“Yes,” she said.
I reached to the bit of cloth which I had earlier removed from her and draped over one of the posts of the pleasure rack, where she could look upon it, and be reminded that she no longer wore it, that it, though hers, had been taken from her, that I had not chosen to permit it to her. I shook it out, and smoothed it out. It was about a foot in width and five feet in length, and could be secured with its string. It had been authentic to the extent that it had had no nether closure. Another way of wearing such a garment is to use the string as a belt and put the garment over the string in front, and take it down between the legs, and then pull it up, snugly, under and over the string in the back. This provides a nether closure but exposes the flanks of the female on both sides from the delights of her shoulder to the slenderness of her ankles. She had had the common sense not to wear it in that fashion for such vistas of delight to a male are almost overwhelmingly provocative. In such an arrangement the apparent security of a nether closure is a sham, of course, for the string is fastened with a slip knot at the left hip, convenient for a right-handed man, who may then strip the woman, commonly a slave, utterly, with as little as a casual, insolent tug. “You had better wear this,” I said, handing it to her. “If men see you without it, they may be stimulated, and you may be raped several times on the tiles before you manage to leave the piazza. Many men are drunk here tonight and they may be careless. They may not think to check your body for brands. You might be taken, and more than once, before they determined their error.”
Smiling, she tied the cloth about her hips.
“Farewell,” said I, “Free Woman.”
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
“It is not likely,” I speculated.
“Do you wish to know my name?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “nor is it needful for you to know mine.”
“I see,” she said.
“It was only a touching at carnival,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
She turned away, but, in a moment, turned back, tears in her eyes.
“I belong in a collar!” she said.
“I know,” I said.
“What am I to do?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
She moaned.
“What will you decide?” I asked. To be sure, the choice between freedom and love is not an easy one for a woman.
“I do not know! I do not know!” she cried.
“Happy carnival,” I said.
“Happy carnival,” she said. Then she turned about and, sobbing, fled away. I watched her go. Her body was hormonally rich. That was evident in the configuration of her beauty and in her dispositions and reflexes, exhibited on the rack. Too, she was profoundly feminine. She had now disappeared among the revelers. Her body, I thought, would make the decision for her.
“I see that you have won the favor of a free woman,” said a man.
“What?” I asked. I thought he referred to the free woman, she who had just disappeared among the revelers.
“That,” he said, indicating the silken favor in the eyelet of my robes.
“Oh!” I said. “Yes, it would seem so.” I looked at the favor. I had forgotten it.
“Paga?” said he, extending his bota.
“Surely,” I said. We exchanged swigs of paga.
“It must be nice to have won the favor of a free woman,” he said.
“I and a few hundred other fellows,” I said.
“That particular favor,” he said.
“Alas,” I said, “even there I fear I am but one out of ten.”
“One out of fifteen,” he said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
I shrugged. The game of favors can be played with any number of favors and contestants, but the usual number of favors distributed is ten.
“Happy carnival,” he said.
“Happy carnival,” I said.
I turned to proceed to the check point where I would turn in my numbered receipt and reclaim my weapons. The crowds had thinned now, but the piazza was still, for the most part, crowded.
I stumbled, and then straightened myself. Surely I had not had that much paga.
I took another step or two, and then I slipped to one knee. The piazza seemed to move beneath me. I caught my balance. I was conscious of masks and costumes swirling about.
“What is wrong?” asked a voice.
“He has had too much paga,” said another voice.
I wanted to rise to my feet, but I slipped to the tiles.
“It is all right,” said a voice.
Things began to grow dark. I fought to retain consciousness. It was difficult to move. I could not speak.
“Put a mask on him,” whispered a voice.
I felt a carnival mask fastened on me.
“No,” I seemed to say, but no sound escaped my lips.
I felt myself lifted to my feet, each of my arms held about the shoulders of a man.
“What is wrong with him?” asked a voice.
“Too much paga,” responded a voice.
“Is he all right?” asked a voice.
“Yes,” said a voice.
“No!” I wanted to cry, but could not.
“Do you require help?” asked a man.
“No,” said a voice, that of one of the two men supporting me.
“Are you sure?” asked the man.
“Yes, citizen,” said the other fellow supporting me. “We will manage quite well. Thank you.”
I then sensed we were alone.
“Put him in the boat, with the others,” said a voice. It was a woman’s voice.
I then lost consciousness.
3
Lady Yanina
“That one,” she had said. “Have him brought to my tent.”
“Go in,” said the guard.
I lowered my head and entered the tent. I moved my hands upon my wrists. They were ringed and sore where the manacles, too closely fitting, had clasped them. I straightened my body.
