by John Norman
Then the lips were gone, and I heard more laughter from those about.
I leaped to my feet, in consternation, in misery, unable to see, helpless, jerking against the bracelets.
“Kneel down, slut,” said an unpleasant masculine voice, and I instantly knelt, frightened, before the tier, putting my head to the cement.
“She is indeed a slut,” said another voice.
Had they detected the incipience of my response?
“Worse,” commented another, “a slave.”
“How helpless they are,” said another.
“She is a hot little beast,” said another.
“Ten tarsk-bits for her,” said another.
There was more laughter.
I heard, amongst the laughter, the peels of feminine mirth. I thought, angrily, put you in a tunic, and blindfold you, and subject you to such attentions, and see if you are any different!
A bit later, I felt myself drawn up, kneeling, and hands undid the blindfold. “Master,” I cried, “what was done to me!”
I was quickly, brutally cuffed.
My face stung. Tears sprang to my eyes.
“I do not recall,” said he in whose charge I was, “that you were given permission to speak.”
I looked at him, wildly, pathetically.
“You may speak,” he said.
With him were the Lady Bina, with her program, Astrinax, and the guard, Lykos.
“What was done to me!” I exclaimed, tearfully.
“You were put to lip rape,” he said. “You were not used under the tier, were you?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
“It does not matter, anyway,” he said, “as you have had, as I understand it, your slave wine.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He held up, before me, a tarsk-bit. He handed it to the Lady Bina, who placed it in her pouch.
“I did not see who did it to me,” I said.
“No matter,” he said. “The tarsk-bit was paid.”
“The tarsk-bit?” I said.
“Look there,” he said, “and there,” pointing.
I followed his direction, and, in two places, I saw a slave on a tier, one below and well to my right, and another down, four tiers, to my left. They were blindfolded. I then saw another slave, looking down the tiers toward a vendor, which slave suddenly stiffened, fighting a blindfold wrapped about her face. I saw a large fellow hold her head back, and feast, at his pleasure, on her lips. She struggled, helplessly. I wondered if it were the same fellow who had pressed himself upon me.
“It is a jollity of the Vennan races, a game,” he said, “to harvest kisses from the lips of unattended kajirae.”
“So why was I unattended?” I asked.
“I do not understand,” he said.
“I am in your charge,” I said. “Why did you leave me? Why did you not stay, and protect me?”
“The tarsk-bit was paid,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“You are not a free woman,” he said. “You are kajira. Surely, on the street, in the market, or elsewhere, you have received a sudden slap, or pinch, on the fundament, when unattended, even though you were in the tunic of a woman’s slave?”
“Yes,” I said, angrily.
“Perhaps, even,” he said, “an occasional kiss.”
“Perhaps,” I said. It did not seem to me that he, or the Lady Bina, or the beast, needed to know about such things. Occasionally a fellow had taken me in his arms, suddenly, unexpectedly, held me to him, and kissed me. Such things were done almost as one might glance at a sunset, ruffle the fur of a pet sleen, or bestow a familiar slap on the flank of a kaiila. I was, after all, goods, a property girl, a collar girl, a vendible animal, a purchasable, perhaps lovely, thigh-branded beast, a female slave, a mere kajira. Once a ruffian, lounging against a wall, as I made my way to the market, summoned me to him. As he was a free person, I had to obey, of course. He put me before him, and said, “Clasp your hands behind your back.” I did so, of course. Much may be done with an unattended slave. Is she to disobey a free person? He then put his hand under my chin, lifted it a little, and said, “Slave lips.” He was very close to me. I complied, and waited, eyes closed, and then he took my head, and pressed my lips to the wall. “Kiss it, slut,” he said, “for three Ehn; then be about your business.” I remained thusly, my lips pressed against the wall, my hands clasped behind my back, for three Ehn. I counted the Ehn, for fear he might be behind me, watching. Some passers-by laughed. Doubtless I was not the first slave they had seen, so discomfited. I then, tears in my eyes, my fists clenched, then better aware of my slavery, left. Too, I was distraught. He had been cruel, but had I been found wanting? Was I so poor a slave, so unattractive a slave? Had my lips not been formed, at his command, as a slave’s lips, readied for attention? Had I not, eyes closed, waited, until I had been ignored or rejected, and my pursed lips put to a stone wall, against which I foolishly stood, my hands clasped behind my back, while strangers, some amused, passed by? How helpless, weak, and meaningless I felt! I had been neglected, ignored, and scorned, and not scorned as any slave is scorned, for she is a slave, but scorned even for the purposes of a slave! Is a woman fastened in a collar only to be fastened in a collar? Is its placement meaningless? Is that all she is to be left with, that there is a collar on her neck which she cannot remove? Was I such as to be put aside, dismissed, collared? Was I adjudged of no interest? Could I be so lacking? Was I so poor a slave? Was I not attractive, even beautiful, at least a little? My sense of my own worth, as a woman and a slave, was shaken. Was I so lacking? The young men I had known on my former world would have sought my kiss. Had I been interested in such things they would have been eager to pay for it! If