“I am pleased to be owned,” I said.
How I belonged to him! How joyful I was to be a property! What woman does not long for her master?
“You are highly intelligent,” he said. “It is pleasant to have one such as you in my collar, one such as you subject to my whip.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do you fear it?” he asked.
“Very much,” I said.
Had I not felt it?
“It will be used on you, unhesitantly,” he said, “should you prove in the least bit displeasing.”
“Yes, Master,” I said. “I am kajira.”
“Speak,” he said.
“I am yours to whip,” I said. “I am your slave, yours to serve, yours to ravish as you wish, yours to love!”
“Beware,” said he, “mere pleasure beast.”
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Surtak,” he said, “will advance, suddenly, roaring, then stopping, brandishing the ax. All attention will be directed upon him. It must be. In that moment, dart to the kajirae and tell them, if they would live, to hurry here, closely together, where we might, with good fortune, for a bit of time, fend off the Kurii. I do not think you will be noticed. When the kajirae move they will, of course, be seen. Surtak, then, will interpose himself between them and the Kurii, providing a shield until this position is reached.”
He had scarcely said this when Surtak, with a loud cry in Kur, a roar, rushed forward, and then halted, shaking his ax violently at Lucilius, removed in the box, near the distraught Decius Albus.
I sped to the kajirae.
In a moment, they were aflight, hastening to the vicinity of the stake to which Kurik had been chained, where he, Lord Grendel, and Drusus Andronicus had stationed themselves.
The closest Kurii had fallen back, and even Lucilius, in the box, had apparently been startled, presumably anticipating a mad climb on the part of Surtak to the box. He had his ax poised. The headless corpse of Aelius was below the box, sprawled across three of the lowest tiers.
I did not suppose that Surtak, however enraged, given the example of Aelius, would have essayed that climb.
He had, however, clearly suggested that possibility.
The kajirae were well afoot before they were noticed, and then there was a great cry of rage and disappointment from several of the Kurii. At the same time they discovered Surtak had moved to his left, and had placed himself between them and the hastening kajirae. They would then have to deal with steel before they could hope to feed.
One or two of the formerly inert Kurii, who had passed out, or been asleep, had now been roused from their drunken stupor, and were standing, confused, and unsteady, on the field.
A Kur lunged forward, but stopped, snarling, and backed away, threatened by the ax of Surtak.
Surtak now moved to his right, his eyes on the Kurii, and I, and the cloud of kajirae, behind that shield, running, would, in a moment, attain that precarious haven for which we strove, a refuge little superior, I feared, to none at all.
Surtak, of course, had left the vicinity of the stake, to cover the flight of the kajirae, which, of course, exposed the two humans, Drusus Andronicus and Kurik, my master, to attack, and Lord Grendel, as well, who had surrendered his ax to Surtak. Kurii, a life form that tends to be large, agile, swift, fierce, and powerful, tend to be contemptuous of humans, which they commonly regard as an inferior life form. This contempt, on the other hand, is not always justified, as Kurii have learned, in Torvaldsland, the Tahari, the jungles of the Ua, and elsewhere. In any event, I cried out in misery as I saw a Kur, in the absence of Surtak, rush upon Drusus Andronicus, doubtless intent to sweep him aside and seize the slave, Paula, crouching behind him. It reached, snarling, for Drusus Andronicus, and the sword of the latter, like a striking ost, swift, clean, and deep, almost invisible in its movement, penetrated that massive body, only to be instantly withdrawn, that it might be freed for another thrust. But no other thrust was necessary. Clearly the Kur was startled. It wavered, puzzled, confused, and then stiffened, and fell to the earth.
“Beware!” said Lord Grendel.
“It begins,” said Kurik, grimly.
For a moment nothing seemed to move on the field. Something of enormity had occurred, and had not yet been fully understood. And the Kurii looked to one another. It had been done. It had taken place. A human, one of that small, slow, fragile, weak, wretched, inferior, almost peltless stock, a small, vulnerable, despicable animal, a thing lacking claws, a soft thing, small jawed, with little in the way of fangs, had slain a High One, a Kur. One does not expect such things. What verr would dare to slay a larl, what tarsk a sleen?
