"Her breasts are too small," said Mahpiyasapa.
"I am keeping her," said Canka. "She is mine. I want her."
When Mahpiyasapa had made his remark about her breasts, Winyela, troubled, puzzled, had inadvertently touched them. I myself thought that her breasts were very lovely, and sweetly proportionate to her figure as a whole. Mahpiyasapa, however, it seemed, as is not all that unusual among the men of the red savages, preferred large-breasted women. This preference for meatier, more amply bodied women, incidentally, is also common among the men of the Tahari. On Gor, generally, as far as I can tell, on the other hand, there is no particularly desiderated female type. Female beauty, it is recognized, is a complex and subtle thing, lovely and rich in its almost countless variations. So much, as always, depends on the individual woman. There are so many ways of being beautiful.
"This is your last word on the matter?" asked Mahpiyasapa.
"Yes," said Canka.
Mahpiyasapa, then, turned about and strode away, followed by those who were with him.
Canka turned, then, and looked down at Winyela, who was kneeling by the entrance to his lodge. She lowered her head.
Restrictive, stereotypical conceptions of female beauty, it might be added, are generally alien to the Gorean consciousness. That female beauty should be regarded as being restricted, for example, to a certain type of woman, say, perhaps, to women who are unusually tall for women, thin and small-breasted, would be regarded as preposterous, if not even incomprehensible, to the Gorean. That conception would be just too limited for him. Too, of course, he is interested in a woman for such things as service and love, not for being photographed in barbaric garments. Most Gorean women, like most human females, in general, tend to be short, curvaceous and dark-haired. Most women sold in slave markets, too, of course, are of this sort. They look well in chains, and kneeling before one.
Winyela lifted her head to Canka. There were tears in her eyes. "Perhaps you should give me to him, Master," she said. "Perhaps my breasts are too small."
"Do not be stupid," said Canka. "They are perfect. Go cook."
"Yes, Master," she said, happily.
"Do you not fear," I asked, "that there will be trouble over this?" Cuwignaka and I had been standing nearby, listening to Canka and Mahpiyasapa. We had been invited to the lodge of Canka this night for boiled meat, a way of preparing meat of which the red savages are fond.
"I do not think so," said Canka. "But let us not worry about such things. These are to be days of joy and feasting."
"Tomorrow I will enter the lodge of the dance," said Cuwignaka.
"I have seen many gifts being exchanged about the camp," I said.
"It is a time for happiness and giveaways," said Cuwignaka. "The kailiauk, even, came early this year."
"That is true," I said. I still did not understand the early arrival of the kailiauk. That, still, seemed strange to me.
"Did you enjoy the use of the beaded quirt?" asked Canka.
"Yes," I said, "very much." I recalled the blond girl from the herd. I had had a most enjoyable afternoon.
"You may retain it until after the holidays, after the dancings and feasts," said Canka.
"Thank you," I said.
"It is nothing," grinned Canka.
"Is it the same slave?" had asked one of the lads in charge of the herd, when I had brought the blond-haired girl back to the herd.
"Yes," I had said.
"It seems you took from us a woman who was enslaved," said the lad, "and you bring back to us a woman who is a slave."
The girl knelt down, near us, her head down, smiling.
"How was she?" asked one of the lads.
"Squirming, lascivious slave meat," I said, "hot, helpless, passionate, responsive."
"Splendid," said one of the lads, an older one, striking his thigh.
"I think now," I said, "that any man would find her satisfactory."
"I will try to prove to be better than merely satisfactory, Master," said the girl.
"Good," said one of the lads.
"Back to the herd, girl," said another lad, urging his kaiila towards her.
She scrambled back to the herd, quickly inserting herself among her fellow, lovely beasts. Some of the other animals regarded her with envy, and wonder. She was much different now, clearly, than she had been earlier in the day. The acceptance of her womanhood, and her submission to men, and surrender to them, in her heart, is a pivotal thing in the psychic life of a female. A similar moment of great psychic import occurs, of course, in the life of a man when he accepts manhood. Thenceforth, he repudiates lies and spurious images. Thenceforth he will be a man.
