“But what if I were once a compatriot,” I said, “once of your city!”
“It matters not,” he said. “You are now no more than a beast, a slave.”
“What is going on here, Master?” inquired our dealer, politely, he also in robes of white and gold, though, I fear, his were rather ragged, and soiled.
The Merchant class is undoubtedly the richest of the Gorean castes, which doubtless has played its role in its pretensions to constitute a high caste, but there are low merchants as well as high merchants, poor merchants as well as rich merchants. To be sure, the sharing of caste remains important. Even a lowly peddler, I would learn, if a Home Stone is shared, thinks nothing of expecting a free meal and a night’s lodging from a high merchant, who may own caravans, mines, and fleets.
“This one,” said the fellow I had accosted, “wishes to be purchased, and then freed. I see little profit in that. Is she insane, or stupid?”
The dealer looked at me, narrowly. Doubtless he remembered quite well yesterday’s interlude with the free woman.
Had I then, despite his injunction, dared to address myself to a free person?
“Did she speak to you first, Master?” inquired the dealer.
“Yes,” said the portly fellow.
“More likely, merely naive, Master,” said the dealer. “She may not yet have noticed her thigh is marked.”
“She was recently free?”
“I fear so.”
“She speaks oddly,” said the portly fellow.
“She is from far away, a barbarian,” said the dealer.
“Interesting,” said the portly fellow.
“You can tell,” said the dealer. “There is a tiny bit of metal embedded in one of her back teeth. One must look carefully to detect it. It is not likely to be noticed. Would you like me to bring her out of her cage?”
“Look at her upper left arm, the scar,” said the portly fellow. “She is marred, disfigured.”
“But not seriously, Master,” said the dealer.
I did not understand what they were talking about. Later, I realized they might be referring to my vaccination mark.
“You deal in damaged goods,” said the portly fellow.
“Now and then, but at bargain prices,” said the dealer. “Would you like to look at her?”
“No,” said the portly fellow, and turned away.
“I am not pleased with you,” said the dealer, looking down upon me.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“You are a slave,” he said. “Do you think you will be freed?”
“No, Master,” I said.
“Then why speak of it?” he asked.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Should slaves not be kept as slaves?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You are a slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“So you should be kept as a slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do you think you should be freed?” he asked.
I hesitated, as though on some fearsome brink. I feared to look within my most secret thoughts.
“Speak,” he said.
I began to shake with emotion. I trembled. I shuddered.
“Must I speak?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said.
What I said then startled me. I, a woman, had been in the arms of a master.
“No, Master,” I said. “I do not think I should be freed.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I am a slave, Master,” I said.
I had the sense then that an internal war was done, not that it mattered much, what I might think or feel, for I was marked and caged.
What did it matter, what I thought of such things?
I was powerless. I was a slave.
And yet, I had now acknowledged, openly and honestly, to myself, that I did not think I should be freed. How could I have said that? How could I have done so? Was I a true slave? Could that be? I feared it was so. I recalled the mighty arms of Kurik, enfolding me helplessly in the grip of the master, a helplessness and bliss I could not forget. I then understood, naked, and confined in that tiny cage, in which I could scarcely move, that it was right, and appropriate, that I be a slave. In that moment I knew I was, and should be, a slave. I was a woman, and was the rightful belonging of men. I had discovered myself, and was not discontent, but was overwhelmed with a sense of truth and joy, and, oddly perhaps, with liberation.
The internal war was done.
How fitting then that one such as I should be bought and sold, should be owned, and mastered!
How else could I find myself? How else could I realize myself?
Then misery surged up within me. Surely such things could not be true. I must not permit them to be true. I must deny them. I must pretend they could not be true! But they were true, I knew.
The internal war was done.
But must I not deny that?
But I could not do so.
I now knew myself, and had felt a master’s arms.
I shuddered, a caged slave.
“Did you speak first?” he asked. “He said you did.”
“No, Master!” I said.
He looked to the other cages about.
“She did, Master!” said several voices. “We heard her! She spoke first.”
“Yes,” cried others.
The dealer turned back to me. “Did you?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said, weakly.
“Barbarian!” hissed the girl caged to my right. “Barbarian!” said others.
“Then,” said the dealer, “you have not only disobeyed, but you have lied.”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “But please do not punish me!”
“You disobeyed, and lied, and do not expect to be punished?” he said.
“I am helpless,” I said. “You are a kindly, noble Master. Please be kind to me.”
He straightened up, and stepped back.
“Master?” I said.
“Would you like to bathe?” he asked.
How relieved I felt.
I had feared the whip might have been put to me.
I had been forgiven!
Surely I would rejoice to be permitted to bathe. Kajirae are to keep themselves clean, neat, and well-groomed, that they might be more pleasing to masters. They are not free women.
