by John Norman
And I suspected then that she, Miss Wentworth, had gratefully disdonned the tunic and had welcomed the sheet as a transitory salvation, pending the providing of a suitable garmenture. Her concern to appear before Lord Nishida as soon as possible and demand her immediate return to Earth, before an additional and possibly greater delay might take place, had doubtless determined her to avail herself of any expedient at hand, and the sheet, if nothing else, was voluminous and, were the light not behind it, opaque. In any event, as nearly as I could tell, from the appearance of things, there was nothing beneath the sheet but Miss Wentworth herself.
To be sure, she would be in a collar.
I had seen to that.
On the other hand, perhaps it was not Miss Wentworth. The figure did seem very quiet. I supposed that that would be unusual for Miss Wentworth, not only because of her dispositions and personality, but because of her acute concern to make known her demands.
In any event, this mystery, if it were a mystery, was to be soon dispelled.
Lord Nishida made a tiny motion with his right hand, and Tajima put his hands, gently, to that portion of the sheet which was wrapped about the head and face of the bundled figure.
As soon as she felt his hands at the sheet a series of urgent but unintelligible noises emanated from within the cloth.
I knew then at least one explanation for the small figure’s silence.
A slave may be simply warned to silence, and she will then remain silent until permitted to speak. A free woman, on the other hand, or a woman who believes herself to be free, may require something further.
Tajima then, carefully, lifted the sheet away from the figure’s head, and it was, indeed, Miss Wentworth, who shook her head, angrily, as though to free her head even the more swiftly from the folds of the sheet.
She looked about, then, suddenly, wildly, taking in the scene about her.
She uttered a tiny noise of fear, and her legs gave out beneath her, but she was steadied by the two guards who held her in place, by the upper arms, beneath the sheet. Her fear, understandably enough, was a reaction to the sight of the two larls, one on each side of the platform. She had perhaps never seen a larl before, and even if she were familiar with these large carnivores, finding oneself in their vicinity, without viewing them through thick bars or ascertaining that they were, say, tethered on stout chains, would be enough to unnerve a heart more experienced and stouter than hers. In any event, I had certainly shared a similar apprehension upon my entrance into the pavilion. The fact that the beasts seemed somnolent and that they seemed to provoke little concern amongst the others in the pavilion had, of course, considerably, if not entirely, assuaged my apprehensions. The larl, of course, is never fully tamed. Like the tarn, it has a wild blood. Too, if one makes a sudden movement in its vicinity, for example, a paw may, as by a reflex, lash out and a hand may be half torn from a wrist, or an arm may be shredded.
Miss Wentworth, desperately, clutched the sheet about her.
Then she straightened her body.
She now understood the two larls to be harmless. She was mistaken in this conjecture, but it was a rational conjecture considering that the two beasts were quiet, crouched in place, and that their presence seemed to be accepted without question by the others present. She might have been less confident had she known more about larls. Pretty obviously the two beasts were domestic larls, probably raised from cubhood, and trained to respond to certain commands. On the other hand, as noted earlier, no larl is ever fully tamed. A thousand generations of stalking and killing lay concealed, lay in wait, in every corpuscle of those pelted, passive giants.
More tiny, inarticulate sounds emanated from Miss Wentworth.
Her eyes were a confusion between anger and chagrin.
Her mouth was widely opened, as it must be, to accommodate the ball, which was fastened in place by straps buckled behind the back of her neck.
It is a very embarrassing and humiliating gag, particularly for a proud woman. She does look absurd, or silly, with her mouth so widely opened, the ball fastened in place. The common Gorean gag, whether associated with a hood or not, consists of wadding, or packing, and binding. It muffles sound quite effectively, and is commonly used if one, say, might wish to transport a bound capture between sleeping guards, conceal a back-braceleted woman in a wagon making its way through a city’s gate, or such. The prisoner of such a device can make only tiny, miserable sounds. The usual code in such matters, if the prisoner is interrogated, is one sound for “Yes,” and two for “No.” The gag fixed on Miss Wentworth, in contrast, allows a good deal of noise, and would not do for the usual considerations of security. It does, however, share one virtue with the common gag, of course, which is that it makes articulate speech impossible. When a woman cannot speak she commonly feels frustrated and helpless. The blindfold, or hood, in its way, has a similar effect. One effect of the ball arrangement which is not shared with the common gag is that of making the woman appear ridiculous, her mouth widely opened, the ball in place. This attacks the vanity of the woman, with the consequence that she often becomes quite docile, hoping to be soon relieved of this indignity. Afterwards, a simple frown, or brief word, may be enough to silence her, perfectly. She does not wish to be again subjected to the humiliation of the ball and strap. She has then learned she may not speak, if men do not wish it. In passing, a bit gag might be mentioned. These may be fastened in place, or be as simple as a stick held between the teeth, which the woman is forbidden to drop. Both the ball gag and the bit gag are safer than the common gag, as they permit breathing through the mouth. A prisoner should never be left untended if fastened in a common gag. For example, if certain forms of distress occur, such as regurgitation, the gag should be torn free instantly. A captive is not to be lost, but brought safely to your chains.
