by John Norman
"I gather there are many such complementarities,” said Cabot.
"One,” she said, “is man and woman, and there is another, which I fear is the same."
"What is that?” asked Cabot.
"Master and slave,” she said.
"Interesting,” said Cabot.
"I know nothing of such things,” she said. “But I do know I am your slave."
"That is clear,” said Cabot. “My collar is locked about your pretty little neck."
"I was your slave when first I looked upon you,” she said, “long before you closed that device upon me."
"Perhaps, in a sense,” he said.
"And you whipped me,” she said.
"That is meaningless,” he said.
"It was not meaningless to me,” she said.
"What is important,” he said, “are the legalities, the brand, the collar, such things. It is those things which are important. They are what make you wholly and perfectly a slave. A lashing is nothing. It is merely something which may be done to a slave, a mere hazard to which a slave is subject, particularly if she fails to be pleasing in some way."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"To be sure, a slave may have an emotional reaction to many things, a lashing, a cuffing, clothing, caging, food, errands, commands, almost anything."
"I had an emotional reaction to my beating,” she said.
"Oh?"
"I sensed then how much I was yours."
"You were no more or less my slave before or after the beating,” he said.
"My emotions seemed different,” she said.
"Such things are irrelevant to the realities involved,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"It does not matter what you feel or do not feel. It does not matter whether you are beaten or not, cuffed or not, clothed or not, chained or not, kept as a house slave or a field slave, kept as a pot girl or a pleasure slave, pampered or well ruled. You can be bought and sold, and done with as might please me."
"Yes, Master."
"Any master who owns you might be expected, at one time or another, to give you a lashing."
"Any master?"
"Certainly."
"I do not want to be sold,” she said.
"I am thinking of selling you,” he said.
"Why?"
"You are not a bad-looking slave,” he said. “I think I could get a good price for you."
"Please, no!” she wept.
"Do not fear,” he said. “Many slaves have had several masters. And I assure you, you will be zealous to please any master whose collar is put about your neck and snapped shut."
"But have we not been matched?” she asked.
Cabot looked at her, suddenly, angrily.
"How then were we matched?” she asked. “If you are the master to my slave, as I knew when first I looked upon you, must I not be similarly matched, to you, as the slave to your master?"
"It is true,” said Cabot, “that I find you, as would most men, of interest as a female, and a slave."
"Only that?” she said.
"I do not like being manipulated,” said Cabot, “even by vast, incomprehensible intelligences."
"And so you would reject me?"
"It would be a way of mocking them, of defying their will."
"What then will be done with me?"
"I might give you away,” said Cabot. “But I think I would sell you. I would be curious to see what you would bring, objectively, apart from my interest in you, amongst other women."
"You do have an interest in me!” she said.
"You are a comely piece of collar meat,” said Cabot. “What man would not?"
"Am I not special to you?"
"That is what I fear,” said Cabot, “and what angers me. I would that it were I, and not others, who had picked you out. I would rather I had collared you amongst the collapsing walls of a burning city, that I had bought you off a block in Ar! A thousand times better I had discovered you for myself, in an exposition cage in Venna, or as you were being marched naked down the gangplank of a corsair in Port Kar, having been taken as a prize with others on gleaming Thassa, or as you were being whip-herded, blistered and burned, neck-chained and belled, with a thousand others, on a great Tahari coffle!"
"You might never have found me,” she said.
"There are doubtless thousands who would be as special to me,” said Cabot.
She touched her collar. “It is true we are slaves,” she whispered.
Cabot made an angry noise, a fist was clenched.
"But what difference do such things make?” she asked. “What difference does it make, really, how I came into your collar?"
"It makes a difference,” he snarled.
"Could you not suppose you had found me in a hundred other places, in a hundred other situations?"
"But I did not find you so,” he said.
"But I am still the same!” she wept.
"You were put in my way by intelligences you cannot even conceive of,” he said.
"I rejoice,” she said.
"For purposes beyond your comprehension,” he snarled.
"I gather,” she said, “that as a free woman I was to be a temptation to you, one which would somehow bring about your downfall. But clearly that is over. I am no longer a free woman. I am a slave, and if I remain a temptation, it is certainly one which need not frustrate you; it is one which you can command to your feet, and enjoy at your leisure."
"I did not find you myself!” he said.
"What difference does that make?” she said. “Millions of women have throughout the history of Earth, and doubtless of Gor, been picked out for others, for marriages, companionships, and such. And doubtless millions of female slaves have been picked out for others, matched to others, to the best of the purchaser's ability, a slave who sings and recites, and plays the lyre, for a fellow who loves poetry and music, a skilled dancer for a fellow who is fond of dance, a brilliant, informed, educated slave, perhaps once of the scribes, who, now collared and without caste, would be a delightful little beast to have in a scribe's house, affording her master many pleasures, those of conversation and intellectual engagement, as well as those which she, inevitably subdued, will provide at his slave ring, moaning and thrashing in his arms."