Could such a thing be understood?
Had not nature itself been outraged?
“Peace, peace!” called Decius Albus, in his robes, soaked with the blood of Aelius.
“Kill all humans!” screamed a Kur, and seized a man, tearing off an arm, and biting through the throat, blood running between the fangs, and running like water down its chest.
Men cried out, scattering, fleeing toward the two lines of soldiers. This flight seemed to stimulate many of the Kurii, who, if undecided a moment before, were now precipitate in their pursuit. I saw more than one man dragged down, and fed upon. Some men, wiser, backed slowly away, threatened. Some reached the soldiers, and a Kur, threatened by a forest of spears, would turn away, seeking other prey. Some men remained, frightened, in the stands. Others descended through the tiers and sought to escape, away from the stands and field. Then I saw a Kur attack another Kur.
“Peace!” screamed Decius Albus.
“Hold, hold, stop, stop!” cried Lucilius, from the box, in wild remonstrance, this exhortation picked up by Lord Grendel’s translator, and transmitted with impassive alacrity.
“Spare our humans, kill the others!” cried Decius Albus, pointing toward the stake, our small group, and the kajirae clustered about us.
Some Kurii turned toward us, but, wary of Surtak and his ax, did not charge.
I saw another human killed by a half-mad, drunken Kur.
“Traitor, traitor!” screamed Decius Albus to Drusus Andronicus, who stood ready, looking about himself.
“You stood before me, you protected me,” cried Paula. “You are my master, my beloved master!”
“Be silent, unless you wish to be put upon the block!” said Drusus.
“I would not perish otherwise than at your feet, my master!” wept Paula.
He spun about and, with the flat of his left hand, struck her savagely to the grass, and was then, again, resolute, in the guard position. She looked up at him, disciplined, reassured, grateful, her eyes shining, put in her place, below him, a slave.
How radiant, how beautiful, was Paula! On Earth she had been nothing, and now, on Gor, she was the slave of a master. How she had longed for this world, and how she now found herself upon it, and as she wished to be, owned, and mastered, a branded, collared slave. Selflessness, and abject surrender, was her joy. Total and uncompromising slavery to her master was her ecstasy.
But how had she dared to speak? Did she not know she had been cautioned to silence? And how dared she use the expression ‘my master’ to him, when she belonged to another, to Decius Albus?
How tragic can be the lot of a helpless slave!
In her heart she was the slave of Drusus Andronicus, but, in the bonds of stern law, as obdurate as brass, as unyielding as steel, she was no more than another chattel of Decius Albus. A free woman can sell herself, but a slave cannot. She owns nothing, least of all herself. She belongs to her master.
How tragic to find herself longing for the chains of one master, and find herself fastened in the chains of another!
“Officers, men at arms, loyal servitors of the house,” called out Decius Albus, to the lines of soldiers, “do not threaten our all
ies, our Kur brothers.” He then pointed toward Surtak, Drusus Andronicus, Kurik, and Lord Grendel. “There are your enemies,” he called out. “Turn your spears toward them. Converge upon them, slay them! And do not interfere otherwise. Let our mighty friends, our Kur brothers, have the kajirae!”
“No!” cried more than one man in the ranks.
“Order!” called an officer. “Discipline!”
The two lines of soldiers, closing off the open ends of the field, wavered. In places ranks were broken. Some men would doubtless obey, responsive to the bugles of war, but others seemed recalcitrant. Had they not now noted, this taking place before their very eyes, rampaging Kurii, unprovoked, attacking unarmed men? Who then, or what then, is friend or foe? Might they be the next to fall to those fangs? Surely Kurii had threatened them at the margins of the field. And, too, one does not kill kajirae, no more than one would sully or soil the rugs of Tor, or deface the intricate mosaics of Venna. Kajirae are not free persons, not enemies, no more than kaiila. They are goods, loot, pleasure animals. One does not kill them. One appropriates them, one seizes them, owns them, and enjoys them. Sometimes a free woman’s slaves, obedient to the orders of conquering men, will seize, strip, and bind their mistress, and throw her to the feet of the victors, for the collar and iron. And many a free woman strips herself and, in the streets, before victors, as walls tumble and houses burn, performs obeisance, hoping to be spared for the coffle and market.
