“I doubt it,” had said Paula. “There are many such rumors. Put them from your mind.”
“Here is the water, fetched from the well,” I said.
“Good,” she had said.
I was again overcome with misery and guilt, that Paula knew nothing of my indiscretion, or betrayal, when I had attempted to sway the manhood and lust of Drusus Andronicus in my favor. How I despised myself. I wanted to speak to her, but did not dare to do so.
“You are very beautiful, Paula,” I said.
I did not think I had seen her so, until after my being scorned and bound by Drusus Andronicus.
How the blood of a man might demand the ownership of such a woman!
“Nonsense,” said Paula. “You are far more beautiful than I. Now let us attend to the supper. The sooner the masters eat, the sooner, too, we will eat.”
“Paula,” I said.
“Yes?” she said.
“I fear we will part,” I said.
“My master spoke of it to me, days ago,” she said. “I was reluctant to speak to you.”
“Paula?” I said.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “I am sorry.”
I burst into tears.
“They cannot stay together,” she said, holding me. “It is dangerous. Their Home Stones differ. They do not share caste. Each must go his own way.”
“Paula,” I wept.
“In secrecy,” she said.
“Paula, Paula!” I wept.
“Our paths may cross,” she said, consolingly. “Until then, each must heel his own master.”
“Paula,” I wept.
“Hush,” she said, “dear, precious Phyllis, supper is to be prepared.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
“Please, please, Master!” I begged.
“Very well,” he said, and unsnapped the ring on my leash, and I leaped to my feet and ran after Paula, who was heeling Drusus Andronicus.
“Paula, Paula!” I cried.
We were both naked. Slaves are often kept naked indoors, and, often, in the wild, so to speak. We were now in the informality of a wagon camp, that which we had reached yesterday afternoon. Many slaves about were naked.
Hearing my cries, Drusus Andronicus stopped, and turned about.
I threw myself to Paula’s feet, weeping, my head down. “Forgive me, Paula,” I wept. “I betrayed our friendship! I was vain, foolish, jealous! You sold for more than I! You were found of much greater interest than I, by many masters! I wanted to prove myself your equal, indeed, your superior! If you could interest a master such as Master Drusus, could I not do so, as well? I sought to interest him, as what I was, as you, a slave! I would have been pleased to turn him from you! I tried to do so! I failed! I was rightfully scorned and bound. I was punished. Forgive me, dear Paula. Please, please, forgive me!”
“Dear Phyllis,” she said, looking down at me, at her feet.
“I dared not tell you,” I said. “Now, I have spoken. Despise me, scorn me, hate me, as you will!”
“I do not hate you, scorn you, despise you, or such,” she said. “You are dear to me, you are my friend.”
“I could no longer bear you not knowing,” I said.
Kurik, of Victoria, my master, had now joined us.
“But I knew, all along,” she said.
“Paula?” I said.
“Certainly,” she said, “my master informed me of the business that very afternoon.”
I could not speak, I was shaken.
“I told you so,” said Kurik. “Of course Drusus Andronicus would inform his slave of the incident. Why should such intelligence be withheld from her? Surely she should be informed.”
“I did not know you knew,” I said, weakly, to Paula, on my knees. “You gave no sign, not the least indication that you knew.”
“We must be on our way,” said Drusus Andronicus. “We have a wagon to be bargained for, tharlarion to purchase.”
Paula knelt by me, and embraced me. “I wish you well, dear Phyllis,” she said. “Perhaps we shall meet again.”
“I wish you well,” I wept. We kissed, quickly, and Paula sprang to her feet. “Forgive me, Master!” she called after Drusus Andronicus, and hurried to heel him. She turned once to wave, and I waved back, tears streaming down my cheeks. At the same time I heard a snap, and my master’s leash had been again fastened to the ring on my leather leash collar, fitted over my regular collar.
“She is such a dear, wonderful thing,” I said.
“She went for a golden tarsk,” he said.
“She gave no sign she knew what I had done,” I said. “She knew all, and yet forgave me. She would not allow my act to impair our friendship. She was willing to give up Drusus Andronicus, if he preferred me. She would have stepped aside, nobly, sacrificing herself, thinking only of him, that he might be happy.”
“You think so?” asked Kurik, my master.
“Surely,” I said, “Master.”
“You seem to think of her as more than human, or as somehow other than human,” he said.
“I suppose so,” I said. “I had not thought of it in that way.”
“As some sort of paragon,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Mindlessly obedient to absurd prescriptions,” he said. “Smiling while being robbed, offering her throat to the knife, turning her back on what means most to her?”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “foolish, naive kajira, know that she is far more worth being your friend than you think, that she is no icon of idiocy, but a living, breathing, feeling creature, a living, loving animal, profoundly and deeply human. Drusus Andronicus recounted the business to me, which he found quite amusing. Your friend, Paula, was furious. Drusus Andronicus had to bind her to keep her in place. She wanted to tear the skin from your body, pull out your hair, and scratch out your eyes. How she squirmed in her bonds, shrieking with rage. He did not dare let her out, into the street, lest she would have sought you out, and perhaps irreparably impaired your value on a slave block.”
