“No,” I said. “I said ‘Yes,’ that you were a free woman.”
“I do not understand what I am doing here,” she said, “naked and tied beside you.”
“Really?” I asked.
“It can not be that!” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I am free!” she said.
“But your bills are not paid,” I said.
She made an angry noise.
“It seems that this time you did not manage to inveigle some fellow into paying them for you.”
“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Not that,” she said.
“Precisely,” I said.
“I am not an inn girl,” she said. “I am a free woman! I am not subject to guest use!”
“Were you told you were not subject to guest use?” I asked.
“No,” she said, hesitantly.
“So?” I said.
“But I assumed, of course, as I was free—”
“Are you a virgin?” I asked.
“That is surely a personal matter,” she said. “Surely that is my own business.”
“It would take only a moment for me to make the determination,” I said.
“No,” she said, pulling back. “I am not a virgin.”
“It would seem then,” I said, “that at least once or twice you must have had to pay off fellows for their assistance.”
“They were not gentlemen,” she said.
“I think you will discover,” I said, “that from now on you no longer possess a bargaining power in such matters.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“In the future,” I said, “I think you will find that you will no longer have control over the gratifications which might be attendant upon your uses, nor over the numbers, times or natures of them.”
“I do not understand,” she said, frightened.
“I am pleased you are not a virgin,” I said. “Thus our relationship can be much simpler.”
“Am I truly available to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I paid for you, for the Ahn.”
“‘Paid’?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It must have been terribly expensive,” she said.
“The price for an inn girl here,” I said, “is three copper tarsks for the quarter of an Ahn.”
“That is extremely expensive, is it not?” she asked.
“Terribly so,” I agreed. I was not too pleased with the keeper. Surely he was a heinously gouging scoundrel. Other than that, however, he seemed a rather good fellow. Space 97, for example, did have one edge, the top edge, on the wall.
“If a common inn girl costs so much,” she breathed, “how could you even begin to afford someone like me? You must have been devastatingly smitten with my beauty!”
“You are actually a bit fat,” I said, “but I think that could be worked off you, with a sparing, judicious diet, complex exercises, suitable disciplines, and such.”
“Perhaps I should try to be pleasing to you,” she said, impressed.
“Why?” I asked. She was, after all, a free woman.
“You must have paid at least a golden tarn disk,” she said, “to have rights over me, for a whole Ahn.”
“No,” I said.
“Nine silver tarsks?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Five?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I paid only a tarsk bit.”
“What!” she said.
“Shhh,” I cautioned her. “Do not awaken the guests.”
“That is absurd!” she said. “I am a free woman.”
“It is doubtless a great deal more than you are worth,” I said.
“I will see to it,” she said, “that I do not give you any pleasure.”
“I think,” I said, “you will find it difficult to do anything about that.” I pulled her to me.
“Beast!” she said.
“Your squirming,” I said, “is delightful.”
She cried out in frustration, and then held herself as still as possible.
I smiled to myself. How fortunate for this woman that she was a free female, and not a slave.
“This is some sort of identifying tag on you, I gather,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, angrily, trying to hold herself still, her hands behind her, tied.
I felt the tag, attached on the chain, near the padlock. “It seems to have the shape of a malformed tarn,” I said, “a crooked neck, an enlarged right leg and talons.”
“It does,” she said, angrily.
“It resembles the sign within the palisade then,” I said, “that which is visible for a pasang or so, down the road, the sign of the ‘Crooked Tarn.’”
“Of course,” she said.
I jerked the tag, playfully. “And where is this little tag?” I asked.
“It is on me,” she said, seething, trying to hold herself still.
“Does it have writing on it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
Surely it would.
“They must have shown it to you before they put it on you.”
“Yes,” she said.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“‘Debtor,’” she said. “Oh!” she said.
“What else?” I asked.
“Please stop it!” she said.
“What else?” I asked.
“My wrists have been thonged!” she said. “My hands have been tied behind my back! I cannot free them! Do you not know what that means? Do you not understand? I am helpless!”
“You should have paid your bills,” I said. “I thought you were not supposed to move.”
“Oh!” she said, angrily. Then, again, she said, “Oh!” but softly, startled.
I desisted in my attentions.
She controlled herself, and did not press against me.
“The word ‘debtor’ is in large letters,” she said. “Beneath it, in smaller letters, it says ‘Inquire at the Crooked Tarn pertinent to Redemption Fees.’”
“Would you like your hands untied?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“Turn about,” I said.
Swiftly she did so.
“Ah,” I said.
“Are you not going to untie my hands?” she said, anxiously.
