“Your movements are not displeasing,” he said.
“I am grateful that they have not offended you,” she said.
“If they had,” he said, “you would have been whipped.”
She was silent.
Gorean masters do not play games with their slaves. The whip is always at hand.
New girls sometimes attempt to be slow, or half-hearted, or insolent. They are promptly and severely punished.
As Gorean slave girls are selected for their intelligence, as well as their beauty of face and form, and their latencies of uncontrollable passion, they learn quickly.
Alacrity in response, and perfection in service, is required of the Gorean slave girl.
She is to please the master—in all ways.
“They suggest that you are a natural slave,” he said.
“Yes, yes!” she said.
“But one untrained.”
“Train me!” she begged.
“Are you despicable?” he asked.
“Yes, yes!” she assured him.
“What do you deserve?” he asked.
“That is not for me to decide,” she said.
“Are you worthy of being free?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “No!”
“Of what then, if anything, might you be worthy, female?” he inquired.
“If anything,” she said, “only to be a slave. Only to be a slave!”
“In all right and justice what should you be?” he asked.
“A slave,” she said, “a slave!”
“Do you beg bondage?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Absolute bondage?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Speak,” he said.
“Unworthy though I am,” she said, “I now beg before you the inestimable honor and privilege, yours to bestow, of the collar, of the brand, of being reduced to categorical bondage, of being made an absolute slave.”
“To Cosians?” he asked.
“To any man,” she said.
It irritated me that she had spoken as she had to them for it was as if she were not already a slave, and, indeed, already a total, unconditional, categorical and absolute slave. She had not even addressed the men as “Master.” Clearly she suspected, or hoped, and nothing had as yet occurred to gainsay this suspicion or hope, that they did not know she was already a slave, that she had only yesterday spoken self-irreversible words of self-enslavement on the upper battlements. She did not know, of course, that I was also on board.
“Unhood her,” said Calliodorus.
I stepped back, so that the slave could not see me.
Then the slave was blinking and crying, and rubbing her eyes with the back of her fists.
Then, having managed to adjust somewhat to the light, and managing to achieve some grasp of her surroundings, and seeing in the midst of what men she knelt, she looked about herself wildly, in consternation.
“Is this the behavior typical of the women of Ar’s Station?” smiled Calliodorus, glancing at Aemilianus.
“Say more simply it is the behavior typical of women,” smiled Aemilianus.
“They all belong in collars,” said a man.
“Yes,” said another.
“Buy and sell them like the meat they are,” said another.
“Block goods,” said another.
“Still there is much to be said for the curvaceous beasts,” said another.
“Once they are owned,” added another.
“Of course,” said the first.
“Women are worthless until collared,” said another.
“Yes,” said another.
“Then they have some value,” said another.
“True,” said another.
“Commander,” begged the girl.
“You are aboard the Tais, a warship of Port Cos,” said Aemilianus. “You have had the honor of conversing with her captain, my former comrade in arms, and friend, Calliodorus.”
“Port Cos!” she said.
“Yes,” he said.
“That accounts for the accents,” she said.
“Precisely,” he said.
“It is true,” said a man, “her face is not unattractive.”
She blushed.
“I understand nothing of what is going on,” she said to Aemilianus.
“Ten ships of Port Cos, and fifteen others,” said Aemilianus, “entered the harbor of Ar’s Station yesterday afternoon, shortly before what would presumably have been the last attack of Cos on the piers. These twenty-five ships neutralized what forces of Cos could be brought to bear at that point and succeeded in evacuating the piers.”
“Then we are among friends,” she said.
“Most of us,” said Aemilianus.
“Why am I in chains?” she asked.
“Slave chains,” said Aemilianus.
“Why am I in slave chains?” she asked.
“Do you not know?” he asked.
She was silent, wondering feverishly, doubtless, how much he knew.
“My commander can see,” she then said, lightly, “that the only collar I wear is a portion of my chaining, and that I am not branded.”
I stood rather behind her, my arms folded. My face must have appeared somewhat severe. Certainly I was angry. Though she had not explicitly claimed to be free, it seemed clear that she was hoping to be taken as such.
“Perhaps,” she said, “my chains may now be removed, and I may be given suitable raiment, that of a free woman, that I may take a place amongst my free sisters.” She had certainly worded that carefully, I thought. She had not said “my place,” which might suggest she had a right to it, but “a place,” which was compatible with it merely being a place she took, with or without title, so to speak.
“You are on trial,” he said.
She looked at him, startled, aghast.
“Or,” said he, “if you are a slave, you are being given a small hearing.” Slaves, of course, being animals, are not entitled to trials, though, of course, they may figure in trials, for example, as disputed properties, or as witnesses, and such. The testimony of slaves, incidentally, is commonly taken under torture. Few of them, accordingly, are eager to frequent law courts. The slave, being an animal, of course, has no legal rights or claims with respect to such things as hearings or inquiries either. Such things, in which a slave might figure, are usually quite informal. Too, they are called by a master, or masters, and are presided over by a master, or masters.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Perhaps you do,” he said.
