by John Norman
* * * *
"Kneel here," said the man, indicating a position before the heavy door, of iron, in the dark corridor. "When we have left," he said, "make your presence known."
"Yes, Master," I said, miserably.
He then turned and left, followed by the two guards. They did not look back.
I knelt by the door, miserably. I lifted my hand to knock at the door, but then my hand fell. I feared to knock. I put down my head, miserable. After I had been locked in the cell, only one man, for all practical purposes, had controlled me. He had fed me, and commanded me, and had overseen my bath, my preparation for whatever was to ensue. He had taken my collar off and then, later, had made me kneel, fastening it again on me. I knew he had not been armed, but, still, I had feared and obeyed him. Free men were to me as master, as free women were to me as mistress. I was angered, now that I thought of it, that they had seen fit to send only one man to handle me. In the beginning four or five men had, rudely and cruelly, controlled me. But then I had been whipped. They had seen me under the whip, crying out, begging for mercy. They had known then, I suppose, as slavers can know such things, that no more than one man would be necessary to see to my governance. I was only a man of Earth.
Then I was frightened, for I had not yet knocked at the iron door.
I knocked lightly, frightened, at the door. I had knocked timidly. I had scarcely heard the knock myself. I put my head down, trembling.
I looked down the corridor. The man who had conducted me to this place had now disappeared, together with the guards.
He had doubtless gone about his duties, whatever they might be, and the guards had returned to their post.
I could see far down the corridor.
It was deserted.
They did not fear to leave me at the door, alone. One man had, in effect, conducted me to this place. He, and the guards, had now left. I might as well have been a woman. They showed me no more respect than they might have accorded to a helpless, vulnerable slave girl. How shamed I was. Yet were they not right? I was a man of Earth. Are we not all well tamed?
The door had not yet been opened. I was afraid. I had been told to make my presence known.
I then, frightened, breathing heavily, my heart pounding in fear, again knocked at the heavy door. I hoped that no one would be within.
"Who is it?" called a woman's voice, distracted.
"A—a slave," I stammered.
She opened the door, and looked down at me. She held some papers, long and yellow, in one hand. "It is Jason, is it not?" she asked.
"If Mistress pleases," I said.
"It will do," she said. She regarded me. She did not even seem to notice that I was alone in the hall. In this she apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I had forgotten," she said. "You were to be sent to my chamber this evening, were you not?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Come in," she said. "Remove your tunic and kneel by the couch. Close the door behind you."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. She was wearing golden sandals and a long, scarlet robe, with a high, ornate collar, fastened by a silver clasp.
I entered the room and shut the door behind me. I removed the silken tunic I had been given and folded it, placing it on the floor. I then knelt, naked and collared, near it, in the vicinity of the couch.
She knelt before a low desk, her back to me, and gave her attention to the papers which she had now placed upon it. She held a marking stick in her right hand.
"I am attending to the details of tomorrow evening's sale," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She worked quietly, thoughtfully. Sometimes she would remove one paper from the group, and add another. Occasionally she would make a notation on one of the papers with her marking stick. Several Ehn went by. I did not disturb her. I knew she was working. She was a businesswoman, with demanding and intricate responsibilities. I wondered if any of those papers were pertinent to me. I did not dare ask, of course. I had learned that curiosity was not becoming in a Kajirus. If I were to be sold tomorrow I would find out when masters or mistresses were pleased to let me know, perhaps as late as the moment when a sales disk might be wired to my collar.
"Serve me wine, Jason," she said, distractedly. "As a slave girl," she added.
"Yes, Mistress," I said, bitterly.
"Do I detect bitterness?" she asked, not turning about.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"Good," she said. "You are a true man of Earth, fit to be the slave of a woman."
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I found some wine, and poured a bit for her. Then, as I had seen Lola do for me, I pressed the goblet into my lower abdomen and then lifted it to my lips, where, turning my head, I kissed it. Then, head down, kneeling back on my heels, arms extended, I proffered it to the Mistress.
"Excellent, Jason," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
She sipped the wine, and regarded me contemptuously. Then she said, "Go back to your place."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
I went back, beside the couch, and again knelt. She turned about and placed the cup of wine on the low desk and, in a moment, was again deeply engaged in her work. I think she forgot that I was in the room. I knelt silently in the background. Occasionally, however, as the Ehn passed, she drank from the cup.
I was ignored and neglected. I would be summoned, if needed.
I glanced at the large, fur-strewn couch. I saw that there were chains, on rings, attached to it.
She at last, wearily, thrust back the papers and put down the marking pencil. She rose to her feet and stretched, and turned to look at me.