"It is different,” said Cabot. “There are forces involved here which you do not understand, forces concerned even with worlds."
"What of my feelings!” she cried.
"They are unimportant,” said Cabot. “They are the feelings of a slave."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"You were picked for me, and put with me, you must understand,” he said, angrily, “in accordance not with my will, or yours, or ours, but in accordance with the will of others."
"What difference should it make?"
"Should it not make a difference?"
"No!” she cried.
"Perhaps it does,” he said, angrily.
"Surely their schemes were foiled,” said the brunette, “when we were removed from the Prison Moon. Perhaps I was once the tool of someone or something to demean or destroy you, or serve some purpose not known to me, I do not know, but I am no longer such. I am now only a female slave, though perhaps one still well matched, through no fault of her own, to your bracelets and chain. So, can you not now accept me as a gift, if nothing else, as a pretty pebble you might stoop to pick up, as a small silken animal you find at your feet, her neck on your leash?"
"I think, indeed,” said Cabot, “we were well matched, I as master to your slave, you as slave to my master."
"You can do with me as you wish,” she said, “for I am a slave. But if we were so well matched, I know you must find me pleasing."
"I think I will lash you,” he said.
"Please do not,” she said.
"I have had, and have, many slaves,” said Cabot, musingly.
"Keep me then amongst them,” she said. “Let me be the least of the slaves in
your house. Set me the most disagreeable of tasks. I want you for myself alone, but I would rather share you with a hundred slaves more beautiful than myself, if I am beautiful, than be apart from you."
"One of my slaves, though I have not claimed her,” said Cabot, “was once, until disowned, the daughter of a Ubar."
"What is a Ubar?” she asked. “A king?"
"More powerful than a king,” said Cabot.
"Until disowned?"
"She shamed him, her father, the Ubar."
"How so?"
"Once, enslaved, she begged to be purchased, a slave's act, and so, once purchased and freed, she was disowned."
"I do not think I understand this,” she said.
"Conceive of it,” said Cabot, “first, the daughter of a Ubar a slave! Is that not shameful enough?"
"Master?"
"Consider the shame to the Ubar!” he said. “Put such daughters aside! Leave them in their collars! Let them be sold thousands of pasangs away! Their bondage must not be allowed to besmirch a noble house! Let them not be spoken of, seen, or heard of again! Leave them on their chains. Let it be as though they had never existed!"
"But many must be the daughters of Ubars who find themselves slaves,” she said, “given the fortunes of war."
"Certainly,” said Cabot. “The victors make them slaves, and some are even marketed."
"Doubtless they bring high prices."
"Sometimes, for the amusement of the victors, they are sold for almost nothing."
"A considerable alteration in their circumstances,” she said, “from the luxury of a court to the exposure of the auction block."
"But, too,” said Cabot, “she begged to be purchased."
"I could conceive of myself begging to be purchased,” she said, regarding him, “if it were a certain man."
"But you are a rightful slave,” he said.
"Yes, Master."
"Sometimes,” said he, “slaves must beg to be purchased. Indeed, a common phrase expected of an inspected slave is, ‘Buy me, Master'."
"I could conceive of a man,” she said, “to whom I might address such a plea, and in a most heartfelt manner, and with earnestness and hope."
"But you are a slave, you see,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"I think you cannot even conceive of how the free Gorean views the slave,” he said.
"But surely girls in their collars are of interest?” she said.
"Certainly,” said Cabot. “What Gorean male does not find female slaves of interest?"
His she-beast trembled at his side.
"Clearly the girl was no longer fit to be the daughter of a Ubar, and so, when freed, she was disowned. She was then sequestered, and kept from public view. But the Ubar disappeared. None know his whereabouts. The city, betrayed by many within, who sought advantage, fell to foes, and the former daughter, a conspirator as well, was brought forth by the traitors and victors and placed as a puppet on the throne."
"How is she a slave?"
"She fell afoul of a law, one of her own father's laws, that she who couches with, or readies herself to couch with, a slave, becomes the slave of the slave's master, the couching slave in this case, whom I had purchased in order to compromise and entrap the Ubara, was a famed and handsome actor. Afterwards, as had been my intent, I freed him, but this, in accord with the law and my plan, left her my slave. The matter was duly witnessed and processed, but then I permitted her to be recovered, and returned to the throne of the city. So now she who sits upon that throne, supposedly a Ubara, is only a slave, who must with uneasiness await her reclaiming."
"It is hard to understand how her father could disown her,” she said.
"She fell slave, and begged to be purchased,” said Cabot. “This was an enormity, twice an unconscionable affront to her father's honor, and shamed him. Doubtless he was merciful to have her sequestered, and not slain."
"Is it such a shameful thing, to be a slave?” she asked.
"Certainly,” said Cabot. “The slave is only a beast, as you are, a nothing, an object, mere goods, to be bought and sold."
"And you hope to reclaim her?"
"Why not? I own her, legally. And once she was unkind to me. And so I hope to have her naked on her knees before me, in slave bracelets."
