by John Norman
"Slaves are so cruel," said Ute.
Cart by cart passed.
"Look!" cried Inge.
We now heard the snap of whips again, but this time the leather blades fell upon the naked backs of girls.
"Look!" cried Lana, pleased.
A huntsman came now, holding in his hand five long leather straps, dragging behind him five panther girls. Their wrists were bound before their bodies, lashed tightly. The same strap that lashed their wrists, I saw, served, too, as their leash, that held in the huntsman's grip. Like the girls bound by the hair to the trophy poles, on the carts, these were stripped, their skins knotted about their necks.
Behind them there walked another huntsman, with a lash. He would occasionally strike them, hurrying them forward.
I saw the lash fall across the back of the blond girl, she who had held my leash in the forest, who had been so cruel to me. I heard her cry out, and saw her stumble forward, bound, in pain. I laughed.
Behind this first group of five girls there came a second group, it, too, with its huntsman holding the leashes, dragging his beautiful captives, and another following behind, occasionally lashing them forward.
How pleased I was. There had been fifteen girls, five on the carts, and two of the tethered groups! All of Verna's band had fallen captive!
There now came a great shout, and I squeezed even further forward in the wagon, to peep out.
Then the crowd became suddenly quiet.
One last cart approached. I could hear its wheels on the stones before I could see it.
It was Verna.
Beautiful, barbaric Verna!
Nothing, save her weapons, had been taken from her. She still wore her brief skins, and about her neck and on her arms, were barbaric ornaments of gold.
But she was caged.
Her cage, mounted on the cart, was not of branches, but of steel. It was a circular cage, between some six and seven feet in height, flat-bottomed, with a domed top. Its diameter was no more than a yard.
And she was chained.
Her wrists were manacled behind her body, and a chain led from her confined wrists to a heavy ring set in the bottom of her cage.
Her head was in the air.
She was manacled as heavily as might have been a man. This infuriated me. Slave bracelets would hold her, as they would any woman!
How arrogant and beautiful she seemed!
How I hated her!
And so, too, must have the other slave girls in the crowd, with their switches and sticks.
"Hit her!" I screamed through the canvas.
"Be quiet!" cried Ute, in horror.
"Hit her!" screamed Lana.
The crowd of slave girls swarmed forward toward the cart with their sticks and switches, some of them even leaping upon it, spitting, and striking and poking through the bars of the high narrow cage.
I saw that the domed top of Verna's cage was set with a ring, so that the cage might be, if one wished, hung from the branch of a tree, or suspended from some supporting structure, for public viewing. Doubtless Marlenus had given orders that she be exhibited in various cities and villages on the route to Ar, his prize, that she might thus, this beautiful captive, an outlaw girl well known on Gor, considerably redound to his prestige and glory. I supposed that she would not be enslaved until she reached Ar. Then, I supposed, she would be publicly enslaved, and perhaps by the hand of Marlenus himself.
The slave girls swarmed about the cage, poking, and striking with their switches, and spitting and cursing. Their abuse was endured by Verna. It seemed she chose to ignore them. This infuriated them and they redoubled their efforts. Verna now flinched with pain, and her body was cut and marked, but still she would not lower her head, nor did she deign to speak to, or recognize in any way, her foes.
Then there was a roar of anger from the crowd and, to my fury, men began to leap, too, to the cart, but to hurl the slave girls from the cage. And huntsmen, too, angrily, now leaped to the cart, striking about them with their whips. The slave girls screamed, and fled from the cart. Men seized them, and disarmed them of their sticks and switches, and then threw the girls to the stones at their feet, where they cowered, at the sandals of free men, and then the men ordered them from the street. The girls leapt up and, weeping, terrified, fled away, humiliated, chastened slaves.
I was angry. I wished that I might have had a stick or switch. How I would have beaten Verna! I was not afraid of her! I would have beaten her well, as she deserved!
How I hated Verna!
Her cart was now moving away, drawn by the small, horned tharlarion.
In her cage, manacled, Verna still stood proudly. Her head was still in the air, her body straight, her gaze level and fixed. She gave no sign that she had noticed either those who had so rudely assailed her, or those who had protected her from them. How arrogant and superior she seemed!
How I hated her, and hated her!
A spear butt struck at the wood of the wagon, near where we peeped out. We drew back, frightened. The canvas was then tied down again. We were alone with ourselves again, closed in the wagon.
We heard the drums, the trumpets and clashing cymbals growing fainter, down the street, as the retinue continued on its way.
"Hereafter," said Inge, "El-in-or will address each of us in this wagon as Mistress."
I looked at her in anger.
"No," said Ute, to Inge.
"Yes," said Inge.
"That is being cruel to El-in-or," said Ute.
"We shall treat El-in-or exactly as she deserves," said Inge.
The other girls, except Ute, and Lana, who perhaps feared she might be similarly treated, agreed.
"You will be treated exactly as you deserve, won't you?" asked Inge, looking at me.
I did not answer her.
"Is that not true, El-in-or?" asked Inge, sweetly.
I bit my lip.
"Is it not true?" pressed Inge. Her voice was not pleasant.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes, what?" asked Inge. Her voice was hard.
