Magicians of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "That it might be sold, Master," she said.

  "But doubtless it will grow again," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And it may then be again shorn," I said.

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  "Verr are shorn," I said, "and so, too, is the bounding hurt."

  "Of course, Master," she said.

  "Do you object?" I asked.

  She sobbed.

  "Your head could have been shaved," I said.

  She looked up at me. I gathered she had not thought about that.

  "Are you not grateful your head was not shaved?" I asked.

  "—Yes, Master," she said.

  "Say it," I said.

  "I am grateful that my head was not shaved," she said.

  Whereas a girl's hair might be cropped, just as her head might be shaved, as a punishment, such a punishment would be quite unusual. After all, the master commonly delights in the long lovely hair of a slave. Indeed, in most cities, long hair is almost universal with slaves. There are many things that can be done with such hair. Not only can it please the master by its beauty and feel, but it can serve to secure the slave, to gag her, and so on. The major reason for cropping the hair of field slaves, both male and female, and certain other forms of work slaves, is to protect them from parasites. For a similar reason the bodies of the women transported on slave ships are almost always shaved, completely. Even then it is common, shortly after debarkation, and this is required by the rules of many port authorities, to subject them to an immersion in slave dip.

  "Whose fields are these?" I asked, looking about.

  "The fields of my master, Appanius," she said.

  "He is a rich man?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And he has many girls," I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "He must have a great many girls," I said.

  She looked up at me.

  She had a common black, strap collar on her neck, no more, really, than a strap or plate of black iron. It was riveted shut, behind the back of her neck. I had noted this earlier, given the shortness of her hair, and her earlier position, facing away from us as she drew water. The legend would probably be a simple one, not even containing the girl's name, probably something like "I am the property of Appanius of Ar."

  "That a woman such as you is in the fields," I said.

  Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  "Keep your knees spread," I warned her.

  Swiftly she once more increased the angle between her knees.

  She certainly did not seem to me a field slave. Rather she seemed to me the sort of woman one would have expected to find in a house, hurrying about barefoot on the tiles, one ankle perhaps belled, in a bit of silk, serving, a small, luscious woman, well curved, smooth-skinned, and soft, her body perfumed for the pleasure of men, the sort of woman one keeps in mind, the sort of woman who is difficult to forget, the sort whom one might wish to keep close by, perhaps keeping her at night at the foot of one's couch, on her chain.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  "Lavinia," she said.

  "That seems a rather fine name for a slave," I said, "particularly for a field slave."

  "It was my name as a free woman," she said.

  "Then it is a different name now," I said, "put on you as a slave name."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Stand, Lavinia, slave," I said, "and turn slowly about, and then resume your present position."

  She obeyed.

  "You have good legs," I said.

  She did not speak. Her legs were a bit short, but excellent, rather like those of the girl we had seen earlier. Such legs are excellent for slave dance.

  "I suspect you were once a rich free woman," I said. That seemed to me likely. Surely only such would have been likely to have managed a tryst with the famous, handsome Milo. She did not know, of course, that I had witnessed her netting, and taking.

  She looked up at me, puzzled. "Yes, Master," she said.

  "But you are not rich now," I said.

  "No, Master," she said, putting her head down. Now she would not own even the rag she wore, or her collar. Such things, as simple as they were, were, like herself, the property of her master.

  "I suspect you were a spoiled, rich woman," I said, "much used to having your own way."

  "Perhaps, Master," she said.

  "And doubtless one muchly pampered," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  These conjectures seemed to me sensible, for it would be likely to be only such a woman, spoiled and pampered, who would seek to have her way with the famed Milo.

  I regarded her short-cropped hair, the simple collar on her neck, her scanty rag, her reddened, roughened skin, blistered and burned, peeling and cracked, from exposure, from the sun, wind and heat. "You do not seem spoiled and pampered now," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "How came you to be a slave?" I asked.

  She looked up, her eyes clouded. She bit her lip.

  "Consider your reply carefully," I said.

  "I was taken in the levies," she said.

  "You have earned yourself discipline," I said.

  "Please, no!" she cried. "Have pity on me! I am only a poor slave!"

  "Do you think it is permissible for you to lie to a free man?" I asked.

  "No, Master!" she said. She put down her head, her head in her hands, and sobbed.

  "Your reticence is interesting," I said. "The matter is doubtless entered in your papers."

  "Yes, Master," she sobbed.

  "Speak, girl," I said.

  "I was taken pursuant to the couching laws," she said.

  "I see," I said. Any free woman who voluntarily couches with another's slave, or readies herself to do so, becomes the slave of the slave's master. By such an act, the couching with, or readying herself to couch with, a slave, as though she might be a girl of the slave's master, thrown to the slave, she shows herself as no more than a slave, and in this act, in law, becomes a slave. Who then should own her, this new slave? Why, of course, he to whom the law consigns her, the master of the slave with whom she has couched, or was preparing to couch.