“No!” I said.
“Beast! Beast!” she said.
I held her where she was.
“I am a free woman!” she said.
I desisted, again, in my attentions, but I kept her where she was.
“I have never been near a man before,” she said, “like this.”
“How does it make you feel?” I asked.
“It makes me feel vulnerable,” she said.
“You are vulnerable,” I said.
The palms of her hands, as she was, faced me. The palms of a woman’s hands are extremely sensitive. I traced a little pattern in the palm of her right hand.
“I am not a Kajira!” she said.
The pattern I had traced in her palm was that of a small, cursive ‘Kef’, the first letter in the expression ‘Kajira’. The cursive ‘Kef’, in one variation or another, is commonly used as a slave brand for females.
“I suppose you had better get done with it,” she said.
“With what?” I asked.
“With my humiliation,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
She pushed back a bit, but, because I held her, she could not reach me.
“You may use me,” she said. “I give you my permission.”
“Your permission is not required,” I said.
“I suppose not,” she said.
“You are not in shackles,” I said.
“They were removed,” she said.
“Why do you suppose that was?” I asked.
“To make me more convenient to guests, it would seem,” she said
.
“Yes,” I said.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am untying your hands,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“You sound disappointed,” I said.
“Certainly not!” she said.
I did wrap the thong about her left wrist, tucking in the ends. In this way it would remain upon her body, and be immediately available, if I wished to make use of it later. The symbolism of this, and the convenience of it, would not elude the Lady Temione. She was Gorean.
“May I turn about?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Do you think the keeper’s man anticipated that the thong might be removed?” she asked.
“He would certainly suppose it might be,” I said. “He would recognize, of course, that it might be removed from your body, or, indeed, be used to tie you in any one of a hundred other ways.”
She shuddered.
“But now that I am not shackled, or bound,” she said, “might I not escape?”
“You are within the palisade,” I said.
“That is true,” she said, thoughtfully.
“Too, even if you were outside the palisade, I do not think you would get too far, naked, with a chain on your neck, the identifying tag, and so on.”
“May I turn about?” she asked.
“Very well,” I said.
“Am I attractive?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“For a free woman?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I wish,” she whispered, “that I was attractive, even for a slave.”
“I would not trouble myself, if I were you,” I said, “about my lack of slave attractiveness.”
“The warrior in the paga room,” she said, “did not want me. He rejected me!”
“You are only a free woman,” I reminded her.
“You received kisses from the women outside, those chained to the rings,” she said, “Amina, Rimice, and the others, if I may believe you.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And I told you,” she said, “that you would get no kiss from me.”
“Yes,” I said, “I recall that.”
“I relent,” she said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “You may kiss me.”
I did not kiss her.
“May I kiss you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Softly her lips met mine. It was a brief, delicate kiss, frightened. Then she drew back.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“I am afraid of my feelings,” she said.
“They are a part of you,” I said. “Do not be afraid of them.”
“But you do not know the sorts of feelings they are!” she said.
“Perhaps not,” I said.
“How could such feelings come to a free woman?” she asked.
“Perhaps you are not as free as you think you are,” I said.
“I am a free woman!” she said, suddenly, angrily.
“Very well,” I said.
“But how, then,” she asked, “could I have such feelings, and, too, with them, such thoughts?”
“What thoughts?” I asked.
“I dare not even speak them, they are so terrible,” she whispered.
“Very well,” I said.
“Let us get on with it,” she said, suddenly, angrily.
“With what?” I asked.
“Your use of me,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I owe a silver tarsk, five,” she said, miserably. “If you have paid only a tarsk bit for my use, it will take me, at that rate, months to earn my redemption from the keeper.”
I was silent.
“So take me in your cruel arms like iron,” she said. “Force me to pant and sweat, and kiss. Hurry!”
“There is something I think you must understand, first,” I said.
“What is that?” she asked.
“You owe a silver tarsk, five,” I said, “and I have paid a tarsk bit for your use, for an Ahn, but that does not mean that you are then reducing your debt by a tarsk bit.”
“What?” she said.
“The usual arrangement in such matters,” I said, “which doubtless obtains, unless you have been informed differently, is that the money you are earning, you are earning not for yourself, but for the keeper. It does not in any way diminish your debt.”
“No!” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “In this way the keeper gets some good out of you. Too, in this way he is less likely to lose money on, say, your feed.”
“Then,” she said, “he could keep me here as long as he wants! I could be kept here at his mercy, in this terrible place, as long as it is his will!”
“You might, of course, be redeemed,” I pointed out.
“Yes!” she said, eagerly. “I must find a splendid gentleman, and piteously beg that!”
