“Behold, Gentlemen,” said Boots, pulling her head back a bit more and indicating her, displaying her, expansively with the palm of his left hand, “we have found our Brigella!”
“No!” cried the girl.
The fellows applauded Boots, admiringly, striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause.
“No!” she cried. “Never!”
“She is even prettier than the last,” said Lecchio.
“I think she will do very nicely,” said Chino.
“An excellent choice,” said Andronicus.
“I refuse!” she cried. “The very thought of it! The outrage! The indignity! How dare you even think of such a thing! I am of high caste! I am of the scribes! Wait until I bring this matter to the attention of magistrates!”
“As I may remind you, my dear,” said Boots, patiently, “you are no longer of high caste nor of the scribes. Similarly, as I am sure you will recognize, at least upon reflection, you now have no standing whatsoever before the law. You are now of no more interest to magistrates, in their official capacities, as opposed to their private capacities, than would be an urt or a sleen.”
She regarded him, frightened.
“Your days of making a nuisance of yourself are now over,” said Boots. “Indeed, I speculate that those very same magistrates whom you have so often inconvenienced would be quite pleased to learn that you are now, at last, no longer capable of pestering them with your inane, time-consuming nonsense. I doubt that they would wish to see you again, unless perhaps it would be to return you naked and bound to your master, with the blows of a whip on your body, or perhaps, say, to have you serve them in a tavern, helpless in the modality that would then be yours, that of the total female slave.”
“Please!” she begged.
“Hitherto you have sought to use men for your purposes,” said Boots. “That is now changed. It is now you who will be used for their purposes, fully. In the past you have made many demands on men. Henceforth it will be your hope rather that they will find you pleasing, in all respects.”
“I am a free woman!” she cried.
“You will soon learn differently,” said Boots.
“I am free!” she wept.
“That is not true,” said Boots, “as you will soon come to understand.”
“I am not a slave,” she wept. “I cannot be a slave!”
“Silence, Slave,” said Boots.
“Please!” she wept.
“It has been a busy day,” said Boots. “Chino, would you please untie the slave’s ankles?”
“Surely,” he said.
Boots then drew her to her feet and held her head, bent down, by the hair, at his waist, in leading position. Her hands were still tied behind her. “Lecchio, Chino, Andronicus, Petrucchio, if you would,” said Boots, “bring along these other things, whatever seems of value.”
“Very well,” they assented.
“It is growing late, and I am weary,” said Boots to Lady Telitsia. “It will be time enough in the morning to whip you.”
“Whip me?” she gasped.
“I will then be fresher and can lay the lash to you more roundly,” he said.
“The lash?” she queried.
“Yes,” he said.
“You are joking!” she said.
“You may ponder that tonight, while chained in the girl wagon,” he said.
“But why?” she asked.
“You have not been pleasing,” he said, “not that that matters that much. As you know, no excuse, explanation, defense or reason is required to justify the whipping of a female slave. She may be beaten for any reason, or for no reason, whenever the master wishes. She may be whipped even, if he wishes, on the outcome of the spinning of a wheel or the cast of a die.”
I crouched down beside my own prisoner, the free female, she whom I had shackled, she whose beauty seemed to strain protestingly against the long, thin gown put upon her by the brigands, as though calling for a man to tear it from her.
“You look upon me boldly,” she said.
“You are a captive,” I reminded her.
“But I am to be kept in honor!” she said.
“Of course,” I said, “or at least for a time.”
“I wear your gyves,” she reminded me.
I regarded her fair ankles, snug in their metal fastenings, linked by the short chain. She could not part them. I, of course, could do so.
She looked well, shackled.
But then does not any woman?
“Perhaps it is your intention to remove them?” she asked, apprehensively.
“Perhaps I shall occasionally remove them,” I said, “perhaps for the purposes of exercise.”
“Exercise?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “For example, I might wish to take you—”
“Take me?” she asked.
“Say, for a walk, or a run, on a leash,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“We must soon return to our camp,” said Boots, his fist in the bent-over Lady Telitsia’s hair.
“Surely you will remove my fetters at least to permit me to walk to your camp,” suggested my captive.
I saw that she wanted the fetters off. I wondered if this was because she desired to escape, or if she wished to be caressed.
“Otherwise,” she said, “I fear the journey will be both lengthy and painful. I do not even know if I can stand in them.”
“You can stand in them,” I said. “It is only that it would be difficult to move in them without falling.”
“I see,” she said.
“You could always crawl,” I said, “dragging yourself forward, say, on your hands or elbows.”
“Perhaps if your camp is close, I might, dragging myself through the underbrush, arrive there by morning.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“If I did not get lost, or fall to sleen,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I speculated.
“Doubtless you will now, for your convenience, remove them,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“They were not put on you to be removed so soon,” I said.
“How then shall I get to your camp?” she asked, apprehensively.
“I have another mode of transportation in mind for you,” I said, “a mode which I trust you will find instructive.”