“On what charges?” she asked.
“The charges, if you are a free woman,” he said, “are several, such as the intent to deceive with respect to caste, the jeopardizing of fellow citizenesses by discarding traditional concealments and modesties, to your own advantage in the event of the taking of the city, for example, going barefoot and baring your calves, and such, and a lack of patriotism, as evidenced by having refused to cut your hair, to supply needed war materiel to your compatriots.”
“But you can see, Commander,” she said, suddenly lifting her hands to her head, “that my hair has been cut, and shortly, too!” She rubbed her hand over the brush of hair on her head.
“It is our understanding that your hair was shorn only yesterday, and against your will, in a cell in the citadel, by an escaping prisoner.”
“Surely you do not believe that, Commander,” she said.
“Lady Claudia, the traitress, and an undisputed free woman,” he said, “is in our power. Shall she be brought forward to testify as to the circumstances in which, and the time at which, your hair was shorn?”
“No, Commander,” said the girl.
“You do not dispute what I have said then?” he asked.
“No, Commander,” she said, defeated.
“It is also believed that you carried much gold with you, in your purse, presumably, again, to improve your chances of persuading victori
ous Cosians to spare you, resources incidentally much beyond the reach of most women of Ar’s Station, thus, again, supplying you with an advantage over them. Is this disputed?”
“No, Commander,” she said. She knew, of course, that Lady Claudia could testify as to the presence of the gold in her purse. Indeed, interestingly, although this was not known to the girl, that very gold had been used after the fall of the gate to assist in the escape of Aemilianus and his colleagues to the piers. I had scattered it behind mercenaries, to clear a passage.
Aemilianus regarded her, evenly.
“You have not charged me,” she said, “with not wearing robes of concealment.”
“In Ar’s Station,” he said, “as in Ar, robes of concealment, precisely, are not legally obligatory for free women, no more than the veil. Such things are more a matter of custom. On the other hand, as you know, there are statutes prescribing certain standards of decorum for free women. For example, they may not appear naked in the streets, as may slaves. Indeed, a free woman who appears in public in violation of these standards of decorum, for example, with her arms or legs too much bared, may be made a slave.”
“There was no crime then,” she said, “in my appearing in public as I did, even though, say, I wore but a single layer and my calves, ankles and feet were bared.”
“Whether the degree of your exposure was sufficient to violate the codes of decorum is a subtle point,” said Aemilianus, “but I will not press it.”
“Surely many low-caste girls go about with only as much, or even less,” she said.
“But you are of the Merchants,” said Aemilianus, smiling.
“A low caste!” she said.
I smiled. The Merchants often maintain that they are a high caste, and should, accordingly, be included in the councils of high caste. Now, however, it seemed she was eager to accept that, and stress that, the Merchants was not a high caste. The traditional high castes of Gor are the Initiates, Scribes, Builders, Physicians and Warriors.
“I do not press the point,” said Aemilianus.
“And if I dressed in such a manner that my caste would not be clear,” she said, “it is no more than many women do upon occasion. Surely some women even reserve the caste robes and colors for such things as formal occasions, and some even for ceremonial functions.”
“True,” said Aemilianus.
“I do not think then I should be held accountable under the charge of attempting to deceive with respect to caste,” she said. “For example, I engaged in no business under false pretenses, and I never claimed explicitly to be of a caste other than my own.” It seemed to me that she did have a point here. The legal problems connected with intent to deceive with respect to caste, of course, problems of the sort which presumably constitute the rationale of the law, usually come up in cases of fraud or impersonation, for example, with someone pretending to be of the Physicians. “And, too,” she continued, “if conquering Cosians should have seen fit to take me for a simple, low-caste maid, I see no reason why the laws of Ar’s Station should now be exercised against me. What would be the point of that, to protect Cosians from a mistake which they never had the opportunity to make?”
“You hoped by your mode of dress, and such,” said Aemilianus, “to conceal that you were of a caste on which vengeances might be visited, and thus to improve your chances of survival.”
She tossed her head, and the chain dangling from her collar moved in its staple. “I am not a man,” she said. “Indeed, I can barely lift, let alone wield, the weapons of men. I have nothing of their strength. I have nothing of their power. I am other than they. I am a woman. I am something quite different from a man. I think that I am entitled, then, to attempt to secure my survival as best I can, and in my own way.”
“In the way of a female?” asked Aemilianus.
“Yes!” she said.
“In doing what you did,” he said, “in going barefoot, in baring your calves, in not having your hair shortened, in carrying gold and such, you arrogated to yourself considerable advantages over other women in Ar’s Station.”
