by John Norman
"Never!” she cried. “Never!"
He saw that she was sexually stimulated, muchly aroused. Clearly, and not only in her dreams, she had often thought herself a slave, and had perhaps foolishly suffered and struggled against her body and its needs, her heart and its needs, against the primitive depth and helpless wholeness of her slave needs.
Doubtless often, in her dreams and otherwise, she had stood upon the slave block, in sawdust, in the light of torches and lamps, exhibited, and had been auctioned to the highest bidder. Doubtless, often, she had been led from the market, back-braceleted, and leashed, perhaps hooded, led as might be any other newly purchased animal, to her new home. Doubtless, too, she had often knelt before masters, or kissed their feet, in gratitude and love, in reverence or supplication. Perhaps she had sometimes been bound to an overhead whipping ring and had been switched, or lashed, for some miniscule fault or shortcoming. Perhaps, often, she had striven in chains, desperately, fearfully, to give her master inordinate pleasures.
"I wonder if you have had your slave wine, or some similar substance, something with the same consequences or effects,” he said.
"What is slave wine?” she asked.
"Never mind,” said he.
Slaves, as domestic animals, are normally bred only as the masters please.
"Are you a virgin?” he asked.
"That is my business!” she snapped.
"A determination might be made,” he said.
"Yes,” she said, angrily. “I am a virgin!"
Strange that she, a virgin, he thought, should be so soon on the verge of begging for sex. Already thought Cabot she feels the warmth of slave fires in her belly. He did not think it would take long before she became their piteous, begging prisoner.
Perhaps it is the chain, he thought, the chain, binding fiber, such things, which hasten such things, which bring a female so rapidly, so pathetically, so needfully, so openly and honestly, to her knees.
"What are we to do now?” she asked, uneasily.
"We shall continue with your lessons in Gorean,” he said.
She put down her head, her small hands on the chain dangling from her collar. “Very well,” she said.
"But,” said he, “we will try to do a thousand words a day."
"I think I cannot do so much,” she said.
"We will do the best we can,” he said.
"Why so many?"
"I do not know how much time we have,” he said.
"No,” she said. “This has to do with something you saw, something you saw outside the stable."
"Perhaps,” he said.
"What was it?” she asked.
"Doubtless in time you will learn,” he said.
"I want to live,” she said.
"We will do the best we can,” he said.
"La kajira!” she said.
"Excellent,” he said.
"You see,” she said. “I remembered!"
"Excellent,” he said.
"Those are my first words in Gorean!” she said.
"And appropriately so,” he said.
"Why?"
"It does not matter now,” he said.
"They mean I am a beautiful female!” she said.
"Something like that,” he said, “or usually."
"I did not forget them,” she said.
"Good,” he said.
Chapter, the Fourth:
THE INTERLOCUTOR
"What are you?” asked Cabot.
"The result of an experiment,” he said.
I think I have made clear the difficulties of replicating in a human tongue the phonemes of Kur, as we shall refer to the language of this particular habitat, one, actually, of several in the worlds, and, correspondingly, naturally, the difficulty of reproducing in Kur the phonemes of typical human languages. These difficulties index almost entirely to anatomical dissimilarities. To be sure, it is somewhat easier for a Kur to utter noises which, allowing for considerable distortions, or, shall we say, accent, better approximate human phonemes than the reverse. It is possible, of course, for a Kur to recognize certain sounds in, say, Gorean, and for a human to recognize certain sounds in Kur. I think I mentioned, for example, that the blonde pet from the container could recognize her name in Kur, certain commands, and such. It is one thing, naturally, to recognize a sound and another to replicate it. Consequently, most communication between humans and Kurii is accomplished by means of translators. This note is largely to remind any reader unfamiliar with Kur that in the interests of intelligibility we must either devise names for individual Kurii, or have recourse to descriptions, or such. It would be difficult or impossible to replicate the actual phonemes. The reader is familiar with this already in the case of Zarendargar. Accordingly, various Kurii will be herein referred to in terms hopefully intelligible to, or at least pronounceable by, readers unfamiliar with Kur. I think we have no practical alternative to this procedure, and, accordingly, we beg the reader's indulgence with respect to this liberty, accompanied as it must be by its concomitant distortions.
"You are not Kur,” said Cabot.
"I am Kur,” he said.
Cabot's interlocutor surely wore Kur harness, though he was not armed, not even with the small throwing ax, or night ax, commonly used in approaching isolated sentries, and such.
"No,” said Cabot.
This conversation was at the time being conducted by means of the interlocutor's translator, clipped to the harness. The device may then be carried or not, as one desires, and, when carried, does not impede movement. This particular model was disklike, and with a diameter of less than two hort. It would fit easily into the palm of even a human.
"Why do you say that?” inquired the interlocutor.
"I think,” said Cabot, “you could speak Gorean."
"I am not to blame for my defects,” he said.
You see the interlocutor's voice was somewhat other than that of the Kur, though surely Kurlike.
