by John Norman
Later she sat up a little, and was sensible of the pull of the leash on its collar, and the tiny sound of its links, and she then lay down, on her side.
"Please, Master, let me speak,” she begged.
"No,” he said.
Ramar, the great sleen, lay nearby.
She tried the bracelets a bit, fastening her small wrists behind her body, and knew herself, as she knew she would, slave helpless.
"I want to be in his bracelets,” she thought, scarcely daring to believe her own thoughts. “How long can I pretend to myself I am a free woman? Have I not learned by now I should be a slave, and am a slave? Why does he not touch me? I want his touch. Does he not know what was done to me before, how my body has been changed? My mind cries ‘free woman'! My belly cries ‘slave'! How foolish is my mind! How wise my belly! Dear mind, how you desire to dictate to me! Do you still listen only to others, dear mind, and not to me? Why do you not look upon my truth? Is it not your truth, as well? Dear mind, surrender, unite with my body! Dear mind, is the truth so terrible, so unfamiliar, so unreasonable, so alien? I want to be one with my body, not its foe. I want to be whole! Let the gates be forced, let the walls collapse; please, dear mind, see to it that I am led in chains, helpless, choiceless, rejoicing, to my master's couch!"
The slave noted that her master had made no fire.
This puzzled her.
He sat nearby, not sleeping, considering the forest.
Chapter, the Seventy-Sixth:
THE FOREST CAMP
Tarl Cabot and the slave came to the abandoned forest camp without incident.
He inspected the camp and found it much as it had been, when he had come here last, through the snows of the arranged winter.
He did not close the gate.
He freed the slave of the bracelets and leash, and sent her to gather firewood.
She wore only her collar.
This was sufficient, and the collar would mark her as what she was, should she encounter anyone in the forest.
A brand may be concealed by clothing, if it is permitted the slave, but the collar is commonly visible. This badge of servitude is not only attractive, but it is to be prominently mounted, on the neck of the slave. There must be no mistaking of her for a free woman. If the weather is of inclement ferocity and the slave is muchly bundled against the cold she is expected to kneel immediately in the presence of free persons. In this way she makes her status unmistakably clear. To be sure, regardless of her dress or lack of it, the slave is expected to kneel, at least initially, in the presence of free persons, for example, when addressed, when entering rooms in which they are present, and so on, until, and if, permitted to rise. Interestingly, the slave collar, which might be thought a badge of shame, is often regarded, rather, by its wearer, and certainly by men, to the jealousy, hatred, and envy of free women, as an indisputable emblem of female desirability, a token or insignia of appeal and interest, of attractiveness and allure. Not just any woman is worth a collar; not just any woman is worth buying and selling, or having at your feet. The collar then is, in its way, a public certification of female excellence, a mark, like the brand, of special quality. It says, in effect, “This is excellent goods. Look upon her. Is she not well worth chaining?” Thus, it is not surprising that many slaves, after a time, are not only well pleased with their collars, but find themselves proud to be collared. There are two elements here which many who are unfamiliar with these matters may not understand. First, what many understand as “freedom” has never been essential to happiness, and may actually prove inimical to it. What is important to happiness is that the individual is as she wants to be, and desires to be. She is thus to be permitted to find her happiness where she does find it, in fact, and not where someone else would have her find it. It is also helpful, of course, if the society recognizes her status, accepts it, and approves it. The ideal then is that she finds herself fulfilling a recognized, accepted, approved, and valued societal role, and finds her personal fulfillment and happiness in doing so. And this role may, of course, require the collar. Second, there are many sorts of freedom, not just one. And the slave, though she is the property of a master, and is wholly his, may in her way find more freedom, and be a thousand times more liberated, so to speak, and more joyous, than the free women who fear and despise her. This is sometimes spoken of as the “paradox of the collar,” namely, that she who is least free may, interestingly, be the most free.
To be sure, there is much to fear in being a slave, for masters are not patient, and will have much of her.
She must be concerned to please, and, to the best of her ability, to please superbly.
Ramar was in the woods somewhere, perhaps hunting, or renewing a burrow.
Cabot wondered if the slave would return.
She returned in some twenty Ehn with an armful of dried branches. She was then sent forth twice more.
Following her return, the third time, he took her to a stout post, some six feet high, with two rings, one high, one low, at the side of the camp, one he had had placed there earlier, indeed, with she, the errant slave, in mind, knelt her before it and then braceleted her hands behind the post, and, with the chain leash, pulled her head back against it.
He then closed the gate, built a fire, the first since their journey had begun, and prepared food.
After he had eaten, he rejoined the slave, and fed her some small viands by hand, and gave her of drink, water from a bota.
"May I speak, Master?” she begged.
"No,” he said. He had not permitted her to speak, even from the time of the cage.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
She tried to pull out a bit from the post, and thrust her belly toward him. She whimpered, piteously.
