by John Norman
So I had learned, earlier in the day, that Astrinax would visit one of Venna’s more patronized taverns, The Kneeling Slave, to search again for two or three fellows to join our small caravan. He would be accompanied by Lykos, whose opinion, because of his blade skills, it seems, would be relevant and perhaps important. Indeed, from what I had heard of the Voltai, I gathered that blade skills might be as important as wagon skills. Too, I learned that Master Desmond would accompany them. “I need a goblet of paga,” he had told me. “And what of me, Master?” I had inquired. “Am I to be put on the common chain at the camp, or am I to be fastened to the slave post, nearer the wagons, with Jane and Eve, or am I to be merely left in the slave wagon, shackled to the central bar, or what?” “Have you ever been in a paga tavern?” he asked. “Certainly not,” I said. “Would you like to see one?” he asked. “If I were to exhibit enthusiasm,” I said, “would you then be certain to shackle me in the wagon?” “And tie shut the canvas?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Not necessarily,” he said. “Then,” I said, “Master, I would very much like to go.” “Do you think you can take it?” he asked. “I would suppose so,” I said. “I would think so, too,” he said, “as The Kneeling Slave, as I understand it, is a large, clean, expensive, well-appointed, superior sort of establishment, one catering to an elegant, elite sort of clientele. The girls may be belled, but they are not even chained, and they are clothed.” “I see,” I said. “It is not like the dingy holes in which one such as you might serve as a paga girl, nude and chained.” “Oh?” I said. “I understand it that one may even stand upright in some of the better alcoves,” he said. “I see,” I said. “I will take you along,” he said, “that you may see some truly beautiful slaves.” “And at what time,” I asked, “will Master call for the girl.” “You will be unshackled after supper,” he said. “Will Lady Bina accompany us?” I asked. “Certainly not,” he said. “Free women are not permitted in paga taverns.” “Oh?” I said. “Rejoice,” he said, “it is one place kajirae need not fear free women.” “I do not fear free women,” I said. “That is because you have never been owned by one,” he said, “that is, a typical free woman.” “I see,” I said. “It is dangerous for a free woman to enter such a place,” he said. “They may be marked by slavers. It is commonly supposed that a free woman who enters such a place courts the collar, and wants her bare feet in the yellow-dampened sawdust of the slave block. Sometimes a free woman, as an adventure, will disguise herself as a slave, even to the collar, and enter such an establishment.” “How bold they are,” I said. “And sometimes,” he said, “they end up in a different collar, one to which they have no key.” “I understand,” I said. “It is easy,” he said, “to transport a woman from a city, nude, bound, gagged, in a slave sack.” “Doubtless,” I said.
It was after dark when I approached the slave post.
“Who is there?” whispered Jane.
“It is I, Allison,” I whispered. “I have brought you something to eat.”
I could not well see the slaves, but, when they moved, I could hear the linkages which secured them to the post. Each was on a chain which led to a collar. Further, the left ankle of each was chained to the post, as well. Accordingly, they were twice secured. Beyond that, each was ankle shackled and wrist shackled. The Lady Bina, it seemed, had taken the warning of the slaver seriously.
“We have taken our gruel, face down, from the pans,” said Eve, bitterly.
“I have brought you some tiny honey cakes,” I whispered, “from the food cart of the masters.”
“You will be beaten,” said Jane.
“No,” I said. “It is with the permission of the Lady Bina.”
“The Mistress?” said Jane.
How easily, I thought, that word now comes to us!
“Yes,” I said. “Do not be concerned. They were left over. No one wanted them.”
“Garbage,” said Jane.
“I suppose so,” I said, “in a way.”
“Then when crumbs are found on our mouth, we will be whipped!” said Jane.
“I will take them away,” I said.
“No!” said Jane. “Please, no!”
“We have not had a sweet in weeks,” said Eve.
“Perhaps you remember how, on Earth,” I said, “we might indulge ourselves as we pleased.”
Small hands, shackled, reached toward me. “Please, Allison,” said Jane. “Please, please, Allison,” begged Eve.
I had brought four of the small honey cakes, and I gave two to each of the slaves.
They thrust them into their mouths, with soft cries of gratitude, and pleasure.
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” they breathed.
Simple things, a sweet, a kind word, a comb, a scrap of cloth, can mean much to a slave.
Then they shrank back, with a rustle of chain, frightened, for the light of a lantern had fallen upon us.
“What is going on here?” asked a voice, that of a camp guard, on his rounds.
“I am bringing food to the slaves, Master,” I said.
He held the lantern high, regarding us.
“Food is included in the post fee,” he said.
“This is extra, Master,” I said. “Tomorrow they are to be taken into the Voltai.”
“And what is in the Voltai, for pretty slaves?” he said.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
Eve and Jane knelt by the post to which they were fastened, their heads down. I, too, remained kneeling, as I had been, as I was in the presence of a free man, though I lifted my head to the lantern. I could not well see the guard’s face.
