“We all hope to be pleasing,” I said. “We are all collared.”
“But perhaps she was of high caste, and known, and her seller did not want her to be purchased by a friend, and freed,” said Kurik.
“I think there is little danger of that,” I said.
“No,” he said. “Once the collar is on them they are slaves.”
“Who would free a slave girl?” I laughed.
“I see you now know something of Gor,” he said.
“I have learned much in the collar,” I said.
“Only a fool would free a slave girl,” he said. “They are better as slaves. One wants them as slaves.”
“Yes,” I said, delighted, at his knee.
“The slave bow,” said the auctioneer, seizing the slave by the hair and bending her backward so that the joy of her figure was displayed for the buyers.
“Ninety copper tarsks!” I heard.
“Ninety-two!” called another, not far from where we were in the tiers, about two-thirds of the distance between the raised, torch-lit block, and the last row, against the back wall.
“Straighten up,” ordered the auctioneer. “Hands behind the back of your neck, turn. Good. Enough. You may now lower your hands. The buyers have seen what you look like, so posed. Is she not lovely, Masters? Now, kneel, address the masters. Beg to be purchased!”
The whip snapped.
The slave fell to her knees, and extended her hands, piteously, to the buyers. “Buy me, please, buy me, Masters!” she begged.
There was laughter.
In the alcove, earlier, when I had learned that the house of Anesidemus was a slave market, I had, distraught, in misery, cast myself to my belly before Kurik of Victoria, who was sitting, cross-legged, his back to the leather curtain. I lifted my head, tears in my eyes. “Keep me!” I begged. “Do not sell me!”
“I have no intention of selling you,” he said.
“But, the slave market!” I said.
“I enjoy seeing women sold,” he said.
“You do not intend to sell me?” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Master!” I wept, gratefully.
“At least not immediately,” he said. “You are privy to matters concerning which discretion is imperative.”
I was silent, on my belly.
“Too,” he said, “you juice well.”
“Own me,” I said. “Your collar, I beg your collar, your real collar, your true collar, not that on me now, not some false collar, not some dissembling collar, not one of duplicity and subterfuge! I want to wear the true collar of my master! Put slave claim on me!”
“You would be mine?” he said.
“Yes!” I said.
“You would follow me?”
“I would follow you!” I said.
“Heeling me, appropriately?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
This expression, in this context, of course, was symbolic. To “heel appropriately” signified that one’s submission would be utter and uncompromised.
“If you follow me, you will follow in my chains,” he said.
“Yes, yes,” I said, “Master!”
This expression, too, of course, was used metaphorically. To “follow in a man’s chains” is a way of alluding to the categorical and absolute nature of the bondage to which the slave would be subjected. The stoutest chains of her servitude would be legal, social, psychological, and cultural. To be sure, it is not unknown for a girl to follow her master in chains, literally. She is, after all, a slave.
I was begging Kurik of Victoria to own me.
To be sure, when a master decides to own a girl what she wishes is no longer of interest or importance. He will then see to it that she will be a helpless, total slave. It is the way of Gor.
He looked at me.
“I put slave claim on you,” he said.
I then lay before him, in the furs. I remember feeling the shackle, and chain, on my left ankle. And I think I then, overcome, lost consciousness in the furs.
Sometime later I regained consciousness.
My master was putting his across-the-body satchel in order.
“It must be nearly the nineteenth Ahn,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“We will soon leave,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “in a bit.”
“Surely I am not to wear this tiny thing, this partly torn rag,” I said, “this soiled paga tunic, outside the tavern, openly, publicly, in the streets?”
“You will do so,” he said. “And you will find yourself well regarded.”
“Masters, it seems,” I said, “enjoy displaying their properties.”
“Yes,” he said, “it is one of the many pleasures of the mastery.”
“I have one silver tarsk ten!” called the auctioneer. “That is too little, far too little, for such a beauty. Who will bid more? See her in your chains, kneeling at your slave ring! Who will bid more?”
“A silver tarsk ten is too much for a slave!” called a fellow from the darkness of the tiers.
“He would think,” said Kurik of Victoria, “sixty or seventy copper tarsks would be too much.”
“Many,” said a fellow, near us, “go for no more than thirty or forty in this market.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Kurik of Victoria, my master.
I was now his property, I belonged to him, as might a sandal or a pet sleen. I was overjoyed to belong to such a man. What woman would not wish to be owned by such a man? I must strive to be such a good slave to him! I must please him so! And his touch! How could a woman not in a collar experience such ecstasy? He must not sell me! He must not sell me! I must strive to please him so! “Do not sell me, Master,” I thought. “Do not sell me!”
“Well, Adraste, mediocre slave,” said the auctioneer to his charge, the merchandise being vended at the moment, “it seems we can get no more for you than a silver tarsk ten.”
He loosened the blades of the slave whip.
“Forgive me, Master!” she pleaded.
“Is the slave vital?” called a man from the tiers.
“Is she alive?” called another.
“Stand upright, Adraste,” said the auctioneer. “Clasp your hands together, behind your neck. Part your feet a little.”