Thus, he thought, were the women of Earth, if brought to the comprehension of their sex. But so, too, were the women of Gor. The differences between them were not biological, but cultural. Interesting, he thought, how the women of Gor look down upon, and despise, the women of Earth as aroused, salacious barbarians, and yet themselves, identically, will whimper and squirm in slave bracelets, pull against chains, writhe in ropes, and lift their bellies pathetically for a master's touch. Cabot saw little to choose between them. Both, reduced to essentials, were the same, human females.
The slave fought the bracelets; she turned her head back and forth, in frustration, in the chain leash that held her head back, against the post. In her eyes were tears. Again and again, struggling, she thrust her belly toward him, supplicatingly.
"She would sell well,” he thought.
He thought, too, of the young men of her former world, how well they might be pleased to see her so.
"No,” he said.
He then went to the opened gate, and peered into the woods. He smiled. He then swung the gate closed.
He returned to the vicinity of the fire and, with a stone, sharpened the two edges of the ax he had brought with him.
This took some time.
Before retiring he again visited the slave, and rebraceleted her hands before her, and about the post, and fastened the chain leash in such a way that she could lift her head no more than a foot from the ground.
She turned, as she could, to view him, and raised her head to the extent permitted by the leash, it shortened and locked about the lower post ring.
"May I speak, Master?” she begged. “Please, may I speak?"
"Tomorrow,” he said.
"Thank you, Master!” she said, bursting into tears. “Thank you, thank you, Master!"
"Now, be silent,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
She then, at a gesture from Cabot, lay swiftly down, for she well knew how a slave is to obey, immediately, and unquestioningly, and he threw a blanket over her. He did this in such a way that it covered her head, as well.
Slaves are often kept in ignorance.
Curiosity, after all, is not becoming to them.
Chapter, the Seventy-Seventh:
WHAT OCCURRED LATER IN THE FOREST CAMP
"May I speak, Master?” she asked.
"And how are you to speak?” he asked.
"As I must,” she said, “as what I am, as a slave before her master."
"You may speak,” he said.
It was morning. She knelt before him. Her knees were in the position of a pleasure slave.
"How clever they are,” thought Cabot.
Cabot had his back to the gate, which he had opened.
"I will not whip her for that,” thought Cabot, “though I know what she is trying to do. Indeed, I think that within that extraordinarily tantalizing body which so stirs me, which I could almost hate for the effect it has on me, there lies concealed, unknown even to she herself, piteously needful, a pleasure slave."
"Master?” inquired the slave.
But Cabot was considering the delicacy, sensitivity, and beauty of her features, the clearness of her eyes, the sheen of her hair, still somewhat shorter than would be ideal for her marketing, and the sweet, tender, vulnerable femininity of her, to which she might not yet be fully reconciled, but which was she, and which would muchly improve her price; how wondrously, he thought, does the femininity of a woman emerge and manifest itself when she is collared, no longer needing to be hidden, or denied, no longer a source of embarrassment, shame, or regret, and how nicely on her lovely neck appeared that collar, his collar, close-fitting and locked. Yes, they should be slaves, he thought. And, he thought, too, while considering her various characteristics, which might appeal to buyers, though she is naive, confused, uncertain of herself, a stranger to herself, in some ways alien to herself, yet she has surely a fine, supple mind, quick, and, even, within its limits, those of Earth, educated. Such things add to a slave's value. To be sure, she was woefully ignorant of Gor, but so, too, are most Earth females brought to the Gorean markets. What need they to know, other than that they are slaves, and must please their masters? How beautiful she was! He decided he would keep her illiterate. Reading and writing was the province of free persons, not of such as she, a slave.
But she has a considerable intelligence, he thought, the sort of intelligence which a man can appreciate, the sort of intelligence he wants at his feet.
"Master?” she asked.
He sat cross-legged, regarding her. The ax lay beside him, at hand.
"You may speak,” he said.
In moments then, tears running down her cheeks, to her collar, and body, stammering, half-choked, words tumbling out one upon another, piteously, only half-coherently, she addressed her master, and as what she knew she was, a slave.
"Forgive me, Master!” she wept. “I was a miserable and foolish slave. I did not realize what I was doing. I felt abandoned! You did not take me with you! You left me in the camp! Better you had bound me, and whipped me, to hurry me before you! Better you had put me on a chain and dragged me behind you! I could not bear to be left behind! Could you not better have burdened me and struck me with switches if I lagged? I wanted so to go with you! You did not permit it! Had I not accompanied you before? Had you not taken me with you before? I wept, grieved, I was outraged, I would teach you you could not treat me in that fashion, you could not do that to me, not to me! I was not thinking clearly! I was foolish! I made a terrible mistake! I should have realized that it was your will, and that I am subject to your will, but I did not! I did a foolish and stupid thing! I ran away! Forgive me, Master! Please, forgive me!"
But Cabot listened to her, impassively.
"I did not understand I was in a collar,” she said. “I did not realize there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. I did not understand then that there was no escape for me, nor for any girl in a collar! I was soon picked up by partisans, and found myself roped, and sequestered. After the resolution of the war I was taken to the habitats, where I was caged, as was fitting for me, caged, to await my master, and my fate. You are my master! Please, forgive me, Master!"
She put down her head, sobbing.