“It is every woman for herself,” she said. “It is not my fault if other women were not as clever as I. It is not my fault if they did not judiciously bare their bodies, and design themselves clothing such as might appeal to a conquering invader. Too, it is not my fault if they lacked the gold wherewith to sweeten a petition to foes for the collar. Am I to be blamed, too, for being more beautiful than many women of Ar’s Station, for I am certain that I am, and for thus having some additional unfair advantage over them?”
“Why did you not donate your hair to the defense of the city?” asked Aemilianus.
“I did not want to,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It was pretty,” she said, angrily.
“And?” he asked.
“I thought I would be more attractive with it,” she said, angrily. “I thought if I were captured by Cosians, I would be more likely to be spared, if it was not cut.”
“While the women of Ar’s Station had theirs cut?”
“If they wished,” she said.
“And thus might be less likely to be spared?” he asked.
“That is their business, not mine,” she said.
“What of the desperate need of cordage for catapults?” he asked.
“Let the hair of slaves be shorn,” she said.
“And what if there was not enough?” he asked.
“Then get hair from the women who are willing to give it,” she said.
“What if there was not enough?” he asked.
“My hair would make no difference,” she said.
“What if all the free women took that position?” he asked.
“They did not,” she said.
“For one in chains you speak rather arrogantly,” he observed.
“Surely they will be removed in a moment,” she said.
“What did you do to contribute to the defense of the city?” he asked.
“I accepted a duty,” she said.
“But it is true, is it not,” he asked, “that you did this only late in the siege?”
“Yes,” she said.
“And only after it had been made clear that women who did not participate in the efforts of defense were to be lowered over the wall at noon, naked, to Cosians.”
With this detail I had hitherto been unacquainted. I found it of interest. If patriotism on the part of the fair sex lagged, such a provision might surely serve as a spur to recruitment.
I did not doubt but what it had been an effective inducement in the case of the former Lady Publia, and others of her sort.
The collar, incidentally, often brings about a considerable improvement in the moral character of women. In it they learn hard work, caring, loving, and service. Too, it is most often at a man’s feet, their lips pressed to them, that they first begin to learn the meaning of honor, what it means to a man.
“Yes,” she said, angrily.
“What duty did you choose?” he asked.
“I served as a warder in the citadel,” she said.
“Why did you choose that duty?” he asked.
“I thought it would be easy,” she said.
“And in such a place,” he said, “perhaps it would have seemed less inappropriate to wear garments such as you did, and go barefoot, and such?”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“You did not choose to work on the wall?” he asked.
“No,” she said.
“Why not?” he asked.
“I am not strong,” she said.
“Perhaps you thought it shadier, cooler, more pleasant inside?”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“And safer?”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“Women were needed about the ramparts, and on the walls,” he said.
“There were others,” she said.
“It seems you could have carried stones,” he said.
“I am not stron
g,” she said.
“Straighten your back,” he said.
She did so.
“There seems nothing wrong with your body,” he said.
One or two of the men smiled.
“Slight as it is,” he said, “it seems such that it could be appropriately subjected to lengthy servile labors.”
She looked at him, frightened.
Life is not easy for the slave girl in the laundries or mills, or in the quarries or mines, carrying water. In the fields they are often put to the plow and must struggle and strain, aching and sweating, exhausted, pitting their small weight desperately against the traces of their harnessing, their feet slipping in the dirt, to turn the black, resistant soil under the lash of impatient peasants.
A woman will do much to avoid a peasant master.
Many a haughty dame, threatened with such a fate, becomes in a moment transformed, flinging herself to a man’s feet, frightened, piteously groveling, desperately begging rather to be kept, if he will only permit it, as the lowest, most lascivious and zealous of his pleasure slaves.
“Or perhaps more appropriately yet,” he said, “to numerous, various labors of a more delightful sort, labors particularly suitable for females.”
“Commander!” she protested.
These were the duties, alluded to, most commonly assigned to the female slave, those of pleasing men abjectly and fully in the many ways of the owned woman. Many free women, untutored, regard such a fate as unspeakably degrading, and as far worse than other bondages, but then they have not known the nature of alternative bondages. Usually, after a taste of an alternative bondage, and a dawning understanding of their femaleness, which invariably accompanies the fastening on of the collar, they are more than eager to serve as a man’s personal slave. In this modality, they soon find the key to their deepest self, that key which unlocks the secrets of their most profound reality, and then, withal, they discover and obtain the fulfillment of their deepest being, that for which their very genetic coding cries out, that of the mastered woman.
He said nothing. I wondered if he were not, in his mercy, giving her an opportunity to request permission to speak. I was curious to see if she would ask such permission.
“Have I heard the sum of these charges?” she asked.
“Your behavior of this morning might be included,” he said, “in which, before your compatriots, you in effect begged the collar of Cosians.”
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