Decius Albus, his robes bloody, standing in the box, ax-bearing Lucilius wild and snarling at his side, while the field was broken into warring factions, men against Kur, Kur against men, men against men, Kur against Kur, remonstrated again and again with his men, “Peace! Peace! Do not threaten our dark brothers! Do not fight one another! Kill the traitorous Kur, Surtak, so reluctant to pursue the ends of the great Agamemnon! Kill the monster Grendel! Slay his fellow, Tenrik, of Siba! Kill the renegade Drusus Andronicus, murderer of a noble Kur, false to our table, false to his fee! Death to those who would divide us and spoil the festivities! Obey! The kajirae are for the sport of our allies! Do not interfere!”
“Ho!” cried Drusus Andronicus, in a mighty voice. “You have seen the beasts kill men! Do you think you would be spared? Would you have them feed on you, as well as vulnerable, helpless, stripped kajirae? Do you want your blood to fill the goblets of such beasts? They are not your friends, they are your enemies! Fight them and slay them, as you would the wild, ravening beasts of the fields!”
“Order, brothers!” cried Lucilius, his frenzied Kur streaming rapidly but passively through Lord Grendel’s translator. “Let Kur not fight Kur! Do not do war upon one another!”
But I feared that few of those Kurii embroiled with one another in that melee, adherents of Surtak or Lucilius, tearing at one another, teeth locked in bodies, rolling in the grass, much attended to the plea of he who had been, but shortly before, their acknowledged leader.
“Differences may be amicably resolved,” roared Lucilius, grasping his bloody ax. “Let reconciliation be proclaimed! Let fruitful, gentle peace abide! Traitors may be sought out and slain in a quieter, more pleasant time.”
“Return to your posts! Put up your weapons! Heed your officers, those loyal to me!” screamed Decius Albus to the soldiers and guards.
I looked about.
Several knots of war, in moving, violent tangles, roiled in the field. There were cries. Weapons clashed. I saw a man sink to the ground. Elsewhere in the field, and at its edges, men faced one another, many in a threatening manner. Some held Kurii at bay with leveled spears. Many men, clearly, wavered, seemingly confused, surely not knowing what to do, willing neither to obey nor to refuse to obey.
“Soldiers of Ar,” cried Drusus Andronicus, “those of you who are men, those of you who are worthy of the Home Stone of Ar, would you let lovely properties that should be yours, and may be yours, perish under the fangs of maddened beasts?”
“No!” cried a man.
“Are they worth only that?” cried Drusus Andronicus.
“No!” said more than one man.
“Discipline!” called an officer.
“Return to your ranks,” called another.
“They are not free persons, enemies to be met in battle, enemies who would kill you, enemies who must fear your blades,” cried Drusus Andronicus. “They are loot, objects, goods, kajirae, lovely, domestic stock, to be penned and owned, and fitted with chains, and sold.”
“Yes, yes!” called more than one man.
“Surely, as men,” called Drusus Andronicus, “you can think of better things to do with such goods, kajirae, can you not, than feed them to hungry beasts, better things to do with them than put them to the purpose of a beast’s provender.”
“Certainly!” laughed a man.
I understood that laugh, the laugh of a proud, free Gorean male.
I think I would have been terrified to have heard such a laugh on Earth. In that laugh was bespoken the truth that there were two sexes, and that one sex was the fit property of the other. Hearing it, I was well reminded not only that I was a woman, but that I was, on this world, aside from the obvious biotruths of a species, a particular sort of woman, that here I was, in full and complete legality, naught but a property, a vendible, purchasable object.
