“May I speak?” I begged.
“Yes,” said he.
I fell to my knees before him, Kurik, of Victoria, my master. I, though a slave, had dared to speak my heart to him.
“The beast is crying,” said the Lady Bina.
I was muchly distraught.
I looked up.
“I fear,” I said, “your slave has been displeasing. She begs the forgiveness of her master. She is contrite.”
“It is acceptable for a slave to love her master,” said Kurik. “What does it matter, one way or another? She is only a beast, an animal, a slave.”
“But not to tell him so?” I said.
“It can bring the lash,” he said.
“Then,” I said, “the slave is so helpless, that her love burns so in her heart, but she dare not cry out her love for her master?”
“I wonder,” said he, “if you would bring as much as a silver tarsk and, say, a half, in the market.”
“Master!” I wept.
“Perhaps as much as two,” he mused.
“Master, Master!” I wept.
“But I think,” he said, “more soberly, upon reflection, you would probably go for a single silver tarsk. Yes, I think you would be a single-silver-tarsk girl, if that. You are, after all, a barbarian.”
“Please do not sell me!” I begged.
How helpless we are as slaves, as properties!
“You would sweat, and leap, in any man’s arms,” he said.
“I am a slave,” I said.
“Would you wish to be otherwise?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Why?” he said.
“Because I am a slave,” I said. How vital I now was. How I loved my collar! Only after my collaring had I begun to live.
“We must be on our way,” said the Lady Bina.
“Please do not sell me!” I begged.
“We shall see,” he said.
Could he care for me, I wondered, wildly, if only a little? Then I chastised myself for so naive and absurd a thought.
Knew I so little of Gor?
What man would be fool enough to care for a slave? How he would be mocked by his peers! Would he not be the butt of many a merry jest? Chagrined he might, for a time, avoid the gymnasium, the baths, the gaming tables, the tarn races, the song dramas. Consider the dinners, the jokes, the gestures, the laughter! How amusing would be the very thought itself, a master, caring for a slave!
I looked up at him.
I saw in his eyes how he looked at me, a slave, at his feet.
“I beg to be kept,” I said.
How far I was from the office on my former world!
“Perhaps,” he said. “Your flanks are not without interest.”
“A slave is pleased,” I whispered.
He and the Lady Bina then exited the Renata Chamber. In the hall, he turned about, to regard me. “Heel,” he said.
We then proceeded down the hall, I a bit behind, and on the left.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“Please, Master, mercy!” I cried.
I was well stretched, standing on my toes; my wrists were bound tightly together, and drawn up, high over my head; I was naked; the rope that bound my wrists together was run through the ring fastened in the ceiling, and then brought down, diagonally, to the side, and tied about another ring in the wall, across the room.
“Forgive me, Master,” I wept. “Please forgive me!”
“Who begs mercy?” he asked.
“Phyllis,” I said, “Phyllis, the slave of Kurik of Victoria!”
He came about, and stood before me. I watched him unclip the blades of the slave whip.
I regarded this action with much uneasiness.
He lifted the whip before me, the blades dangling. “What is this?” he asked.
“A whip, a whip!” I said.
“What sort of whip?” he asked.
“A slave whip!” I wept.
“And what is it for?” he asked.
“The whipping of slaves,” I said.
“And what are you?” he asked.
“A slave,” I said, “Master.”
I trusted he would not strike me.
“Mercy, Master!” I said.
