by John Norman
"I am from a place called England," said the girl.
I was startled that she had said 'I am from a place called England' rather than something like 'I am from England'. Her construction was Gorean in nature. Yet, of course, she did speak in Gorean.
I had now drawn on my trousers and shirt. I buckled my belt.
"I speak English," I said, in English. "I am from America. I can speak with you in English. Marvelous!"
She looked down. "I am only a slave," she said, in Gorean. "Let us speak in Gorean. I fear to speak but in the language of the masters."
I went to her and lightly touched her face.
"Do not be afraid," I said. "There is no one here but me. Speak English to me." I had spoken in English.
She looked up, shyly. "It is a very long time since I have spoken in that tongue," she said. She had spoken in English.
"I believe you," I laughed. "I would have thought you would have said something like 'It's been a long time since I have spoken English.'"
She smiled. "You see how long it has been?" she asked.
I smiled. "Your Gorean is flawless," I said.
"Is my English really so poor, Jason?" she asked.
"No," I said. "It is quite good. It is precise. But I cannot place the accent."
"There are many accents in England," she said.
"True," I smiled, "but the accent does not even sound like an English one."
"Alas," she smiled. "I fear I have been too long on Gor."
I sat down and began to draw on my shoes and stockings. "That is it," I said. "There is a Gorean flavor to the accent."
She put down her head. "I have not been permitted for years to speak my native language," she said. "We girls," she said, her voice soft, the fingers of her right hand touching the narrow, close-fitting metal loop at her throat, "must learn the language of our masters."
"Of course," I said. I stood up. "I am ready," I said. "Show me the exit."
"Please," she said. "Will you not put on this garment?" She held up the necktie which I had left on the floor.
"I scarcely think I need a necktie," I smiled.
"It has been so long since I have seen a man of Earth in such a garment," she said, "please."
"Very well," I said.
She came close to me and lifted the tie.
I looked down into her eyes. I lifted up the collar of my shirt. "Would you like to tie it?" I asked. I did not think I would mind having her arms intimately about my neck, even if but briefly, or having her so close to me, performing this simple, homely task.
"I do not know how to tie it, Jason," she said.
"Very well," I said. I took the tie, and, in a moment, had tied it. I then turned down and smoothed the collar of my shirt. I adjusted the tie as well as I could, not having a mirror.
"How handsome you look," she said.
This pleased me.
"Your thigh," I said, suddenly. "It is not marked." Her left thigh did not bear the brand. I must have noticed this before but, somehow, it had not registered with me. The Ta-Teera, as it had been torn, did not conceal the branding area on her leg.
"No," she said. "No," she then said, angrily, "I am not branded on the right thigh either." I had, almost without thinking, moved in such a way as to ascertain this. Most girls wear their brands on the left thigh, where they may be conveniently caressed by a right-handed master. Some girls, on the other hand, are right-thigh branded. Some, too, though very few, are branded on the lower left abdomen.
"Are you disappointed?" she asked.
"No," I said. "No!"
"Do you want Darlene branded?" she asked.
"No," I said, "of course not!" I was surprised that she had spoken of herself as she did, using her name. This is not uncommon, of course, among Gorean female slaves. I reminded myself that she was a female slave, and had doubtless been long on Gor, doubtless well accommodating herself to the harsh realities of her collar. How marvelous, I thought, that some beautiful women are slaves. How I then, for an instant, envied the brutes of Gor, who could own such a woman as stood before me.
"Would you prefer to have me branded, Jason?" she asked, angrily.
"No," I cried. "Of course not!" But what man would not prefer to have a beautiful woman branded? I realized she had not referred to herself, this time, by her own name. It was almost as if she had caught herself.
She looked at me, angrily.
"I was only surprised," I said, chagrined, embarrassed, "that you were not branded. The female slaves I have seen hitherto on Gor have been branded."
"Well, I am not," she said.
"I can see that," I said.
"Do you speak to me as a Gorean brute?" she asked. She, with her small hands, tried to pull together the rent fabric at her thighs.
"No," I said, quickly. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I am very sorry."
"Perhaps I am marked on the lower left abdomen," she said. "That is sometimes done. Would you care to look?"
"No," I said. "Of course not!"
Angrily she tore open the Ta-Teera at her lower left abdomen. She held the cloth apart. "Is there a mark there?" she asked.
"No," I said. "No!"
I wanted to take her by the arm and thrust my right hand through that rent in the garment, and, half lifting her, forcing her back to the wall, holding her against it, make her cry out piteously to be had, after which to put her to its foot and rape her as a slave.
"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very sorry!"
She looked at me.
"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very, very sorry."
"I forgive you," she said. "I should not have become angry." She looked up at me. "Can you forgive me, Jason?"
"There is nothing to forgive," I said.
"It is only that I am so sensitive," she said, "that my beauty, if I am beautiful, is so blatantly exposed to the vision of masters."
