect, being a barbarian, a new girl, and such. But they might trick me in such
ways that I might be beaten.
I moved a little in the cage. There was a tiny clink of chain.
I saw the beast put down the scroll and push the lamp a little to one side. He did not extinguish it. He turned about on the bench, and sat there, for a time, regarding the brunette. The light, as he had placed it, fell softly upon her. I think she was asleep. He then slid from the bench and, bent over, the great body on those tiny legs, went to the ring and chain. He attached the chain to the ring, with a click. The brunette stirred in her sleep. He then took her left ankle in his hand and she stirred again, and uttered a tiny moan, and a little, inarticulate cry, still asleep. But then, with its clear, firm, definite click, the ankle ring was upon her, fastening her to the ring. I do not think she awakened during this. But, I suspect, too, in some way, on some level, she was aware that she was chained. Is not even a free woman aware of such a thing, on some level, when, as she sleeps, she is chained to her own bed? Does this enter into her dream? Does she dream it so, fearfully? Surely its very possibility is to be rejected from consciousness with all the force of rationality! Surely it was only a dream! How amusing! But she awakens and finds herself chained. As the woman was sleeping the chain was first set to the ring and thence to her body, that the tether will be in place as soon as the restraint snaps about her ankle. Had she been awake, the procedure would presumably have been reversed. When the woman is awake the usual procedure is to put the first bond on her body, so that she will know it on her, that she is bound or shackled, and then to attach it, she now aware that she is subject to your will in this matter, to whatever one pleases.
The brute then returned to his reading, putting the lamp where it had been before, as though nothing had happened.
But the brunette was now chained!
I lay on my back in the sirik. I could feel the chain from my collar, running over my body, to the wrists. Then it continued, over my belly, and against the interior of my right thigh, until it flowed to my ankles. I moaned and turned to my side.
I tried to come to grips with my chains, and the bars, and my reality. How could I begin to understand what had been done with me? How could I begin to understand what I had become, what I now was? How could I begin to cope with this turn in my life?