“Oh, yes! Yes, Master!” I said.
“Bathe her,” said the dealer to his two assistants, who stood about.
To my surprise, a stout rope was fastened to a ring on the top of my cage. The rope was some yards in length. It trailed back, on the wharf.
“Masters?” I said, uncertainly.
The two assistants to the dealer then lifted the cage and carried it to the edge of the wharf.
“No!” I cried.
The cage was swung back, and then heaved from the wharf. Metal, it sunk swiftly. I, its occupant, could do nothing to alter its descent. The cold waters of the river plunged through the bars, and swirled about me, and then, as I tried to rear up, and lift my head, as I could, it swirled about my head, and over my head. Some seconds later, three or four, sinking, the cage grated on sand, at the bottom of the river, near the pilings of the wharf. My eyes stung. I felt grit in my mouth, doubtless from where the bottom had been disturbed by the impact of the sinking cage. I fought, frenziedly, the desire to breathe. I shook the bars, helplessly. I was conscious of bubbles, emerging, bursting about me, near me, from my mouth. I must not breathe in. To do so would be to drown. I sensed I could not long hold my breath. A moment or two more, I was sure, and I would strangle. “Do not breathe!” I told myself. “Hold your breath! Do not breathe!” Things started to go black,
within the blackness. If I fell unconscious, I knew I would automatically breathe, and that would be the end. I did not think they intended to kill me. Surely my offenses, however grievous in this world, had not warranted such a punishment. But might they kill me, as an object lesson to the others? I did not think so. Wild thoughts coursed through my head. The swirling water was cold. I felt my hair lifted about, in the current. Surely they would not wish to kill me. Was I not, in some way, however negligible, of some value, an investment of sorts, as the dealer had reminded the free woman? What if they miscalculated? What if I could not hold my breath as long as they expected? I began to despair. Strange memories, from the past, flashed about me, as though swirling in the water. I must breathe! Then I felt the cage shift, jerk, and begin to be drawn toward the surface. I must not breathe! I must not breathe! And then the cage broke the surface of the water and, sputtering, I expelled air, and sucked into my lungs the glory of an unpolluted world’s air. I gasped. I tried to rub the water from my eyes. “No!” I cried out, as the cage, again, released, descended into the water. Three times I was wholly immersed for what seemed years, but could have been only a matter of two or three minutes, at most. At last, the cage was drawn upward to the point where it had emerged some four or five inches from the water. It was then, apparently, tied in place. If I turned my head to the side, and knelt in the cage, I could, between the laps of the water against the pilings, snatch a breath. But it was painful to kneel so, my head turned as it was, the right side of my head, and then the left side of my head, held closely against the steel ceiling of the cage. “Forgive me, forgive me, Master!” I cried, as I could, my mouth half full of water. I was conscious of men and women moving over the wharf, as before, above me. I trusted the rope would hold. If it did not, I would surely drown. I was helpless, confined in the tiny cage. “Masters!” I cried. “Be silent,” said a voice from above me. I think it was that of one of the assistants to the dealer. My ill-fated interview with the portly fellow in white and yellow, or gold, had taken place rather early, in the morning, not long after the tarpaulins had been removed from our cages, and our simple needs had been attended to. Toward noon, my misery was intense. I was cold from the river, and in pain, given how I must hold my body to access the narrow plate of air between the water and the ceiling of the cage. Often I had to spit out water. Then, a bit after noon, I shrieked with horror, for something, long, and snakelike, had slid between the bars and brushed across my body. “Help! Help!” I cried. Then the thing, with a snap of its long, smooth body, had darted away. “Help!” I screamed. “What is wrong?” asked a voice from above. I knew not who it was. “A snake,” I cried, “a water snake!” “There are no water snakes here,” called the voice. “The current discourages them. It is most likely an eel, a Vosk eel.” “Help!” I cried. “Call my master. Save me!” But I received no response to my cry. Toward nightfall another such intruder passed between the bars of the cage. I felt its body slide over my left leg. During the night four more such visitants traversed the cage. Once, during the night, something smote the cage, twice, prodding it, pushing against the bars, and then it withdrew, unseen. In the morning, shortly after dawn, I heard activity taking place above me, men walking, carts trundling. I also smelled food cooking, probably in pans, set on the small wheeled stoves some vendors moved about the wharf.
I heard the dealer’s voice from above me.
“Are you bathed?” he inquired.
“Yes, Master!” I said. I had not slept, except for a momentary lapse, when my head sank beneath the water, and I awakened, and raised it again, immediately, to gasp for breath.
“Are you cold, and miserable?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Excellent,” he said. “Would you care to spend another such night?” he asked.
“No, Master!” I said.