I were truly of no interest to men why would I, and my sisters of the house, beauties all, have been brought to this world, for its girl markets, to be stripped, trained, caged, exhibited, and sold? I recalled a paga girl I had seen soliciting outside her master’s tavern. I had thrilled to her profound, vital, needful sensuousness. I felt a need to reassure myself, perhaps because I was a woman’s slave, and not a man’s slave. Of what value is a slave if she, in her collar, is not of interest to masters? I waited in the street for a time, and then chose a handsome, young Tarnster. Such, I was sure, would be interested in the lips of a slave. I trusted he would not strike me from him. I hurried before him, and knelt down, blocking his way, humbly, and seized his left leg, and pressed my head, lowered, against his leg, as I had seen the paga girl do. I then lifted my head and eyes to him, and said, as she had, “A slave would be kissed, Master.” “Very well,” he said, and lifted me up, and spent a few Ihn with me. “Is Master pleased?” I asked. “Very much,” he said, “which is your tavern?” “Ela, Master,” I cried, hurrying away, “I have only the tavern of my beauty.” I was much pleased, but, too, I was uneasy, for his touch had made me restless. I had suffered little in the way of slave fires, but I was a slave, and well aware of the deeper meanings of my collar. My most memorable experience along these lines, of course, was the interlude with the Metal Worker himself, in the vicinity of Six Bridges. After he had saved me from the girls of the house of Daphne, he had dealt with me at his leisure, and as he pleased, my hands incapacitated, unable to interfere, held over my head, balancing the laundry, my fingers, as he went about his inquiries, clawing into that large, soft bundle of sparkling sheets and linen which I dared not release lest it fall and be soiled, arousing me until, I fear, I had well shown myself, to his satisfaction, as he had apparently intended, slave.
“You were not concerned,” I asked, “with what was done to me?”
“The tarsk-bit was paid,” he said.
“Did you see?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“All of you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“The Lady Bina,” he said, “was quite pleased.”
“Oh?” I said.
“Yes, All
ison,” said the Lady Bina. “I was curious to see if you would be selected for the game.”
“Mistress?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “It seems clear that you are of interest to men, or to some men.”
I was silent.
“I think,” said Astrinax, “we will need two or three more.”
I gathered then that I might not be the only slave for whom the Lady Bina might have use. I gathered, too, that one’s interest to men might be pertinent to the use, or uses, she might have in mind. But that is common to kajirae, that they are of interest to men. Why else would men brand and collar them?
“Did you note the behavior of our little barbarian?” Desmond asked the Lady Bina.
“Oh?” said the Lady Bina.
“She started to squirm,” said Astrinax, “and was on the verge of beginning to yield, as the collar slut she is.”
“Mistress!” I protested.
“In another moment,” said Desmond, “she would have thrust her pretty little body, bare under the nothing of rep cloth, against him.”
“Master!” I said.
“Come now, pretty slut,” said Astrinax, “it was obvious. Many about noted it.”
“What do you think, noble Lykos?” asked the Lady Bina.
“She has nice thighs,” he said. “She might, in a good market, bring nearly a silver tarsk. She is a hot little tart. That is important. I think she would do well on an alcove chain.”
“The taverns are interested in such girls,” said Desmond.
“Have your slave fires been lit?” asked Astrinax.
“No!” I said.
Desmond was looking upon me, grinning.
“No!” I said.
I knew, of course, that I would be no more immune than any other slave should men decide to do such things to me, making me then irremediably their needful, begging slave.
“It is pleasant,” said Desmond, regarding me, “to stoke such fires in a slave’s belly.”
I looked away.
How I hated him!
He saw me as what I was, a slave.
And never had I met a man before whom I felt weaker, more helpless, more slave.
“We will need some more men, too,” said Astrinax.
“Why is that?” asked the Lady Bina.
“For the wagons,” he said.
I did not understand that, as it seemed one driver for a wagon, particularly as the wagons were small, would be sufficient. There were, as of now, three wagons. Astrinax drove one, Lykos the last, and Desmond mine, the second wagon. Indeed, the tharlarion of the second wagon, my wagon, was attached, by its nose ring, to the back of the first wagon, and the tharlarion of the third wagon was attached, by its nose ring, to the back of my wagon. Accordingly, it seemed three Drovers, or teamsters, would be enough. To be sure, I knew little about such matters, and, possibly, Astrinax might be returning to Ar, rather than accompanying us into the Voltai.
“The race is about to begin,” said Astrinax.
“On what have you wagered, Desmond?” inquired the Lady Bina.
“Blue, as I would in Harfax, Lady,” he said.
“I thought, this time, I would hazard yellow,” she said.
“An excellent wager,” said Astrinax.
“Loyalty is admirable, Desmond,” said the Lady Bina, “but not invariably prudential.”
“One supposes not,” he said.
“Is this all there is to it,” I asked, “that I was taken in hand, blindfolded, and kissed, and that is all?”
“The tarsk-bit was paid,” said he in whose charge I was.
“All?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“I,” I said, “would favor red.”
“Why?” asked Desmond.
“Because it is not blue,” I said.
