by John Norman
This examination, while doubtless cruel in some respects, is a kindness in others. It accustoms the slave to being seen by men, truly seen. This eases her transition into bondage. The sooner she learns that her body is now that of an animal, and is public to men, the better. After a time, incidentally, the former Gorean free woman, while doubtless remaining sensitive to her nudity in public, if it is required of her, no longer misses the veil. She no longer has any objection to the beauty of her features being publicly bared, even brazenly, openly, joyously displayed for the inspection of men. They are, after all, now slaves. Perhaps one of the things that free women most envy in slaves is that they are not only permitted to reveal their beauty but that they must, even in the light of law, do so. Perhaps the free women wish that they, too, might similarly display their own beauty to men. It is said that some free women keep slave garments hidden in their compartments, and sometimes don them, before mirrors, or hold them folded against tear-stained cheeks. Many Goreans believe that there is a slave in every woman.
One justification, incidentally, aside from a greater splendor of garmenture, and a greater dignity, and such, for the discrepancy between the garmenture of the free woman and the slave is that the difference is designed to lessen the dangers of predation amongst free women, and divert the acquisitions of thong and collar to slaves. The roving tarnsman, with his leather loops at the side of his saddle, thinking of trying "chain luck," the scrutinizing slaver, with his capture loops and notebooks, engaged in the commerce of women, may surely better assess a half-naked quarry. Why risk one's life to obtain a free woman who might turn out to be as "ugly as a tharlarion" when one might, with no more risk, and perhaps less, because the pursuit is likely to be less fiercely pressed, pick up a lovely, easy-to-assess, well-curved slave whose selling price is almost guaranteed to significantly increase the weight of your purse? To be sure, free women are not immune to capture. Some, doubtless, are secretly scouted in the public baths. But, too, I think some tarnsmen enjoy the sport of introducing a free woman to bondage. Too, some seem to relish the pleasure of a surprise, rather as one might be interested in unwrapping a present and seeing if one likes it. Too, of course, the capture of a free woman of the enemy is regarded as quite a coup, certainly much more so than carrying off a mere slave, unless perhaps the slave is a high slave. Some men, of course, not just warriors, tarnsmen, and such, find pleasure in obtaining a new girl, a new slave, and then initiating her into the ramifications and consequences of her condition, in seeing that she is well familiarized with, and is well inducted into, a variety of dimensions of her new reality, in being the first to teach her, fully, categorically, her collar, in being her first master. Others find pleasure in taking one who has been a slave, and then teaching her truly, on their own terms, what it is to be a slave. Most Gorean free women, if they are not companioned, given the constraints of the culture and its customs, are virgins. Some men like that. I recalled that I, in spite of wearing a brand, was still white silk. When a free woman is captured and carried off the news spreads rapidly among the slave girls of a city. Whereas they must participate in public lamentations, if such are organized, they are, amongst themselves, secretly delighted, well pleased that one of the arrogant free women will now, as they, wear the collar, and must now, like them, fear the lash. Most cities do not, incidentally, organize such lamentations. Such, it is sometimes feared, might alarm other free women. Too, it seems to reflect on the city and the adequacy of its defenses, and it is seldom thought prudent to advertise possible lapses in this area. Too, Goreans tend to be rather fatalistic in some respects. If it was the destiny of a woman to wear the collar, then it is right that she should do so. Other Goreans tend to be less tolerant about these things, and feel that if a woman is stupid enough to allow herself to be captured, then she should be a slave. Others, with a psychological subtlety perhaps surprising in a primitive culture, recognize that a girl may covet the collar, and will thus court it, for example, walking at night on high bridges, frequenting certain areas of the city after dark, taking unnecessary journeys, and such. It is interesting to note that a woman who has fallen slave, particularly an urban woman, particularly from one of the proud "high cities," is extremely likely to be kept a slave, even if she should, eventually, sale by sale, handed from master to master, chained in wagon after wagon, find herself again in what was once her own city.
Why is this?
There is probably a variety of reasons.
She has fallen slave. That is what has happened to her. Let her therefore remain a slave. It has happened. Therefore it is appropriate for her. Keep her in her collar. It is obviously where she belongs.
She is no longer a free person. She is now an animal, and animals have no city. Therefore, she cannot be returned to "her city." She no longer has a city.
Too, she is an animal. Would you free a tarsk? Animals are not to be freed. Other things are to be done with them. To be sure, the slave girl is a fascinating, particular sort of animal, but still an animal. She is, in effect, a work animal and a pleasure animal. As both she may be penned, caged, roped, chained, harnessed, bound, herded, tethered, controlled, put to work, made to serve, and such things. In all things she is merely an animal, a lovely animal, to be sure, but an animal nonetheless, an animal totally at the disposal of her master.
She is rightless, and thus without claims. Her master, on the other hand, as she is property, has a right to keep her. Gorean law is on his side, not hers. Indeed, as an animal, she has no standing whatsoever before the law.
There is nothing to be served by freeing her, and much to be gained by retaining her in bondage, for example, one can sell her, one can use her and such.