“You did not behave well of late,” he said. “You dared to speak to free persons, not once, but twice, and the second time after having been warned. You were insufficiently deferent. You were displeasing. That is not acceptable in a slave. Too, you lied. A kajira is not a free woman. A kajira is not permitted to lie. Try that when you are in a man’s collar, and see what you get.”
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Perhaps you know better now that you are a slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“What are you?” he asked.
“A slave,” I said, “only a slave.” I knew that answer from the house of training. But this time I knew it was true. I was a slave, only a slave.
“I gather you are new to bondage,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You have much to learn,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Have you ever been in close chains?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“That is far worse, is it not, than what I did to you?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. It was true. In the cage, I had been able to move about somewhat, to relieve my pain.
“In the light of your newness to bondage, I was extremely merciful to you,” he said. “I trust that you understand that.”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Thank you, Master.”
“I did not even put you under the slave whip,” he said.
I had never felt the slave whip.
“A slave is grateful,” I said.
“Draw her up,” I heard.
A bit later, the cage, shedding water, was drawn up to the wharf, and then dragged across the boards, and placed where it had been before. There was a slight breeze over the wharf, moving amongst the boxes, and bales, and cages, and, though the day itself was warm, I shivered with cold. For a moment my teeth chattered. A small blanket was thrust through the bars, and I dried myself, as I could, and then wrapped it, gratefully, about me. Later, a pan of hot mush was thrust through the narrow opening between the gate of the cage and its flooring. I lifted it to my mouth, with both hands, and ate, eagerly.
An hour or so later, as the day continued to warm, the blanket was drawn away from me, and I was handed a wide-toothed wooden comb.
“Make yourself presentable,” said one of dealer’s men.
“Stupid barbarian,” said the girl caged to my left.
When I had combed my hair, as I could, I lay down in the cage, my legs drawn up. Men walked to and fro about the wharf.
The cage to my right was empty. Its occupant had been sold.
Chapter Ten
“I will look upon that one,” he said.
Some days had passed, since I had been ‘bathed’.
“Surely, Master,” said the dealer.
I heard the key inserted into my cage lock. I looked up, frightened. The dealer thrust back the gate. “Out,” he said. “On all fours, head down.”
I was then leashed.
I felt the leash pulled up. “Look up,” said the dealer. I was still on all fours. The leash was taut. I looked up, as I must, the leash collar tight under my chin.
“She is not a bad-looking slut,” said the dealer. “I am sure you could make her squirm well on a mat. It is easy to get them to squeak and beg.”
“Get her to the yellow circle,” he said.
He was bearded.
“I see Master is interested,” said the dealer.
I then noted, to my unease, that the fellow carried a whip.
“She is too scrawny,” he said.
“Not scrawny,” said the dealer, “but lithe, sweetly slender.”
“Her ankles are small,” said the fellow.
“Not small,” said the dealer, “but slim, in lovely proportion to her slender body. And it is well known that such ankles look well in shackles.”
“Any woman’s ankles look well, shackled,” he said.
“To be sure,” said the dealer.
“Not so short,” said the dealer. “And it will grow, and it may be groomed, of course, to the master’s preference, with the same ease as that of the mane of a kaiila.”
“To the yellow circle,” suggested the man.
“Come along, slim, meaningless slut,” said the dealer. “Perhaps we can find you a master.”
I then, on all fours, obedient to the leash, as had been the other girl, was conducted to the yellow circle. It had been drawn in chalk, crudely, on the boards of the wharf.
“Perhaps you should return her to her cage,” said the fellow, skeptically.
“At least look at her,” said the dealer.
“Very well,” he said.
“Stand,” said the dealer.
I winced. I moaned. I had not been out of the cage since I had first been inserted into it.
“I trust she is capable of an upright posture,” said the man.
“Her body has been cramped,” said the dealer. “Small cages take up less space.”
“They are useful, too,” said the man, “for disciplinary and monitory purposes.”
“Very true,” said the dealer. “Also, they are less expensive.”
“You deal with cheap slaves,” said the fellow.
“My market is well known for its bargains,” said the dealer.
“You put your cages where you wish,” said the man.
“Thus, I need neither buy nor rent a building, a shelf, a cell,” said the dealer. “The money saved, applied to the prices of the merchandise, redounds obviously to the benefit of the customers.”
“There may be advantages, too,” said the fellow, “in the way of mobility.”
“Sometimes it is judicious to change a venue,” acknowledged the dealer.
“Doubtless,” said the man.
“It is so,” said the dealer.
“Remove the leash,” said the man.
This was done. I gathered that not even so small a thing was to be allowed to interfere with my perusal.
I was still on all fours, at the feet of the masters.
“Can you stand, kajira?” inquired the dealer.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I think so. I will try.”
Plunder of Gor Page 15