  "With what slave," asked I, "did you couch?"

  "I was only preparing to couch!" she said.

  "But that is sufficient," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  It seemed then that the rich beauty had received very little of Milo, scarcely the least of his favors. Perhaps, however, for what it might have been worth, she might have managed to receive a woeful glance or two, or a kissing of her gloved fingers. It is hard to say. How proud she might have been that she, of all women, as far as she knew, had managed to attract the marvelous Milo! Then, when she had kept the tryst, entering into the assignation, and had stripped herself and knelt on the couch, eager, waiting, amorous, careless and adventurous, the net had fallen upon her. Shortly thereafter her neck was in the collar. She was, it seems, to have been denied the caresses of Milo. The slave's master, and then hers, as well, Appanius, had decided it. It would be the coils of the slave net which would tighten upon her body, not the arms of the handsome bondsman. Perhaps this seemed fitting to Appanius, that the new slave, prior to her public embonding, should be so served. Perhaps he found it amusing. Or perhaps he was jealous of his slave, and wished to reserve his caresses for himself. Or it could have been all three. One did not know.

  "What was the name of the slave?" I asked.

  "Milo," she said.

  "The well-known Milo," I asked, "the actor?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Did you not think he would have his pick of slaves in the house of Appanius?" I asked.

  "I did not know," she said.

  "Beautiful slaves, silked for a man's pleasure, perfumed for his delight, eager, needful, helplessly responsive, trained to please in a thousand modalities?"

  "I did not know," she said.

  "Did you th
ink to be able to compete with such women?"

  "I did not know!" she wept.

  "Do you invite further discipline?" I asked.

  "I was free," she said. "I thought that I was somehow special, or better!"

  I smiled. Marcus laughed, and struck the side of his saddle twice, so amused he was.

  She looked up at us, angrily.

  "But you are not free now," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Do you still consider yourself better than slaves?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said, "for I now, too, am only a slave."

  "And only a field slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  Female work slaves, field slaves, stable slaves, and such, like kettle-and-mat girls, are usually considered the lowest of slaves. At any rate, they commonly bring the lowest prices in the markets.

  "You are now quite different from what you were as a free woman," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "But now that you are slave, even a field slave," I said, "you are better prepared to compete with other slaves for the attention of a man than would be a free woman."

  She looked up at me, puzzled.

  "You at least know what is your business with men," I said, "to please them, and as a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Your life could depend on it," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Do you doubt your attractiveness?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Do not do so," I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "You are beautiful," I said, "or could be beautiful."

  She was silent.

  "Consider yourself," I said.

  She put her hands up to her cropped hair, and then touched the tiny, torn brown rag she wore, and then, again, put her head down, and placed her hands on her thighs.

  "Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately?" I asked.

  "I have looked upon my reflection in water," she said, "in the tank."

  "You are interested in such things?" I said.

  She was silent.

  "Speak," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "As are other slave girls," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And what do you see in the water?"

  "A slave," she said.

  "A field slave?" I asked.

  "A pleasure slave," she said.

  "Ah!" laughed Marcus.

  "But yet you are in the fields," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Do you think it strange that you, who were a free woman, should look upon your reflection, and see in it a pleasure slave?"

  "No, Master," she said.

  "From your collaring," I said, "you have seen in your reflection this pleasure slave?"

  "I have seen her there for years," she said, "not just since my collaring."

  "A bold confession," I said.

  "I am a slave girl," she said. "I must speak the truth."

  "But once before, it seems, earlier, in the matter of how you came to be a slave, you did not speak the truth."

  "No, Master."

  "But it is your intention now to speak the truth?"

  "Yes, Master!"

  "Keep the angle between your knees," I said.

  "Yes, Master!" she said. Once again then, she knelt suitably.

  "Is the pleasure slave whom you see in your reflection beautiful?" I asked.

  "It is my hope that she is," she said.

  "She is," I said.

  "Thank you," she said, "—Master."

  "Do you think you are the only woman who has been brought into bondage by means of the attractions of Milo, the slave?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "Apparently there have been several others."

  "Trapped dupes," said Marcus.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Snared as easily as vulos," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "As you were," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" she said.

  "And doubtless there will be many more," I said.

  She looked up, tears in her eyes. "Yes, Master," she said. "Doubtless."

  "Do you know of others?" I asked. "Say, in the fields?"

  "They were commonly sold out of the city," she said. "But apparently that is more difficult now, with the Cosians in power. That is probably why I am here, in the vicinity of Ar. I know of none in the fields other than myself. There are two others, however, in the house."

