"Who knows what they will want," said the girl in the pull-over.
"We have rights!" said the blond girl in the shorts.
"Do we?" asked the girl in the red pull-over. She seemed the most feminine of all.
The girls were silent for a time. Then one spoke, the girl in the shorts. "What sort of prisoners are we?" she asked.
"Let us hope," said the girl in the red pull-over, "that we are just prisoners."
"I do not understand," said the girl in the shorts. "What else might we be?"
"Can you not guess?" asked the girl in the red pull-over.
"No," said the blond girl, in the brief shorts, frightened.
"Perhaps we are slaves," said the girl in the red pull-over.
"Don't joke," said the blond girl, aghast.
The girl in the red pull-over shrugged and looked away.
"Please don't joke," whispered the blond girl. The girl in the red pull-over did not respond to her.
I considered the slaves. The fact that the blond had worn shorts and had tied her shirt as she had made it clear to me that she was willing to display her body. From this I would have originally thought that she might have been the least frightened of her sexuality. I now understood that she, in spite of her attire, deeply feared her native drives. Indeed, perhaps she had dressed as she did to try to convince herself, and others, that she did not fear them. Her behavior, however, made manifest the nature of her terror. Doubtless she had sensed in her dreams, and in inadvertent moments, what men might do to her. But that she had displayed her body as she did, even in compensation for her fears, which she would scarcely admit to herself, indicated the strength of the drives against which she fought. She had dressed her body as a challenge to men, though she feared them. Her mode of dress suggested powerful drives, which might, by a master, be well exploited. It was interesting to note that the garb of both the blond and the girl in the red pull-over were variations of the uniform of male imitation; the blond wore the uniform. except that she altered it to brazenly display that it was she, actually a female, and an attractive one, who wore it. The garb of the dark-haired girl, the black slacks of some synthetic material and the soft, red pull-over, was also a variation from the conformist raiment of the two girls on the end. She wore pants, of course, for slacks are a form of pants, and her garments, in general, were body-concealing; these features they had in common with the male-imitation garb of the two girls on the end; on the other hand the slacks were not as body concealing as they might have been for they were cut, actually, subtly, in such a way as to betray her figure; the soft pull-over, too, would leave no doubt as to her femininity, particularly now that her masters had removed her brassiere from her. The slacks, I conjectured, were custom tailored. She had probably been rich. She was now a slave. The blond girl, I would have conjectured, would have been from the middle class. She, too, now, was a slave. Both girls were now identical, only slaves. The fact that the dark-haired girl had worn the garments she did suggested that she had felt, for some time, her femininity, though doubtless it had never been adequately exploited on Earth. She would have lived in unfulfilled frustration. Her garments, in their own way, like those of the blond girl, suggested that she, too, had deep feminine drives. She seemed more honestly to recognize them than the blond girl. I did not know which of them would have the deepest, richest sexuality. Both, I conjectured, would be prizes. I had little doubt the dark-haired girl would come most quickly to lick her chains. The other two girls, I felt, were far behind their chain sisters. They were still, in effect, almost imitation boys. It might take months for them to suddenly, in the throes of the female slave orgasm, become true women.
Another slaver's man walked past them. They shrank back.
I wondered if these girls had been in the same shipment as the girl I had met in the house of Samos. I supposed at one time each, unconscious, had worn locked on her left ankle the steel identification anklet of the Kur slaver. They wore now, as it was easy to see, only rounded ankle rings. Their feet were all bare, of course. Slavers do not put chains or bonds over stockings; similarly, if wrists are to be chained or bound, gloves would be removed; bonds are not placed over clothing. Gorean slave girls, incidentally, almost always go barefoot; it is a rare girl, and a high girl, who is permitted sandals. I looked again at the four girls. Earth-girl slaves, thanks to the raids of Kur slavers, are not as rare on Gor as they used to be. Earth girls are thought to make superb slaves. Gorean men will pay for them. Earth-girl names, incidentally, are thought of on Gor as slave names. Even many slave girls of Gorean origin wear them. That Earth-girl names are thought of on Gor as slave names is an indication of the regard in which Gorean men hold Earth girls. They are thought to be natural slaves. I believe, incidentally, that this hypothesis is true. She is not herself until she wears a collar and kneels at the feet of a master.
I turned away from the girls, for I had become hungry. I would eat at one of the public restaurants set up in the district of the fair.
I had considered buying the two girls on the end, those on the chain's left, as I faced it, the blond and the dark-haired girl in the red pull-over, but I decided against it. They were not yet broken in, and I felt my men might kill them. Both girls I felt had an amazing potentiality, even beyond that of most Earth girls, for being superb slaves. It would be unfortunate if this potentiality were to be rudely terminated while they thrashed, bound, in the canals under the teeth of urts.