“I did not know,” I said.
“He had to switch her to silence.”
“I see,” I said.
“She was somewhat mollified, of course,” said Kurik, my master, “when he informed her of how he had rejected your offer, and left you bound on the street, his rejection of you inscribed on your bared left shoulder with a marking stick, for all to see. She was further mollified when she learned of your lashing.”
“She gave no sign she knew of my deed,” I said.
“She was instructed not to do so,” said Kurik, my master.
“How she must have seethed with hatred,” I said.
“Not at all,” he said. “She soon calmed down, reassured of her master’s rejection of your advances, and having been apprised of your condign punishment. She has always, doubtless, despite what I think is her profound and genuine affection for you, regarded you as weak, shallow, and vain.”
“I see,” I said.
“When one cares for a person,” said Kurik, of Victoria, “one cares for the whole person. Even their weaknesses and faults become precious, and dear.”
“Perhaps I am less weak, shallow, and vain than I was,” I said.
“I doubt it,” said Kurik. “But we must prepare the wagon. We must soon leave.”
“What is our destination?” I asked.
“Curiosity,” said he, “is not becoming in a kajira.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Down on all fours,” he said.
“Master?” I said.
“You are now in the modality of the she-sleen,” he said.
I went down to all fours, looked up at him, and whimpered, questioningly. One can do much with noises, expressions, and attitudes of the body. Does
not any pet animal know that?
“Yes,” he said. “You are now in the modality of the she-sleen.”
I put my head down, on the leash.
I was now in the modality of the she-sleen. One is denied an upright posture. One moves on all fours, or squirms on one’s belly. One may kneel, but not rise to one’s feet. One is denied human speech. One sound or whimper, as in gag signals, signifies “Yes,” and two sounds or whimpers, again, as in gag signals, signifies “No.” One feels very helpless in this slave modality. And few slave modalities better convince one that one is a slave. It can be terribly frustrating, trying to communicate in this modality, a frustration that is doubtless shared by many pet animals. Needless to say, as well, one is naked in this modality, as I was; one feeds and drinks from pans, head down, not permitted to use one’s hands; and when one is put to use in this modality, it is done as one might expect.
“You are pleasant to regard in the modality of the she-sleen,” he said, “or, perhaps, in your case, that of the she-tarsk. When you were so unpleasant in your office that afternoon, on your former world, I speculated how you would appear in this modality. I am not at all disappointed.”
I shook with anger, helpless on my leash.
I was then led through the camp, on all fours, on the leash, as we returned to the wagon.
After a time, I was no longer angry. I realized I belonged on his leash.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
“You are a slave, Phyllis,” he said.
“Yes, Master?” I said.
There could be little doubt of that.
“Are you content as a slave?” he asked.
“Very much so,” I said.
He rose, went to the side of the room, removed the whip from its peg, and cast it to the floor, a few feet away. “Go to the whip,” he said, “on all fours, put your head down, lick and kiss it, and then lift it in your teeth, and bring it to me, on all fours.”
I did so.
I belonged to him.
He could do with me as he wished. I would have it no other way.
He then sat down, cross-legged, and put the whip to the side.
I then knelt before him, in nadu.
“Is freedom not precious?” he asked.
“Surely,” I said.
“Do you not desire freedom?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“My collar,” I said, “is a thousand times more precious.”
“You were once free,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Now,” he said, “you can be bought and sold.”
“I am a slave,” I said.
“I am troubled,” he said.
“Master?” I said.
“I fear I may grow fond of you,” he said.
“Do not sell me!” I begged.
“You know my caste,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“I have assisted in the acquisition, and processing, of hundreds of women,” he said. “I have had my pick of them, and enjoyed them frequently, and as I pleased.”
“Of course,” I said, “they are slaves, or soon to be slaves.”
“But now,” he said, “I am thinking of withdrawing from the work of my caste.”
“Master?” I said.
“At least temporarily,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“I was searching,” he said, “for my slave.”
“It is my hope,” I whispered, “that you have now found her.”
“I am thinking of freeing you,” he said.
“Do not,” I said, frightened. “I am a thousand times more content, and free, in my collar, than I ever was, or could be, as a free woman. Let them have the emptiness and bondage of their freedom. Let me keep the fullness and riches of my collar. Let me keep my rightful subservience, my welcomed subjugation, the privilege of my joyful submission.”
He regarded me.
