by John Norman
"Is this not a new slave in the stables?" she asked Kenneth.
"Yes, Lady Florence," said Kenneth, "but, still, he has been with us now for some five weeks."
"What is his name?" she asked.
"Jason," said Kenneth.
"He seems familiar," she said, lightly.
"Perhaps you remember him, Lady Florence," said Kenneth. "He was once your silk slave."
"Ah!" she said, as though suddenly recollecting the matter. "Is it truly you, Jason?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She stepped back two or three feet, and looked upon me. "What a sturdy brute you have become," she said.
I said nothing.
"Your face and features," she said, "seem to have coarsened. And there is a scar on your lower left cheek."
I said nothing. I had had the scar from a cut received some four weeks ago. I had been careless.
"I have, inadvertently, from time to time, overheard the speakings of slaves," she said. "Is it true that you are the champion in the stables?"
I smiled to myself. Her informant in such matters was Taphris. Kenneth had told me this.
"Is it true?" she asked.
I considered the line of men. "Yes, Mistress," I said.
"He is splendid, Lady Florence," said Kenneth, warmly. "He is a true champion. He has beaten already the champions of five stables, those of Kliomenes, Policrates, Gordon, Dorto and Miles."
"I abhor violence," she said, shuddering, the quirt in her hand.
"Of course, Lady Florence," said Kenneth. "Forgive me. They are, of course, only slaves who are set at one another."
"That is true," she said. "It is not as though they were people. They are only animals."
It was true. Slaves, both male and female, are animals. Anything may be done with them.
"When he does well, or is successful," she asked, as though merely curious, "is he rewarded?"
"Yes," said Kenneth, "it is useful in the training."
"And how is he rewarded?" she asked.
"An extra round of rations," said Kenneth, expansively, "some pastry upon occasion, sometimes with even a bowl of cheap wine."
"I see," she said.
I looked over at the line of stable sluts, kneeling in the soft earth, in their brown tunics. I had had all of them, and more than once. Kenneth had been generous. Not unoften he would bring one of them to my stall at night, where I was chained, and chain her by the neck, beside me in the straw. My favorite was the blond, Telitsia.
"And is he, upon occasion," asked the Lady Florence, "rewarded with things of another sort?"
"Of course, Lady Florence," said Kenneth.
"With what?" she asked.
"With meaningless little things, trivialities, baubles, things of no account or worth," said Kenneth.
The Lady Florence looked over to the line of kneeling kajirae. "To be sure," she said, acidly.
"If Lady Florence disapproves," said Kenneth, "we shall, of course, discontinue the practice."
"Why should I disapprove?" she asked, angrily.
"I do not know, Lady Florence," said Kenneth. "I only thought—"
"The sluts are on their slave wine, are they not?" she asked.
"Of course," said Kenneth.
"In what else could I possibly have been interested?" she asked.
"I do not know," he said.
"If there is to be breeding done upon them, I will, of course, supervise it," she said.
"Of course, Lady Florence," said Kenneth.
Slaves are domestic stock. They are bred if and when, and as, the masters please.
"How strong your arms seem to have become," mused the Lady Florence, looking down upon me. Like the other slave tunics, mine was sleeveless.
I said nothing.
"It is nothing whatsoever to me," said the Lady Florence to Kenneth, "whether this slave, a mere slave, is or is not used in the stable bouts. See, however, that he performs his full share of labors."
"Of course, Lady Florence," said Kenneth.
The mistress then turned from me, and surveyed the next slave in line. She stayed before him, however, only a moment. And, indeed, she was soon finished with our line of slaves. She turned about.
"Does the Lady Florence wish to inspect her kajirae?" inquired Kenneth.
The body of the Mistress suddenly stiffened. "Yes," she said.
Then, in a moment, in her swirling skirt, and hood and veil, and boots, quirt in hand, she stood before the five kajirae, members of her own sex, briefly tunicked, wearing feminine work collars, with rings, who knelt before her.