The ball in Miss Wentworth’s lovely, but widely distended mouth was blue, and the straps which held it in place, buckled behind the back of her neck, were yellow. These are the colors of the slavers.
Miss Wentworth was then silent, absolutely, unwilling to further embarrass herself.
She threw a piteous look at Lord Nishida, one less then of anger than of supplication.
Surely he must understand her plight, and take pity on her.
She was now learning, too, I supposed, what it was to be in the power of men. She continued to clutch the sheet about her, tightly. The two guards held her, still, by the upper arms.
There was a bruise on the left side of her face, and I noted some discoloration, dirt, I supposed, on the sheet.
This soiling was in the vicinity of her knees.
A small gesture from Lord Nishida, a lifted finger, indicated that the embarrassing impediment to her speech might be removed.
She looked angrily at one of the guards, he to her right, and with, too, a look of vindictive triumph.
I supposed it must have been he who had seen to her inconvenience and discomfiture.
Tajima, carefully, unbuckled the gag and handed it to the guard on Miss Wentworth’s left, who slipped it in his pouch.
It was doubtless he who had supplied the device to his colleague.
“Lord Nishida!” she cried.
“Please,” said Tajima, “do not speak yet. You have not been presented.”
“I can present myself!” she cried, angrily, clutching the sheet even more closely about her. The two contract women observed her, with interest. They were unfamiliar, I supposed, with this tone of voice being used by a woman to a man.
But Lord Nishida smiled, and shook his head a tiny bit, negatively, and lifted his hand a little, in a benevolent, cautionary gesture.
“Then present me!” said Miss Wentworth, in fury.
“One moment,” said Tajima.
He then reached to the hair of Miss Wentworth.
“What are you doing?” she said, angrily.
“Please,” said Tajima, politely.
He then rearranged the hair of Miss Wentworth, first lifting it
to the sides that its length and sheen might be noted, and then he put it carefully behind her back, spreading it nicely, evenly, behind the sheet.
Lord Nishida nodded. I gathered he was pleased.
I noted the interest, too, of the two contract women on the dais behind Lord Nishida, and to his left. I supposed they had seen few examples of such hair, given their presumed backgrounds, long, glossy, silken yellow hair, or blond hair.
Tajima stepped back, and seemed satisfied with his work.
Miss Wentworth seemed to smolder and fume with fury.
Tajima then turned to Pertinax.
“Mr. White,” he said, politely, “please do us the honor of presenting Miss Wentworth to Lord Nishida.”
“Do it, you fool,” snapped Miss Wentworth.
“Lord Nishida,” said Pertinax, “this is Miss Margaret Wentworth.”
Lord Nishida inclined his head, slightly, graciously, acknowledging her presence.
“I have been kept waiting,” said Miss Wentworth. “Why?”
“Deplorably, certain minor details of business were to be attended to,” said Lord Nishida, “before we were prepared to entertain your august presence.”
“The delay,” she said, “is rude, and inexcusable. I discover that a brutish warrior, a half-naked, meaningless slave, and my employee, White, are all here before me. I have priority over each of these. No business could conceivably be more important than mine.”
“And what is your business?” asked Lord Nishida.
“First,” said Miss Wentworth, “not only was I kept outside, kept waiting, but I was subjected to violence!”
“Yes?” said Lord Nishida.
“I demanded entrance, and was denied it, by this brute to my right,” she said, indicating one of the two guards who flanked her. “I was warned to silence, but would not be denied. I was struck! Struck!”
I now understood the bruise on her left cheek. I supposed she had been cuffed, struck with the open hand. One does not strike a woman as one might a man.