“Here, on this world,” I said, “I have found myself. Do not, I beg you, take me away from myself! I wish to be a man’s belonging. I want to love and serve, selflessly. I want to be owned, and mastered!”
“Why is that?” he asked.
“Because I am a woman,” I said.
“Serve me wine,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
It was late in the evening.
I will not specify our location. It could be any one of hundreds of cities and towns. Too, we were not, as I understood it, to remain long in this place. Similarly, I will, from time to time, omit details that might, if one were to investigate, supply clues as to our location, or route.
“In this restaurant,” said Kurik, my master, “you will note that the waitresses are briefly tunicked.”
“No less so than I,” I said.
Kurik sat at the small, rather private table, to one side of the broad, pillared, low-ceilinged dining room. A single candle was on our table. I knelt by his side.
“Thus, as in a tavern,” said Kurik, “free women are not permitted.”
“We would not wish to scandalize them,” I said.
To be sure, I did not mind scandalizing them. Let them, in their fine robes and veils, fume and fret. Let them wonder what it might be, to be so beautiful, so desirable, to be wanted so fiercely, that men would take away their clothes and dress them, if they chose to dress them, for their pleasure, to have them before them as they wanted them; let them wonder what it might be, to be so wanted that men would seize them and turn them into properties, into will-less, rightless possessions; let them wonder what it might be to be so wanted that they would be seized, taken in hand, stripped, collared, and branded, and put to a man’s feet, in their place in nature, where they belonged, owned and mastered.
“Sometimes,” said he, “a bold free woman will insist on entering a tavern. Sometimes they even disguise themselves as slave girls. Not unoften then they are seized, and enslaved, and sometimes they discover themselves as collared paga girls in the very tavern into which they sought, illicitly, to intrude.”
“There are many ways to court a collar,” I said. “What woman, in her deepest heart, does not long for her master?”
“There is something interesting about the waitresses here,” said Kurik.
“What?” I asked.
He then explained to me that this city, in which was the restaurant, had been long at war, for generations, with another city. I shall not specify the names of the two cities. There are many cases of such instances on Gor.
“So, what is interesting, Master,” I asked, “about the waitresses here?”
“They all have something in common,” he said.
“What?” I asked.
He then explained to me that they had all once been free women of the enemy city.
The free women of the enemy are always accounted high amongst the loot of conquerors. What better loot can one have than the women of the enemy, naked, and chained at your feet as slaves?
“I should think,” I said, “that men would fear to eat here, lest the waitresses, who may have access to materials in the kitchen, say, knives, might attack them.”
“It would be difficult,” said Kurik, “for a slave to conceal a weapon in a tunic, or, better, if she is naked to the collar.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“Being served by such women,” said Kurik, “adds a piquant sauce to the food. Too, it is pleasant to consider their feelings, as they now, as degraded, abject, meaningless slaves, must serve those who, from childhood, they have been taught to despise and regard as inferiors.”
“I would suppose so,” I said.
At that point, a briefly tunicked brunette, of the sort that men, the beasts, might regard as luscious, knelt before our ta
ble, and, head down, placed her tray on the floor, and then began placing the plates, utensils, and cups on the table.
“Girl,” said Kurik.
“Master?” she said, not raising her head.
“Did you mix a bit of gravy in my slave’s gruel?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
My master was often thoughtful. I muchly loved him, and I suspected he might care for me, at least a little, but it was not wise, of course, to enter into such matters. I would not have cared to be hooded and led to a market.
So much I loved him; so much I was his!
“My slave,” he said to our waitress, “is a barbarian.”
The waitress, on her knees, stiffened in anger.
“Serve her,” he said. “Lift up the bowl, and hand it to her.”
“That is not necessary, Master,” I said.
“Be silent,” said Kurik.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Forgive me, Master.”
“Say,” said Kurik, to the slave, “‘I, once a free woman, of the high city of —’,” and here we omit the name of the city, “‘now a slave, serve, as a slave, on my knees, another slave, a barbarian slave’.”
The slave repeated the words.
“Do you hesitate?” asked Kurik. “Shall we summon the manager and report your hesitation? Perhaps you have been roped and whipped before.”
“I do not hesitate,” she said, quickly, handing me the bowl. In it was a spoon. That, like the gravy, had been specified by Kurik, and was, surely, another indication of his thoughtfulness. I feared he might grow weak with me. He must not do so. He must not do so!
“Speak,” said Kurik, sharply.
“Your supper,” said the slave, lowering her head.
“Speak,” said Kurik, even more sharply, more menacingly.
“Your supper, Mistress,” said the slave.
“Go,” said Kurik to the waitress. “Then return, and kneel, from time to time, to see if we would be further served.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, frightened, and swiftly withdrew.
“Was Master not hard with a slave?” I asked.
“She does not yet realize she is a slave,” said Kurik.
Plunder of Gor Page 78