by John Norman
He then descended from the dais, and stood near me. I looked straight ahead, clutching the tiny garment. He was huge, next to me. I felt very tiny. He put the coils of the whip under my chin, and pressed up a little. I held my chin up. the nearness of his presence, and his virile, brutish masculinity made me terribly uneasy.
"What is your name," he asked.
"Whatever Master pleases," I said, quickly.
I had not yet been named in this house. The words «slut» or «slave» served well enough to summon me. I trembled. I realized I might, in a moment, be named. They that would be who I would be, as simply are that, like any animal. "Come here," he said, "and lie down, on your back, on this step." He had indicated the second step leading to the height of the dais. I complied. "Place your left foot on the first step," he said, "and put your right foot her, on the third step."
I did so. This opened my legs.
"Now," he said, "put your arms back, over your head."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"That exposes your armpits," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.
He looked down at me. "What were you called in the house of your training?" he asked.
"Doreen," I said.
"Very well," he said, "you are Doreen."
"Thank you, Master," I said, named. This had been my name on Earth. I wore it now, of course, only as a slave name. It could have been anything.
"Doreen," he said.
"Yes, Maser," I said, responding to my name.
"You are now to lie as you are," he said, "until you receive permission to change your position. You are to lie in this position, and very quietly. If you do not, it will be extremely dangerous for you. In particular, make no sudden moves."
"Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.
He then went to the side of the room, where there dangled three or four cords. I lifted my head a little to watch him. he drew on one of these cords. I saw a panel lift in the wall. It exposed a low opening, only about a yard in height. It was dark within this portal, but I saw, it stretching backwards, what appeared to be a low, dark tunnel. He then came back, and crouched down, near me, above me, on the third step.
He put his whip aside, near him. He put his hand gently on my collar.
"Master?" I asked.
"Be quiet," he said.
I lay there, quietly. Then, suddenly, I felt hair on the back of my neck rising. "Maser!" I said.
"Lie quietly," he said.
I could now hear, from some distance down the tunnel, the sound of something approaching. It was coming rapidly. I heard snuffling noise. I heard panting. I could hear claws on the floor of the tunnel.
"Lie quietly," cautioned my master, literally holding me in place, his hand gripping my collar.
Then something burst into the room.
Half choking, my head was forced back down, by the collar.
"If you want, keep your eyes closed," he said.
Whatever it was had apparently stopped just within the room.
"It will take a moment for its eyes to adjust to the light," he said. "But it is done very quickly."
The room was not brightly lit.
"I think you will like Borko," he said.
"What is it?" I whispered. My head was held down, back on the second step. "Keep you legs apart," he said. "It is a gray sleen. I raised it from a whelp. Ah, greetings, Borko! How are you, old fellow?"
I would have screamed and reared up, but I was thrust back, helpless, half strangled, scarcely able to utter a sound, to the step. So our masters can control us by our collars. To my terror, then, pushing over my body, to thrust its great jaws and head, so large I could scarcely have put my arms around them, into the hands and arms of my master, was an incredible beast. It had an extremely again, active, sinuous body, as thick as a drum, and perhaps fourteen or fifteen feet long. It might have weighed a thousand pounds. Its broad head was triangular, almost viperlike, but it was furred. This thing was a mammal, or mamalian. Its eyes now had pupils like slits, like those of a cat in sunlight. So quickly then might its adaptive mechanisms have functioned. About its muzzle were gray hairs, grayer than the silvered gray of its fur. It had six legs. "Good lad!" said my master, roughly fondling that great fierce head. "We have been through much together, Borko and I," said my master. "He has even, twice, saved my life. Once when I was struck, unexpectedly, by one foolishly thought to be a friend, the origin of this scar," he said, indicating good-humoredly the hideous, jagged tissue at the left side of his face, "I told Borko to hunt. The fellow did not escape. Borko brought part of him back to me, in his jaws."