But that had been part of the experiment.
The first time the brunette had seen the interlocutor she had screamed and scrambled back, to the end of her chain, as close as she could to the rear wall of the stall.
Cabot had stood, to greet him, lifting his hand, and saying, “Tal."
The interlocutor had then, in its shambling way, put down the bowl of food and the bota of water. Later he had brought a wastes bucket. Neither time did he speak, either verbally or through the translator.
"It is hideous!” had said the brunette, when their keeper, or keeper's helper, had departed.
"It is different, surely,” had said Cabot.
"It is the sort of thing that brought us here,” said the brunette.
"Similar,” said Cabot, “not the same, not exactly the same."
"Animals! Beasts!” said the brunette.
"They are Kurii,” said Cabot. “One would be spoken of as a Kur."
"It is one of them,” she said. “Can you not see that?"
"I am not sure,” said Cabot.
"It is very much like one,” said Cabot.
"The same!” she exclaimed.
"Much the same,” agreed Cabot.
When the next day he came again with food and water, and to replace the wastes bucket with a cleaner vessel, the brunette crouched down in the straw, but did not scream.
The interlocutor had brought food, and water.
Naturally she wished to eat and drink.
Interestingly he had put the bowl of food and the bota beyond her reach.
Cabot wondered if the Kurii who had been on the Prison Moon had informed him of the brunette's words in the hallway, those words which had in no more than a moment changed her into marketable goods.
"I am hungry,” said the brunette.
Cabot let her feed first.
Let her think, thought he, she is still a free woman. She can learn later she is kajira. Besides, we may soon be eaten. Yet, thought he, I do not think we are to be eaten, certainly not yet, for we have not yet been eaten, an
d, too, if we were to be eaten, would we not be fattened, or such, not given this gruel, these pellets, and water?
Cabot noticed that she had left him less than half of the food.
He said nothing about this.
It is perhaps an inadvertence, he thought.
Such things should not happen with a slave, of course. She will feed after the master or under the supervision of the master. In any event, the master would be the first to partake of the food, be it only with so little as a finger lifted to his tongue.
She took, in English, to abusing the quiet interlocutor in his attendance, treating him shortly, and with contempt.
She referred to him as “Caliban,” which is apparently a reference to the literature of one of the Englands. From the reaction of Cabot one gathers the reference was not complimentary, nor was it intended to be so.
"He cannot understand me,” she said.
"Much can be gathered from expressions,” said Cabot, “the tone of one's voice, the attitude of one's body, such things."
"He is stupid, a beast,” she said.
"He is much like a Kur,” said Cabot, “and many Kurii are of high intelligence."
"He is a Kur,” she said.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"They are stupid beasts,” she said.
"I would show him more respect,” said Cabot.
"Why?"
"He might take you off your chain and eat you,” said Cabot, “or eat you on your chain."
"Oh,” she said.
"Perhaps you should think of him less as Caliban,” said Cabot, “and more as Grendel."
The translator is of little help here, but one gathers this was a reference accessible to the brunette. One takes it from the context that a Grendel might be less patient, or more menacing, or more dangerous, than a Caliban, whatever such things might be.
Also, interestingly, as clarified later, Cabot conjectured that an entity spoken of as “Grendel” had once existed on the Earth, and might have been Kur. Similarly, it was his speculation that certain other entities alleged to exist on Earth, particularly in remote mountainous or forested areas, might have been Kurii. We make no judgment on this matter, but it is true that occasionally Kurii were abandoned or marooned on Earth, usually for insubordination, or as a consequence of mutiny, or such.
"Why does he put the food by you first,” she asked, “where I cannot reach it?"
"I do not know,” said Cabot.
"He is a weakling,” she said.
"I do not think so,” said Cabot. “Let us continue with your lessons in Gorean."
"Is it male?” she asked.
"I think so,” he said.
"I despise males,” she said, “—present company excepted, of course."
"You need not except the present company,” he said.
"Very well,” she said.
Cabot thought she would look well on her belly, licking and kissing a man's feet, hoping to be found pleasing.
He supposed that she had had little experience of a certain sort of males, namely, men.
He considered the interlocutor. He was sure he was male, but was perhaps a nondominant, a male who was forbidden to express his maleness, who does not practice it, who has not fulfilled it, such things.
He wondered if many of the males of Earth were nondominants.
Little wonder then, he thought, that so many of the women of Earth languish, deprived, in sexuality's polar wastes, that so many suffer seemingly inexplicable chronic ailments, that so many are mired in boredom or depression, that so many are twisted in neurosis, that so many are frustrated, miserable, petty, irritable, and nasty, that so many are unfulfilled and tragically unhappy.
Send the better ones, he thought, to a Gorean slave block.
Consider the former Miss Pym, he thought.
She would much profit from a slave collar and a taste of the lash.
"What are you thinking about?” she asked.
"Let us continue with your lessons,” he said.
"Very well,” she said.