How far I was from my former world!
The kajirae, I amongst them, huddled together, all of us naked, and collared, near the stake to which Kurik, my master, had been chained. We were slaves, female slaves. Our fate was not in our hands. It would be determined by men.
“Albus will summon more men,” said Kurik.
“It will take time,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“Doubtless he has already done so,” said Kurik.
“Possibly,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“From the wagons, the guards,” said Kurik.
“Quite possibly,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Beware the Assassin.”
“He remains in position, he does not charge,” said Kurik.
“Interesting,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“I could not stand against his skills,” said Kurik.
“Nor, I think, could I,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Why does he not advance?”
“We are two,” said Kurik.
“In a moment, given the fire of that sword, we could be none,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“He kills for pay,” said Kurik.
“Matters are uncertain,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Gold moves that blade, not words, not honor. What merchant would part with his goods while lacking the likelihood of recompense? What rational craftsman would sell his services without the assurance of gain?”
My master looked to me, sharply.
“Phyllis!”
“Master?” I said.
“Men are confused,” he said. “Gaps may be found in ranks. You are kajira. Men may be reluctant to strike you. You may be able to make your way to the wagon. Attempt to do so.”
I recalled that he had earlier encouraged me to return to the wagon, but I had not been able to do so.
“No!” I said. “I do not wish to do so. Forgive me, but I will remain here. You are in terrible jeopardy. I will not leave you!”
“You will obey,” he said.
“I will stay with you!” I cried.
“Go!” he said.
“They will not permit me passage!” I said. Did he think I was a free person? Did he not realize I was kajira?
“Hurry!” he said.
Tears burst from my eyes. I leapt to my feet and raced amongst men, some fighting, toward the perimeter of the field. A Kur turned savagely about, snarling, but I was past it. At the perimeter, I was turned back, resolutely, unhesitantly, as I had anticipated. I was treated identically at the other open perimeter. I was kajira. There was no escape for me. And Kurii fronted the field before the stands. It had do
ubtless seemed to the soldiers that I was trying to escape. Given the circumstances they would have supposed me to have been, understandably enough, I suppose, frantic with fear. Perhaps that is why they only turned me back, sternly, and did not throw me to my belly and slash the tendons behind my knee on both legs, hamstringing me. Goreans do not look lightly on the foolishness of slaves attempting to escape. And how would one escape, slave clad or stripped, branded and collared? And where could one escape to, in a world in which one could be but one thing, a slave? And why had my master wanted me to reach the wagon? I knew it to be empty. And the guards had determined that to their own satisfaction. Surely he remembered all that.
Miserable in one sense, but far from disheartened in another, cheered that I might return to the side of my master, to be with him, no matter what might ensue, I made my way back toward the stake.
The slaves were huddled there, together. How pathetic they looked. And, in a moment, I must take my place amongst them. I supposed it was much the same when a city falls and its more attractive women are stripped and gathered together, to await what will be done with them. To be sure, the captives would not as yet have been marked and collared. Interestingly, aside from proprietary markings and suitable collarings, it is easy to distinguish between two such groups, one of stripped free women and one of stripped kajirae. There would be a softness and vulnerability, a readiness, an appetition, and vitality, to the kajirae that would not yet characterize the free women. The kajirae have learned that they are women, and slaves. If necessary, they have learned it under the whip. The slave is not a pseudomale. She is a woman, and feminine, extremely feminine. She accepts her femininity, and rejoices in it. It is what she is, and wants to be. In her complementarity to the male, in her yielding to him, in her submission to his dominance, in her slave to his master, she finds herself.
In a moment, on the side rather near my master, I knelt amongst the other slaves. I trusted they would not think that I had been weak, foolish, or stupid, or incredibly naive, that I had essayed an escape, or perhaps they merely thought that I had simply lost my head and fled, that I had hoped, absurdly, to make my way unscathed between the spears.
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