"Yes—Mistress," I said.
The other girls, other than Ute, even Lana, laughed.
"Move your feet," said the girl across from me.
I looked at Inge. Her eyes were hard.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I moved my chained ankles. I hated Inge, and Lana, and Ute, too, and all of them!
The girls, other than Ute, laughed.
I hated them all. I hated Ute, too.
We felt the wagon again begin to move, once again resuming its journey toward the Field Gate. Once again we were goods, female slaves, on our way to be sold in Ar.
But I had been forced to acknowledge myself most slave in the wagon.
I was more slave than they!
I was forced even to address them as Mistress!
I was furious.
* * * *
Angrily, in the field, in the sunlight, more than a pasang from the wagons, on the route to Ar, I picked berries, snapping them from their twigs and throwing them into the bucket.
The sun and the grass, and the breezes, were doubtless as pleasant as they had been, but I was not now in much of a mood to enjoy them. I recollected with satisfaction my witnessing of the captivity of Verna, the panther girl, but I recollected with much less satisfaction what had occurred in the slave wagon, when Inge had so decisively bested me; when I had learned that she could beat me, if she pleased, and would, should it please her; when I, a former bully among them, had so suddenly lost my status with them; when Inge, whom I now feared, forced me, and cruelly, to address her, and the others, with the exception of Ute, though slaves themselves, by the title of Mistress, as though it was only I among them who might be the slave! Moreover, to my fury, the other girls of the caravan, hearing of this, and thinking it a great joke, were quick to demand of me the same dignity.
"No!" I said.
I discovered that I was not popular with my sisters in bondage. I did not care. I was better than
them all, put together!
If I were to steal a pastry, or lie, what did it matter?
Doubtless they were jealous!
Doubtless they envied me my beauty!
I was not a barbarian.
It was they who were barbarians.
Address them by the lofty, noble title of Mistress? As though they were glorious, exalted free women? As though only I were degraded, despised slave amongst them?
"No, no!" I said.
I was Elinor Brinton, wealthy, beautiful, refined, civilized, but by some mysterious incomprehensible set of events here, in this place, here, with a mark in my left thigh!
I moaned, inwardly.
Here I was not wealthy. Here I owned nothing. I did not even own the camisk, the scandalous bit of cloth that had been granted me to cover my nakedness, and might be, at a word, taken from me. And I had doubtless been granted it primarily that I might be the more provocatively exhibited, and that it might provide an incentive to masters to remove it from me, and doubtless bind me for their pleasure with its very belting! No, it was I, rather, who was owned. And here I was not refined, I realized, certainly not from the point of view of this world. I did not know its subtleties and customs, its etiquette, anything. I had been taught little more than how I might be a more pleasing slave. And here, too, I was not even civilized, not here, alas, for I knew almost nothing of this world's civilization, or civilizations. Here I was uncivilized. Here I was ignorant and uneducated. I could not even read or write. Yes, here Elinor Brinton, for all her pretensions, was no more than a barbarian, an illiterate barbarian.
To be sure, she was beautiful; that was clear; and she supposed that a Gorean male might find her of interest, that he might enjoy the owning of her, an Earth girl.
So here I was not wealthy, not refined, not even civilized.
It seemed that I retained then little from my old world other than my beauty.
What other fortune or weapon has a slave girl, and even these things, really, belong to the master.
In my left thigh there was a mark.
It was visible to all who might examine me.
Here I was slave.
"No!" I had insisted, though I knew myself, in my heart, as a true slave, and fittingly so.
"Address them as Mistress," said Inge, "or I will beat you."
I wanted to be sold in Ar, to be free of them! I wanted to be a pampered, perfumed girl, with jewels and cosmetics and silks, the pet and favorite of an indulgent master, whom I might control. I wanted the luxuries, and the sights and pleasures of Ar! I wanted to be an envied slave!
I had bowed my head to Inge.
I would have a very pleasant life, as a manipulative, kept female. The only difference between myself and the kept girl of Earth, I speculated, was that I would not be able to choose who it was who would keep me. I would be purchased.
What a fool I was! I did not yet know, truly, what it was to be a Gorean slave girl.
"Yes, Mistress," I had said to Inge, humbly, hating her.
"You may now kiss my feet," she informed me.
My fists clenched. Her eyes flashed.
I did so. I was much afraid of her. The other girls about laughed. And so I called them Mistress. I wanted to be free of them all!
I was miserable.
But two girls I did not address as Mistress, Ute, who did not wish it, and Lana, in whose case, for reasons of her own, Inge did not insist upon it.
I wanted to get swiftly to Ar, and to be sold, to be free of them all!
I wanted to begin my new and pleasant life.
I looked at Ute.
"Ute," I said.
Ute turned, in the strap, from picking berries.
"Yes, El-in-or?" she said.
"When will we reach Ar?" I asked.
"Oh, not for many days," she said. "We have not yet even come to the Vosk."
The Vosk is a great river, which borders the claims of Ar, on the north.
Ute then returned to her picking of berries. Neither she nor the guard were watching, so I stole some more of her berries for my bucket. Two I placed in my mouth, carefully, that no sign that I had tasted them be evident.
