"Forgive me, Mistress," said Bloketu. On her neck, thrust up, over the ropes holding her neck to the post, she still wore Iwoso's collar. Cuwignaka had not seen fit to remove it from her.
I regarded Iwoso. She stood before me, roped to the post, absolutely helpless in her bonds.
"I am sorry," I said. "My sympathies are with the Kaiila." I then turned away.
"Warrior," called Iwoso, ingratiatingly.
I paused.
"Please come back," entreated Iwoso.
She had called me "Warrior" though I still wore Canka's collar, though I was still a slave. She meant, thus, to flatter me. Iwoso, I conjectured, did little without purpose.
I turned about. "Yes," I said.
"I am tied tightly," she said. "Can you not loosen my bonds, but a little?"
I looked at her.
"Please, please," she said.
"You are beautiful," I said.
"Roped and stripped as I am, handsome warrior," she said, "if I should indeed be beautiful I could never hope to conceal it from you."
"That is true," I said.
"Please," she wheedled.
"Perhaps," I said.
I crouched by her ankles. "Oh!" she said. I then stood up and attended to her wrists. "Oh, oh!" she said. I then attended to the rope at her belly and then to that on her neck. "Oh! Oh!" she said.
I then stood back.
"You have not loosened my bonds!" she said.
"No," I said. "I seem, rather, inadvertently doubtless, to have tightened them."
She looked at me, angrily. It was not easy for her to do so now, her head held back so closely against the post. "Beast! Sleen!" she said.
I turned away again.
"Oh, Warrior, Warrior!" she called, desperately, softly.
"Yes?" I said, returning to where she might see me, though, by intent, with some difficulty.
"How does the council go?" she asked.
"What council?" I asked.
"The great council of the Kaiila, of all the remnants of the Kaiila," she said, "of the Isbu, the Casmu, the Isanna, the Napoktan and Wismahi?"
"The council?" I asked.
"That being held now," she said.
"How did you know about the council?" I asked.
"You mentioned it," she said, "in the Yellow-Knife camp, in my lodge."
"Oh," I said.
"Too," she said, "do you not think I could see all the lodges when I was being brought to the post?"
"I suppose it does not make any difference that you know about it," I said, "as you are a prisoner. It would not do, of course, for the beasts to learn of it, or the white soldiers of your people, the Yellow Knives, or the Kinyanpi."
"No," she said, "for they might take you here, surprising you and surrounding you, you being isolated in this place, you being, for most practical purposes, trapped with little possibility of escape on Council Rock."
"It is doubtless well," I said, "that our gathering here, this council, is a closely guarded secret, that our enemies know nothing of it."
"Yes," she said, "else the work begun at the summer camp might for most practical purposes be concluded here. The Kaiila might, for most practical purposes, be wiped out."
"Fortunately," I said, "our enemies have no way of knowing where we are."
"We were days in our hoods," said Iwoso. "They were lifted only a bit, at irregular intervals, I think, to permit the placing of food in our mouths, the holding of a wooden bowl of water to our lips. It was difficult to keep track of time."
"I understand," I said. The hood often tends to produce spatial and temporal disorientation. This is regarded by many as one of its values. Some slavers use hoods to considerably reduce a girl's taming time. Hoods, of course, have many values. One of them is to teach a girl that she is helpless and dependent. Another is punishment.
"Could you tell a poor free woman, one bound as helplessly as a slave, handsome warrior," she asked, "what is the day?"
"I suppose it could do no harm," I said.
"Please, handsome warrior," she begged.
"It is the last day of Canwapegiwi," I said.
"Ah!" she cried, elated.
I smiled to myself. Had she not seen the dust as yet? It had been there, visibly, far off, in the west, for better than a quarter of an Ahn. The movements of the white soldiers and the Yellow Knives, even from the time they had crossed the Northern Kaiila, four days ago, had been under surveillance by our scouts.
