“It should be of some interest to you,” said Kurik.
“How so, Master?” asked Paula.
“They are all barbarians,” said Kurik.
“Master?” said Paula.
“You did not know?” said Kurik.
“No, Master,” said Paula.
“To be sure,” said Kurik, “there is little to choose from, between a stripped woman of Earth and a stripped Gorean woman. They all collar nicely.”
“Yes, Master,” said Paula.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Surely so many seized slaves on Earth would attract attention,” said Paula.
“Not at all,” said Kurik. “There are a great many countries on Earth. One can pick a slave here, a slave there. Earth has millions of female slaves, lacking only their collars.”
“They would come then from a great many countries,” said Paula.
“Indeed,” said Kurik, “from dozens of what you call ‘countries’. There are slaves from America there, slaves from England, French slaves, German slaves, slaves from Russia, and Japan, and so on. But now they will learn Gorean, the language of their masters.”
“They are very beautiful,” I said.
“Of course,” said Kurik. “One intends to sell them.”
“Would that we were as beautiful,” said Paula.
“You are,” said Kurik. “Otherwise you would not be kneeling before me, on the grass, in your collars.”
“I am yours! Have me, Master!” I begged.
“Please tell my master, Drusus Andronicus,” said Paula, “that his slave, Paula, oils, oils profusely, and begs to be touched.”
“You both stink from sweat and the road,” said Kurik.
“Forgive us, Master,” said Paula.
“We stop this night at a caravanserai,” said Kurik. “Perhaps then you can be washed, and may then belly, and beg use.”
“Yes, Master,” we said.
“But neither of you have noticed what is most interesting about the coffle,” said Kurik.
“What is that, Master?” inquired Paula.
“It is an unusually large, and publicly displayed, coffle of barbarians, moving openly, on a major public road, barbarians, in the midst of daylight. It is not a string of a dozen or so girls, or a handful or two, chained in a slave wagon.”
“I do not understand,” said Paula.
“The blockade seems porous,” said Kurik. “Few ships seem challenged. Have Priest-Kings grown lax? I think something is different, somewhere, perhaps in the Sardar itself.”
I understood nothing of this, nor, I think, did Paula.
At this point, Drusus Andronicus descended from the wagon.
“It is time we were on our way,” he said.
“The slave Paula,” said Kurik, “begs the hands of her master on her worthless body.”
“She can wait,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“Please, Master,” said Paula, “the belly of your slave is afire. It flames with need. I am grievously tormented. Please it. I beg it! Relieve my need, I beg of you!”
“You can wait,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“Yes, Master,” sobbed Paula, her head down, her fists clutched, futilely.
“On your feet, to the wagon rings,” said Kurik, lifting our chains. We then went to the back of the wagon, standing, facing it, somewhat before the rings, while Kurik shortened the chains to a tether link much the same as before.
He then stood behind us.
“Lesha!” he snapped.
We lifted our chins, turning our heads to the left, and placed our wrists behind us. We were then braceleted, and our wrists were fastened behind us, as before.
The lesha command is essentially a “leash” command. Placing the hands behind the body facilitates their tying or braceleting. Lifting the chin facilitates the fixing of the leash. As we were already chained by the neck to the rings on the back of the wagon, and thus, in a sense, were already leashed, the command was essentially one to prepare for a “behind the back” binding of the master’s choice. The turning of the head in a particular direction introduces a uniformity into the command. For example, if a line of slaves were given such a command, it would be unaesthetic if some of the slaves turned one way and some another. The lifting of the head exposes the throat nicely for its encirclement. That the lifted head is turned to the left has an affinity with a number of other practices, the shackling of the left ankle, or the left wrist, the heeling of a master on the left, and so on. One heels on the left, presumably, to avoid any possible interference with the master’s weapon hand, which, in most cases, is the right hand. I have never seen a girl heel on the right, but I suppose it could be done. A left-handed master does sometimes have the slave heel him behind his back. To be sure, there is latitude in such matters, with respect to distance and location. In pressing through a crowd, for example, almost every slave will heel directly behind the master. In this way, one is less likely to press into, or buffet, free persons. Contact with free women is particularly to be avoided.
“Paula!” I whispered, suddenly. “Look! The wagon! The wagon we feared is not concerned with us, after all. It is passing now. It was not following us. It did not pause, as we paused, not to exceed our pace, not to lose contact with us.”
“Yes!” said Paula, relieved.
“We have made our escape from Ar,” I said, “cleanly and safely, without incident.”
“Our fears were groundless,” laughed Paula.
“Yes,” I said.
“How foolish we were, and how vain!” said Paula.
“How so?” I said.
“To think that one so mighty and influential as Decius Albus, trade advisor to the Ubar, would be concerned with us,” said Paula.
“We did not know,” I said.
“That is true,” she said.
There was then a creak of the wagon wheels, those of our wagon, and the wagon was turning toward the Viktel Aria.
We felt the chains on our necks lift a little.
It was a good feeling, to know that we were safe, that danger was past.