I had meant no harm. Surely he must understand that! Surely the matter was trivial. I had only been angry, and jealous. I had not expected that matters would turn out as they had. Who could have expected that? I had merely wished to satisfy myself, to exert my powers, and revel in them, those of a slave. I had only wished to prove something to myself, to interest the fellow, to arouse him, and prove to myself that I could make him desire me, surely more than plain Paula, whom I would easily outdo, and then I, satisfied, the point made, having demonstrated my equivalence to, if not superiority to, Paula, I might scamper back to my master, leaving the fellow excited, stranded, abandoned, needful, abashed, miserable, distraught, and unfulfilled. Surely I had done that sort of thing, in a way, frequently enough, on my former world, long before I had the power of the collar and tunic, the actuality of the female slave, whose mere appearance and movements can drive a male mad with passion. Surely Drusus Andronicus was a handsome, powerful, attractive male. Surely he might figure in the dreams of a thousand slaves in their chains, but he was not my master. I had no particular interest in him. Indeed, in a way, I had a matter to settle with him, as he had once made a fool of me, when he had donned the disguise of a male slave, and tricked me into revealing the domicile of my master. How could I forget that? How could I forgive that? I was still angry. Though I had no doubt I would writhe helplessly in his arms, as might any slave, the matter had had little, if anything, to do with him, and a great deal, indeed, everything, to do with Paula. I had always regarded Paula, sweet, understanding, kindly, shy, unadorned Paula, plain Paula, with her books, and such, as far inferior to myself. Yet, on this world, incredibly enough, many men seemed to regard her as being more beautiful and desirable than I, even far more so. How they praised her, and stood back, marveling, their eyes alit with desire. How could this be? Was I not a thousand times more interesting and attractive than Paula? Surely there was no comparison. Indeed, on our former world, Paula had seemed appreciative, even grateful, that I, informed, attractive, and chic, would let her be my friend. I did not mind doing so, of course, you must understand. I liked, and do like, Paula, and very much. Who could not be fond of so simple, earnest, honest, sweet, and devoted a creature? Where I had often sensed that others were critical of me, or jealous of me, or did not like me, Paula was always steadfast in her respect and affection. Indeed, I think Paula was my only true friend. In any event, I could understand the interest of men in me. That had been clear enough on my former world. Was I not the sort of woman they had been taught to prefer, well-dressed, clever, attractive, and witty? I could well understand how slavers might select me, how I could be brought to Gor, put in a collar, and sold. But I could not understand that in the case of Paula. Yet, incredibly enough, we had been handcuffed together and brought to Gor together. And many of these men, these intelligent, powerful, virile brutes, these men who carried the blood of masters in their veins, seemed to prefer Paula! It was she they wanted at their feet! Indeed, Paula had sold for a golden tarsk, had been bought from the central block of the great Curulean auction house itself. On the other hand, I had gathered that two silver tarsks might be a good price for me, indeed, a splendid price for me! I suppose I was jealous of Paula. I did not care for our roles to be reversed. Was she truly such a “collared Ubara,” and I little more, if that, than a pot girl, or a kettle-and-mat girl? To be sure, few pot girls or kettle-and-mat girls would go for, say, two silver tarsks! In any event, following the abduction of Lyris and, far more importantly, the extraction of the Lady Bina from the House of a Hundred Corridors, consternation, and fury, must have reigned in the enemy
’s camp. I doubted that Kurii brooked frustration with equanimity. The savagery, and rage, of such beasts was a most fearful prospect to consider. Lord Agamemnon, if he were truly about, a living brain, unbodied, might howl through the speakers of his sophisticated ensconcement. Surtak might be ready to bite and tear his way through a hundred men. Decius Albus, from whose house, or palace, the Lady Bina had been removed, might be sick with terror. Surely one does not lightly disappoint or displease Kurii. Surely he would be desperate to placate his mighty allies, to remedy matters to whatever extent possible, to redeem the plausibility of his house, to reassert the sturdiness of his allegiance and the value and reliability of his service. Yet we had heard little of late. Matters had been muchly calm. Perhaps Kurii had, by now, having no option, resigned themselves to their defeat. Perhaps, on the other hand, this calm boded a gathering storm. A surface may seem placid, concealing currents, roiling below. Lord Grendel had repudiated the game of Lord Agamemnon, and substituted his own. But somewhere a new game might be in progress, with moves and pieces yet unnoticed. Lady Bina, in any event, as there was no sign of public concern or agitation at her removal from the House of a Hundred Corridors, as exhortations, alarms, proclamations, offers of rewards for her return or information leading to her return, and such, were not being broadcast throughout the city and countryside, as there was no hue from the public criers or letterings in red on the public boards, as the city was not swarming with soldiers and guardsmen searching for her, had come to reconcile herself, however, reluctantly, to the fact that her presence in the House of a Hundred Corridors had not been a benevolent sequestration prior to an eminent companionship but a detention, and one of a possibly dark import. The first sign of some contact between the factions of Lord Agamemnon and Lord Arcesilaus had occurred this morning, when Drusus Andronicus, on behalf of Surtak, had called on Lord Grendel to arrange for the return of Lyris, accepting, as was not surprising, Lord Grendel’s proposal of an even exchange. Doubtless, from the point of view of Surtak, such an exchange was an indication of simple madness or an incredible lack of perception on the part of Lord Grendel, to return Lyris, an unusually beautiful Kur female, I had gathered, for a monstrosity, part human and part Kur, Eve. Surely Lord Grendel, as I well knew, was well aware of the charms of Lyris, and yet, as I recalled, he had asserted that she was nothing, no more than a tarsk, compared to Eve.