"Get on the couch," she said, "on your back."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She went to the right side of the couch and, in a routine and unconcerned fashion, lifted a shackle, on a chain, which she snapped shut on my right ankle. She then walked about the couch and, on the left, similarly secured my left ankle. She then, as I felt the movement through the left shackle, my leg pulled slightly to the left, adjusted that chain at the ring. She then walked about the bottom of the couch and, taking my right wrist, locked it on a manacle, at my right side. She then went about the head of the couch and, taking my left wrist, enclosed it, too, in a manacle, at my left side, which she then snapped shut. My left wrist was pulled further then to the left, as she adjusted the chain on the left manacle, fixing the length of its play by a snap ring thrust through a link and about the couch ring. My feet, then, had been well chained, and my hands, too, had been well chained, and a few inches from my sides. She had done these things with the same habitual routine, the same lack of attention and concern, with which she might have hung up a piece of wearing apparel or replaced a comb and brush on a vanity.
"Do you remember me, Jason?" she asked.
"I think so, Mistress," I said. "You were the slaver, were you not, who subjected me to such thorough assessment in the House of Andronicus?"
"You have a good eye for women, Jason," she said. "I was veiled."
"Thank you, Mistress," I said. "Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Did I frighten you, Jason?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"How I despise weakness in men," she said.
I did not speak.
"You are of Earth, are you not?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"The Lady Gina told me this," she said, "in the House of Andronicus. Too, it is on your papers."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She looked down at me, I a man of Earth, chained helplessly before her on her couch.
"Do the women of your world not despise weakness in men?" she asked.
"No, Mistress," I said. "They desire it."
"How do you know that?" she asked.
"It is what we have been taught," I said.
"Interesting," she said. "Are they, then, so different from all other women?"
"Perhaps, Mistress," I said. "I d
o not know."
"I wonder, then," she said, "if that is true, why the females brought here from Earth become such dreams of pleasure and submission for Gorean males."
"I do not know," I said.
"Surely you know that they, stripped and collared, thrown to the feet of strong men, make fantastic, yielding slave sluts?"
"I did not know, Mistress," I said. I knew nothing of Earth-girl slaves. I had heard, however, to be honest, that they were prized in certain markets, and often brought good prices. I supposed there must be some explanation for their economic value. I thought of poor Beverly Henderson. I hoped, somehow, she had managed to escape the cruel fate of female slavery. How piteous it would be if her beauty, so lovely and delicate, were simply to be rudely auctioned to the highest bidder. What an affront to her intelligence and personhood! Too, I thrust from my mind, frightened, the thought of what a joy it would be to own her.
"I find you interesting, Jason," said the Lady Tima. She went to a cabinet, and opened it, removing from it a slave whip.
I tensed.
"When I first saw you," she said, "I felt, for a moment, looking into your eyes, that they might be the eyes of a man. I thought this even though I had been informed you were of the planet Earth."
I did not speak.
"I thought, for a moment," she said, "looking into your eyes that they were the sort of eyes before which a woman fears that the lineaments of her features, even though veiled, may be clear to him under whose observation she finds herself. Indeed, she fears, as his eyes imperiously, casually, rove over her, that her beauty and needs, in spite of the intervening robes, the intervening layers of cloth, may be exposed as helplessly to him as those of a slave girl."
I did not speak. She moved the whip and its coils gently upon my body, half caressing it, half instructing it in its bondage.
"Please do not whip me," I said.
"But then," she said, "I discovered that you were not a man, but only a slave, and one who was despicably weak."
"Please, Mistress," I begged, "do not whip me."
She put the whip aside, on the couch beside me. "Do not fear, Jason," she said. She looked down at me. "You are not worth whipping," she said.
She put her hands to the high, ornate collar of her robes, undoing the silver clasp. She slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She was strikingly beautiful.
"I will not play long with you, Jason," she said. "I will soon send you back to your chains."
"What are you going to do with me?" I asked.
She laughed. She went then to the wine and poured the goblet half full. Then she came and sat near me, at the top of the couch. I struggled to my elbows, as I could. I put my head back. She supported my head, and put the goblet to my lips. "Drink, pretty Jason," she said. "It will make you less tense." She then tilted the goblet and poured the wine, bit by bit, into my mouth. I drank, frightened. Then she left the couch and returned the goblet to a small table. In a moment she had returned to the side of the couch, where she stood, looking down at me.
I could already begin to feel the wine. I was still half on my elbows. "What are you going to do to me?" I asked.
"Treat you as what you are," she said, "a man of Earth, a weakling, at the mercy of a Gorean free woman."
I regarded her, frightened.
"Lie back, pretty Jason," she said. I lay back. The furs were deep about me. I felt the inflexible clasp of the steel on my ankles and wrists.
Then suddenly, lightly, like a cat, she slipped onto the couch beside me.
"I do not understand," I said. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Own you," she whispered. "Use you for my pleasure."
I looked at her with horror.
She smiled and then thrust the whip, crosswise, in my mouth, between my teeth.