I did not, personally, think she would now be as successful in that sort of thing as she might have been earlier, when fully clothed. It is one thing for a free woman, tearfully, while in the dignity of robes and veil, to attempt to impose on a fellow’s gullibility or good nature, and quite another for her to do so when she is unclothed. When a woman is naked it is sometimes hard for a man not to see her as a female. Clearly, too, the Lady Temione’s body suggested the exquisite latency of slave curves.
“Perhaps you will find some fellow willing to do so,” I said, “who will then expect that you will fling yourself into his arms, agreeing to be his companion.”
“Yes,” she said, thoughtfully.
“I gather that that sort of thing has worked for you before,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“And his reward then,” I speculated, “would be a grateful peck through your veil?”
“I am a free woman,” she said. “I trust not.”
“Perhaps, then, a grateful glance, a squeezing of a hand, a heartfelt utterance of thanks?”
“The important thing,” she said, “is to make certain that your bills have been paid, and that you are in the clear. After that, you may simply leave. I often merely turn my back upon them, for they are fools. They stand there then, knowing that they have been tricked.”
“I would suppose that that sort of thing might not work with all men,” I said, “perhaps not with even all gentlemen.”
“True,” she said, “it is wise to reward some with at least the squeezing of the hand, an expression of gratitude, or such, before hurrying away.”
“You must leave a few frustrated fellows in your wake,” I speculated.
“I enjoy frustrating men,” she said, angrily. I gathered from her vehemence that she was disappointed in men, that she had decided to despise them, that she wished to hold them in contempt. I gathered, too, however, that she was fascinated with them, and that something in her feared them, or what they might be.
“Perhaps some of these fellows followed you afterwards,” I said.
“Fortunately I managed to elude them,” she said.
“I wonder what they had on their mind,” I said.
“I have no idea,” she said.
On Earth, as I understand it, there are certain romantic notions about, for example, that heroes may expect to “win” damsels in distress, so to speak, by the performance of certain heroic behaviors, behaviors which, for example, might bode little good to dragons, evil wizards, wicked knights, and such. These damsels in distress, once rescued, are then expected to elatedly bestow their fervent affections on the blushing, bashful heroes, and so on. Needless to say, in real life, to the disappointment, and sometimes chagrin, of the blushing, bashful heroes, this denouement often fails to materialize. Although such notions are not unknown on Gor, the average Gorean tends to be somewhat more practical and businesslike than the average hero of such stories, if we may believe the stories. For example, the damsel of Earth, if she found herself rescued on Gor, might no
t have to spend a great deal of time gravely considering whether or not to bestow herself on the rescuer. She might rather find her wrists, to her surprise, being chained behind her, her clothing being removed and a rope being put on her neck. She might then find herself hurrying along on foot, beside his mount, roped by the neck to his stirrup. If he finds her pleasing, he might keep her, at least for a time. If he does not, she will be soon sold.
I think this sort of thing is easy enough to understand. The hero, so to speak, may have gone to a good deal of trouble to rescue the damsel, so to speak, and may even have placed his life in jeopardy. Naturally he may feel he is then entitled to some recompense for his efforts, and his possible peril, and such. And what better recompense, particularly if she is desirable, and might bring a good price in a market, than to make her his own, to own her then, as a pig or dog might be owned.
“I must find a gentleman to redeem me,” she said, “a true gentleman, one who will take pity on me and nobly buy me out of my difficulties.”
“Another fool?” I asked.
“Yes!” she laughed.
I was silent.
“But do you think I will find one?” she asked, anxiously. “Never before have I been stripped and put in a chain collar.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I must!” she said, firmly.
There are many mythologies having to do with human beings. Many function like ideological garments, designed to conceal or misrepresent reality. The misrepresentations and concealments, of course, are then called “truth.” Truth, crushed to earth, is supposed to rise again, but if it didn’t, we wouldn’t know it. Indeed, if it did have the temerity to show up, it could probably count on being suppressed again as rapidly as possible, in the name, of course, of “truth.” The name of truth all prize; the face of truth most fear. Yet I think the nature of truth is not that terrible. It is just that it is different, and more beautiful than the lies. The demythologization of a man has yet to take place. His reality exceeds the myths; it is a reality which is darker and more dangerous than the myths; but it is also more glorious and more real.
“But what am I to do until I can find such a fool?” she asked.
“Is it true,” I asked, “that sometimes, when a fellow bought you out of your difficulties, you merely turned your back upon him?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Turn your back upon me, now,” I said.
“Please!” she said.
“Do so, now,” I said.
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