“No, my dear Drusus,” had said Kurik, “the Lady Bina is not here.”
Drusus had called at the apartment above the shop of Epicrates, where Lord Grendel, ax at hand, saw fit to be found.
“She is elsewhere,” continued Kurik, “where, we trust, she is safe.”
I supposed this was at the house, in the basement of which Lyris was still encaged, she, a high one, as though she might be no more than a slave.
“Noble Tenrik,” had said Drusus, “we are not so obtuse as to suppose that the lovely Bina would be on these premises.”
I smiled at Drusus, that he might be aware that I, at least, appreciated the cleverness of his remark, the subtle barb. My approval did not seem noticed by him, but I supposed the point, nonetheless, had been taken. I knelt a bit closer to him than would be the normal distance. Usually a slave remains to the side, to be unobtrusive, and yet in attendance.
“I come for another purpose altogether,” said Drusus. “I bring words from Surtak, colleague of Decius Albus, to Lord Grendel.”
Lord Grendel was crouched near Kurik, at his left, a little behind him. His eyes were much on Drusus.
“Does Lord Grendel follow Gorean?” asked Drusus.
“Yes,” said Kurik, “no translator will be necessary.”
“He speaks it, as well?” inquired Drusus.
“Yes,” said Kurik, “but you might find it difficult, at first, to understand him, so he has asked me to speak for him, to interpret his Gorean for you, and so on.”
“I can understand him, Master,” I said. Then I put my head down. “Forgive me, Master,” I said. I had not been asked to speak, nor had I requested permission to speak. However, I had not thought it amiss to let Drusus be aware that I possessed this skill, one that he might well lack. It would not hurt for him to know I was rather special, and gifted, as well as beautiful.
Neither Drusus, Kurik, nor Lord Grendel paid me any attention.
I fear I reddened.
But who would notice?
“My principal, in this business, Surtak, high Kur,” said Drusus, “informs Lord Grendel that his terms, expressed in the proposal recently tendered to Decius Albus, by Tenrik of Siba, in the House of a Hundred Corridors, are accepted.”
“Splendid,” said my master. “Now we must arrange sensitive matters, such as the time, place, and conditions of the exchange.”
“Surely,” said Drusus.
“Phyllis,” said Kurik, “fetch ka-la-na.”
“Yes, Master,” I said, rising easily and gracefully, as a slave does. I then, with a glance at Drusus, and a smile, went toward the chest, for glasses, and a bottle.
“I should inquire,” said Drusus, “after the Lady Alexina. Decius Albus is no longer interested in her, save perhaps to put her in a collar and sell her, but Surtak is interested in her.”
“Why?” asked Kurik.
“She is a duped, failed operative,” said Drusus.
“For what, then, would he want her?” asked Kurik.