I glanced back once at the four girls, kneeling closely together, chained, on the platform. The collars they wore seemed somewhat incongruous with their upper garments, the blue workman's shirt of the blond girl, the soft pull-over of the dark-haired girl, the flannel shirts of the two dark-haired girls on the end, but, still, somehow, they seemed correct, and even beautiful, on their throats. Their wrists, in the two-inch-high, steel cuffs, were small and lovely. Their feet, in the confining ankle loops, were small and beautiful. I was pleased. Their chains looked well on them. This is a way of telling what girls are true slaves. But do chains not look well on any woman? But is not any woman a true slave? I commended the taste and judgment of the Kur slavers. Such girls, yielded, would nestle well in a man's arms. I saw two slaver's men advancing toward them. The first carried a knife, the second, over his arm, carried some brief, white, platform tunics.
I swilled down the last of the Cal-da. I had not had it since Tharna.
In the restaurant where I had eaten there were some two hundred tables, under tenting.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and rose to my feet.
There were many at the tables who were singing the songs of Ar.
"I am looking forward to the game," had said Centius of Cos to Scormus of Ar.
"I shall destroy you," had said Scormus of Ar.
I wondered what thoughts occupied these giants of Kaissa on the eve of their confrontation. Scormus, it was said, walked the tiers of the amphitheater, alone, restlessly, eagerly, like a pacing, hungry beast. Centius of Cos, in his tent, it was said, seemed unconcerned with the match. He was lost in his thoughts, studying a position which had once occurred a generation ago in a match between the minor masters Ossius of Tabor, exiled from Teletus, and Philemon of Aspericht, not even of the players, but only a cloth worker. The game had not been important. The position, however, for some reason, was thought by Centius of Cos to be intriguing. Few masters shared his enthusiasm. It had occurred on the twenty-fourth move of red, played by Philemon, Physician to Physician Six, generally regarded as a flawed response to Ossius' Ubar to Ubara's Scribe Five. Something in the position had suggested to Centius of Cos a possible perfection, but it had never materialized. "Here, I think," had said Centius of Cos, "the hand of Philemon, unknown to himself, once came close to touching the sleeve of Kaissa."
I saw a fellow several tables away, his back to me, leave the tenting. Something vaguely bothered me about him. I could not place it. I did not see his face. I did not think he had seen me.
I left th
e tenting. One pays before the meal, and carries a disk, a voucher, to the table. The meal itself is brought to his place, marked on an identical disk, by a slave girl. One surrenders the disk to her and she places the meal before you. The girl wears a leather apron and an iron belt. If one wants her one must pay more.
Outside the tent I again mingled in the crowds. There was nothing pressing until tomorrow's forenoon when the match would begin.
The singing of the men of Ar was now behind me.
A slaver's man, pounding on a bar with a metal rod, called that the sales in the pavillion would begin within the Ahn.
"Rent her! Rent her!" called a man, moving through the crowds. Before him, thrust ahead of him on a control stick, her wrists braceleted behind her, was a naked slave girl. There is a chain loop at the end of the control stick, which is about two feet in length. The loop goes about her neck and, by means of a trigger, may be tightened or slightly loosened. The girl may be signaled by means of the chain. I saw her neck and head move, jerking under the chain. She knelt quickly before me and began to bite at my tunic. "Only a quarter tarsk!" called the man. I brushed her aside. At the other end of the control stick there is a leather loop. This goes about the right wrist of the master. Behind me I heard the girl cry out in pain and struggle to her feet. "You worthless slut," said the man to her. And then he again was calling out, "Rent her! Rent her, kind masters!"
Some jugglers, to one side, were exhibiting their astonishing talents with colored plates and torches.
I passed some booths where rep-cloth was being sold in bolts. Peasant women were haggling with the vendors.
In another area boiled meat hung on ropes. Insects swarmed about it.
I wanted to watch the sales, or some of them, this evening. I wished to pick up some girl flesh for my men..
But there seemed little point in arriving before they had begun. Indeed, there is not much point, usually, in coming early to a sale. Merchants usually exhibit their best merchandise only later in the evening.
The thought of the fellow whom I had seen in the restaurant briefly troubled me. Then I dismissed it.
I made my way toward the platforms.
I saw the fellow from the polar basin again, him with the fur trousers and boots, and the rope and short bow. I recalled he had sold carvings to a dealer in curios earlier in the day.
I was curious to see the Earth girls again. When I had last seen them two slaver's men had been approaching them, one with a knife and the other with some brief, white, platform tunics. I was curious to see what they would look like in clothing which would make clear their femininity rather than conceal or deny it.
"Where are the platforms of Tenalion of Ar?" I asked a man. They had been his property.
The fellow pointed to the two hundreds.
"My thanks, Sir," said I. Tenalion is a well-known slaver.