  "Then you have been in the house," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Only in the last few days have I been in the fields."

  This did not surprise me, as her mien had suggested to me earlier that she might be new to the onus of such labors. This was also suggested to me by the condition of her skin, which had not yet browned, darkening and toughening.

  "How did you get on with the other slaves in the house?" I asked.

  "The three of us who owed our collars to Milo hated one another," she said. "The other slaves held all of us, recent free women, in contempt."

  "Interesting," I said.

  "We, too, now were only slaves, and inexperienced slaves," she said.

  "True," I said.

  "But they need not have been so cruel!" she said.

  "Perhaps you behaved around them as though you might still think of yourselves as free women," I said.

  "We did that scarcely at all," she said, "only a little at first, I think, and then we did not do it again, for they whipped us. After that, for the most part, they ignored us."

  "They did not teach you their secrets then," I said, "such things as how to please men?" There are hundreds of such things, of course, ranging from the dressing and care of the hair, the application of cosmetics, such as lipstick and eye shadow, commonly thought improper for free women, and the judicious selection of jewelry, silks and perfumes, to physical and psychological subtleties, both behaviors and techniques, which can drive a master almost out of his senses with pleasure, and all this by a female totally at his disposal, one whom he can command, as it pleases him, one who is legally and literally owned by him, and in every way.

  "They would not do so," she said, "though we begged them!"

  "Did you put yourself as a slave before them?" I asked. "Did you weep and beg, kneeling before them and licking their feet? Did you make it clear to them that your entreaties were those of one like themselves, only another slave? Did you offer to work for them? Did you do so? Did you serve them, and wait upon them, on a lengthy probationary basis, as though you might be their own slave, that they might assess your earnestness, your sincerity and zeal?"

  "As a new slave, I too much feared them," she said.

  "Perhaps it is just as well," I said. "You might have been whipped."

  "I think so, Master," she said.

  "Perhaps, after a few months, after they had become used to you as only another slave amongst them, no more or less, things might have been different."

  "Perhaps, Master," she said.

  "You seem to me a highly intelligent woman," I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "Surely you were aware of the couching laws?"

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You expected to violate them with impunity?"

  "I gather so, Master," she said.

  "You did not expect to be betrayed, or discovered?"

  "I do not think so, Master," she said.

  "And yet," I said, "as a highly intelligent woman, you must have realized that some danger would be involved."

  "Perhaps," she said. "The matter is unclear to me now."

  "That in itself is interesting," I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "It seems you were very careless," I said.

  "Perhaps, Master," she said.

  "That seems to me very interesting," I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "What was your
first emotion," I asked, "when the net descended upon you?"

  "It does not matter," she said.

  "Surely you realized it was a slave net?"

  "A capture net of some sort," she said.

  "What was that first emotion?" I asked.

  "It does not matter!" she said. "It was a momentary reaction, a sudden, fleeting, wild thing!"

  "What was it?" I asked.

  She looked up at me, agonized, miserable. She was quite lovely.

  "Keep your knees widely separated," I reminded her.

  Again the whitish dust, a hort deep, was pushed to the sides, to bank against the outside of her knees.

  "Consider your reply carefully," I said. "You have already incurred discipline."

  "No!" she begged.

  I said nothing.

  "Elation!" she said.

  "Of course," I said.

  "Then I was terrified!" she said. "I realized what had happened! I was caught! I had been discovered! I was trapped! I was within the toils of a net! I burned with shame, with embarrassment. It seemed I was afire! I choked with misery! I was naked! Men were moving about! They could see me! What of my reputation? I struggled! I was afraid! I was angry! I was outraged! I was miserable! I had been betrayed! I was helpless! I fought the net! I fought the net! But I could not free myself!"

  "And what later," I asked, "in the edifice of the magistrates?"

  "I was in a cell," she said, "naked, lying on some straw, chained by the neck to a wall."

  "And your emotions?" I asked.

  She looked up at me.

  "My thigh was sore," she said. "I had been branded."

  "Of course," I said.

  "There were two collars on my neck," she said, "a light, temporary slave collar, identifying me as a slave provisionally in the custody of magistrates, and, over it, a retaining collar, that by means of which I was fastened to the wall."

  "Go on," I said.

  "I felt the collars on my neck," she said. "The temporary collar was flat and close-fitting. It was the first collar I had ever worn. It was put on me after my branding. The retaining collar, too, was close fitting, scarcely less so, it seemed, than the collar it covered. It was heavy and thick. The chain to it was heavy, too, with thick links. It was about four feet long. It was fastened to a stout ring in the wall, about a foot above the floor."

  "And your emotions?" I asked.

  "I lay there," she said, "my fingers on the chain, near the retaining collar."