"Which of these," she asked, "is the favorite of the fighting slave, he named Jason?"
"Telitsia, this one," said Kenneth, puzzled.
Blond Telitsia looked up at her Mistress, frightened.
"Sell her," said the Lady Florence, and turned away.
19
Taphris
The training beam, about a foot Gorean square, sunk a yard deep in its wood-lined well, braced, too, within the wooden-floored, high-roofed barn, shook with the blows struck against it. On my hands I wore the gunni, training devices, curved weights of lead, several pounds heavy, with handles, cushioned with cloth. The value of these devices is twofold. First, they strengthen the muscles of the shoulders, back and arms, building up incredible strength; second, when they are removed, it seems as though the hands, relieved of such weights, can fly like hornets. I stayed close to the beam. The fist moves most swiftly and has the greatest power within the first six inches of its motion, with the back and arm behind it. Too, it is similar to the loosened arrow, which has its greatest swiftness, and maximum striking power, immediately after being sprung from the string, immediately after leaving the bow. The concave surfaces of the gunni face the user of the devices, and the handles are recessed within these surfaces. The outer surfaces, or striking surfaces of the gunni are usually shallowly rounded, being slightly convex. This tends to prevent excessive splintering of the beam. The blows thus, in a sense, compress and pack the beam, causing it to last longer, until it finally, after a few finishing blows, shatters. These beams are frequently replaced. It may seem surprising but a strong man, determined, and working against time, can break through a training beam in a matter of only a few Ehn. The gunni, in weight, are similar to the heads of sledge hammers. One may, of course, break through walls with such devices or bend iron.
I struck at the beam, denting it, causing it to shudder in its well and braces.
It had been yesterday that we had been inspected by the mistress. After she had inspected me, it had seemed to me that she had brought her inspection to a rather swift termination. She had been cursory with the rest of the slaves in my line and she had barely glanced at the kajirae.
I struck again and again at the beam. It is important to maintain one's balance. This permits maneuverability and reduces the opponent's opportunities to take advantage of a misstep or a momentary clumsiness in the distribution of one's weight; too, it provides greater impact for the blows which one strikes. My feet seldom moved more than some twenty inches apart; earlier in my training my ankles had been shackled; now, kinesthetically, habitually, without thinking, I tended almost invariably to maintain a sensible measure between my feet; I stayed, too, generally on my toes; this reduces friction and enables quickness of movement; too, in the fighting pit, the toe, gouging into the sand, the body moving forward, increases leverage. Many slave fights are little more than bloody brawls, which free persons are pleased to witness. Kenneth and Barus, on the other hand, who bet on such matters, took these fights seriously. They had, over the years, devoted time and intelligence to the training and development of fighting slaves. The stables of the Lady Florence of Vonda had been, as a result of this, particularly in the last four or five years, unusually successful in the stable bouts. Indeed, Kenneth and Barus had accumulated small fortunes as a result of their efforts in this area. Gorean free persons of high caste, of course, tended to take little
note of these matters.
I struck again and again at the beam, pummeling it. It groaned. I heard it crack. Again and again, over and over, I struck at it. The ceiling of the high-roofed barn and its walls rang with the sound of the blows on the weakening wood. I sensed that it would soon give way. I increased the number and speed of my blows.
Sometimes as often as every fourth or fifth day I was hooded and chained, and placed in a wagon, usually with some fellow slaves, fighters, too. I would then be unchained and unhooded, in my turn, in a shallow pit, about which free persons, almost always of low caste, would be gathered. In the pit, too, would be another slave. Our hands would be wrapped in leather that they might not be easily broken. One might kick but holds to the death were not permitted. One fought, with occasional rest periods, for this makes the fight last longer, the fighters being briefly refreshed, until one man or the other could no longer fight. There would be much shouting and betting. I had lost my first matches in our own stables but, in time, with training and advice, and pit experience, I had begun to do well. I had won my last seventeen bouts, five of which had been outside our own stables. I was usually one of a team of five fighters, divided by weight. I was in the heaviest weight class. Some small men, as is well known, are extremely fine fighters, though, of course, they do not have the size and weight to consistently best larger men, assuming that the distribution of skills is similar.