Most girls on the platforms are exhibited naked in their chains. Some, on the other hand, are attired, usually briefly and in platform tunics, which may be opened. It is thought that sometimes a clothed girl is more intriguing to a buyer. When he comes forward and asks to see the girl, and the tunic is opened, he is, of course, already there and interested. The slaver or the slaver's man, then, can talk with him, discussing, praising and pointing out the values of the commodity. This would not be easy if the fellow had merely glanced upon the wares and passed by. Girls are seldom, if ever, of course, sold clothed: It is said that only a fool would buy a clothed woman. That is certainly true. Would you buy a girl you had not had a chance to examine in detail?
In the two hundreds Tenalion's platforms were numbered from two hundred and forty through two hundred and eighty, inclusive.
How pleased I was to see the slaves. It was now clear they were beauties. But many of the slaves of Tenalion were beautiful.
They still wore neck collars and were chained together. But now the neck collars were fantastically beautiful on them. No longer did they now wear their distracting, meaningless Earth raiment, but Gorean platform tunics. The tunics were white, with deep, plunging necklines, well revealing and setting off the collars, completely sleeveless, and terribly brief. They knelt. There was about a yard of chain between the collars, fastening them in a four-girl coffle.
"I hardly dare move," said the blond girl. She knelt, as the others did, with her knees pressed closely together.
Their wrists were now in steel cuffs behind their backs. No longer would they be able to conceal themselves if their tunics were opened.
"Nor I," said the girl on the end. "What is being done with us?" she asked.
"I don't know," said the third girl. "I don't know!"
A man walked by, slowly, appraising them.
They shrank back.
Their ankles were confined in loose, steel ankle loops, but they could not slip them. A common chain ran though rings on the loops. No longer were their ankles confined with a foot of chain between them. Their ankles, now, for the chain running through the loop-rings was long, could be moved as closely together or as widely apart as they, or their masters, might wish. There were round, pierced metal balls at each end of the ankle chain, to prevent its slipping through the rings entirely. One such ball was to the right of the blond's right ankle and the other was to the left of the left ankle of the last girl on the chain. This ankle-chain arrangement, permitting much plasticity of movement, makes it easier to display a girl.
"We have rights!" whispered the blond girl.
"Do you think so?" asked the dark-haired girl, who had worn the black slacks and the soft, torn red pull-over.
"Yes!" said the blond girl.
"Look at their eyes," said the dark-haired girl.
The blond girl shrank back in the chains.
"Do you still think we have rights?" asked the dark-haired girl.
The blond was silent.
"Do you think a woman could have rights with such men?" asked the dark-haired girl. "Do you think we are still on Earth?" she asked.
"What has become of us?" asked the girl on the end.
"Is it not obvious?" asked the dark-haired girl. Her face was narrow, but delicate and very beautiful. Her figure was slight. but exquisite. Her hair was short, and very dark. She had lovely legs, marvelously revealed by the brevity of the platform tunic. I thought her the most beautiful of all. I also thought her the most intelligent The next most valuable meat in the coffle was, in my opinion, the blond, who was sweetly slung and exciting.
"No!" said the girl on the end. "No! It is not obvious!"
The slender dark-haired girl shrugged, and, with a rustle of chain, turned away.
Then all the girls suddenly shrank back, frightened, for another fellow was passing by, slowly, examining them.
"I do not wish to be dressed like this," said the third girl on the chain.
"Be pleased," said the first girl on the chain, the blond, "that they have given you anything to wear."
Within sight of them, on other platforms, there were numerous, naked chained beauties.
"You will note, of course," said the dark-haired girl, second on the chain, who had worn the torn, pull-over, "the nature of the garments in which we have been placed."
The left side of the brief tunic overlapped the right side of the tunic. It was held in place by a light, white cord, which passed through two loops and was loosely knotted at the right hip. If the cord were jerked loose the garment would fall open and could be. easily brushed aside, to fall back, loose, behind them, on their cuffed, chained wrists.
"What about it?" asked the girl at the end of the chain, belligerently.
"Do you think it would be difficult to open?" asked the dark-haired girl.
"They wouldn't dare!" said the blond girl.
The dark-haired girl did not respond to her.
"You think you are so clever because you are rich!" hissed the blond.
"Do you think any of us have anything now?" demanded the dark-haired girl, angrily. "Do you think we own even the chains w
e wear?"
"I do not understand what you are saying!" said the girl, angrily, at the end of the line.
The dark-haired girl did not respond to her.
"What sort of place is this!" cried out the girl on the end. She jerked her cuffed wrists futilely. She could bring one of them to a position behind her left hip or her right hip, but could not bring either before her body.
"Struggle if you will," said the dark-haired girl. "It is not the intention of the men that you escape." She smiled. "Therefore you will not escape." The dark-haired girl looked out, over the crowds. "Besides, where would you escape to?" she asked. `There is nowhere to escape to," she said.
"I hate you!" said the girl who had struggled. The dark-haired girl shrugged.
Two more men walked by, casually casting a glance upon the confined goods.
John Norman - Gor 12 Page 8