I was then, following my relief, again stricken, suddenly, miserably, with the guilt I had so long nursed, having to do with my attempt to seduce Drusus Andronicus. I was torn between my desire to tell Paula what I had done and beg her forgiveness, and my fear of her finding out what I had done, and what sort of person I was. How could she ever respect me, or care for me, again, if she should find out what I had done? How could I risk losing her? With what hatred, and loathing, would she view me, if she should learn of what I had done! And yet it seemed I must speak to her. How could she be my friend, if she did not know? And how could she be my friend if she knew?
“—Paula,” I said.
“Yes?” she said.
“—Where,” I said, “—where do you think we will stop this night?”
“I do not know,” she said. “Some camp, some inn, some hostel, some caravanserai. There are many such places on the Viktel Aria, particularly this close to Ar.”
“I want to bathe,” I said.
“I, too,” she said. “I am sure facilities will be provided for such as we.”
“For the bathing of kajirae,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“For the washing of animals,” I said.
“Certainly,” she said.
We were then again on the Viktel Aria, again on our way.
Chapter Sixty-Four
I hummed to myself, content, and busied myself with the small fire, kneeling near it, tending it, adding small sticks from time to time. Paula was stirring one of the two pots that dangled from a stout metal rod stretched between two of the three sides of the bricked fire pit.
My training as a slave left much to be desired. Certainly I had not spent much ti
me in the collar house to which I had been remanded by Kurik of Victoria, shortly after my arrival on Gor. I had, however, learned, and well learned, that I was collared. I had not, however, been favored with anything approximating an extensive training. For example, I had not been given much training in what one might have referred to as “domestic tasks,” such things as cooking, cleaning, sewing, attending to a domicile, shopping, and so on. On my former world I had been too impatient or vain to concern myself with such things. Such things, if done at all, were for others, particularly women, lesser women, women I implicitly regarded as my inferiors. There were few services, laundering, cleaning, and such, that one could not purchase. Where food was concerned I frequented cafeterias, restaurants, and food shops, where one might be served readily, if not well. One could also purchase varieties of packaged foods that might be conveniently prepared. Paula, on the other hand, at least of women with whom I was personally acquainted, was unusual in this respect, as she could cook and, to some extent, at least, sew. She had even seemed to take a sort of pride in these trivial, homely accomplishments. She seemingly respected them and enjoyed them. Certainly she cooked and sewed. The rest of us, to some degree, looked down upon her, if not scorned her, for such things. Perhaps she was born into the wrong world or wrong century. These interests and skills, such as they were, on Paula’s part, were some of the reasons I tended to feel compassion for her. Why could she not, as the rest of us, buy things, and content herself with food that, I would later learn on Gor, was poorly prepared and tasteless? I had never really tasted fresh fruit and fresh bread until I was brought to this world, as a slave, to serve masters. Similarly, I had never realized the gross, poisoned atmosphere of my former world until I had breathed the fresh, clean air of Gor. Goreans, of course, do not even notice such things; they take them for granted, rather as many of my former world do not even notice their familiar, thick, particle-laden, foul air.
“It will be ready soon,” said Paula.
Toward the fifteenth Ahn our wagon had drawn into the large caravanserai of Hogarth, thirty pasangs from Ar, by the pasang stone, and, already, better than a hundred wagons were housed there. By the eighteenth Ahn there must have been more than four hundred. It is said that during the holidays, particularly those associated with the vernal equinox, at which point Goreans begin their year, as many as a thousand wagons might be quartered in the “Hogarth fields,” which includes the compass of the caravanserai proper and, beyond that, an extensive overflow area. Despite the fact that we had arrived fairly early at the caravanserai, the masters had rented space rather at the edge of the caravanserai, bordering on the enlarged area, which now, at this time of year, was largely vacant. Paula and I were not clear on the motivation for this selection, but we supposed that it had to do either with price or a desire for privacy, most likely privacy, given the fact that our party included Lord Grendel and Eve, the sight of whom would doubtless arouse curiosity, if not provoke alarm. We noticed, shortly after our arrival, as our wagon patiently threaded its way amongst other wagons, on its way to our lot, the wagon we had wondered about earlier. It had apparently arrived well ahead of us. Paula and I felt chagrined. How foolish had been our fears.
“Shortly,” said Paula, “you can summon the others.”
“Good,” I said, stirring the fire with a stick.
The masters had not imposed a ranking between us. I was pleased, and I did not think that Paula had even thought about the matter. I would not have cared to address her, my friend, as “Mistress,” and I was sure she would not have cared to be so addressed. Usually, of course, when slaves are together, one is designated as first girl, whom one must then address as “Mistress,” and obey, as though she might be free. The first girl supervises work, inflicts discipline, resolves differences amongst her charges, and so on. I supposed that Paula would be first girl, were one to be designated. Certainly she had sold for a much better price than it was conjectured I might bring. On the other hand, we had different masters, in which situation the designation of a first girl might have seemed inappropriate, or, at least, problematic.
“Tur-pah, tur-pah,” called a hawker, moving amongst the wagons.