"You seem pleased," I said.
"It is nothing," she said.
Did she truly think that it was a mere accident that she and Bloketu had been brought to the posts this morning, interestingly, on the last day of Canwapegiwi?
Without seeming to Iwoso then began to scan the terrain below, doubtless with some anxiety.
"Are you looking for something?" I asked.
"No," she said, quickly, "no!" She looked back at me.
"Oh," I said.
I then, turning away from the ledge, not facing the west, began to coil some rope which was lying about, one of several such lengths which seemed, purposelessly, to be scattered near the edge of the escarpment. When I was behind Iwoso I looked at her again. As I had thought, she had returned to her scrutiny of the surrounding plains. I wondered how long it would take her to detect the dust. I had seen it when I had first come to the edge of the escarpment but, to be sure, from the scouts, I had known where to look. It was obvious, but not dramatically so.
Then I suddenly saw her body move. She had then, I was sure, registered the dust.
"Are you sure you do not see something out there?" I asked her, coming up behind her.
"No," she said, suddenly, "no!"
"I thought you might have seen something," I said.
"No!" she said.
"I wonder," I said, musingly, and looked out over the prairie, to the west.
"Am I not beautiful, handsome warrior?" she asked.
I turned to face her. I scrutinized her frankly, as she shrank back, as one may scrutinize a captive female or a slave.
"Yes," I said. I then made as though to turn back and again regard the prairie.
"Look upon me, handsome warrior," she suddenly begged.
I turned then to again regard her.
"I am only a captive woman," she said, poutingly, lowering her eyes, "one stripped and roped to a post, one whom you can uncompromisingly view, one who cannot protect herself, one who is absolutely helpless before you."
"Yes," I said.
"You can do anything with me you want," she pouted.
"Yes," I said.
"No!" she said. "Please continue to look upon me!"
"Why?" I asked.
"Can you not tell?" she asked, smiling, as though chiding me with a gentle, embarrassed reproach.
I shrugged.
"No!" she said. "Please continue to look upon me!"
"Why?" I asked.
"Look," she said. She thrust her body toward me, pressing it piteously, squirmingly, against the ropes that bound it to the post.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"Do not make me speak!" she said.
"Speak," I said.
"I am a woman," she said, "and I wish to be touched and loved."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes!" she said.
"Surely you can speak more clearly," I said.
"I am a woman," she said, "and my body hunger cries out in my belly! My desire in much with me! My wants are much upon me!"
"Speak more clearly," I said.
"I am a woman," she said, "and my feminine needs, irresistible, overwhelming, clamoring, pleading, making me helpless and yours, prostrate me before you!"
"You speak like a slave," I said.
"And perhaps now," she said, "for the first time, I begin to understand something of the nature of those feelings which can so afflict those unfortunate women, making them so helpless, begging their masters for their touch."
"Is it my understanding," I asked,
"that you wish to serve at the post, as a slave might, licking and kissing?"
"Yes!" she said. She then closed her eyes and pursed her lips.
"I shall call Hci," I said.
"Hci!" she cried, opening her eyes and regarding me wildly.
"Yes," I said. "He is your captor."
"Never!" she cried.
"Oh," I said, and turned again to the prairie.
"Yes!" she cried. "Call Hci!"
"You wish to lick and kiss your captor, as a slave might?" I asked.
"Yes!" she said.
"Do you beg it?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "Yes!"
"Very well," I said. "Hci!" I called.
Hci, interestingly, was not very far away and, in a moment or two, he was approaching Iwoso's post. I winked at Hci. "This woman," I said, "has begged to lick and kiss her captor, as a slave, at the post."
"Well?" asked Hci. He stood quite close to Iwoso. She turned her head to the side, that her lips might not brush his. She began to tremble. I think that, as a mature female, she had perhaps never been that close to a male, and certainly not in this fashion. Hci was stripped to the breechclout and Iwoso shrank even further back as the handle of his knife, thrust in its sheath, touched her above the belly on the right.