There is a Gorean presumption that a slave girl should not be freed. It is said that only a fool frees a slave girl.
Women, in their vanity and jealousy, are often pleased when another woman, particularly one of their city, particularly one disliked, or one who is a rival, is reduced to bondage. How delicious! They might even enjoy buying her, and having her as their own slave.
And men, of course, enjoy having women in bondage.
Further, her capture is often regarded as a reflection on the city. She is now an embarrassment to the city, her family, her friends, and such. If her capture was regrettable, then the city might seem, somehow, to have been at fault. Thus, her capture, preferably, is not regrettable, but, rather, in its way, upon reflection, an occasion for profound satisfaction, even rejoicing; one must be pleased, even jubilant, at the fate which has befallen her; since, indeed, it was her fate, and thus it appropriately befell her; and thus it was fitting for her, indeed, a proof that she is a worthless sort of woman, unworthy of the city, who deserves the collar.
It is a common Gorean view that every woman in a collar belongs in one.
And thus does fate, in its benevolence and wisdom, weed the worthless females out, turning them over to the collars they deserve. In a city, does one not clear away the trash, the rags and rubbish, the litter, debris and rubble? Rejoice then that worthless slave meat, which can, unfortunately, be found in any city, is detected, and hastened from its precincts. In this way, then, the city is much improved.
Some cities will not accept a slave within their walls who was once a citizeness of their polity. They will, if possible, not even let her enter the walls of what was once her city. Even in her chains she must remain tearfully outside. She is no longer an honored citizeness, deserving of solicitude and courtesy. She is now merely a slave, despised and shamed, an item of livestock. In any event, at the very least, they will have her promptly put on a platform outside the walls, one reserved for sales to foreign merchants. She will then be vended away, often cheaply, as soon as possible. "Away with her!" they cry. "Remove her from our sight!" She is beaten, and dragged away. Other cities, more tolerant, recognizing that she is only an animal, will permit her to remain. But she is likely, in such a case, to be kept well reminded of her collar. Some cities, finding her again within
their walls, rather than selling her out of the city, actually prefer keeping her in the city, that she might feel her bondage the more keenly, as a kind of object lesson, for her and others.
In such a case, it is not unusual that she find herself in the lowest paga tavern in the city.
It is there that she will wear her collar.
And there she may be bid upon, as any other slave, by anyone.
Her slavery is likely to be harder in her own city than it would be in an alien city, even an enemy city.
Often she begs to be sold to a foreign merchant.
Better a collar anywhere, she weeps, than in what was once her own city!
Sometimes a fellow of the city who knows her will find her there, in the paga tavern, only another girl, nude, kneeling, rising, hurrying to serve her master's customers. Perhaps it is one whom she once spurned, or one who, hitherto, would not have dared to aspire to her.
She is recognized!
He gestures to an alcove.
She begs for mercy, but she is now a slave. She will receive none. "No!" she cries. "Please, no!" But he continues to point to the alcove, one not now in use. She precedes him, for he enjoys looking upon her. In the alcove, he draws shut and ties the leather curtains. He then turns to her, and points to the furs. She takes her place upon them. Then, one by one, her limbs are chained in the rings. She looks up at him, wildly. She must strive, chained, to please him. He tries her out—fully—lusciously—and as the slave girl she is. She cannot begin to understand her feelings. She writhes in the chains. She bucks and screams, kicking and weeping, rearing, spasmodic, a throbbing, ravished animal. To her horror she realizes she is a slave, and wants to be a slave! She succumbs; she is conquered. She cannot believe what has been done to her. She begs to be purchased. As the night proceeds, she must then perform, chained and unchained, in a hundred ways, with her lips and tongue, her body, breasts, hair, the enslaved all of her. If she proves sufficiently skilled, and zealously satisfactory, he may arrange for her purchase. She begs piteously that he buy her, for she knows that she, in spite of herself, is now no longer her own, but has been made his, helplessly. Perhaps he will buy her, perhaps not. Let us suppose he does buy her. What will be her fate? He will keep her in a collar, of course. But it will now be his. It is now clear to both of them that she is a slave, and should remain such. Too, it is said that it is only a fool who frees a slave girl, and who would be fool enough to free one such as this?
In the early morning, in the dawn and dampness, and chill, weary, purchased, she follows her master, barefoot, not permitted clothing, back-braceleted, on her leash, her head down, for she is not permitted to lift it, her small feet leaving marks on the smooth, damp paving stones, rejoicing, to his domicile.
She realizes that the collar is right for her, that she is indeed a slave.
It is what she wants and loves!
But the major reason for the garmenture of slaves, I suspect, is that the masters enjoy seeing their properties well displayed. The girls are dressed in such a way that they are, and are intended to be, sexually stimulating to men. It is easy to understand the male approval of this custom. One of the pleasures it is easy for men to find on a Gorean street is the sight of slave girls in the crowd. Even if one does not own them one has the satisfaction of knowing that some other man does, that before another of their sex, they must kneel, lick, kiss and serve. But as important as the effect on men, and perhaps even more important, is the effect of such garmenture on the slave herself. She knows herself as slave, and as muchly bared slave. This is sexually stimulatory to the slave, as well, indeed, extremely so. They hurry home to the master, to petition his attention.