She then aroused, and raped me.
11
The Room of Preparation
"Poor slave," said the girl. "How the Mistress has abused you."
I lifted my head, slightly, from the flat stones. I lay on my side. The room was quite dark. My feet and ankles were chained together, the chain joining them apparently run through a ring in the stone. I was naked. I wore my collar.
"Lie quietly," said the girl.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
I felt a cool rag, moistened with water, bathe my forehead.
"I am not a Mistress," she laughed. "I, too, am only a poor slave."
"What has happened?" I asked. "What time is it? Where am I?"
"Last night," she said, "you were sent to the chamber of the Mistress."
I was silent.
"I wager she well taught you that you were a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said. "I was well taught that I was a slave."
The girl continued to bathe my forehead. "What time is it?" I asked.
"It is early evening of the day following that in which you were sent to the Mistress' chamber," she said.
"How can that be?" I asked.
"When the Mistress was finished with you," asked the girl, "did she not remove your chains and place a bowl of meal for you at the foot of her couch?"
"Yes," I said. I had been made to eat from it on my hands and knees, head down, not permitted to use my hands.
"Did she not then thrust your tunic under your collar and tell you to find the guards, that they would know what was to be done with you? And did she not then send you from her presence?"
"Yes," I said. "But I do not recall finding the guards."
"The meal was drugged," she said.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"In one of the rooms of slave preparation," she said. "It is in such rooms as these that slaves are often readied for their sale."
"Am I to be soon sold?" I asked.
"I fear so," she said, "since you have been placed here."
I sat up, bitterly.
"I am so sorry for you," she said. "It is such a horrifying and degrading experience to be sold, almost incomprehensible."
"Have you ever been sold?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "many times."
"I am sorry," I said.
"It does not matter," she said, softly. "I am only a slave." I sensed that she leaned back. "Do you wish me to bathe your forehead more?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But you have been very kind." I heard her wring out a rag, hearing the water drip into a pan of water. Then she got up, apparently taking the rag and water to the side of the room. In a moment or two she had returned.
"Are you thirsty?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She held a flask of water to my lips from which, gratefully, I drank.
"How cruelly they have chained you," she said. As I had sat up, my wrists, chained closely together, were near my ankles, similarly closely chained. A length of chain, joining my wrists and ankles, running through a heavy ring, secured me in place.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
From a loaf of dried bread, breaking pieces from it, she fed me.
"Would you like again to drink?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. She again held the flask of water to my lips.
"I stole some meat for you," she whispered. She then, piece by piece, fed me small pieces of boiled meat.
"You should not have taken such a risk," I said.
"Eat," she said. "It will give you strength."
"What would they do to you, if they found out that you had stolen the meat?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "I suppose they would only whip me. Perhaps they would cut off my hands."
"Why would you take such a risk, only for me?" I asked.
"Are you not of Earth, Jason?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "I am of Earth. How did you know my name?"
"I have heard you called that," she said. "Is it not the name you have been given?"
"Yes," I said. "It is the name I have been given." I wore the name 'Jason' now only as a sla
ve name. Slaves have no names in their own right. They are only animals. They are called whatever their masters wish.
"Do you know of Earth?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, ruefully, "I know of it."
"What is your name?" I asked.
She was silent.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"It is a shameful name," she said. "Please do not make me say it."
"Please," I said.
"Darlene," she said.
"That is an Earth-girl name," I said, excitedly. I trembled in the chains.
"Yes," she said.
"It is a beautiful name," I said.
"It seems to well arouse the lust of Gorean masters," she said.
"Why would they put such a name upon you?" I asked.
"To make it clear to all that I am no more than a slut and a slave," she said.
I had heard that Earth-girl names were often used as slave names on Gor, often being given to the lowest, and the most exciting and sensuous of slaves.
"How cruel Goreans are," I said. Then I said, "I am sorry. Forgive me."
"Why?" she asked.
"I did not mean to insult you," I said.
"I do not understand," she said.
"You are Gorean, are you not?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Then what are you?" I asked.
"Only a poor Earth-girl slave," she said.
I was stunned. "Your Gorean," I said, "is flawless, superb."
"The whip has taught me much," she said.
I was silent, overcome with pity for her. How tragic, I thought, to be a girl of my own world, and be brought cruelly and helplessly to the world of Gor, to be made a slave.
"On Earth," she said, "my name was Darlene. It was then, of course, my own name, and not a mere slave name, put upon me by the whim of Masters."
"I must see you," I said. I pulled at the chains.
"Eat, Jason," she said. "There is a little meat left."
I finished the meat, her small fingers delicately placing it in my mouth.
"You have risked much, bringing me this meat," I said, "for one who is only a slave."
"It is nothing," she said. "You are a man of my world."
"You are a fine and brave girl," I said.
"I am only a miserable slave," she said.