by John Norman
"Yes," she said.
"This perfume," said Turbus Veminius, "will remind him of what he has forgotten, that you are a woman."
She looked at him, her body rigid with rage.
"But it, in itself," he said, "will do little to improve your situation."
"I do not understand," she said.
"You are, I suspect," said Turbus Veminius, "a pretty little thing. If your companion bought you, naked and collared, in a market, he would doubtless prize you highly."
"Turbus!" she cried, angrily.
"But as his companion you are too much taken for granted," he said.
"It is true," she suddenly sobbed.
"If you would improve your situation somewhat," he said, "I recommend that you learn the arts of the slave girl, and practice them with diligence."
"That would only improve my situation somewhat?" she asked, puzzled.
"Yes," he said, "for you would still be free, and no free woman, because she is free, can truly compete for the attention and affection of a man as can a slave girl."
"Why?" she asked.
"I do not know," said Turbus Veminius. "Perhaps it is simply because the slave girl is a slave girl, truly, and is owned."
"What then am I to do?" she asked.
"You could risk slavery," he said, "expose yourself to possible capture, walk the high bridges at lonely Ahn, picnic in the country, go to paga taverns alone, take dangerous sea voyages."
"But what if I were caught, and enslaved?" she asked.
"You would then be a true slave girl," he said, "and would doubtless be taught, thoroughly, and more deeply and sensuously than you could ever hope to learn them as a free woman, for you would then be a slave, the arts of the female slave."
"But I might never again come into the possession of my former companion," she said.
"Presumably you would not," he said. "But presumably you would come into the possession of some man who truly wanted you, and who was willing to pay good money for you."
"I brought a large companion price to my companion," she said. "Perhaps he wanted that more than me."
"I do not know," said Turbus, shrugging.
"He did," she said, bitterly. "He did."
"Perhaps it would be just as well, then," said Turbus, sympathetically, "if you did not come again into his possession."
She put her head down.
"The girl who is bought off the block," said Turbus, "knows that it is she herself, and only herself, who is desired. Nothing else, you understand, is being sold, only the girl."
"Yes, Turbus," she said. "I understand."
"I will take back this perfume," he said. "Obviously you will not want it."
"No," she said, quickly, lifting her head. "I will take it."
"The price is high," he said, "a golden tarn disk."
"I will pay it," she said, giving him the coin from a small, beaded purse she held in her hand.
She turned to leave, but then, again, turned to face him.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Do you sell slave perfume, true slave perfume?" she asked.
"We do not sell perfume for slave sluts in the shop of Veminius," he said, sternly.
"Forgive me, Turbus," she said.
"Try the shop of the Steel Bracelets," he smiled. "It is near the house of Hassan, on the Street of Brands."
"Thank you, Turbus," she said. She turned again, to leave.
"And do not let them overcharge you," he called after her. "Five two-hort vials should cost you no more than a copper tarsk!"
"Yes, Turbus," she said. "Thank you, Turbus." She stopped in the doorway, but did not turn to face him. "I wish you well, Turbus," she said.
"I, too, wish you well, Lady Kita," he said.
She looked up at one of the two large guards who stood beside her. Then she lowered her head. He was looking at her, with a curiosity and interest that must have been unsettling for her. She hurried then from the shop, followed by the guards.
Turbus Veminius looked at me.
"Approach, Slave," he snapped, "and lower your head."
I hurried to him, and put my head down. He took the loop of leather, with its tiny sack, from my head.
"You are Jason," he asked, "the slave of the Lady Florence of Vonda?" He was looking at the note, extracted from the sack.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Her perfume was ready yesterday," he said. He went to one of the cabinets. From the sack he took the coins. They were five silver tarsks. He put them in a drawer. He wrote something on the note, and then he put the note and the vial of perfume in the sack. I again put down my head and he put the sack, on its leather string, about my neck.
"Be careful with that perfume," he said. "It is expensive. It is a signature perfume."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Is your Mistress beautiful?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Would she look well in a collar?" he asked.
"I am only a poor slave," I said. "How could I form an opinion on that?"
He looked at me, sternly.
"Yes, Master," I said. "She would look well in a collar."
"You are a big fellow," said he. "Have you ever been entered in the stable bouts?"
"No, Master," I said.
"It is growing late," he said. "Perhaps you should hurry home. Your Mistress, hot in her robes, will be wondering where you are."
I said nothing.
"Must I beat you from the shop with a whip?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said. I turned about.
"It seems a shame for a beautiful woman to waste her time with a silk slave," he said. "She should be crawling, collared, to the feet of a true man."
I said nothing.
"Run!" he said, suddenly. "Run, Slave!"
I ran from the shop.