I watched in terror as my master, over my body, scratched and pulled, and shoved, at that great head. Clearly he was inordinately fond of that terrible beast, and perhaps it of him. I saw his eyes. He lavished affection upon it. He cared more for it than his girls, I was certain. Perhaps it was the only thing he trusted, other than himself, the only thing he knew that he could rely upon, other than himself, the only thing, of all creatures he knew, who had proved its love and loyalty to him. If this were so, then perhaps it was not incredible that he might bestow upon it a fondness, or love, which he, betrayed perhaps by men, might withhold from others, from men, and slaves.
"Do you know what you and Borko have in common?" he asked me.
"We are both your animals, Master," I said.
"Yes!" he said. "And do you know who is most valuable?"
"No, Master," I said.
"Borko," he said, "is a seasoned hunting sleen. Even to strangers he would bring a hundred times what you would bring in the market."
I was silent. I was frightened with those huge jaws, the two rings of fangs, the long, dark tongue, over me.
"But I would not sell him for anything," he said. "He is worth more to me than ten thousand of you."
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Borko!" he said, sternly. "Borko."
The beast pulled back its head, observing him.
"Learn slave," he said. "Learn slave."
I then began to whimper. "Hold still," said my master.
The beast then began to push its nose and muzzle about me, thrusting it here and there, about me. I now understood why I had been spread as I had, on the steps. "The sleen," he said, "and especially the gray sleen, is Gor" s finest tracker. It is a relentless, tenacious tracker. It can follow a scent that is weeks old, for a thousand pasangs."
I whimpered, the beast" s snout thrust between my things, sniffing.
"Please, Master," I whimpered.
I felt it nuzzling then at my waist and breasts. It was learning me.
"Do you know what the sleen hunts?" he asked.
"No, Master," I whimpered.
"In the wild it commonly hunts tabuk and wild tarsk," he said, "but it is an intelligent beast, and it can be trained to hunt anything."
"Yes, Master," I whimpered.
He held back my right arm, further, exposing more the armpit.
"Do you know what Borko is trained to hunt?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
I felt the snout of the beast then poking about my throat and under my chin, to the side, and then at the side of my neck. My maser then held my left arm further, exposing the armpit to the beast.
"It is trained to hunt men, and slaves," he said.
"No!" I wept.
I squirmed, but my master held me steady, by the collar and my left wrist, held back. the beast thrust its snout against me, there, in the armpit, and then sniffed along the interior of my left arm, and then along the left side of my body.
I whimpered in terror.
"Try not to be afraid," he said. "That might excite Borka"
"Yes, Master," I whimpered.
Then the beast drew back its head.
"Doreen," said my master to the beast, slowly, clearly. "Doreen. Doreen." The beast again sniffed me.
"Doreen," said my master, grinning to the beast. "Doreen."
I shuddered.
The beast then drew back its head again.
"Back, Borko," said my master, and the beast inched back, its eyes on me. I was shuddering. I dared not move.
"Borko is trained to respond to a variety of signals," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"He now knows you," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Whose are you?" he asked.
"I am yours, Master," I said, quickly.
"Do not try to escape," he said.
"No, Master!" I said. "I will not try to escape!"
"Borko, go back to your kennel," he said. "Go, now!"
The beast then backed off a few feet, and turned. In a moment, it had withdrawn through the low portal. My master went to the cord which controlled the panel, and closed it. I was shuddering on the step. I did not move. I was almost too afraid to do so. Too, I had not been given permission to break position. "Kneel at the foot of the dais," he said. Swiftly I did so. I found I was still clutching the tiny garment I had been given. It had been clutched in the palm of my right hand, all the time. It was now wet with sweat. The prints of my nails were deep in it.
He retrieved the whip and ascended to the height of the dais, where he took his place in the great chair.
He looked down at me, the whip across his knees.
Perhaps now, Earth woman," he said, "you understand more clearly what your situation is on this world?"
I shuddered.
"Do you understand, girl?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Stand," he said.
I stood.
"You may put on your garment," he said.
Quickly I donned the tiny garment, and drew it down, as I could, about me. I stood there.
"Yes," he said, "you are beautiful."
"Thank you, Master," I said. I flushed with pleasure. I was valuable. Doubtless I would be a high slave.