“For sport, for running her in the feeding trough,” said Drusus.
The lid of the chest up, I, kneeling before the chest, started, the glasses I was holding touching one another. Nothing broke.
“What is wrong, Phyllis?” asked Kurik.
“Nothing, Master,” I said.
“They bet on such things,” said Drusus. “Surtak wishes the Lady Alexina to be turned over to him.”
“We shall take the matter under consideration,” said Kurik.
I then placed the glasses and bottle on the small, low table at the side of the room. Kurik and Drusus took their places, sitting cross-legged, at the table, and Lord Grendel crouched near it. I, kneeling beside it, then began to fill the glasses.
“No,” said Drusus, “the master, first the master.”
I had already begun my campaign to interest and arouse Drusus Andronicus.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, and filled the glass of Kurik. I then, head down, slowly, very slowly, lingering in the service, filled the glass of Drusus Andronicus.
“She is a barbarian,” said Kurik.
Did he really think I knew no better?
I put a bit of ka-la-na in Lord Grendel’s glass, in whose paw, or hand, the glass almost disappeared. Lord Grendel was almost twice the size of the men. He seldom drank. I think this had something to do with his Kur blood. Might it not be dangerous to give ka-la-na or paga to a larl?
“I am fond of a barbarian,” said Drusus, “a hot, shapely slut whom I put to frequent, ruthless use. She juices at the snapping of my fingers and crawls to my feet, whimpering, begging, like a she-sleen in heat. I hope one day to buy her. Her name is ‘Paula’.”
“Do you know,” asked Kurik, “that she and my Phyllis are acquainted, that they knew one another on the Slave World, that they were brought to Gor on the same chain, so to speak?”
“What a difference,” laughed Drusus, “that beauty and this, forgive me, pot girl.”
“Now, now, dear Drusus,” said Kurik, “Phyllis is scarcely a pot girl. She might bring nearly two tarsks.”
“Paula went for a golden tarsk,” said Drusus.
“And a steal, at that,” said Kurik, unnecessarily in my view.
“I think so,” said Drusus, whose opinion, as far as I could see, was not required on the matter.
“There is much to be said for pot girls and kettle-and-mat girls,” said Kurik. “They frequently make the best of slaves.”
“And,” said Drusus,
“often enough one man’s pot girl is another man’s preferred slave, and sometimes one man’s preferred slave is no more than another man’s pot girl.”
“It is all very mysterious,” said Kurik.
“Did you know, Phyllis,” asked Drusus, “that Paula has often spoken of you, that she is concerned for you, that she has never forgotten you, that she wants you to be happy, that she hopes you will find yourself owned by one who will master you to the last corpuscle in your body, that you will find yourself in the collar of your dreams?”
“No,” I said, “I did not know that.”
He sipped the ka-la-na.
“You talk to her?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, “frequently, and at length.”
“She is a slave,” I said.
“It is the whole woman,” he said, “who is owned.”
“She is attractive?” I asked.
“Very much so,” he said.
Something in me was very angry that Paula would be concerned for me. Was this not another thing to hold against her? Was she so superior that she would wish me well! How concerned, how solicitous, how condescending! Did she think I was pitiful? How dared she speak of me to a master? Was I not a thousand times the woman, a thousand times the beauty she was? Was this not recognized, even by Paula? And so Drusus Andronicus regarded her as attractive, did he? We shall see about that! He will see how attractive she is when compared to a truly attractive woman, a true beauty!
“Perhaps, Master,” I said to Drusus Andronicus, “dear Paula is below, or nearby, in the street, waiting, chained to a ring. I might then visit with her. I would be so happy to see her.”
“Ela,” said he, “kajira. She is not about. Uncertain as to the outcome of this meeting, whose prospects now seem bright, I left her behind, in the house of Decius Albus, in the House of a Hundred Corridors.”
“Oh,” I said, as though disappointed.
But this response much pleased me. I had hoped it would be so. The last thing I wanted was for Paula to be about.
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