The tent was one of rich cloths, supported by five poles. It was rich with hangings and, about its interior circumference, furnished with suitable appointments, including vessels, cushions, a low inlaid table, cases and trunks. These, with the various materials for the tent, and its poles, had been disembarked from a large, high-wheeled wagon. I, with several others, in harness, some others chained by the neck behind, had drawn this wagon for the past two days.
I, and others, had been awakened to the blows of spear butts three days ago.
“On your knees,” we had been told, “heads to the dirt! You are in the presence of your Mistress!”
We had struggled to our knees. Our hands were manacled behind our backs. There seemed the stench of fish on us. We were connected by the neck, by collars and chains.
I had been aware of someone stopping before me.
“Lift your head,” had said a woman’s voice.
I looked up. She was veiled, and clad, too, in robes of concealment, sumptuous robes which seemed incongruous in the open terrain, the grassy field, in which I found myself. I looked about, seeing what guards I could. I saw five. I felt her tharlarion quirt at the side of my face, indicating I should keep my head forward. Then it pressed up, under my chin. I lifted my head higher, obedient to the quirt, looking up at her. “That is better,” she said. She looked at me. “It seems I have won the game of favors,” she said.
“At least for now,” I said.
“In the distribution of my favors in the piazza in Port Kar,” she said, “I had two major criteria in mind. Would you like to know what they were?”
“Of course,” I said.
“First,” she said, “the males must be large and strong. They must be suitable for inclusion in a work chain. They must be capable, with their bestial strength, of sustaining indefinitely so onerous a servitude.”
“And what is your second criterion,” I asked, “that which they must also meet, what is t
hat?”
“I must find them, personally, of some sexual interest,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“We are going to get on splendidly, aren’t we?” she asked.
“On whose terms?” I asked.
“On mine,” she said.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Do you know how to obey?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then I am sure we will get on splendidly—on my terms,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
She withdrew the quirt from beneath my chin. “Put your head down,” she said, “—to the dirt.”
I did so. And, in a moment, she had continued on down the line, pausing here and there to order another fellow to lift his head, to be commanded and interrogated, and then to resume a posture of abject obeisance.
* * * *
“Approach,” she said.
Within the tent there was an inner sanctum, or private area, formed of diaphanous, white hangings. It was rather like a small tent, or walled room, within the larger tent. It was within this area that I could see her, vaguely. There was a tiny lamp on a stand, near her, to one side. She was sitting on a curule chair.
“Approach,” she invited me.
I brushed back the hangings and let them fall closed behind me. I then stood before her, a few feet away, within the sanctum. On the floor there were cushions and silk. I stood straight, my arms folded, surveying her.
I could detect perfume.
“You have my permission to kneel,” she said.
I regarded her.
“There are guards, just outside,” she said.
I knelt. I put my hands on my thighs.
“You have broad shoulders,” she said, “a narrow waist. You have strong thighs. Your hands are large and strong.”
I said nothing.
“You are a large, strong, handsome-looking fellow,” she said, “very animal-like. If you were not in my total power, I might be uneasy.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I said, “as you are veiled, and fully clothed.”
“At least you no longer smell of fish,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“That is how you and your fellows were smuggled out of Port Kar,” she said. “We took you, one by one, drugged, to the boat. There we stripped and chained you. You were each packed in a barrel with salted parsit fish, and over your heads these barrels had a false bottom, which was covered with more parsit fish. Tiny holes in the upper sides of the barrels would permit you to breathe. The barrels were then sealed.”
“The captures were smoothly and cleverly effectuated,” I observed.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Are you a female slaver?” I asked.
“No,” she laughed, “though I think I might have been successful in such a profession.”
Most female slavers, incidentally, are not involved in field captures. It is, on the whole, too dangerous for them. Too, there is always the danger that they might be added to the catch by their men. Most female slavers, accordingly, are established in cities, where they own or manage houses. There they buy and sell slaves, board or rent them, train them, and so on. Statistically, there are very few female slavers. Most Gorean women tend to be attractive, and most Gorean men tend to be strong, for example. Accordingly, in a business such as slaving it is not unusual that the female slaver sooner or later, in one way or another finds the collar on her own throat. That, then, she then helplessly under the whip like any other female, is that.
“I am rather,” she said, “only the humble mistress of a small work chain.”
“Surely it is unusual for an individual in your line of work to procure laborers as you did,” I said.
“It is cheaper than buying them,” she said.