He stood. "Mirus!" he called. Mirus was one of his men. I knew him from the house. He had brought me to this chamber. In a moment, Mirus appeared through the door, that at the end of the carpet, that leading into this chamber. He approached, and took up a position a bit behind me and to my left."
"She is lovely, isn" t she?" my master asked Mirus.
"Yes," he said.
"Do you like your garment?" my master asked me.
"Yes, Master," I said. I recalled the last time he had asked this I had been shortly thereafter ordered to remove it. He could do that again, and I would again be forced to disrobe, and instantly. Too, this time it would also be before Mirus. It is one thing to come naked before a man, and another to strip yourself, or be stripped, before him. too, it is something else again, to do this, or have it done to you, before others. Mirus was not my master, but only my master" s man. To be sure, I was a slave, and would have to obey. Coming nude before men, and stripping herself, or being stripped, befoe them are things such as a slave girl must expect. After all, what else could she expect? She is, after all, a slave. Indeed, sometimes girls are stripped in public, even in the squares, because masters are so pleased to show them off. Sometimes this occurs in heated discussions of the relative merits of different master" s girls, and the girls are ordered to disrobe on the spot, sometimes then being put through slave paces, there, on the very tiles of the squares and plazas, the matter being left to the acclamations or votes of the spectators, and woe to the girl who comes out second best in such a contest! Too, it is not uncommon, as a discipline, to send a girl out naked on errands. In such a case she is often locked in an iron belt. Too, it is not unusual, in taverns, particularly lower taverns, as I would learn, for girls to be publicly naked. I was diffident though, at this time, to remove my clothing before Minus. I would have been embarrassed, or humiliated, to do so. I was not yet a brazen slut. I had not yet even been on the floor of the tavern. My attitude, of course, I understood, was undoubtedly a bit irrational. Minus, after all, had seen me naked. Indeed, he had never, really, seen me clothed. He as the one, incidentally, who had unhooded and ungagged me in this house. He had been pleased with my face. He had then unroped the blanket which had been tied about me, and opened it, folding it back, almost as though I might have been a present. "Superb," he had said, this pleasing me. "Are you white silk?" he had asked. "Yes, Master," I had said, shrinking back from him in the manacles. He had then taken me down to the basement, removed the manacles, put me on my hands and knees, and thrust me into my kennel, locking it behind me. Why, then, was I embarrassed, or humiliated, at the thought that I might now be ordered to disrobe in his presence? I was not sure. I supposed it was because I was not yet fully adjusted to my slavery. I was not yet a brazen slave. I had not yet, at that time, even been put out on the floor of the tavern. Perhaps I still thought, at that time, that the fullness of my beauty was, particularly, for my master, and not for others. I did not really stop to think, at that time, however, that Hendow was a tavern owner, and that, thus, the fullness of my beauty was not only for him, but, as he saw fit, or as it might please him, also for his customers.
"She looks lovely in the garment, doesn" t she?" asked Hendow. I gathered he was proud of me.
"Yes," said Mirus.
I again felt the suffusion of pleasure in my body. I looked down, shyly, smiling. My master, I was sure, liked me. I did not think, now, he would order me to remove the garment before Mirus. I recalled that he had paid the highest price for me of any girl at the market. I was valuable. I would be a high slave! "Do you know, Doreen," asked my master, "what sort of tunic it is?" "No, Master," I said.
"It is a kitchen tunic," he said.
I looked at him, startled.
"Take her to the kitchen," he said to Mirus. "Teach her to clean pots and pans." "Yes, Hendow," said Mirus. Then he turned about. "Come, slave," he said. Quickly I fell to my knees before Hendow, he in the great chair on the dais, and put my head to the carpet, the palms of my hands, too, on the carpet, beside my head, performing slave obeisance. I then leaped up, turned, and hurried after Mirus, who, now, at the end of the carpet, was near the exit. "Mirus," called Hendow.
Mirus looked back to the dais.
"See that her dance lessons continue," he said.
"It will be so, Hendow," said Mirus.
"And double them," said Hendow.
"Yes, Hendow," said Mirus. He then turned about and left. I fell again to my knees at the far end of the carpet, and again performed slave obeisance. I then leaped up, again, and hurried after Mirus.