Outside, almost immediately, I struck against two men. "Forgive me, Masters," I said. But my arms were then held, each arm by one of the men. "I did not mean to strike against you," I said. I was being pulled then along the street. The shadows were long. It was warm, and late in the afternoon. There were only a few people on the street. I saw that the two men who held me were the fellows in the brown tunics whom I had seen earlier. "I am sorry, Masters," I said. "Beat me, and let me go, please." I realized then they were pulling me toward an alley. My feet, bare, scraped on the flat stones of the street. My hands, tied behind me, as they had been while I had run the errands of this morning and the errand of this afternoon, fought the binding fiber. A passing baker glanced at us. "What do you want of me?" I asked. I was dragged into the alley. "I am Jason, slave to the Lady Florence of Vonda," I said. "I cannot be he whom you seek. Look at my collar. Call a guardsman!" I was thrust along the alley. About fifty yards down the alley was a high-sided tharlarion wagon. It had a canvas cover. I was thrown brutally, back first, against a building near the wagon. My feet were half kicked out from under me. My own weight then half pinned me in place. I saw that these men were accustomed to handling slaves. "Who are you?" I asked. One of the men, from his tunic, drew forth a slave hood. "Who are you? What do you want?" I cried. Then the wadding connected with the hood was thrust into my mouth; in a moment, by buckled straps, fastened behind my neck, it was secured in place. One of the men then threw aside the cover on the wagon. Inside I saw a slave sack and, formed of wood, a small, stout, cord-bound, thick-barred slave cage. Such cages are quite adequate for bound slaves. The hood was then drawn over my head and, by straps, buckled shut under my chin. My feet were kicked then fully from under me. In a moment I felt myself being thrust, doubled up, in a heavy leather sack. My head was then thrust down. The sack was tied shut over my head. The two men then lifted me, helpless in the sack, and placed me in the slave cage. I heard its wooden gate slide down into place. The gate then would have been tied shut.
"Throw down and buckle the cover," I heard.
The canvas on the wagon, then, would have been shut and secured.
In a few moments I coul
d feel the movement of the iron-rimmed, wooden wheels of the wagon over the stones of the alley.
I struggled for a time, but, in the sack, could obtain no leverage. At times I felt my body, captive in the sack, press futilely against the thick, stout bars of the slave cage. I tried to free my wrists but could not begin to do so. They were held perfectly, and would continue to be held perfectly, each a prisoner to the other, until masters might free me. Slave knots had been used, and Gorean binding fiber, designed for the perfect control of slaves and prisoners.
Again I struggled, futilely, irrationally. Then I ceased struggling.
Resistance was useless.
17
The Lady Melpomene;
The Vengeance of the Lady Melpomene
"Ah, Jason," said the woman. "You are awake."
I struggled to move, but could not well do so. When the tharlarion wagon had arrived at a house in Venna, I had been removed from the slave cage and slave sack. When the hood, with its gag, had been removed from me, I had been forced, sitting in the courtyard, my head back and nose held, to swallow a draft of water, into which a reddish powder had been mixed. I had shortly thereafter lost consciousness.
I closed my eyes. The image of the woman had been blurred.
"I know you are awake," she said.
I opened my eyes. I moved my arms and legs a little, but they were, on the whole, effectively restrained. I lay on my back on a large, round couch, on deep furs. I was chained, hand and foot.
"Do you know me?" she asked.
I now recognized her, but I thought it wiser on my part to deny this. Though she had been veiled when I had seen her on the streets of Ar, in her palanquin, it was not difficult to recall the eyes, the character of the cheekbones, the voice.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"I am the Lady Melpomene of Vonda," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She stood near the couch, looking at me. "Your mistress," she said, acidly, "insinuated in Ar that I could not have bid sixteen tarsks for you. That is false. It was rather that I did not think you were worth sixteen tarsks."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"You are her preferred silk slave, are you not?" she asked.
"I think so, Mistress," I said.
"Is she fond of you?" she asked.
"She finds me in some respects not unacceptable," I said.
"You are now chained on my couch," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"You are a pretty male," she said, "sleek and strong."
I said nothing.
"I have complimented you," she said.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
"You have recovered more quickly than I had anticipated from the Tassa powder," she said. "But it does not matter. You may watch me while I prepare myself." She went to a vanity and knelt there, and, looking in the mirror, began to comb her hair. It was long and dark.
I looked about the room. It was large, but shabby. The hangings were old. There were cracks in certain of the walls. It was not kept up.
The Lady Melpomene slowly, luxuriantly, delighting in its beauty, and well displaying it for me, combed her hair. She used a comb of kailiauk horn. She wore a yellow gown, long and almost transparent. Her feet were bare.
"Lady Melpomene has beautiful hair," I said.
"Silk slaves are such flatterers," she said. But I could see she was pleased. It was true, of course, that she had beautiful hair.
There was dust on her bare feet, and on the floor of the room. I had heard that she had had to sell her slaves, or most of them. My mistress spoke occasionally about her. She hated her. The two families, of which these two young women were scions, were ancient rivals in Vonda. The investments of the family of my mistress, however, had prospered, while those of the family of the Lady Melpomene had languished. Indeed, most of the members of the family of Lady Melpomene had left Vonda over the years. She, of that family, had remained in Vonda, reigning over the shreds of what had once been a considerable number of assets.