I looked up. The sky was bright and blue, and the white clouds scudded swiftly by. I was wearing a camisk. I was out of the pens, out of the slave wagon. The air was warm and clear. I was not particularly displeased.
Moreover, I had had an opportunity to be revenged on Verna, before whom I had demonstrated my superiority and lack of fear.
It had happened five days out of Ko-ro-ba.
The Merchants have, in the past few years, on certain trade routes, between Ar and Ko-ro-ba, and between Tor and Ar, established palisaded compounds, defensible stockades. These, where they exist, tend to be placed approximately a day's caravan march apart. Sometimes, of course, and indeed, most often, the caravan must camp in the open. Still, these hostels, where they are to be found, are welcome, both to common merchants and to slavers, and even to travelers. Various cities, through their own Merchant Castes, lease land for these stockades and, for their fees, keep their garrisons, usually men of their own cities, supplied. The stockades are governed under Merchant Law, legislated and revised, and upheld, at the Sardar Fairs. The walls are double, the interior wall higher, and tarn wire is strung over the compound. These forts do not differ much, except in size, from the common border forts, which cities sometimes maintain at the peripheries of their claims. In the border forts, of course, there is little provision for the goods of merchants, their wagons, and such. There is usually room for little more than their garrisons, and their slaves. I hoped I would not be a slave girl in a distant border fort. I wanted to reside in a luxurious city, where there would be many goods, and sights and pleasures. I wanted to wear my collar in great Ar itself.
Five days out of Ko-ro-ba, we had stopped at one of these Merchant Fortresses.
Inside the interior wall, girls are sometimes permitted to run free. They cannot escape, and it pleases them.
One wagon at a time, for a given interval, Targo permitted his girls, in wagon sets, to enjoy freedom of movement. How I ran inside the large fortress.
Then I cried out, "Lana! Lana!"
"What?" she asked.
"Look!" I cried.
Over against one long wall of the stockade was the camp of the huntsmen of Marlenus. They had left Ko-ro-ba after us, but they had traveled more swiftly.
Lana and I, and some of the other girls, ran to look at the cages of sleen and panthers, and the trophies. Lana laughed at the cages of male slaves.
She and I went to them, with others, too, to taunt them.
We would come close to the cages, and when they would reach for us, we would jump back.
"Buy me!" I laughed.
"Buy me! Buy me!" laughed the others.
One of the men reached his hand to Lana. "Let me touch you," he begged.
She looked at him, contemptuously. "I do not permit myself to be touched by slaves," she said. She laughed scornfully. "I will belong to a free man, not a slave."
Then she walked away from him, as a slave girl, taunting him.
He shook the bars in anger.
"I, too," I informed him, "will belong to a free man, not a slave."
Then I, too, walked away from him, showing him the contempt of a slave girl.
I heard him cry out with rage, and I laughed.
We looked, too, at the sleen and the panthers, and the skins, and the great, captive hith.
Verna's girls, the fifteen of them, stripped, were housed, crouching and kneeling, in small, metal slave cages. We threw dirt on them, and spat at them.
I was particularly pleased to abuse the blond-haired girl, who had held my leash in the forest. I found a stick and poked her through the bars.
She snapped and snarled at me, like an animal, and reached, clawing, through the bars for me, but I was too quick for her.
I poked her again and again, and threw dirt on her, and laughed.
&n
bsp; "Look!" said Lana.
I left the blond-haired girl.
We stopped before Verna's cage.
There were some of the huntsmen about, but neither Lana nor I much feared them. They were not, we noted, much interested in what we did.
That gave us courage.
"Greetings, Verna," said I, boldly.
She was no longer manacled, but she was, I noted, securely confined in the cage.
The cage itself was hung from a horizontal pole, rather like a high trophy pole. The pole was supported by two pairs of crossed poles, the whole structure secured with lashings; the entire arrangement was much the same as had been that of the trophy poles on the wagons. The feet of the supporting poles here, of course, were in the dirt. The floor of the cage was about six inches off the ground.
I looked up at her.
She looked down at me.
I would have preferred to have looked down upon her, but she was a taller woman than I, and, of course, the cage was suspended somewhat off the ground.
"Perhaps you remember me?" I asked.
She looked at me, saying nothing.
"It was I, incidentally," I informed her, "who, in Ko-ro-ba, first cried out to the slave girls to strike you. It was I who instigated their attack."
She said nothing.
"It is to me," I informed her, "that you owe that beating."
Her face was expressionless.
I still held the stick with which I had poked the blond-haired girl, she who had held my leash in the forest.
I thrust out with it, upsetting the pan of water in her cage, emptying it. The water ran over the small, circular floor of the cage, and some of it dripped out, falling to the ground.
Still Verna made no move.
I walked about the cage. Verna could not watch both myself and Lana.
She did not turn to follow me. Behind the cage I reached in and stole the food she had in the cage, two larma fruit lying, split, on its metal floor. I bit into one and tossed the other to Lana, who, too, ate it.
When we had finished the fruit, Lana and I discarded the skin and seeds.
Verna still watched us, not moving.
I was angry.