The beam splintered suddenly away, shattering back from the weights on my hands.
I threw back my head, sucking in air.
I sensed her suddenly beside me, the small, blond female, collared, in the brown rag.
"Telitsia," I said.
She removed one of the gunni, that which clothed my left fist. It was heavy for her. She carried it, with two hands, and placed it on the shelf to one side.
"Does Kenneth know you are here?" I asked.
She returned to my side and, from my right fist, removed gently the heavy, curved weight with which it was clad.
"Does Kenneth know you are here?" I asked.
She placed the second weight beside the first on the shelf. She turned and looked at me. I looked at her. She trembled. She put down her head, and went to a water-filled wooden bucket in the corner of the barn. There was a gourd dipper near the bucket. She lowered the gourd dipper into the water and then, the dipper brimming, returned to my side. I took the dipper and drank. I handed the dipper back to her and she returned it to its place. Her small, bare feet dislodged sawdust on the floor of the barn. She returned to my side with a large, coarse towel, and began, gently, to towel my body. I was soaked with sweat. We were alone in the barn. There were several stalls in the barn. These were empty, but filled with clean straw. She continued to towel my body.
I thrust back the hair from my eyes.
She was now on her knees beside me, head down, trembling, toweling my legs.
"Does Kenneth know you are here?" I asked.
She continued, head down, to towel my legs.
"Speak, female," I told her.
"No," she whispered.
She looked up at me, suddenly. "The wagon is to come for me this afternoon," she said. "I am to be taken to the market. I am to be sold."
"I know," I said.
"I do not want to be sold," she wept.
"You are a slave," I told her. "Your wishes are unimportant."
"I know," she whispered.
She continued to towel my body. "The wagon will be here soon," she said.
I nodded. She would then be hooded and bound, and placed in the wagon for transport to the market.
Suddenly she flung away the towel and, sobbing, looked up at me, tears in her eyes. She was quite beautiful, kneeling barefoot before me, clad only in the brief, sleeveless brown rag of a slave, her blond hair about her shoulders, her blue eyes moist, her throat graced by the narrow collar of dark iron, slave iron. "Telitsia is at your feet," she whispered, piteously, "—Master."
I lifted her into my arms and carried her to one of the stalls, where I placed her gently on the straw.
* * * *
"Telitsia! Telitsia!" we heard. It was the voice of Kenneth, master keeper of the slaves of the Lady Florence.
The bar for the tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon, had already been struck.
"I must escape," wept Telitsia. I touched her brand, I fingered her collar, as she lay naked in the straw, looking up at me.
I shook my head. "No, Telitsia," I said. "There is no escape for such as you, a Gorean slave girl."
She turned her head to the side. "I know," she said.
"Telitsia!" said Kenneth, standing before the stall. We drew quickly, guiltily, apart. We both, immediately, knelt, heads down, before a free person.
"Where have you been?" said Kenneth.
"Here, Master," she whimpered.
"Get your rag on," said Kenneth. "The wagon is ready."
"Yes, Master," she said, hurrying to pull her tiny, pathetic garment over her head.
"You, Jason," said Kenneth, sternly. "Were you given permission by some free person to engage in slut sport with this bond girl?"
"No, Master," I said, head down.
"You understand that you could be slain for this?" he inquired.
"Yes, Master," I admitted.
"How was she?" he asked.
"Lovely, and slave hot," I said.
The girl blushed, all the exposed parts of her body turning red, even her legs.