“That is doubtless true,” I admitted. I did not believe this woman was actually the mistress of a work chain. There were many reasons for this. First, there are very few women involved in such things. Secondly, she did not seem skilled in the handling of men. For example, in our present situation, I could reach her and kill her or capture her and make use of her to effect a probable escape. Thirdly, she did not seem to have the hardness of a woman likely to be efficient in such a post. Fourthly, the tent did not suggest the tastes or appointments of such a woman. Fifthly, her garmentry revealed clearly a vanity and taste for sumptuous luxury, a penchant for self-indulgence and ostentatious elegance, also unlikely to be characteristic in such a woman. The number of guards on hand, too, which was five, was really too small to manage a normal work gang, not because of the ratios involved, but because of the necessity of maintaining night watches. Similarly, she really had no work gang but the fifteen men she had picked up in Port Kar. A work gang usually consists of fifty to one hundred men, and some contain as many as five hundred or a thousand men. If she were really the mistress of a work gang we presumably would not have constituted the work gang but would merely have been added to it. Even more obviously we did not have the equipment of a work gang with us, the implements and tools pertinent to the work of such gangs, such as levers, picks, hammers and shovels.
“What was used to drug us?” I asked.
“Tassa powder,” she said. “I put enough of it in the botas of my men to stun a kailiauk.”
“How long were we unconscious?” I asked.
“With tube feedings, of broth mixed with tassa, five days,” she said.
“Where are we?” I asked. I knew. I wished to see what she would say.
“I think it more amusing to keep you in ignorance,” she said.
“As you wish,” I said. From the location of our camp, indeed, from our chain line, between two stakes, we could see the Sardar Mountains in the distance. They were unmistakable. I assumed this woman must be an agent of Priest-Kings. Yet she did not seem to recognize me. Too, I was only one of fifteen men captured. If she was an agent of Priest-Kings, it did not seem, ironically enough, that she realized who it was, so to speak, who was on her chain.
That we were so near the Sardar, incidentally, after a presumed five days of unconsciousness, followed by two days of travel on foot, drawing her wagon, further suggested that she was not likely, really, to be the mistress of a work chain. We could not have come this far from Port Kar in so short a time, presumably, if we had not been brought most of the way by tarn, probably in tarn baskets. Common laborers are seldom transported in this fashion. But then, two days ago, we had been awakened, and had then proceeded on foot. This was presumably to make it appear, at least in the vicinity of the Sardar, that we were truly a work chain. The woman, I assumed, must be working for Priest-Kings. On the other hand, it did not seem that she knew who I was. Perhaps, then, she was not an agent of Priest-Kings. Perhaps she was a slaver, of sorts, after all, and intended to sell us, her catch, at the Fair of En’Kara. But then, if that were so, I wondered why she was having recourse to this elaborate pretense of being merely the mistress of a common work chain. I decided not to seize her, at least not yet.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“I have been called various things,” I said, “at different times, in different places.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, “I know you fellows of Port Kar. You are all rogues, all pirates, thieves and slavers. I think I shall call you—Brinlar.”
“And how shall I address you?” I asked.
“As ‘Mistress,’” she said.
“How is it that you made your strike in Port Kar?” I asked.
“I was in Port Kar on business,” she said, “and, with the carnival, matters were convenient.”
“I had thought you might be of Tyros or Cos,” I said. Those two island ubarates were at war with Port Kar.
“No,” she said.
I was now more sure than ever that she was of the party of Priest-Kings.
“To be sure,” she said, “my sympathies lie with Cos and Tyros, Thassa’s foremost citadels of enlightenment and civilization. A ce
rtain amusing fittingness was thus manifested in my choice of a location for my predations, a choice fully vindicated, incidentally, by the catch of lovely males I acquired there.” She looked at me. “Would you like a rag for your loins?” she asked.
“Whatever you wish,” I said.
She laughed.
“Am I, and my fellows, to be enslaved?” I asked.
“That would certainly seem to be in order, would it not?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Somewhere, sometime, I would suppose,” she said, “at my convenience, at a site of my choosing.”
“Of course,” I said.
She smiled.
“What, then, afterwards, is to be our fate?” I asked.
“Perhaps I will sell you then, somewhere,” she said, “perhaps even at the Fair of En’Kara.”
“I see,” I said. This confirmed my conjecture that we were not truly intended to be kept as members of a work chain. She presumably had a rendezvous to keep at the fair. Her rendezvous kept, and her cover still intact, but then no longer needed, she could dispose of us in the En’Kara markets.
“You and your fellows remain legally free, of course,” she said, “though totally in my power, as complete captives, until a sign of bondage is burned into your pretty hides, or you are appropriately collared, or otherwise legally enslaved.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Do you recall the two major criteria I used in selecting my captures in the piazza?” she asked.
“You wanted strong, large fellows, as I recall,” I said, “suitable for inclusion in a work chain.”
“Yes,” she said. “Do you recall the other criterion?”
I was silent.
“It was,” she said, “that I must, personally, find them of some sexual interest.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Spread your knees,” she said.
I did so.
“Excellent, Brinlar,” she said, “indeed, excellent.”
I did not speak.
“How does it feel to be a free man, but one who is in the total power of a woman?” she asked.
I shrugged. I did not really regard myself as being totally in her power.
“Am I beautiful?” she asked.
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