“No!” she begged.
“Yes,” I said.
“Head forward,” she pleaded.
“No,” I said, “you shall be carried to the camp on my shoulder, your hands tied, your ankles helpless in their fetters.”
“My head forward,” she begged.
“No,” I said, “to the rear.”
“As a slave!” she cried, angrily.
“Yes,” I said.
“Even she there, she who is naked and bound, she who is a true slave, is permitted to walk!”
“I do not think you will long envy her,” I said.
The former Lady Telitsia, now a slave, whimpered, frightened.
Far now she was from the Fair of En’Kara. Gone now were her voluminous, absurd garments, replaced merely by some loops of slave thongs holding her hands behind her back. Gone, too, was her insolence, now replaced by a slave’s fear. I did not doubt but what several of the impatient, annoyed men who had been in the audience at the recent performance, that with which she had so obtrusively and frequently interfered, would have been highly pleased to have learned of her fate. Her days of being a nuisance were gone; her days of being a convenience and a pleasure to men had begun.
“You treat me as a slave,” said my captive. “Perhaps you will soon make me a slave!”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Your eyes rove me brazenly, I note,” she said, angrily, “as though I might be a slave.”
“Yes,” I admitted. To be sure, she was quite beautiful. I had no doubt but what she might, if collared and trained, and brought into touch with her feelings
, prove to be not only an adequate slave, but perhaps even a quite marvelous one.
“You said,” she said, “that you would get me something else to wear.”
“Have no fear,” I said. “I shall.”
“Let us be on our way,” said Boots.
I scooped up the woman and threw her over my shoulder, her head to the rear. She was not heavy. I looked out, into the shadows of the woods. I did not think she would be likely to forget this nocturnal journey, being carried helplessly through the darkness into captivity.
“Back at the fair,” said Boots to me, “as I recall, you expressed your eagerness to join our company.”
“Yes,” I said.
“As I recall, as well,” said he, “you were willing to work without pay.”
“True,” I grinned.
“That seems a suitable arrangement from my point of view,” said Boots.
“Boots,” warned Andronicus, sternly.
“But, of course, even though it might be difficult, we shall struggle to manage some small remuneration—somehow,” Boots assured me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“It is nothing,” said Boots, generously.
“And if you are not careful, it will be,” said Chino, cheerfully.
Boots then set off confidently through the woods.
“Your camp,” I said to him, “is more to the right.”
“Of course,” said Boots. “I know.”
“More,” I said.
“Who would not know that?” said Boots.
“More, more,” I said.
“How is this?” he asked.
“That is it,” I said.
“Correct,” said Boots. “Follow me.”
Boots led the way, Lady Telitsia stumbling along, bent over, held, beside him. He was followed by his fellows, carrying various articles taken from the brigands’ camp. I then brought up the rear, on my shoulder, her head to the rear, as a slave is carried, helpless, the Lady Yanina.
10
A Pleasant Morning in Camp;
The Lady Yanina Will Obey
“Are you comfortable, Lady Telitsia?” asked Boots.
“Yes,” she said. She knelt, her wrists tied together over her head, fastened by a short strap to a transversely mounted, sturdy wooden bar. It was about five feet from the ground. It was the morning after he had acquired her.
“Surely you are bluffing, and you have no intention of going through with this,” she said. She was naked, except for a collar. The legend on the collar said, “If you find me, return me to Boots Tarsk-Bit. Reward.” It was the same collar as was worn by Boots’s other girls. He had put it on her immediately after returning to the camp last night. He had then chained her in the girl wagon, in one of the open, steel-floored, steel-sided kennels, and retired. This morning, early, he had dragged her forth and bound her in her present position. He had then had a large breakfast. Doubtless she was quite hungry. Still she had not yet been fed. That was just as well, considering what was to be done to her.
Boots shook out the blades of a five-stranded Gorean slave whip.
“As I recall,” said Boots, “you said, at the fair, that you were not afraid of men.”
She was silent.
“How proudly you said that,” marveled Boots, swinging the freed lash blades loosely. “To be sure, at that time, you probably had never had any reason to be afraid of men. Now that you are a slave, however, you will find that you do have reason, and ample reason, and not only to fear men, but, indeed, any free person.”
“I am hungry,” she said. “Am I to be fed?”
“Perhaps when you learn to beg for it,” he said.
“Never,” she said.
“Did you enjoy your night in the girl wagon?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “The steel was cold. I did not even have a rag to put between myself and the steel.”
“To be sure, the nights are chilly,” said Boots.
“I would like to have a blanket in the future,” she said.
“There might be a shred of a blanket somewhere about,” said Boots. “Perhaps you could beg for it.”
“Never,” she said.
“I gave you some time last night, while you were chained in the girl wagon,” said Boots, “to consider your up-coming beating this morning. Did you give it much thought?”
“No,” she said.
“Why not?” asked Boots.
“You would not dare to beat me,” she said.