"I understand," I said. "And you are, indeed, beautiful."
"Thank you, Jason," she said. "You are very kind."
"You are beautiful," I said, "quite beautiful."
"I suppose that it is not hard to tell that, if it is true," she said, "when one is clad as a Gorean slave girl."
"No," I smiled. "It is not."
"What brutes they are, to clothe us for their pleasure," she said.
"At least," I pointed out, "you have been permitted clothing."
"Yes," she smiled. It was true that often, in slave pens, and in the houses of slavers, women were kept nude, save for their collars. This effects a saving in the laundering of slave tunics. Too, it is sometimes thought to have a useful disciplinary effect on the girls. They learn that even a rag is not something they can take for granted, but must, so to speak, be earned. Too, it might be mentioned, some masters commonly keep their girls nude in their own compartments. Most, however, permit the girl some garment, usually a brief, sleeveless, one-piece slave tunic. This helps the master to control himself, should he wish to do so. Too, it is enjoyable, at a snap of his fingers, to have the girl remove it, or, indeed, if he wishes, to tear it from her at his whim.
"In the Ta-Teera though," she said bitterly, "it is sometimes like being more naked than naked."
"I understand," I said, softly. It presented her as a displayed slave.
She was silent.
"Yet doubtless," I said, "it affords your modesty more comfort than might a mere collar."
"Yes," she smiled, "a bit more than might a collar alone."
How I then again envied the Gorean brutes who might order such a woman, at so little as a snap of their fingers, to strip to her collar.
"I was not branded," she said, "because the masters thought a brand would mar my beauty."
"I understand," I said. Actually, however, though I was not prepared to argue, I found this quite surprising. From what I had seen a brand made a woman at least a hundred times more beautiful and exciting. The brand's marvelousness, of course, is not simply a function of its aesthetic enhancement
of the woman's beauty, adding beauty to her beauty, raising her almost geometrically to a new dimension of loveliness, but was doubtless as much or more a function of its meaning; it marked the loveliness into which it was burned as that of the most desirable of women, a female slave.
"I do not need the jacket," I said.
"Please, for me, Jason," she wheedled.
She was so pretty!
"Very well," I said. I drew on the jacket.
"Now, the coat," she said.
"I certainly do not need the coat," I said.
"Oh, please, please, Jason," she wheedled.
"Very well," I said. I drew on the coat.
"How marvelous you look," she said. "How long it has been since I looked upon a handsome man of my world, so smartly attired."
"I feel like a fool," I said. "These garments are so incongruous on this world. Too, they seem clumsy and out of place, almost rude and barbaric, compared to the lines and simplicity of Gorean garments."
"No, no," she said. "They are perfect!"
"If you say so," I smiled.
"You have been very kind to me," she said, "to let me see you dressed in this fashion, as a man of my old and dear world. You have pleased me very much. What lovely memories do you recall for me!"
"It is nothing," I said. Indeed, it was such a little thing to do for the girl, and she seemed so appreciative. I gathered it meant much for her. "Perhaps now," I said, "you should show me the secret exit, that I may attempt to escape from this place."
"Hurry," she said, slipping in front of me and out the barred gate, which was ajar.
"Slowly," I said. "There may be guards in the hall."
"No," she said. "It is not yet time for their rounds but it will be quite soon. We must make haste."
I followed the girl, swiftly, from the cell. Behind me I left the collar, opened, on the floor, and the chains, open and discarded, strewn about the ring.
I was well pleased to leave the room of slave preparation. I quickly followed the girl, heart pounding, through the dimly lit corridors. I thought it fortunate we encountered no guards. She knew the way well. Once we heard, in the distance, the striking of a gong. "What is that?" I asked. "It is a signal," she said, "that it is time for the guards to begin their rounds." "Hurry," I said. She moved quickly before me.
How brave she was. She risked much, doubtless, for one who was only a man of her world.
What a fine and noble girl.
Suddenly she stopped before a large, heavy door. She turned, breathless, to face me.
"Is this the door?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
I took her in my arms. "You must come with me," I said. "I cannot leave you here."
She shook her head. "I cannot go," she said. "Leave me! Escape!"
"You must come with me," I told her.
"I am only a half-naked slave," she said, "in a Ta-Teera and collar. I would be picked up in a moment. Go."
"Please," I said. "Come with me."
"Do you know the penalties for an escaped slave girl?" she asked.
"No," I said, frightened.
"I tried to escape once," she said. "This time my feet could be cut off."
I shuddered.
"Please, hurry," she said. "Every moment that you delay prolongs our danger."
"You are the finest and bravest girl I have ever known," I said.
"Hurry," she whispered.
I lowered my head to her, to kiss her, but, again, she twisted her head away.
"Do not forget that I am a woman of Earth," she said.
I continued to hold her. She was sensitive to the pressure of my hands upon her arms.
She looked up at me.