"Well?" said Hci.
Timidly Iwoso turned her head to him and their lips, gently, touched. She then kissed him twice, timidly, on the check. He did not move. Iwoso, then, frightened, but more boldly, began to kiss him softly about the mouth and face.
These kisses, now, clearly, I saw, went beyond the feigned obedience ingredient in her stratagem; some of these kisses were like questions, after which she would wait to see how he might react; others were like tiny explorations or experiments, testings or tastings, to satisfy her female curiosity; others were like small, tender placatory submissions; others were like gentle, moist offerings, hoping that he might be pleased. Iwoso, I saw, doubtless contrary to her original intentions, was actually kissing Hci.
"Lick, as well as kiss," said Hci.
Iwoso, softly, then, complied.
I was reminded of the girls at the training stakes in the pens of slavers, in the cities. One of the first things a girl is taught to do is to lick and kiss under duress. One of the next things she is taught to do, in her training chains in a furred alcove, is to make love instantly, at so little as the snapping of fingers or the barking of a command.
To be sure, much depends on the slaver's house, and the time available.
Sometimes the girls, particularly if they are of high caste and are unlikely to be familiar with such things, are put through a course of training involving such domestic duties as cleaning and cooking, laundering and sewing. This accustoms them to servitude and helps them to understand what they are. Many, for example, may be sold as tower slaves or kettle-and-mat girls. Concomitant with such homelinesses, however, they are taught attitudes of the body, posture and grace, how to stand, kneel, recline, rise and such, for awkwardness and clumsiness are not accepted in female slaves. They are, after all, not free women. As their training progresses they come to understand ever more clearly that men are naturally and biologically their masters, and that it is their fitting lot, given that they are women, to serve and please. It is not hard to grasp such things. Soon they wish to please the masters in such small ways as they will have learned, for example, cooking for them and sewing for them, and bathing them, and dressing them, and tying their sandals, and such, and the imposed beauties of movement and deferences of expression keep them well in mind that they are slaves, and such behaviors and courtesies soon become a part of their being. And, interestingly, such things do not become "second nature" for them so much as, as their tightnesses and rigidities are worked through, they reveal their natural "first nature," the genetically coded femininity which is their heritage as a female, a heritage often concealed and crusted over by prescribed conventions and enforced enculturations. This is not unusual, for it is not seldom the case that one is instructed to open doors, behind which, to one's delight, one discovers oneself. But, of course, these services all, in their way, domestic, attitudinal, postural, and such, prepare the slave for the realities of her collar. And, if she is Gorean, she is under no misapprehension as to the primary utilities and duties of the female slave, which seem to have been puzzlingly and unwontedly neglected to this point, and even if she is one of the girls brought in from Earth, to whom the whip and chain, and her subjection to them, come as a revelation, it does not take her long, if she has any sense at all, and few stupid women are brought to Gor, to divine what will be most particularly expected of her. Surely the Gorean free women have little doubt as to the nature of the applications to which masters put slaves, and, indeed, do they gossip righteously and indignantly, and enviously, of much else amongst themselves? And the girls brought from Earth will for the most part never have encountered men such as Gorean males, and the very sight of one is likely to startle and enflame them, and comprehensibly so, and particularly so, as they find themselves stripped and in house collars at their feet. Why then wonder the women, both of Gor and Earth, have they not yet been put to the use of their masters? Then, at some point, heated, unable to help themselves, piteously, they beg to be caressed, and be permitted to serve. Is it not what they are for—as they are slaves? They are then deemed well ready for the block.
As suggested earlier, however, in most houses, little time is lost in teaching a girl to kiss, lick, and writhe.
In any event, men have what they want of women who are slaves. Is it any wonder then that they have them as slaves?
What man does not desire a slave? What man does not desire to subdue, own and master such a delicious, desirable creature?