He would take me to the kitchen, where I would be put to work.
11 The Raffle; The Alcove; The Kennel
I waited, frightened, within the threshold, clutching the sheet about me. I leaned back against the wall, my eyes closed for a moment. Beyond the threshold I could hear the conversation of men, sitting, cross-legged, at the low tables. The library seemed faraway now.
There was a beaded curtain hung in the threshold.
I listened to the sounds of the men.
Sometimes, I had heard, before nights such as this, a girl is kept in close chains, sitting or lying, scarcely able to move. Too, sometimes, for days before a night like this she wears the sirik. I had very seldom been in sirik, though I had worn one in my training once or twice, so that I might be instructed in the strict limitations it would impose on me, and how I might, nonetheless, move in it, if it were set to suitable widths, in a way pleasing to masters. The full sirik consists of a collar an three chains. One of these chains, a long, vertical chain, attached to the collar, dangles downward. To it are fastened two horizontal chains, one, from its attachment point near the lower belly, terminating in slave bracelets, wrist-rings, or manacles, and the other, from its attachment point at the end of the dangling chain, usually lying on the floor, or ground, terminating in shackles or ankle-rings. Parts of this arrangement may function separately, of course, for example, the long chain as a leash, the horizontal attachments as, say, slave bracelets or ankle shackles. Too, in many siriks, the chain widths are adjustable. In that
way the latitudes of movement accorded to the slave may be enlarged or reduced, as the master pleases. They are, as many other things in the slave" s life, under his exact governance. In the harshest adjustments, she may move with considerable grace and beauty; indeed, in some siriks, it is possible for her to dance. In the sirik adjustments often prescribed for a girl before a night like this she can scarcely walk, the vertical chain" s lower attachment point being drawn up between her ankles, which are then, separated by as little as three or four inches, and her wrists, too, before her body, are even more closely confined. My master, however, had not seen fit to exercise such precautions in my case. He knew, and I knew, they were unnecessary. I leaned back more against the wall, my eyes closed. I clutched the sheet more closely about me. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to go. I was branded and collared. I would be naked or scantily clad. There was no one to rescue me, or free me. I would be bond, and a property, to any who might come upon me, like a dog or horse. The entire legal resources of this world would be marshaled toward returning me to my master. Too, I thought, shuddering, as if such things were not enough, my body, and its odors, with my name, such that it might be included with appropriate triggering signals, had been imprinted on the dark, eager brain of a massive hunting sleen. No, I would not run away. When my master came for me, to take me by the arms and lead me to the floor, I would be here, in the only way I could be here, waiting, and docile.
I listened again to the murmur of the men outside, the small sounds of their goblets and plates.
I considered again the sleen. "I think you will like Borko," had said my master, before I had seen the beast, when I had only heard him in the tunnel, and then entering the room. I recalled the huge head, the two rows of fangs, the dark tongue, the widely set eyes, the thrusting, prowling snout, the claws. It had been trained, I had learned, to hunt men, and slaves. Obediently it had withdrawn to its kennel at the word of my master. But just as swiftly, I was sure, it could be summoned forth again, and set about its master" s bidding, implacably, unquestioningly, innocently, mercilessly, eagerly. I shuddered. That beast, I thought, if nothing else, would serve to keep good order among the women of Hendow, a taverner on Dock Street, in Brundisium. I smiled to myself. Sometimes women, either free or slave, are called she-sleen." I had not known, until a few days ago, what a sleen was. I now knew. I might be a "she-urt," or a she-tarsk," I thought, but I certainly was not a "she-sleen," even figuratively. To be sure, at that time, I did not know about the miniature, silken sleen that are sometimes kept as sinuous pets. Perhaps it is that sort of she-sleen, which, if not properly controlled, tends to be sly, nasty and dangerous, that men have in mind when they sometimes apply that expression to a woman. I do not know. To be sure, as the men say, it seems that even the woman who is a «she-sleen» needs only a strong master, one who brings her swiftly to her knees and teaches her that she is a female. The husk of the she-sleen, as it is said, can be torn away, never to grow again, leaving behind only the soft flesh of another slave.