"It is sundown," said one of the lads. "We must get these she-kaiila to the village, where we shall hobble and picket them for the night."
Some of the beasts, I saw, regarded the blond girl, now, with loathing. Others, however, came up to her and kissed her, gently, welcoming her to the sisterhood of the collar. How wretched and peevish are those, themselves so resentful and constricted, who begrudge others the vitalities and pleasures of their honesty.
"Hei!" called two or three of the lads, lifting their coiled ropes.
"My thanks, lads!" I yelled.
They waved, acknowledging my words. I stepped back, watching, then, the herd being slowly moved toward the village.
The blond girl turned once, and waved to me, and then blew me a kiss in the Gorean fashion, kissing and brushing it to me with her fingers. I returned the kiss, and waved, too. Then I made my own way back to the village. I was to meet Cuwignaka at the lodge of Canka. We were to have boiled meat for supper.
* * * *
"That was good," I said.
"Thank you, Master," said Winyela.
"Do not spoil the slave," warned Canka.
"Sorry," I said.
"It was splendid!" said Cuwignaka.
"Thank you, Master," said Winyela, smiling. The repast had been far more than boiled meat. It had been, in effect, a rich stew, crowded with vegetables and seasonings. Some, I knew, Winyela had begged from Grunt.
"Do you not think so?" asked Cuwignaka of Canka.
"Maybe," said Canka.
"Did my master enjoy his meal?" asked Winyela.
"Maybe," said Canka.
"A miserable slave hopes that her pathetic efforts to be pleasing to her master have been successful," she said.
"It was not bad, maybe," said Canka.
"Do not spoil the slave," warned Cuwignaka.
"I love serving you, Master," said Winyela.
"Even if you did not like serving me," said Canka, "you would do it, and perfectly."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"For you are a slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "And your slave."
He regarded her.
"If I do not please you, beat me," she said.
"Have no fear," said Canka. "If you are not pleasing, it will be done."
"Do you think she will be often beaten?" asked Cuwignaka.
"I do not think it likely," I said.
"Master," whispered Winyela to Canka. Her eyes were moist. I saw his eyes, glinting upon her fiercely.
"There were many vegetables in the stew," I said to Cuwignaka, pretending not to notice the intensity between Canka and Winyela. Indeed, we had had to eat much of the stew from small bowls, filled by Winyela with a kailiauk-bone ladle. Some larger pieces of vegetable and meat, we had, however, in the informal fashion of the Barrens, taken from the pot on our knives. Canka, perhaps because company was present, or because he wished to further impress her slavery upon her, had fed Winyela. This is occasionally done with a slave. It helps to remind them that they are domestic animals, and that they are dependent for their very food upon their master. I had noticed, during the meal, how she had taken food from his fingers, biting and sucking, and kissing, furtively at them. During the course of the meal she had been becoming more and more excited. Too, I had thought that Canka had given her smaller bits and pieces, a
nd had held on to them more tightly, than was necessary to merely feed her. "That is unusual, is it not?" I asked.
"Yes," said Cuwignaka. "That is produce, for the most part, from the fields of the Waniyanpi."
"I had thought it might be," I said. The Waniyanpi were, substantially, agricultural slaves. They farmed and gardened, and did other work for their red masters. "Were men sent forth to the compounds to fetch the produce?" I asked.
"The Waniyanpi have delivered it," said Cuwignaka. "It is done that way when it is the great camp which is in question."
"I see," I said. During the feasting times, those generally correlated with the coming of the kailiauk, the locations of the great camps of the various tribes were well known. This made feasible the delivery of produce, something which would be correspondingly impractical most of the year, when the tribes had separated into scattered bands, and sometimes even smaller units, with temporary, shifting camps. "Are there Waniyanpi now in camp?" I asked.
"Yes," said Cuwignaka, "but they will be leaving soon."
"How soon?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Cuwignaka.
"I met some Waniyanpi," I said. "They were from a place they referred to as 'Garden Eleven.' I wonder if those in camp would be from there."
"They might be," said Cuwignaka. "Why?"