I wanted to know more of the man who had captured me, whose saddle I had helplessly graced, whose locked collar I would tomorrow wear.
"It is said that Rask of Treve," I said, "has a great appetite for women, and contempt, for them."
"He is fond of us," smiled Ena, "that is true."
"But he has contempt for us!" I cried, my fury, my helpless rage, my frustration, uncontrollably bursting forth.
"Rask of Treve is a man, and a warrior," she said. "It is common for them to view us as mere women, and see us in terms of their sport and pleasure."
"That is contempt!" I cried.
Ena, kneeling, rocked back on her heels and laughed merrily.
"Perhaps!" she laughed.
"I will not accept that!" I cried.
"Pretty little Kajira," laughed Ena.
I felt furious, and frustrated. I did not wish to be a mere sexual object! But I felt my throat. It was bare now. Tomorrow it would wear a collar. What could a girl be, who wore a collar, but such an object!
"I hate men!" I cried.
Ena looked at me. "I wonder," she said, "if Rask of Treve will find you pleasing?"
She removed the two pins which secured the garment I wore, stripping me.
"Perhaps," she said.
"I do not want to please him!" I cried.
"He will make you want to please him," she said. "You will try, desperately, to please him. Whether or not you will be successful I do not know. Rask of Treve is a great warrior. He has had many women, and has many women. He is a connoisseur of us. He is, accordingly, difficult to please. You will perhaps not please him."
"If I wanted to, I could," I cried.
"Perhaps," said Ena.
"But I shall resist him! I shall fight him!" I cried. "He will never tame me! He will never conquer me!"
Ena looked at me.
"I do not have the weaknesses of other women," I told her. I remembered the weakness of Verna, and of her girls, and of Inge and Rena, and Ute! They were weak. I was not!
"What a defiant girl you are," she said.
I looked at her.
"But we must rest now," she said, getting up and extinguishing the brass lamp in the tent.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because tomorrow you will be collared," she said.
I knelt, naked, on a large fur.
"Am I not to be chained tonight?" I asked.
"No," said Ena. Then her voice reached me in the darkness. "You will not escape."
I lay down and pulled the fur about me. I clenched it in my fists and bit it with my teeth. Then I lay with my head against it, wetting it with my tears.
I lifted my head. "You are a slave, Ena," I said. "Do you not hate men?"
"No," said Ena.
I heard her with irritation.
"I find men very exciting," said Ena. "Often I wish to give myself to them."
I heard her with horror. How shocking that she should speak so! Had she no pride? If such thoughts were entertained by her, surely she should have carefully concealed them, keeping them as her forbidden secret!
I, at least, hated men!
But tomorrow one of them would own me—fully. I would be his, by collar-right, by all the laws of Gor, to do with as he pleased.
I had not been chained. I had expected to be chained, heavily, and in short chains, fastened to rings, but I had not been.
But I was secured, well secured, locked within the tall, smooth palisade. "You will not escape," had said Ena.
Tomorrow I, Elinor Brinton, would be collared. For the first time on Gor I would wear the locked metal collar of a slave girl.
* * * *
"You are lovely," said Ena.
I knelt, naked, on the scarlet rug in the tent of the women. I had been washed, and my hair had been combed. The slave girl replaced the glass stopper in a small, ornate bottle of Torian scent. "I shall touch you again," she said, "twice, before you are led forth."
Another girl, one of four near me, besides Ena, again knelt behind me and again began to pass the narrow, purple horn comb through my hair.
"She is combed," said one of the other girls, laughing.
"Aren't you excited?" asked the girl combing my hair.
I could not answer.
"You know your part in the ceremony?" asked Ena, not for the
first time.
I nodded my head.
It could not be I, Elinor Brinton, who knelt in this tent on this barbaric world!
One of the girls ran to the tent flaps and looked out. I could see, outside, through the tied-back opening of the tent, men, and girls, passing back and forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes.
I was frightened.
I could smell the scent of the perfume. It was superior to any I had ever worn on Earth, when I had been wealthy and could command the customized attentions of the finest continental perfumers, and yet here, on this barbaric planet, it was used without thought to adorn the body of Elinor Brinton, a mere slave girl. I had not been permitted cosmetics.
I knelt.
I waited. For better than a quarter of an Ahn I knelt, waiting.
"Perhaps he will not collar her today," said one of the girls.
Suddenly the girl at the tent flap whispered excitedly, gesturing back toward us, "Prepare her! Prepare her!"
"Stand," said Ena.
I did so.
I gasped as they brought forth a long, exquisite garment, hooded, of shimmering scarlet silk.
Behind me, swiftly, one of the girls wound my hair into a single braid and then, coiling it, fastened it at the back of my head with four pins. The pins would be undone by Rask of Treve.