I smiled. I did not think Kenneth truly objected to my rutting with the lovely, neck-ringed stable slut. Indeed, he had not kept her chained by the neck to her ring in the kennels for stable sluts this morning, a precaution which is not uncommon for a girl who is to be soon sold. Rather he had let her wander free. I think that he was not, in his way, unkind. He had doubtless suspected that she would seek me out, or another male slave of her choice. There had been no great search for her. Kenneth, it seemed, had come almost directly to the barn where I was training.
Kenneth threw me some binding fiber and a leash. "Tie and leash her, and bring her to the wagon," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I went to Telitsia and bound her wrists behind her back with the binding fiber, and snapped the leash on her collar ring.
Too, however, it should be noted that Kenneth, permitting the bedding of the lovely slave girl at this time, had assured himself that she would be warmed for her sale. His motivations, thus, were doubtless not entirely altruistic. A vital, passionate woman, of course, displays herself very differently on the block than one who is inert, cold or frigid. There are degrees in these things, of course. For example, a truly frigid girl is almost certain to be a first-sale girl. Frigidity is a neurotic luxury which Goreans do not see fit to indulge in female slaves. It is permitted only to free women. The same girl who in her first sale was frigid is likely to be, by the time of her second sale, even should it be within the year, a wonder of lascivious appetition, needful of love and the touch of an uncompromising owner.
Perhaps a brief remark on this point might be in order, as it may be difficult for those of certain cultures to grasp.
In the belly and, indeed, in the entire body of the female slave slave fires have been lit. Men have done this to her. She is no longer capable of freedom, nor does she desire it. She now needs the touch of a man, desperately and frequently, and will do anything to obtain it. Uncaressed she is in misery. She strives to be pleasing. She will crawl, and whimper, and beg, and kiss, and weep. Her needs have been aroused. She is at his feet. She cannot help herself. It has been done to her. She is now truly slave, far beyond the brand and collar, and a legal status, far beyond chains and bonds. In her belly and body the slave flames rage. Her condition, her being, her reality, that of slave, suffuses her. She burns with piteous flames of need and passion. "Oh, Master, please, please caress your slave. She is yours. Have mercy upon her! She is prostrate at your feet, helpless and needful, begging for your touch! Oh, please, Master, be merciful to her! She needs your caress, Master!
Please, Master, she begs your touch! She begs it, she begs it, Master! Please be kind to your slave, Master! She is at your feet, yours, begging for your touch! Please, Master, have mercy on your slave! Please, Master!" He looks down upon her. She looks up at him, she trembles, her eyes plead. He then satisfies her or not, as it pleases him.
"Come along," said Kenneth.
I followed him, leading Telitsia on her leash.
* * * *
"Greetings, Kenneth," said Borto, the driver of the low-bedded tharlarion wagon. "I see you have the slave."
"Greetings, Borto," said Kenneth. "Yes, and I think she is now well ready for her sale."
Borto laughed.
"I bring you another, a replacement," he said, indicating a prone figure, in a slave sack.
"Good," said Kenneth. "We are short on stable sluts. They are useful in keeping the male slaves content, and may well be applied to lighter labors, on which a man's strength would be wasted."
Borto smiled, and handed Kenneth a note, from inside his tunic.
Kenneth took the note and read it, frowning. "I see," he said.
"Put her in the wagon," said Kenneth, "kneeling position, leashed-legs tie."
"Yes, Master," I said.
Telitsia looked up at me. Her hands were bound behind her back. There were tears in her eyes. She lifted her lips to mine. I kissed her.
"I wish you well, Telitsia," I said.
"I wish you well, Master," she whispered.
"Master?" I said.
"Yes—Master," she said. For some reason, Telitsia would often so address me, though I were naught but as she, a mere slave.
I would miss her. She was a sweet little thing, a sweet little beast and slut, and was gasping, piteous and spasmodic in the straw. To be sure, such responsiveness is not unusual in a female slave. I would miss her. The mistress had, for some reason, decreed that she be sold. I was sorry about that, for of all the stable sluts she had been my favorite.
I was angry with the mistress.
She had taken a lovely plaything from me.