“I see,” he said.
“What are you doing, Master?” I said.
I was turned about, and the blindfold, retrieved from his belt, where he had placed it, keeping it at hand, was again wrapped about my head, twice, and knotted, behind my head, and I was, as before, securely and perfectly blindfolded. I jerked at the bracelets which held my hands behind me, in frustration.
“I will be unable to see the races,” I said.
“Possibly,” he said.
“It matters not to me, Master,” I said.
“And what does that matter?” he asked.
“Master!” I said.
“Your permission to speak has been rescinded,” he said.
I felt tears spring to my eyes, dampening the cloth of their prison.
I was not permitted speech!
On the tier, I writhed in helplessness, and fury, back-braceleted and on the short ring chain, and then the race began, and I could not see it. I heard movements about me! I sensed the agitation, the diverse partisanships abounding about, the excitement of the crowd, heard the cries, the cheering, the stamping, the screams and shouts, and I could see nothing!
It does not matter I said to myself, reassuring myself of my lack of interest in such things.
I sometimes heard cries of protest, even of rage, for some reason, which I did not understand, and, twice, I heard gasps of dismay, or of fear, perhaps as a beast fell, or was forced from the track.
It was nothing to me, of course.
I had never seen the bipedalian tharlarion compete. Also, actually, as a matter of fact, I had never seen the smaller, quicker quadrupedalian tharlarion compete either. There are classes of such beasts. I had seen, earlier, some races of the heavier-class quadrupedalian tharlarion, the larger, more ponderous beasts, the maneuvering, the shifting about for position, the lurching, thrusting, and buffeting, the grunting, the crowding. Below, near the rail, one could sense the ground shaking beneath their tread. These were similar to war tharlarion whose charge can shatter phalanxes, breastworks, palisades, and field walls.
You must understand that I did not care that I was blindfolded.
Who was interested in such things anyway?
I sensed people rising up, screaming, about me.
How helpless and frustrated I was! How I loathed the brute in whose keeping I was. I would be treated not as I might wish or please, but precisely as he would wish or please.
I was collared!
How excited was the crowd!
How often might a kajira have the opportunity to see such things? Did I prefer the shackles looped about a central bar, and the tied-shut canvas of a wooden slave wagon?
Too, this was all new and different, and thrilling, to me. I was not natively Gorean. I was only a slave girl, brought from a different world. I so wanted to see, to realize what was going on, to be a part, if only as a slave, of what was going on about me.
I tried to put my head back, and peep beneath the blindfold, if only to perceive an undecipherable line of meaningless light, but I could see nothing. The device, twice wrapped and then knotted, had been put about my head broadly, in the Gorean fashion.
I moaned to myself, helplessly.
I decided I must not yield, I must give him no satisfaction.
But I realized, almost simultaneously, that my concerns, so important to me, would be absolutely immaterial to him.
I might remain in darkness, or petition him for relief, as a slave her master.
I endured my privation for two races
Then, wildly, desperately, in misery, I threw myself to my knees at the feet of he in whose keeping I was, pressed my sodden cheek to his leg, and then began to kiss his leg, repeatedly, beggingly.
I felt his hand in my hair, not tightly, but holding my head in place.
“I beg to speak, Master,” I said.
“Speak,” he said.
“I would see,” I said.
“Do you beg it?” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Oh, yes, Master!”
He then undid the blindfold.
“A new race will soon begin,” said Astrinax, turning to Desmond. “May I place a bet for you?”
“On blue,” said he at whose knee I knelt. A coin passed from him to Astrinax.
The Metal Worker put his hand near me, and I put down my head, and kissed it. “Thank you, Master,” I said.
“You are a pretty little thing, Allison,” he said.
“A slave is pleased if Master is pleased,” I said.
“Master,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I am pinioned,” I said, “helplessly so. Perhaps Master might adjust my tunic at the left shoulder.”
I had been concerned with this for some time.
“No,” he said.
“‘No’?” I said.
“No,” he said. “I like it the way it is.”
“I see,” I said.
“Perhaps it might improve your price, a tarsk-bit or two.”
“As Master pleases,” I said.
He was a beast, of course, but then what girl would object to her price being improved a bit?
“I am sure,” he said, “the fellow who pressed himself upon an unattended kajira did not object.”
“Doubtless not,” I said. “Perhaps it was to that tiny inadvertence of habiliments that I owed the attention bestowed upon me.”
“Not at all,” he said. “Even in a serving slave’s tunic you would be an attractive little prey animal.”
“‘Prey animal’?”
“Yes,” he said. “An interesting little quarry beast.”
“I see,” I said.
“Surely you are aware of how men see women,” he said.
I was silent. I was afraid. But, too, I was thrilled. We are sought, hunted, captured, and owned, possessed by masters, who will deal with us as they please. They make us theirs, in reality, and law.
“The day is warm,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Who would you favor in the next race?” he asked.
“Blue,” I said. “Blue, Master.”
That seemed to me appropriate, as it was in his keeping that I was.
“An excellent choice,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
“Allison,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Your permission to speak is revoked,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.