"Did you ever expect, on Earth, to be as you are now, before one such as I, speaking so?"
"No, Master,” she said.
"In the cage,” he said, “initially, you showed me too little respect. You did not assume first obeisance position. You did not speak to me appropriately, as a slave."
"Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.
Cabot had his back to the opened gate. The girl had her head down.
"Did you think you were still on Earth?” asked Cabot.
"Forgive me, Master."
"You were not on Earth,” he said.
"No, Master,” she whispered.
"In several respects,” said Cabot, “it seems you were insufficiently respectful."
"Yes, Master."
"Are you aware of the penalties for showing insufficient respect?"
"No, Master,” she said, “but I fear them."
"A slave,” said Cabot, “may speak the names of free persons in certain fashions, and in certain situations, obviously, such as ‘My master is Tarl Cabot', ‘I am the slave of Tarl Cabot', ‘Mistress Publia desires that you would call upon her', ‘Master Gordon desires your opinion on the breeding of a young female slave', ‘Master Clearchus has repaired the kaiila saddle', ‘It is expected that Master Turik's new coffle will arrive in the city tomorrow, by the tenth Ahn', and so on. But the slave does not address the master, or other free persons, by their own names, unless having permission to do so."
"Yes, Master."
"And that permission is rarely, if ever, granted."
"Yes, Master."
"Did your master give you that permission?"
"No, Master."
"And he will not do so."
"Yes, Master."
"The names of free persons are not to be soiled in such ways, by appearing on the lips of slaves."
"No, Master. Forgive me, Master."
"Your faults,” said Cabot, “are numerous and heinous."
"Yes, Master."
"Perhaps you think you are a free woman?"
"No, Master, I do not think I am a free woman!"
"What are you, then?"
"A slave, Master, a slave!"
"Anything else?"
"No, Master, only that! Nothing else. Only that!"
"And most seriously,” said Cabot, “and as you have acknowledged, you did something preposterously foolish, something incomprehensibly stupid, the seriousness of which I doubt you understood, something the gravity of which you, unfamiliar with your collar, no more than an ignorant, naive slut, fresh from Earth, newly under the whip, could perhaps not even have begun to comprehend, something foredoomed to failure, impossible of success, something fraught with inevitable and profound peril, something of which an informed, knowledgeable girl, aware of her collar, and its meaning, and the realities of her world, would not even dare to think."
"I was angry,” she said. “I was foolish. I made a terrible mistake. I did not know any better. I fled."
"What could you have accomplished, other than perhaps to fall into the power of another master?"
"Nothing, Master,” she said.
"Perhaps you thought you might escape,” said Cabot.
"I did not even think,” she whispered.
"There was no escape for you,” said Cabot.
"No, Master,” she said.
"I gather you now know that,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “I know that now. I am branded and collared, and am a slave. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to go. Even were I to escape one master I would fall to another. I am slave, and must remain so. This world will have it so."
"And so would Gor,” said Cabot.
"Gor?” she said.
"It is a world more beautiful than you can imagine,” said Cabot.
"And on that world would I, too, be a slave?"
"More securely and perfectly, and more helplessly, than you could conceive,” said Cabot. “On Gor they know what to do with Earth women."
"As on Ear
th they do not?"
"Yes,” said Cabot, “as on Earth they do not."
"Will you take me to Gor?"
"Perhaps,” said Cabot. “Certainly there are better markets for selling you on Gor."
"Selling me?"
"Yes,” said Cabot. “You are a slave."
"Please do not sell me, Master!” she cried, lifting her head.
But then, as she lifted her head, her eyes suddenly widened, and she flung a small hand before her mouth, and screamed, shrinking back.
Cabot turned, in an unhurried fashion, and picked up the ax, and rose to his feet, to face Flavion.
"My dear Flavion,” he said.
"Lord Flavion,” said Flavion.
Flavion carried a Kur ax. It was of solid metal, and of a piece. A human could not easily lift such a tool, let alone put it to practical use.
"I have been waiting for you,” said Cabot.
"You were a fool to not face the gate, and to leave it open,” said Flavion.
"How better to lure you within?” asked Cabot.
The slave, at a gesture from Cabot, scrambled, on all fours, to the side.
"You positioned the slave, that you might be warned,” said Flavion. The slave, it may be recalled, had faced the gate. But in her misery, distracted, sobbing, her head down, scarcely daring to raise her eyes from the dirt, she had not immediately detected the presence of the Kur.
"No,” said Cabot, “your left foot drags in the dirt. This scratching, this slow scuffling sound, which you so vainly tried to conceal, is as readily detected as the stroke of a broom, the dragging of a rake."
"The sleen let me pass,” said Flavion.
"Of course,” said Cabot. “You were once of this camp, and so you would be admitted, as before."
"You counted on that?"
"Certainly,” said Cabot.
"I could have killed it,” said Flavion, lifting the ax a bit.
"How easily he handles that tool,” thought Cabot.
"That is possible,” said Cabot, “if you knew it was about, were expecting an attack, and such."
"But I came through, without difficulty."