"I thought it might be interesting to renew my acquaintances among them," I said. "Too, I would be interested to learn of the whereabouts and condition of one who was once the Lady Mira, of Venna, who, enslaved, was sentenced by her red masters to reside with the Waniyanpi."
"I remember her," said Cuwignaka, bitterly. "Long days I spent, chained to her cart."
"Surely you are sorry for her," I said, "given, in particular, the almost unspeakable cruelty, for a woman, of her sentence, of her punishment?"
"She was a proud and arrogant woman," said Cuwignaka. "I do not pity her."
"But she has known other forms of life," I said. "It is not like she was born and raised in such a compound."
"I do not pity her," said Cuwignaka.
"Surely she, now, honored and denied, celebrated and deprived, would be ready to beg for her own stripping, for the stroke of a man's lash, for the feel of her ankles being tied apart, widely and securely, in a leg stretcher."
"I do not pity her," said Cuwignaka. "She was harsh and cruel. Let her languish, an unfulfilled slave, in the compounds of the Waniyanpi."
"You are cruel," I said.
"I am Kaiila," shrugged Cuwignaka.
"Perhaps if she prostrated herself, naked, before you, begging for mercy, you might be disposed to show her some lenience," I speculated.
"Perhaps, if I thought she was now ready to be a woman, and had learned her lessons," said Cuwignaka.
"Ah," I said, "I see that you might be swayed to generosity."
"Of course," grinned Cuwignaka. "I am Kaiila." He then gestured to Canka and Winyela. She was now in his arms, her head back. She was sobbing with pleasure. She was oblivious of our presence. "Too," he said, "there is something to be said for female slaves."
"That is true," I said. How beautiful was Winyela, lost in her helplessness, her pleasure and love. How marvelous and beautiful are women! How glorious it is to own them, to be able to do what one wishes with them and to love them! But then I thought soberly of she who had once been the Lady Mira, of Venna, who had once, as the agent of Kurii, been my enemy. No such fulfillments and joys, it seemed, were for her. She had been condemned instead to the compounds of the Waniyanpi. She had been sentenced to honor and dignity, and equality with the pathetic males of the compound. She would not know, it seemed, the joys of being run, naked, a rope on her neck, a slave, at the flanks of a master's kaiila, the pleasures of, tremblingly, loving and serving, knowing that he whom one loves and serves owns one, fully, the fulfillments of finding oneself, uncompromisingly and irrevocably, in one's place in the order of nature, lovingly, at one's master's feet.
"We shall come back later," said Cuwignaka to Canka, getting up. But, Canka, too, I fear, lost in the sweetnesses and beauties, in the love and pleasure, of his woman, did not hear us.
Cuwignaka and I, smiling, left the lodge.
"Where are the Waniyanpi?" I asked.
"In the lower end of the camp, at the edge of the camp," said Cuwignaka, "where the drainage is worst."
"I should have known," I said.
"We put them there," said Cuwignaka.
"Of course," I said.
"Are you going to see them?" asked Cuwignaka.
"Yes," I said.
"I do not think I will come," said Cuwignaka. "I do not much care for the company of Waniyanpi."
"Very well," I said.
"Meet me back at the lodge of Canka, later," said Cuwignaka.
"Why?" I asked. I thought perhaps Canka and Winyela might prefer to be left alone.
"I heard from Akihoka, who is friends with one of the Sleen Soldiers, that Hci is going to be up to something tonight," grinned Cuwignaka.
"What?" I asked.
"I am not sure," said Cuwignaka, "but I think I know. And I think I know how we can foil him."
"What is this all about?" I asked.
"It has to do with the giveaways," said Cuwignaka.
"I do not understand," I said.
"Meet me back here, later," said Cuwignaka.
"Very well," I said.
"I am so much yours," we heard Winyela say, from within the lodge. "I am so much yours, my master!"
Cuwignaka and I smiled, and then we took our separate ways.
14
Waniyanpi
"Pumpkin!" I said, pleased.
"Peace, and light, and tranquillity, and contentment and goodness be unto you," he said.