“Master?” she said.
“Now,” he said. “Good.”
“What manner of name is ‘Adraste’, Master?” I asked.
“Cosian,” he said. “But she could be from anywhere. We name them as we wish.”
“She was imported from the World’s End, it was said,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But she is not native to the World’s End. The slaves native to the World’s End have their special sort of beauty.”
“Doubtless many of them are now entering the markets,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “and doubtless, similarly, many slaves native to the continent and the islands are now being shipped west, to the World’s End.”
“Dear Masters,” called the auctioneer, “I had originally thought this slave an unusual buy, an excellent buy, but your bids have convinced me of my error. Clearly, as determined by the hesitancy and reluctance, the indifference, of your bids, she is, as I now recognize, ela, merely another mediocre slave.”
There was laughter from the tiers.
In this market, I had gathered, a bid of a silver tarsk, or more, was an excellent bid.
The slave stood on the block, stripped, as women are sold, her feet in the sawdust, her body illuminated in the torchlight, her hands clasped behind the back of her neck, her feet slightly parted.
The auctioneer had drifted behind her.
“Should the auctioneer not close the sale?” I asked.
“Shortly,�
�� said Kurik, of Victoria.
A shriek rang out in the auditorium.
“Master!” I cried.
“You have never been sold from a block, have you?” asked Kurik.
“No,” I said.
“It is the Slaver’s Caress,” he said.
The woman had cried out, wildly, startled, disbelievingly, protestingly, dismayed at what had been done to her, how she had been unexpectedly, callously forced to betray herself.
Raucous male laughter, in gales, greeted her response.
“No, no!” she cried.
“Get your hands together, behind the back of your neck!” warned the auctioneer.
“Please do not show me so before the men!” she begged.
“Apparently she is not used to being sold,” said Kurik.
The whip flashed twice and the woman cried out with pain, and threw herself to the auctioneer’s feet, pressing her lips upon them.
How I feared then what must be the kiss of the Gorean slave whip!
“On your feet,” said the auctioneer, “stand, hands clasped behind your neck, feet spread, as before, no, more widely!”
The woman, sobbing, obeyed.
Then she cried out, again, helplessly.
“Do we not have a juicy pudding here?” inquired the auctioneer.
There was more laughter.
“She was, I wager,” said a fellow, “once of high caste, so lofty and regal she was, but now she is revealed as only another tasta!”
“They are all tastas,” said another.
“Yes,” agreed another.
Little love was lost between the higher castes and the lower castes. Indeed, it is one of the occasional pleasures of a lower-caste male to obtain a slave who was once of a high caste, usually one who has been captured from another city, a prize in one of the many skirmishes, wars, and raids that characterize the municipalities of Gor. One can then well imagine how the woman is treated by one she would have, perhaps only days or weeks ago, regarded as a social inferior, one beneath her attention, once she is a slave. She is then made well aware of her bondage. How then, a slave, once such a high woman, she must strive to please her lowly master!
How ready the whip is to instruct such!
“A hot little vulo!” called a fellow in the second tier.
“Please, not again, Master!” sobbed the woman.
“Remain standing, as you are,” said the auctioneer.
“Aii!” she cried.
“She objects,” said Kurik, “the little fool. Does she think she is free? Does she not know there is a collar on her neck?”
“How she is shamed before the men!” I said. “Perhaps she was once of significant station, of high caste!”
“Why should one be shamed, to have been demonstrated to be alive, healthy, vital, and well?” asked Kurik.
“Still!” I protested.
“She is in a collar,” he said. “Do you think you would respond otherwise?”
“I fear not,” I whispered.
Well did I remember that I, long ago, on a wharf in Victoria, had been subjected to the Slaver’s Caress. How I had leaped, startled! How I had, unexpectedly, unmistakably, revealed myself as appropriately collared!
“Surely, Masters,” called the auctioneer to the crowd, “you have seen enough!”
Bids stormed forth from the tiers.
The woman sold for a silver tarsk fifty, which, I gather, was a splendid price for such a market.
“The slut is yours,” said the auctioneer, thrusting the woman down the steps of the block to his left where an attendant seized her and threw her to the feet of her new master, counting out his coins at the pay table. The block is commonly ascended by means of the stairs on the auctioneer’s right, and descended, as in this case, by means of the stairs to his left, as he would face the auditorium.
“Poor woman,” I said.
“Not at all,” said Kurik. “Do not concern yourself with her. She is a slave, a beast, as are you.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, kneeling beside him.
“What do you think you would bring?” he asked.
“Very little, I fear,” I said. Indeed, if such a woman did not bring a full two silver tarsks, what might I expect, a partially trained barbarian?
“It is a low market, of course,” he said.
“I hope Master is not contemplating selling me,” I said.
“After tonight,” he said, “it would not matter, one way or another.”
Tonight his imminent business was to be concluded at the house of Flavius Minor, perhaps within the Ahn.
I strove, disconcerted, to hold back tears.
“Please do not sell me,” I said.
“Where did you get the paga girl?” asked a fellow nearby. He had doubtless conjectured thusly, given my tunic.