“I could not believe that one had dared to lay a hand on me,” she said. “When I expressed my indignation, and warned him that I would see to his punishment, the hideous, degrading device you saw but moments ago was forced into my mouth and fastened in place, and then I was put to my knees, to my knees, though a free woman, and must then wait outside, unable to speak, and kneeling, until brought within.”
“Most regrettable,” said Lord Nishida.
That she had been knelt would account for the soiling of the sheet, in the vicinity of her knees.
Given the personality, antecedents, and presuppositions of Miss Wentworth I could understand something of her frustration and outrage.
She had brought much of this, if not all of it, on herself, of course.
An obedient slave, of course, would almost never be struck. There would be no point to it. Similarly, if she were knelt, and, say, hooded, she would think little of it, for she is slave, and knows it will be done with her as the master pleases.
“Then,” she said, “when put to my feet and ready to be brought within, my head was covered in the sheet, completely, so I could not see my way!”
“That is common,” said Lord Nishida, “when one such as you is to be presented before a daimyo.”
“What?” said Miss Wentworth.
“A lord,” said Tajima.
“One such as I?” she said.
“Yes,” said Tajima.
This was not unlike a practice in the court of some Ubars, when a certain form of gift, or tribute, is being presented.
I would later learn that daimyo, or “great names,” were vassals to a shogun, a high lord, usually a military governor, with an army at his disposal. A shogun was nominally subject to an emperor, but the emperor’s role was largely ceremonial, and the true power, as is commonly the case, lies with those who are the masters of men and weapons.
“I denounce this brute to my right,” said Miss Wentworth. “He struck me, he denied me speech, by means of the humiliating object fastened in my mouth, and he put me to my knees before him. I, on my knees, before a male! I demand his punishment. He is to be slain, or flogged to the bone!”
“What is your business, that of which you spoke?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Is it not obvious?” inquired Miss Wentworth.
“Please speak,” said Lord Nishida.
“You have heard of the world, Earth, I presume,” said Miss Wentworth.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.
“I was approached by an agent on Earth, one doubtless in your employ,” she said, “and engaged, for a stipulated compensation, to pursue certain projects on this world on your behalf, in particular making contact with a Tarl Cabot and seeing to it that he was delivered to an agent of yours in a timber reserve of a city called Port Kar. To abet this project it was meet that I disguise myself, which I did, adopting the guise of a Gorean slave girl, even to allowing myself to be seen in the insulting, disgusting garmenture of such sleek, meaningless, lascivious, groveling little beasts. To complete the disguise I would require a subordinate to play the role of a master, and for that purpose I had no difficulty in recruiting a suitable male weakling, a minor employee in the very firm in which I worked, a fool, one of several, hopelessly besotted with my beauty from afar, who would take orders from me, docilely and unquestioningly.”
“Mr. White?” said Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” said Miss Wentworth. “And now I come to my demands.”
“But, please,” said Lord Nishida. “You were approached by no agent of mine.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Can you make tea?” he inquired. “Properly?”
“No,” she said, puzzled.
“Can you arrange flowers,” he asked. “Properly?”
“No,” she said.
“Can you play a stringed musical instrument, a lyre, a lute, a samisen?”
“No,” she said.
I saw the two contract women exchange amused glances. One giggled, slightly, she on the right, as one faced them. This displeased Tajima, but the girl did not seem disconcerted by his disapproval.
Lord Nishida did not see fit to acknowledge the contract woman’s indiscretion.
The woman’s name was Sumomo, and Tajima, I would later learn, was interested in her contract, which he could not afford.
“Perhaps you can dance,” said Lord Nishida.
“No,” she said.
Lord Nishida would surely not have in mind dances which might be indigenous to his own culture. Miss Wentworth could not be expected to have such skills. They would be quite foreign to her.
He must have in mind then, I supposed, Gorean slave dance.
To be sure, she would doubtless know nothing of that, as well.
The forms of dance of the women of the “strange men” would, I supposed, be lovely and would be backgrounded by a rich cultural tradition, but I also supposed they would be quite different from Gorean slave dance.
Whereas Gorean slave dance can be as subtle as the opening of the petals of a flower it is commonly richly, luxuriantly, unmistakably, outspokenly, unapologetically, brazenly erotic. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than in slave dance, where the slave, barefoot in sand, in a swirl of diaphanous silk, bangled, belled, and collared, dances before masters.
A skilled dancer brings high prices. I had once owned one, Sandra, whom I had sold long ago to a dealer in such wares, for a golden tarn disk.
Many masters require that their slaves learn at least the rudiments of such dance.