* * * *
"I think,” said Cabot, to the interlocutor, “you do not need the translator."
The interlocutor did not respond, but turned, and left.
"Of course it needs a translator,” said the brunette.
"I am not sure of that,” said Cabot.
"It is a Kur,” she said.
"It is much like one,” said Cabot.
"Kur,” she said.
"The eyes,” said Cabot, “seem different."
"I do not know that much about Kurii,” she said. Certainly they do not look human."
"You are right,” said Cabot.
She sniffed. “When next he comes, use the translator,” she said, “and demand more and better food, richer food, and more of it, and something other than water to drink, and demand proper clothing for me."
"What would you consider proper clothing?” he asked.
"I do not understand,” she said. “Why are you smiling?"
He had perhaps in mind a slave strip, or a slave rag, or perhaps a nice tunic, or part of one, and, doubtless, a close-fitting, suitable collar.
"Something appropriate,” she said, “indeed, a wardrobe, casual wear, street wear, sports wear, perhaps even evening wear, such things, a wardrobe of high quality, one compatible with my social position. Why are you smiling?"
"You are learning Gorean,” he said. “Why do you not insist on these demands yourself."
"My Gorean is not yet that good,” she said.
"I am afraid our friend,” said Cabot, “does not always turn his translator on."
"I am afraid,” she said, “he has little authority."
"I think you are right,” said Cabot.
"But he could surely nonetheless convey my demands, our demands, to his superiors,” she said.
"Doubtless,” said Cabot.
"Speak to him,” she said.
"If you wish,” he said.
The next day Cabot brought the wishes of his stall mate to the attention of the interlocutor, making quite certain, in a civil and polite manner, of course, but not in an obsequious manner, that he understood that these were the insistencies, or demands, of the brunette, and he was acting as a mere intermediary.
Cabot, you see, was well aware that he and his lovely stall mate were in no position to make demands.
He was grateful that to this point, at least, they had their lives.
The brunette did not follow the conversation well, given the current status of her Gorean.
At one point the interlocutor turned to the brunette and looked at her, as though for the first time, and looked at her rather intently. The brunette, disconcerted, drew back on the chain, and covered herself, as well as she could.
"She is pretty, is she not?” inquired the interlocutor.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"I know one that is much prettier,” said the interlocutor.
"Oh?” said Cabot.
"They are so smooth,” said the interlocutor.
"Yes,” agreed Cabot. Too, that smoothness felt well within one's arms, warm, soft, alive, squirming, vulnerable.
"There are others, some others,” said the interlocutor, “some with the men."
"There are men here?” asked Cabot.
"Some,” said the interlocutor, “and not those in the pens, but the allies, those who have the small ships."
"Confederates of your people?” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said the interlocutor, looking at him, closely, “of my people."
He looked back at the brunette, who regarded him, angrily.
"She is kajira, is she not?” asked the interlocutor.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
The brunette, hearing this word, straightened her body a little.
How vain she is, thought Cabot.
The interlocutor then turned about, and left.
"What did he say, about our demands?” asked the brunette. “Is he going to convey them to h
is superiors?"
"Your demands,” said Cabot. “And he did not say anything about it, one way or the other."
"What a stupid beast!” she said.
"I do not think so,” said Cabot.
"Next time,” she said, “you must be more firm, more insistent."
"You may speak yourself, next time, if there is a next time,” he said.
"My Gorean!” she protested.
"Speak in English,” he said.
"He would not understand,” she said.
"No, he would not."
"Then what would be the point of it?"
"There is no point to it,” he smiled.
"My demands are meaningless?"
"Yes,” said Cabot. “Now kneel there on your chain and think about that."
"I did hear the word ‘kajira',” she said, pleased.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"He thinks I am beautiful,” she announced.
"Pretty, at least,” said Cabot.
"'Pretty'!” she said. “Beautiful!"
Cabot smiled.
"You at least,” she said, “can see that I am beautiful, extraordinarily, remarkably beautiful!"
"You will do,” he said.
"Beast!"
"I told you, did I not, that I thought you would bring a good price—in a market, a slave market."
"Beast! Beast!” she said.
But Cabot could see that she was pleased. What woman has not wondered what she might be worth, what men would pay for her?
If a female wishes to understand what she is, let her consult her fantasies, her dreams.
"He thought that I was pretty?” she asked.
"I think so,” said Cabot.
"But what would a beast, such a beast, know about female beauty?” she asked.
Cabot shrugged.
"—You don't think?” she said. She jerked at the chain, frightened.
"I do not know,” he said.
"How long have we been here?” she asked.
"I think five days,” he said.
"The light here is dim, but constant,” she said.
"I have frequently gone to the barred portal, through the passages, sometimes while you slept, and there have been there five lights and five darknesses."
"Day and night!” she exclaimed. “Then we are on a world!"
"We are on a world,” he said. “I am sure of it."
"Then it is a natural world, a planet, for there is day and night!” she said.