He looked at us, as one looks at slaves, but we were both secure, or, at least, as secure as a slave girl can be, in our brief tunics. We were also washed, cleaned, and combed.
Then the fellow continued on.
“It seems we are desired,” remarked Paula.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am thrilled to be seen by men as a slave,” said Paula.
“I am thrilled to be a slave,” I whispered.
“Oh, I, too, so much so,” whispered Paula.
“It is what we are,” I said.
“Yes,” breathed Paula.
As a slave I felt feminine, needful, and vulnerable. I was not only content with my sex, but regarded it as deliciously, wonderfully precious. How can one be more female than in a man’s collar?
The caravanserai of Hogarth was extensive, but it was also, in many ways, typical of such enterprises, furnished with amenities, a commissary, and various shops. An administration building was prominent, nearly fronting on the Viktel Aria. It was there that spaces, marked with numbered poles, might be rented. Near the administration building was an inn, where one might eat and lodge, though few of the guests, proportionately, availed themselves of this luxury. On the way through the wagons I noted several kitchens where food might be purchased, a clothing emporium, a barbering shop, two bakeries, four wine shops, two outlets of houses on the Street of Coins in Ar, sheds for wagon repair, an infirmary or clinic, under the green sign of the caste of Physicians, and at least five taverns. Each wagon yard had its tiny corral, or pen, for the housing and feeding of draft animals, whether tharlarion, kaiila, or bosk, and a bricked fire pit. As a number of wells were scattered about the grounds water was readily available, seldom more than a few Ehn from any marked location. Of special interest to Paula and myself was the fact that our wagon yard, which bordered on the periphery of the caravanserai proper, was adjacent to one of the slave pools, these located about the periphery of the caravanserai proper, away from the road. Closer to the center of the camp were private enclosures where free women might refresh themselves, bathing themselves or being bathed by serving slaves. Similar arrangements were available to free men, but were not enclosed. Goreans, on the whole, tend to be concerned with matters of personal cleanliness. In Ar itself, as in many of the larger cities, there are private and public baths. The best known public bath in Ar is the vast Capacian, almost a small city in itself with shops, restaurants, libraries, and gymnasiums. Slave pools, of various sorts, are, as one would suppose, very unlike the baths of the free, with their amenities, servants, and pools of different temperatures. In some baths catering to free women the chamber is perfumed and the water scented. As noted, escape is impossible for the Gorean slave girl, for a number of reasons. It is an almost universal practice to return her to her master, and if, as almost never happens, she eludes one master, she will soon kneel to another, and must expect to be treated as the displeasing slave she has proved to be. Indeed, she often tries to return to her original master, to throw herself to his feet and, on her belly, licking and kissing his feet, beg fervently for his forgiveness. I mention this for it has some bearing on the washing of slaves. The bathing of a slave almost always takes place in a manner that helps her to keep well in mind that she is a slave. Sometimes she is locked in a bathing cell. Sometimes, in the wild, when she would bathe in a stream or pool, she does so on a chain fastened about her neck and padlocked about a nearby tree. If the master, in such a situation, wishes to observe, and supervise, the bathing of the slave, he may keep her on a rope tether. Sometimes the master washes the slave himself, as he might any other domestic animal. One of the things a slave girl is trained to do, incidentally, is the bathing of a man. The bathing pool in which Paula and I were put to clean ourselves had a circular f
oundation of brick, and had a depth of a yard, or so. Rising from this circular foundation of bricks was a conical, barred cage, of a height of some five or six feet. We were conducted to the gate in the cage, following which we eased ourselves into the pool, Paula first. The gate was then locked behind us, with its two locks, and Kurik tossed a bar of yellow, tallow soap through the bars to Paula. We were not permitted the bathing oils commonly utilized by the free. “Clean yourselves well,” he said. “When I return I shall bring toweling material, a brush, and comb, and two clean, fresh tunics, that you may not be more offensive to gaze upon than, as worthless slaves, you usually are.” He then turned away, and made his way to the wagon area.
“I like that!” laughed Paula. “Perhaps we are worthless slaves, but we are not likely to be given away, except to friends. We cost money. Coins are exchanged for us. The free woman may be priceless, but, being priceless, she is worth nothing. We at least have our worth, what men will pay for us. And worthless, indeed! We are selected for our beauty, our intelligence, our passion, our needs, and our desirability! And we are clothed, if clothed, in such a way as to display us, to flatter our sex and show it as it can be, as men want to see it, exciting and vulnerable, ready and purchasable! Do not tell me we are worthless! Wars are fought for us! Are we not prime loot? Men risk their lives to get us at their feet!”
“Dear Paula,” I said, “use the soap or give it to me. The masters may soon return for us.”
“In a moment,” she said.
Neither of us wished to be lax in our cleansing. We wished to be well bathed for our own sakes, of course, for we were filthy, but also we wanted to sparkle for our masters. Just as slaves are not permitted to be rudely spoken, or awkward, or clumsy, they are to mind their appearance and keep their bodies clean. A free woman may do as she wishes in such matters, but the slave is not free. Too, she is not eager to feel the lash.
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