"Our relationship has been so beautiful, Jason," she said, "please do not spoil it."
"I'm sorry," I said. I released her.
She opened the door and peered through. It was dark on the other side of the door.
She turned about and faced me. She smiled. "I wish you well, Jason," she said.
"I, too, wish you well," I said.
"Hurry," she said.
"I will never forget you," I said. Then I slipped through the door.
My arms were instantly pinioned to my sides. I heard a woman's laugh behind me.
"Light the torches," said another woman's voice. I recognized it as that of my Mistress, the Lady Tima.
Torches were lit. I found myself on a semicircular stage, in a sort of an amphitheater. My arms were held at my sides by the two gigantic brutes, guards, whom I had seen earlier. There was much laughter, that of women, which rang about me, which showered down upon me. To my left and right torches were ignited. I was well illuminated. I could not see too well into the tiers but I could see, dimly, that they were filled with robed, veiled women. I struggled, futilely. There was much laughter.
I saw the girl whom I had thought was named Darlene removing the collar from her throat with a key. She handed the collar and key to an attendant, a husky brute with a knife thrust in his belt, who handed her a loose, white gown which she, fastening a clasp at her throat, donned. Too, she was handed a whip. She shook out its blades, and snapped them once. The sound was fearful.
I looked up into the tiers.
I recalled the words of the heavy man on Earth. "I think I know a little market where you might be of interest," he had said.
I moaned.
I felt the whip of the Lady Tima pushing up my chin. She was dressed in brief black leather. She wore leather wristlets, studded. There were keys, and a knife, at her belt.
"Welcome to the market of Tima," she said.
I looked at her with misery.
She gave a sign and an attendant, at one side, struck a gong with a hammer. It was the same sound I had heard earlier, in the corridors. I now realized its significance.
"Let the sale begin," said the Lady Tima.
The girl whom I had known as 'Darlene' strode forward. She indicated me with the whip. "This is a man of Earth," she said. "I will now take the first bid on him."
"Four copper tarsks!" I heard a woman call.
I was to be sold.
12
The Market of Tima
"I have a bid of four tarsks!" called the girl in the white gown, it concealing the shameful Ta-Teera she had worn while pretending to be an Earth-girl slave.
"Five!" I heard.
"Five!" said the girl.
"Let us see him!" called a woman, shrilly.
"He stands before you clad in the barbarous garments of his own world," called the Lady Tima, stepping forward with her whip, indicating me. "Note them!"
I struggled, but futilely. I was well held by the two brutes who pinioned my arms.
"See how ugly are such garments," said the Lady Tima, "how constricting!"
There was laughter. Indeed, among most Gorean garments, with their simplicity, their flowing lines, the freedom allowed for movement, my own garments seemed rigid, confining, frightened, unimaginative and boorish. Were those of Earth really so ashamed and fearful of their bodies as such garments suggested, I wondered.
"Are they not offensive to your eyes?" inquired the Lady Tima.
"Remove them!" cried more than one lady, laughing, from the tiers.
"Some of the women of Earth even aspire to wear such garments!" laughed the Lady Tima. "It is their way of trying to be men, according to the quaint modalities of his strange world."
"Our men teach them that they are women," laughed a woman.
"It is true, and the little sluts learn swiftly," laughed the Lady Tima.
There was much laughter.
I struggled, but could not free myself. How cruel was their joke, to present me clad before buyers in garb which, though appropriate perhaps to my world, could appear only homely and foolish in comparison to the garments of Gor. I was chagrined to be presented before Gorean women in what now seemed to me to be gross and stupid garments. How little charm or grace, or liberty, there seemed to me then in such cloths. That c
ertain women, too, would hasten to don them seemed to me then a pitiful irony bespeaking the confusions of my native world. The question was less as to why women would wish to wear them than as to why anyone would wish to wear them. I wondered if the aesthetic judgment of the women who hastened to don such garments was as stereotyped and thoughtless as that of the men who wore them as a matter of course. I hoped not. But perhaps women who were determined to be male impersonators had really little choice in the matter. Did they not imitate men in their eccentricities and stupidities as well as in other features their portrayal or characterization would surely seem the less convincing and plausible. Such garments, I suspected, were a softened heritage, rather than a break from such a heritage, from the repressions of an earlier era in Earth history, repressions now denied but repressions undeniably lingering. How scandalized and shamed would be an Earthling to adopt convenient and handsome raiment. How ridiculed would such a fellow be. How little we have learned from the informal garb of Greeks and Romans. Is it truly easier, I wonder, to adopt columns and arches, philosophy and poetry, mathematics and medicine, and law, than a rational mode of dress. But the Greeks and Romans were proud peoples, so untutored as to be unapologetic concerning their humanity. It is little wonder they are so alien to the men of Earth. It is a long time since I have thrown salt into the wind; it is a long time since I have poured wine into the sea; it is a long time since I have gone to Delphi.