"In the courtyard below," I said, "I was drugged."
"It was done by Tassa powder," she said.
"It was tasteless, and effective," I said.
"Slavers sometimes use it," she said. "It is well for a girl not to drink with a strange man," she laughed.
"It shows up, of course," I said, "in water."
"It is meant to be mixed with red wine," she said.
"Of course," I said.
I wondered how many girls, accepting the apparent generosity of a stranger, had found themselves suddenly, inexplicably, swooning, only to awaken later in some unknown place, naked and in the chains of a slave.
The Lady Melpomene then laid aside her comb. She then touched perfume to her body.
"I did not enjoy my conversation with your mistress in Ar," she said.
Deftly she touched the perfume to her body.
"She insinuated that my fortunes were in sorry order," she said, "indeed, that I was almost destitute."
"Perhaps she meant no harm," I said.
"I am not a fool," she snapped. Then she rose to her feet and turned to face me. Like many Gorean women, she did not use cosmetics. Free women in Ar commonly use cosmetics, but, outside of Ar, usually it is only the bolder women who resort to them. My mistress, for example, did not use cosmetics either. Many free women regard cosmetics as only for slave girls. Slave girls, of course, use them often. The Lady Melpomene regarded me. Then she slipped the yellow gown from her body. She was extremely lovely, though, I think, not so lovely as my mistress. My eyes, inadvertently, wandered to her throat. It would have looked well in a collar. The collar, like a brand, enhances the beauty of a woman, particularly when she is naked. It, of obdurate, locked, circular steel, indicative of harsh, uncompromising bondage, contrasts well with the delicious, feminine softness which it encircles and confines. "But now," she said, "Jason, her precious silk slave, lies chained upon my couch."
I did not speak.
She came to the couch and sat near me. "You are a pretty slave," she said.
I did not speak.
She looked at me, sternly.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said.
She touched me. "I see that you find me attractive," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She lowered her head, letting her hair fall about my face. "Do you smell the perfume?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"It is that of your mistress," she said. "What did it cost?"
"Five silver tarsks," I said. "It was purchased, as you perhaps know, at the shop of Veminius."
"Once," she said, "I could afford five tarsks for perfume. Once I, too, could shop at the shop of Veminius."
I looked about the room, lofty, but disreputable, covered with dust. She, of course, a free woman, and one once of means, would not concern herself with such work as dusting and cleaning. It was beneath her. She had had, apparently, to sell all, or most, of her slaves. I had not even been washed and combed, apparently, before being placed on her couch. The men who had captured me had doubtless, for their small fee, brought me to the room and had then left, after which she had, while I lay unconscious, locked her chains on me.
"It is true, then," I asked, "that Mistress has had misfortunes in her financial affairs?"
"I have had difficulties, Jason," she said. "It is common knowledge."
I did not speak.
"I was in Ar negotiating the sale of this house," she said. "The very palanquin in which you first saw me, that in which I rode in Ar, was rented."
"My mistress," I said, "had suggested to me that it might be."
"But now you lie chained at my mercy," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"I was successful in selling the house," she said. "I am leaving it tomorrow."
"Mistress has now recouped her fortunes?" I asked.
"Only a small portion of them," she smiled. "I remain still much in debt."
"Mistress has," I said, "a house in Vonda. Perhaps she might sell that, too."
"I could sell ten houses," she smiled, "and not recoup my fortunes. I owe the merchants of a dozen cities."
"What will you do?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," she said, "with the moneys I will have from the sale of this house I will recoup all, in a single afternoon. I will become again one of the richest women in Vonda."
"In what way can Mistress possibly accomplish this?" I asked.
"I am assured of certain winners in the tharlarion races," she said.
"You have information?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Is it wise to venture your capital in such a way?" I asked.
"I shall do with it as I please," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"There are many notes against me," she said. "I must do something."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"But have no fear, pretty slave," she said. "Lady Melpomene of Vonda will win, and then will be again one of the richest women in Vonda. Perhaps, even, in time, she may ruin your Mistress, and force your sale." She smiled at me, and idly fingered my arm. "She might then, if she wished," she said, "buy you for her very own." She then, idly, touched my belly. "Would you like that, Jason?" she asked.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"Why?" she asked. "Am I not beautiful?"
"You are beautiful, Mistress," I said.
"Then, why not?" she asked.
"I am a man," I said.
"No," she said, "you are only a silk slave." She looked down at me. "Indeed," she said, "you are a male of the world called Earth. You are fit, thus, only to be a woman's property."
I did not speak. I was bitter. I knew that many of the men of Earth were, in effect, the property of their women. It was not particularly their fault. They had been raised to be such. Rhetoric, conditioning and social controls kept them in their place. Only occasionally did they dream of the subverted biological hegemonies which were theirs by nature. One must own, in effect, or be owned. The women of Earth, in effect, owned their men. But the women of Earth were unhappy. Perhaps they wished, in some deep part of themselves, that it was they who were owned by the men.