"Doubtless she is very beautiful."
"Quite so,” said Cabot. “Certainly worth a collar, as many others."
"But is she not a great and noble woman?"
"Doubtless she seems so to the world,” said Cabot, “but now, under her father's own laws, she is only another slave."
"She sits upon the throne?"
"And desecrates it,” said Cabot. “Can you conceive the ignominy of this? Commonly, even in low-caste households, a slave is not permitted to sit on a bench or chair, and certainly would not be permitted to recline on a supper couch. Indeed, in many domiciles, a slave is not even allowed on her master's couch, but is used at its foot."
"Yet,” said the slave, “she sits upon the throne?"
"Uneasily, I trust,” said Cabot, “in terror, lest her secret be discovered."
"In the garb of a free woman?"
"Did the girls in the pleasure cylinder not speak to you of such things,” he asked, “when they were measuring you for a tunic, teaching you how to belt a camisk, and such?"
"Yes, Master,” she said, “slaves must be distinctively garbed, that there be no mistaking them for free women."
"It can be a capital offense,” said Cabot, “for a slave to present herself as a free woman, to pretend to be a free woman, to garb herself as a free woman, or such."
"Surely she must know this,” said the slave, fearfully.
"Of course,” said Cabot.
"And you hope to bring her to your holding?"
"Certainly,” he said.
"Let me be her sandal slave,” said the brunette.
"No,” said Cabot. “You are clearly a man's slave."
"Yes, Master,” she smiled.
"Trust that you never become the sandal slave of a free woman,” said Cabot.
"I gather from Corinna,” she said, “that that would be unpleasant."
"You have little to fear there,” said Cabot, “as you are ignorant of the intricacies of the free woman's toilette, the arrangements of robes, their foldings, drapings, and closures, the subtleties of various veils, the choice of scents, many things."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"A not unknown punishment for a slave,” said Cabot, “is to sell her to a free woman."
"I see,” she said.
"The mere fear of that,” said Cabot, “motivates many a slave to increase many times her efforts to please her master."
"The slave, being a slave,” said the brunette, “must in any event strive to serve and please her master!"
"And?” said Cabot.
"—in all ways, to the best of her ability,” said the slave.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
They were then silent, for a time. Cabot seemed angry, and lost in thought, and the slave was at first reluctant to speak.
"I grieve that Master is distressed,” she said, at last. “And I fear I do not, at least to my satisfaction, understand wholly the causes of his concern. The considerations which seem to motivate him do not seem to me coercive, even weighty."
"You are not a man,” he said, “nor are you of my caste, the scarlet caste, nor are you Gorean."
"It seems, to me,” she said, “that I am like a piece of fruit, in some lovely orchard, dangling on a branch before you, perhaps luscious fruit, certainly within reach, which you might pluck or not, as you pleased. Why then would you not reach out your hand, and seize me, and pluck me from the branch? Some men, I am sure, would enjoy having me at their feet. I knew men on Earth who would, I am sure, have reveled in my bondage, and striven to buy me."
"I did not seek you in the markets, or hunt you, or capture you,” said Cabot.
"Release me into the for
est,” she suggested. “With a word to Ramar he will bring me back, bleeding, to your feet."
"I did not choose you,” said Cabot.
"Choose me now,” she said.
"—Now?” said Cabot.
"Choose me now,” she said. “See if I prove satisfactory. Slave girls, surely, are often tried out by masters, to see if they are satisfactory, and, if they are not, the master may seek another. Can you not try me out?"
"—Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"Are not some girls rented, or put out, on a trial basis?"
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"It is now your free choice,” she said, eagerly, “to choose me or not."
"Interesting,” said Cabot.
"Others may have brought me to your attention,” she said. “But the choice is yours. You may accept me or not, and for a given time or not. It is up to you."
"True,” said Cabot.
"You may then, later, if you wish,” she said, “give me away, or, better, as I understand it, sell me, to get some better sense of my value, what I might bring on the sales block."
"True,” said Cabot.
"Put others, and their thoughts, or plans, or projects, from your mind,” she said. “If you let such things, their fulfillment, or their defiance, the acceptance of their views, or the repudiation of their views, influence you, it is they, you see, who determined you, not you yourself. You are Master. Not they! If you find a slave of interest, keep her, if only for an Ahn, or if you do not find her of interest, it is a simple thing to rid yourself of her. She is a slave. Return her to the markets. Perhaps another might find her of interest."
"You are a clever slave, Cecily,” he said. “But that is not unusual for a girl in a collar. It is a pleasure to have them under our whips."
"I do not know if I am clever or not,” she said, “but I am a slave, and yours."
"True,” said Cabot.
"I am a human female, at your feet,” she said. “Is this not where you want us?"
"It is,” said Cabot.
"And it is where we want to be,” she said.
"As an abject slave?"
"Certainly,” she said, “and the more abject the better, the more abject the more owned, the more helpless, the more possessed, the more as we want to be, the more as we want to know ourselves, the female of a master!"