“Why not?” asked Boots, eager to be informed.
“Because of the kind of person I am,” she said. “I am above being beaten. That is for low females.”
“Such as slaves?” asked Boots.
“Yes,” she said.
“I see,” said Boots.
“As it turns out,” she said, “I am right.”
“How is that?” asked Boots.
“If you were going to beat me,” she said, “you would have already done so by now.”
“I have been giving my breakfast some time to digest,” said Boots. “I would not wish to upset my stomach.”
“Of course not,” she said, ironically.
“But now,” said Boots, “I think I will be all right.”
“What?” she asked, half turning about.
“You have been a nuisance, Lady Telitsia,” he said. “I think I will very much enjoy whipping you.”
“You’re serious!” she suddenly said, alarmed.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“Wait!” she said, twisting in the ropes. “I am prepared to admit that in some legal sense I am a slave, and that I am theoretically subject to such things!”
“Very much more so than theoretically, my dear,” said Boots.
“But I am too refined, too sensitive to be whipped!”
“Nonsense,” said Boots.
“It is inappropriate to whip me,” she said. “I am a lady of quality.”
“You are only another slave,” said Boots.
“Wait!” she cried.
“What now?” asked Boots, impatiently.
“I am bound,” she wept, twisting in the ropes. “I am naked. I am tied in such a way that I cannot protect myself. I am exposed helplessly, utterly, to your mercy.”
“Of course,” said Boots.
“But it will hurt,” she said.
“Have you ever felt the whip?” asked Boots.
“No!” she said.
“Then how do you know it will hurt?” he asked.
“I have seen girls beaten,” she said.
“Perhaps it does not hurt much,” said Boots. He himself, of course, earlier, at her instigation, when she was a free woman, had been flogged at the fair. This turnabout then must have been extra delicious for him, in addition to the simple, straightforward pleasure of giving her a good beating. To be sure, Boots had been beaten with a heavy whip, of the sort used on men, whereas she would find herself under only the familiar, common five-stranded Gorean slave lash. Still it is not without reason that that implement is much favored on Gor for the disciplining of females. Without permanently marking the girl it punishes with excruciating, terrible efficiency. The mere sight of such a whip generally inspires terror in any female who has ever felt it.
“Do not whip me!” she cried. “It is not necessary! I admit that I am a slave! I am a slave! I will even obey!”
“Prepare to be beaten,” said Boots.
“Mercy!” she cried.
“To quote someone I once heard at the fair,” said Boots, “‘I do not choose to show you mercy.’”
The bound female groaned, hearing her own words.
“Prepare,” said Boots.
“No! No!” she cried, springing to her feet, her bare feet raising dust, her bound wrists, of course, still tethered to the bar.
“Back on your knees, Lady Telitsia,” said Boots, sternly, “or you will add blows to your beating.”
Lady Telitsia, in misery, moaning, trembling, sank back to her knees, her wr
ists again now over her head.
“Would you like me to cross and bind your ankles?” Boots asked, kindly.
“No,” she moaned.
I think she could see the shadow of Boots before her. Her back was illuminated by the morning sun.
“I do not want to be whipped!” she cried.
“It will be good for you to be whipped,” said Boots. “It will be good for you to know what it is like. It will help you to understand that you are now truly a slave. Too, it will help to make you a more diligent slave, one more anxious to please.”
“Mercy!” she wept.
“‘Slaves,’” said Boots, “‘are to be shown no mercy’. I heard someone say that, also, recently, at the Fair of En’Kara. Perhaps you recall it?”
She sobbed, helpless in the ropes, awaiting her beating.
“Slaves are to be shown no mercy,” she had said a few days ago at the fair. I recalled it. How uncompromisingly, how coldly, she had said it. Now she herself was a slave.
“Do you recall saying that?” asked Boots.
“Yes,” she sobbed.
“Is it true?” asked Boots.
“Yes,” she wept.
He then struck her, once, with the lash. She cried out, startled, in pain, in disbelief.
“Yes, what?” he asked.
“Yes—Master!” she cried.
He then struck her again. “No, no!” she cried out. “Please do not strike me again, Master!”
“It will be done with you as your Master pleases,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” she sobbed.
He then, with a few blows, concluded her beating. It was neither a long nor a severe beating. Still he had placed the blows diversely and had varied their timing. It was in its way a kindly beating, as Boots was a kindly fellow, but it was also, I think, an efficient beating.
When Boots had finished he untied the strap that had fastened her bound wrists to the wooden bar. She fell to her belly in the dust and reached out, her wrists still bound, to touch his ankles. She put down her head and, lying in the dust before him, pressed her lips, those of a slave, again and again, piteously, to his feet. Boots then turned away and went about his business. She then lay on her belly in the dust, collapsed, near the wooden bar to which she had been tied for her beating. I went to her and turned her over with my foot. She looked up at me. She was in misery and in pain.
“You are branded,” I said.
Players of Gor Page 27