“At the Slave Whip,” said Kurik, my master.
“Cheap?” asked the fellow.
“Yes,” said Kurik, of Victoria.
“I will give you twenty copper tarsks for her,” said the fellow.
“I would hope for a tarsk-bit or two more,” said Kurik.
Doubtless I am vain, but what woman, free or slave, is not? I was quite angry. Twice in Ar, on the streets, a whole silver tarsk had been offered for me, and I thought I might, in a decent market, go for even more. Surely I had seen the eyes of masters on me, a slave is aware of such things, surely as much as a free woman with a slackened veil or an exposed ankle, when we, I heeling my master, had approached the market, when we had entered the market, when we had climbed the tiers and found our place, even as I knelt beside my master during the sales.
“Put me up for sale,” I said, angrily. “I am not so cheap! I am beautiful, very beautiful! I will show you I am worth more!”
Kurik laughed.
“Perhaps I will do so,” he said.
“No!” I cried. “Do not sell me! Please do not sell me!”
How vulnerable are slaves! How easy it is to hood and bind one, and lead her, on her leash, to a market!
“Not until at least the second Ahn,” he said.
Another girl had now been conducted to the height of the block, a short, sweetly thighed blonde. I no longer saw she who had been sold for a silver tarsk fifty. Doubtless she had been back-braceleted and leashed, and, possibly hooded, led away. How helpless we are, the goods of masters!
“It must be past the twentieth Ahn,” said Kurik. “We must be away.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
We then left our place, descended the stairs, and took our leave of the house of Anesidemus.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It was now well past the twentieth Ahn.
I took it that my master well knew the location of the house of Flavius Minor. Surely he would endeavor to be at the house by the first Ahn.
The “southern piers,” as the district is spoken of, is lonely at night. There were few, if any, guardsmen about. There were rumors, I recalled, as to why this area was less supervised or patrolled. It scarcely seemed a part of the harbor authority’s jurisdiction. In Brundisium, as in many cities, much may depend on where one is, and the time of day or night. The southern piers, as we shall speak of them, were now muchly deserted. Surely the clamor and bustle of the day was absent. The walkway from which the piers extended was heavily planked and broad, several yards in width, the piers and water on the one side and the maze of warehouses, and shops, separated by alleys, on the other, leading up to the higher districts. The many crates, barrels, boxes, bales, and such piled about the walkway and piers during the day were no longer in evidence, having been stowed on the ships or shut away in the warehouses. Unprotected objects, as is well known, if deemed of value, may find themselves relocated during the hours of darkness. Ela, they are wont to vanish. This absence of the usual diurnal c
lutter, such a massive jumble of goods, attendant on these obvious mercantile precautions, made the walkway and piers, of course, seem even more spacious, lonely, and frightening. On the other hand, my master, I am sure, welcomed such an arrangement, particularly this night. In any event, we stayed near the center of the walkway, away from the buildings and shadows. In such a way it is not easy for one to be approached, unnoticed. There were several galleys moored in the area, at the piers, and at the edge of the walkway itself. On the knife ships the masts were down; on the round ships no canvas was slung to the yards. The ships, the long ships, or knife ships, and the round ships, the freighters and coasters, seemed dark in the night, and disquieting, like quiet, watching, lurking things. On some of the ships, the knife ships, canvas was stretched between the bulwarks, to shield the deck. Sometimes mariners sleep beneath such canvas. Occasionally we saw a lantern, usually at the stern. One could hear the water lapping against the pilings, and hear the occasional creak of ropes and timber, vessels pulling against their moorings. It was windy and cloudy. A rope would dip beneath the water, and then, as the ship rocked, and moved, it might lift, taut and dripping. Occasionally one saw, in the light of the moons, the shimmering droplets, shed from the tautened rope, fall to the water. A rain, scarcely noticeable, was falling. The paga tunic, now damp, afforded little comfort. Two of the three moons were in the sky, occasionally visible through the clouds, the white and yellow moons. The smallest moon could not be detected, and it was not always easy to note, even under better conditions. The smallest moon is called the Prison Moon, but this name made little sense to me. How could a tiny moon, or any moon, be a prison? Perhaps it was called that because it seemed prisonlike, small, remote, forbidding, cold, and desolate.
I was little more than a pace behind my master. I suspect I clung about him more closely than propriety would suggest for a suitable heeling distance, but I was uneasy. Thankfully he did not warn me away. He seemed tense, and vigilant. This did not decrease my apprehension. A slave, as other animals, I suppose, is likely to be quite sensitive to the emotional states and moods of her master. Sometimes her life might depend on that. Had he not feared a slave’s looseness of tongue or her defection, I might have been left to the comfort of some kennel or cage, or to the security of a chain and ring, nicely sheltered, wrapped in an ample, pleasant blanket, warm and dry. But had I been given a choice, and who gives a slave a choice, I would have chosen to be with him. I had been in the arms of Kurik of Victoria. I was his slave. I did not wish to languish for him, fearing for him, suffering in his absence. I was his. I wanted to be with him.
Plunder of Gor Page 34