"I had heard that there were Waniyanpi in camp," I said. "I had hoped that it might be you, and others from your group."
"We have delivered vegetables to our masters," said Pumpkin. "You remember Carrot and Cabbage?"
"Yes," I said. "Greetings, Fellows."
"Sweetness be unto you," said Carrot.
"Sweetness be unto you," said Cabbage.
"Who is this?" asked a dark-haired woman, belligerently. She, too, wore the garb of the Waniyanpi. That is a long, gray dress, which falls between the knees and ankles. Her feet, too, were wrapped in rags. This garb is unattractive on women, doubtless intendedly so. On men, similarly, it appears ungainly and foolish.
"I do not think you met Radish," said Pumpkin.
"No," I said.
"Who are you?" asked Radish.
"Radish is the leader of our small expedition to the camp," said Pumpkin, "and is, for most practical purposes, first in the compound, in our home, Garden Eleven, although we all are, of course, the same."
"Of course," I said.
"Who are you?" asked Radish.
I looked at her. She was surly, and, obviously, badly in need of a whipping.
"I am Tatankasa, Red Bull," I said, "the slave of Canka, Fire-Steel, of the Isbu Kaiila, of the Little-Stones band of the Kaiila," in a mixture of both Kaiila and Gorean.
I continued to look at her. I did not think that she was, objectively, a bad-looking woman. Beneath the ugly garment she wore there were the suggestions of an attractive figure. I wondered what she would look like naked and bound, kneeling at a man's feet, under his quirt.
"You are a slave," she said.
"So are you," I said.
"We wear no collars," she said.
"You do not need collars to be recognized as slaves," I said.
She glared at me, angrily. I considered stripping her, and putting her to my feet.
"Many who are slaves do not wear collars," I said. "Many who are slaves do not even know that they are slaves."
"That is true," said Pumpkin, agreeably.
"Do not speak further to this person," said Radish, turning away.
"How long are you going to be in camp?" I asked.
"I am sorry," said Pumpkin. "I should not speak further
to you now. It is the wish of Radish."
"You are a slave. She is a slave. You are all supposed to be the same. What does it matter?" I asked.
"I suppose it does not matter," said Pumpkin. "But I would not wish to displease Radish."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Waniyanpi are supposed to be loving, accommodating and pleasing," said Pumpkin. 'Waniyanpi' is a Kaiila expression. It means "tame cattle."
"And is Radish loving, accommodating and pleasing?" I asked.
"Not really," said Pumpkin. "That is an interesting thought." He looked at me. "We are leaving in the morning," he said.
"I told you not to talk to him," said Radish, from a few feet away.
"Please be quiet, Radish," said Pumpkin. She turned away, angrily.
"Sweetness be unto you," said Pumpkin.
"How far away is your compound?" I asked.
"Some one hundred pasangs from here," said Pumpkin.
"I did not know you had kaiila," I said.
"We do not," said Pumpkin. "We came afoot, dragging travois, laden with our produce, in the charge of a boy."
"I thought Radish was the leader of the expedition," I said.
"She is the Waniyanpi leader," he said. "We all, of course, must take our orders from our red masters."
"How is she who was the Lady Mira, of Venna?" I asked. The Lady Mira, of Venna, had been an agent of Kurii. She had been in political command, under Kog and Sardak, of a force of approximately a thousand mercenaries, the human contingent accompanying Kog and Sardak, and their death squad, into the Barrens. The military command of these mercenaries, also under Kog and Sardak, who would have retained supreme command, had been in the hands of Alfred, a mercenary captain from Port Olni. The chain of command, then, for most practical purposes, except tactical situations, would have been Kurii, then the Lady Mira, and then Alfred, the captain from Port Olni. After the joint attack and massacre of a few weeks ago, the Lady Mira had been captured and, presumably because she had been found with soldiers, sent to a Waniyanpi compound. Alfred had managed to escape with a mounted force of perhaps some four hundred riders. He, presumably, had, by now, made his way back to the Ihanke, to civilization and safety. Small bands of warriors, the sorts which make up common war parties, would not be likely to attack a force of that size.
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