He did not lower the lantern.
“Get your heads up,” said the guard to the chained slaves.
Instantly they complied.
At the post slaves are chained nude. A nude slave is quickly noticed. It is another way in which escape is made more difficult.
I remembered Eve and Jane from Earth, from the college, from the house. Here they were Gorean slave girls, naked, chained to a post.
“The Voltai,” said the guard. “Too bad.”
He then left.
“Tomorrow,” I said to the slaves, “you will receive new tunics, and collars. We are to be identically tunicked and collared.”
“You are well exhibited,” said Jane.
“As will be you,” I said.
“Mrs. Rawlinson arranged things well, did she not?” said Jane, shaking her chains.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do not let us be taken into the Voltai,” begged Eve.
“As I understand it,” I said, “we are to be back-braceleted and chained by the neck to the back of a wagon. At night, we will probably be shackled to the central bar, in a slave wagon. After a day or two, you will be released, to accompany the wagons.”
“We might then run,” said Eve.
“To be taken by bandits, or eaten alive by beasts,” said Jane.
“Stay near the wagons,” I said.
“There is no escape for us,” moaned Jane.
“No,” I said, “we are kajirae.”
I then prepared to withdraw.
“Thank you for the cakes,” said Jane.
“Yes,” said Eve, “so much!”
“You might remember,” I said, “that at the party we had been refused permission to feed, and had been denied lunch that day.”
“We were so hungry,” said Eve.
“Nora cast you some scraps to the floor,” said Eve, “on which you must feed, as a slave.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And she placed a pan of water on the floor from which you, head down, not using your hands, on all fours, were to drink, as a she-beast,” said Jane.
“I recall,” I said.
“Which water she spilled,” said Eve, “for which you were punished.”
I shuddered, and put my arms about me. How I had been punished, so mercilessly, so richly, switched! I had then, groveling and weeping under the blows, sensed that I was a slave, a
nd should be a slave. I still feared Nora, terribly. I still thought of her as Mistress and myself as slave.
“Tonight,” I said, “I am to be taken to a paga tavern.”
“To be sold?” said Jane.
“I do not think so,” I said.
It could, of course, be done to me. It would have to be at the instructions of the Lady Bina, of course, my Mistress.
“I must let you rest,” I said.
“Here in the dirt, nude, in our chains,” said Jane.
“Do you not feel,” I whispered, “that they are right on you?”
There was a pause, in the darkness.
“Yes,” Jane whispered.
“Yes,” Eve whispered.
I then withdrew.
“Now those are slaves,” said Master Desmond, with an expansive gesture about the room, he in whose keeping I was.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
I knelt beside the low table, about which Masters Desmond, Lykos and Astrinax sat, cross-legged.
It was a high tavern.
“Not one would go for less than two silver tarsks,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
I supposed men had much sweated in their bidding on them. I saw one fellow knot the wrists of a slave behind her and thrust her toward an alcove.
I recalled that he in whose keeping I was had said that in some of the alcoves a man might stand upright. The alcoves, I understood were furnished with a variety of conveniences, bracelets, chains, thongs, cords, scarves, hoods, switches, whips, and such, by means of which a girl might be encouraged to perform excellently, to do her best for one of her master’s customers. It was in her best interest to see that no client was disappointed, in the least.
I looked about. The girls were belled, on the left ankle. Each was clothed, in a sense. Each was silked, but diaphanously. In my brief, rep-cloth tunic, kneeling by the table, I felt myself less exhibited than they, in their soft, colorful, swirling silks.
I could understand how it was that men would seek the paga taverns.
Still, to one side, at more than one table, fellows were intent upon a game of kaissa.
How could that be? Were the slaves not beautiful enough?
I knew that a yearning slave, to one side, lying in her chains, must often await the outcome of such a game
There was music in the tavern, a czehar player, a drummer, utilizing the small tabor, two flautists, and a pair of kalika players. He with the czehar was the leader. That was common, as I was given to understand.
I could smell paga, and roast bosk.
A bit of silk flashed by. I drew my head back, for it had brushed across my face.
He in whose keeping I was laughed.
I did not care for that.
“Master?” I said.
“You were insulted,” he smiled.
“What flanks!” said Astrinax.
“Why do you not pursue her and tear her silk from her?” asked Lykos.
“She would tear out my hair, and beat me,” I said.
Master Astrinax had been, so far, unsuccessful in his recruiting. He had approached more than one table, without success.
Master Desmond, I noted, had an eye for the paga slaves. That was nothing to me, of course. Why, then, was I so angry?
“I have brought Allison here,” said Master Desmond, “that she might see what true slaves are like.”
“My collar is on my neck as well as theirs are on theirs,” I said, angrily.
“Then,” said he in whose charge I was, “you are a true slave, as well?”
“My thigh is marked,” I said, “my neck is collared, I am owned.”