What man does not want her at his feet, naked, as the animal she is, in a collar, appropriately, as the animal she is, her lips pressed fearfully, and fervently, to his whip?
Men want all from a woman.
From the female slave it is obtained.
It is thus not surprising that there are female slaves.
Given the will of men, and their desires, there is little mysterious in these matters; in the light of the will of men, and their desires, do not many things become clear, for example, the auction block, the collar, the chain, the whip?
Is it truly so hard to understand these things—in a natural world?
I considered briefly a world I once well knew. How startled would be many women there, I thought, to find themselves taken in hand and enslaved. Yes, enslaved. Very different then would be the relations of the sexes on such a world. To be sure, perhaps a world of guilt, anxiety, self-denial, misery, pain, confusion, scratching, clawing, scrambling, bickering, neurosis, and hatred is superior to a world of victory, confidence, health and fulfillment. It does not seem so to me, but who am I to challenge, or even question, the inventions, imprisonments and constructions of generations of the virtuous and wise?
One wonders sometimes, of course, as to the authenticity of their credentials.
But doubtless they are in order. Do we not have their own assurance to that effect?
"Here," said Hci, pointing to the hideous scarring at the left side of his mouth.
Iwoso regarded him.
"A Yellow Knife did that," said Hci. "I killed him."
Softly, then, Iwoso began to lick and kiss at the rugged, whitish tissue at the side of Hci's face.
Then Hci drew back his head. He looked deeply into Iwoso's eyes. He was disturbed, I think, at what he saw there. They were wide, and deep, and tender and moist.
"You pretend well," said Hci, sneering.
Tears sprang into Iwoso's eyes.
"Slave lips," said Hci, angrily.
Iwoso looked at him, puzzled.
"Purse your lips—as a white female slave," said Hci.
"Please, no!" she begged. "Not as that—not as so degraded a beast, not as that, not as—not as a white female slave!"
It was easy to see the horror which transfused he
r lovely frame. But was she not only another female?
By the red savages, you must understand, white women are regarded as slave stock, at best, suffered to live only as degraded, abused domestic beasts.
They are held in contempt, save for the work which they may perform and the pleasures one may derive from them.
One supposes this may have to do with the Memory.
And yet, of course, a slave is a slave, a property, a domestic animal, even in the high cities.
Any girl in her collar understands that.
Doubtless Iwoso held herself a thousand times above a slave, and ten thousand times above a white female slave .
"Do so," said he. His voice was that of a master.
Iwoso did so.
"Now kiss," said Hci, angrily.
Iwoso did so, fully upon the lips, as a slave girl.
And thus must slaves obey, fully, unmitigatedly, of whatever background, caste or complexion.
"I suggest that you do so more fervently," said Hci.
Iwoso complied, pressing her lips more desperately, more helplessly, more fervently, to those of Hci.
"Declare your love," said Hci, sneeringly.
"I love you," said Iwoso, frightened, not even seeming to understand the words she spoke.
"Again," said Hci.
"I love you," said Iwoso, numbly. "I love you."
"Speak the words with more meaning," commanded Hci.
"I love you," said Iwoso, desperately. Then she looked deeply into Hci's eyes. Then, frightened, she looked away. Then, half choking and shuddering, she burst into tears.
"Well?" said Hci.
She trembled at the post
"Well?" asked Hci.
Iwoso looked again at Hci. Tears were running down her cheeks. It seemed she was terribly frightened. Then it seemed that something within her broke or gave way. "I love you!" she wept suddenly. "I love you!"
"Better," said Hci.
"No," she wept, plaintively, "I do love you!"
"Of course you do!" laughed Hci.
"I love you!" she said.
"Yellow-Knife slut!" cried Hci.
"I do love you!" she cried. "I do love you, truly!"
He then, with the flat of his hand, struck her a savage blow across the face, turning her head in the neck bonds, bringing blood to her lips and mouth.
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