“Then you are a true slave?” he said.
I looked at him. “Yes, Master,” I said, “Allison is a true slave.”
“Look at me, and say it,” he said.
“I am a true slave,” I said. “Allison is a true slave.”
“That is known to me,” he said.
“I hate you,” I said, tears in my eyes.
“Put your hand on her,” said Lykos.
“No!” I said.
“How would you like to be taken to an alcove?” asked he in whose charge I was.
How I had dreamed of being in his power, as a slave is in a master’s power.
“No,” I said, “no!”
“Why not?” he asked.
“You do not own me!” I said.
“True,” said Master Desmond.
“I have seen her like,” said Lykos. “Put her in your chains, and she will leap, begging, to your touch.”
“No, no!” I said.
“She would be an easy one to master,” said Lykos, “a little resistance, and then she is yours.”
“No, Masters!” I said.
“See that one!” said he in whose charge I was, pointing toward the paga vat.
She was indeed beautiful.
“See that auburn hair,” said Astrinax.
“That color,” said he in whose charge I was, “is prized in the markets.” Then he looked at me. “It is not common,” he said, “like brown hair.”
“Brown hair is beautiful,” said Lykos.
I cast him a look of gratitude.
“But common,” said he in whose charge I was. How angry I was with him.
“The hair of the Lady Bina,” said Lykos, “what I have seen of it, is beautiful.”
That was true. I had often seen the Lady Bina unhooded, unveiled, and her hair was strikingly blond, and her eyes were a soft, sometimes, sparkling blue. She was exquisite, in face and figure. I supposed, though the speculation was inappropriate, as she was a free woman, that she might bring a fine price off a block. I had sometimes wondered what she would look like, if marked and collared.
She with auburn hair, the paga slave, had dipped her goblet into the vat, and then, holding it with two hands, had turned, and conveyed it to a table.
“There is another beauty,” said Astrinax, gesturing with his head to another slave.
She had a swirl of long blond hair.
“That hair color is similar to that of the Lady Bina, is it not?” said Lykos.
“Perhaps, Master,” I said. It did not seem fitting to me, to speak of such things, to speak of the Mistress. To be sure, at the troughs, and in the Sul Market, I had heard more than one woman’s slave excoriate her Mistress, in the most detailed and vivid terms.
I noted that Master Desmond, whom I supposed of the Metal Workers, certainly he in whose charge I was, to my annoyance, was still appraising various paga slaves, as masters look upon such women.
“Master considers slaves,” I observed.
“See that one,” he said to me, pointing.
“Perhaps Master would care to gaze upon a slave closer at hand,” I said.
“Where?” he said.
“Here,” I said.
“You?” said he.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Surely you do not think to compare your beauty with that of the paga girls of The Kneeling Slave,” he said.
“On my former world I was thought quite lovely.”
“Perhaps for such a world,” he said.
“If we were such poor stuff,” I said, “we would not have been brought here, to be put in the collars of brutes such as yourself.”
“Some barbarians are of interest,” he said.
“You might learn much from the men of my world,” I said.
“Oh?” he said.
“They are sweet, pleasant, kind, gentle, sensitive, solicitous, accommodating, and wonderful, and they do what we want,” I said.
“Is that why the women of your world make such excellent slaves, why they lick and kiss our whips and feet, why they beg to be subdued and chained, owned and mastered, why they writhe in grateful ecstasy in the thongs and silken cords that render them helpless?” he asked.
“Ah!” said Astrinax. “See that one!”
“But, yes!” agreed he in whose care I was.
“You knew me
in Ar,” I said. “You must have agreed to my keeping and management.”
“I like having you cook for me,” he said, “and I enjoy shackling you, such things.”
“I see,” I said. “I have heard that some men, for whatever reason, see a woman as their slave, as delicious, incomparable collar meat, special to them, and will not rest until she is chained at their feet.”
“And I have heard,” said he, “that some women, for whatever reason, look up at a fellow, from their knees, and recognize him as their master.”
“There is another beauty,” said Astrinax, indicating another paga girl.
“She has brown hair,” I said.
“At least,” said he in whose charge I was, “it is more than a hort or two in length.”
“My hair will grow,” I said.
“I think,” said he, “I will ask the Lady Bina to have it shaved off again.”
“Please do not, Master!” I said.
“You are going to be deferent, docile, obedient, humble, zealous, eager to please, and such, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” I said.
“What lovely girls,” said Astrinax.
“Superb,” said he in whose charge I was.
“But we have obtained no new men, no new swords,” said Lykos.
“Are all taverns like this, Master?” I asked Astrinax. I suspected not, for the apparent quality of the girls.
“No,” he said. “The prices here are such that the place should be burned down. In a typical tavern a drink is a single tarsk-bit, with which drink a girl may go, if you want her. Here, a drink is five tarsk-bits, five! And for all I know, the girl is extra.”
“No,” said Lykos. “She goes with the drink.”