by John Norman
There was another snap of a wrist ring and the chain bore yet another jewel, the lovely, half-stripped Slave Beads.
Last on the chain was Eta. The guard looked at her, and their eyes met, and then he put the chain on her.
I did not know why Eta was last on the chain. I knew the look in the eyes of the guard. He wanted her for his own slave. She looked frightened. He stood behind her for a moment, and she pressed back, putting her head back against his shoulder. Then he moved away from her.
There was a mark on the side of Eta's face, where she had been struck. Perhaps she had not been fully pleasing for an instant to one of the soldiers, or to Clitus Vitellius, and had thus been struck, and put at the rear of the chain. Perhaps she was at the rear of the chain because she was the most beautiful, and her beauty was being saved for last; thus the chain would have begun with the beautiful Marla and then, with a surprise, finished with a girl yet more beautiful than the first. But perhaps she was thought to be ugly for a day or two, until the blow healed, and thus, for ugliness, was put at the back of the line. Or, perhaps it was merely that the last wrist-ring had then been open, I being left in Tabuk's Ford, and thus there was no reason for her any longer to be excluded from the coffle. Thus, she would merely have been placed in the available wrist ring, in my place.
Sometimes masters punish us without explaining the reason. It is then for the slave girl to guess and wonder, and try harder to please. Sometimes, perhaps, there is no reason! We are so much at their mercy!
Beside my knee, in the dirt, there was a pan of water, and one of wet meal.
The last girl, Eta, was now coffled.
"Stand easily, Slaves," said the guard, and walked away.
Marla turned to face me. She lifted her chained left wrist. "I wear the chain of Clitus Vitellius," she said. "You wear the rope of a peasant."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
She turned away from me.
The men were now hitching the bosk to the wagons taken from the camp of the Lady Sabina.
Two peasant boys stood nearby. They looked at me. I, kneeling, clad in the Ta-Teera, my hands tied behind my back, my neck roped to the piling beneath Thurnus's hut, regarded them.
"Greetings, Slave Girl," they said to me.
"Greetings, Masters," I said to them.
They turned away, grinning, and left the vicinity of the hut.
The first team of bosk was hitched up, two of the great animals, broad, shaggy, with polished horns.
Clitus Vitellius was talking with Thurnus.
"I, and the men, and other girls," he had said, "will leave Tabuk's Ford in the morning. You will remain behind. I am giving you to Thurnus."
I had cried out with misery and horror in his arms. "Master!" I had cried. He had then gagged me. He then tied my hands behind my back, and took me naked and stumbling from his furs. He found an ankle stock of heavy wood near the perimeter of his camp area. He put me on my back. The stock consisted of two heavy, oblong pieces of wood, each about four inches thick, joined together by hinged iron. He flung open the stock. He looked down at me. I half reared up, struggling, to a sitting position, my hands tied behind my back, my eyes wild over the gag. Our eyes met. He then, swiftly, brutally, used me, and I, miserable, helpless, my eyes hot with tears, again could not resist him, and, again, unable to help myself, responded to him, and responded as a slave. He laughed at me derisively and then, crouching beside me, threw my ankles into the stock and closed it, one of the two four-inch blocks of wood on each side of my ankles, and flung the hasp over the staple, which would hold the blocks shut. Then, with a drilled peg and a bit of binding fiber, attached to the stock, he, slipping the fiber through the staple and securing it to the peg, fastened the hasp down. This would hold a bound slave. If my hands had not been tied a padlock would have been used. Tied as I was I was the prisoner of the stock, its weight and constraint. I lay on the ground, twisting, moaning. It seemed my guts had been torn out. I looked up, miserable, at the stars.
Clitus Vitellius then left me, to return to his furs, to sleep.
* * * *
I cut again at the soil with the hoe, chopping down, loosening the dirt about the roots of the sul plants.
The sun was terribly hot.
On my throat I wore a rope collar. My hands were terribly blistered. It was painful to hold the hoe. My back hurt me. It seemed every muscle in my body ached.
I wanted to throw myself down and weep, but the suls must be hoed.
"You will learn toil, small beauty," Thurnus had told me. I had well learned toil, and misery. It is not easy to be a peasant's girl.
It is a hard slavery.
I remembered seeing Clitus Vitellius leave. He had not looked back. I had wanted to call out after him, but I had not dared. I did not wish to be whipped.
It is not easy to be a peasant's girl. It is a hard slavery.
I remembered the sting of the switch across the back of my thighs as Melina had driven me to the kennel.
"I will make you wish you wore a longer tunic, Slave!" she had cried.
I had dropped through the kennel door and, some feet below, struck the straw-strewn floor of the kennel. The kennel was a large cage, a large, altered sleen cage, tipped on its side, barred, sunk mostly into the ground. The cage in its original attitude, when used for sleen, would have been some four feet in height, six feet in width and twelve feet in length. Tipped on its side, to better accommodate humans, it was some six feet in height and four by twelve feet in breadth and length. In this attitude, its original gate replaced with bars, and a new gate fashioned for it, it was entered from the top. Within there was a wooden, round-runged ladder, for climbing out of it. It was sunk some four and a half feet in the ground. Wooden planks, covered with straw, lay over the bars on the bottom. These planks were separated by some two inches apiece, to facilitate drainage. The cage was roofed, too, with planks; these planks were set flush with one another; they were fastened over the top of the bars, including some, sawed, over the upward-opening, barred gate. The gate then resembled a wooden trap, with bars on the bottom. At night a tarpaulin was thrown over the cage roof. Standing in the cage one could look out, one's shoulders being approximately at ground level.
I dropped to the floor of the cage.
I heard the heavy barred gate at the top, over my head, with its attached planks, flung shut. It made a harsh sound of metal and wood. Then I heard the rattle of two heavy padlocks on chains. There were two heavy metal snaps as the door above me was fastened shut.
I looked up. I was locked within.
"Kneel," said a voice.
I knelt. There were four other girls in the cage.
"In the position of the pleasure slave," said one of them.
I complied.
"Let us see your brand," said another.
I turned to the side and drew back the tunic.
"A Dina," said another girl. There were four besides myself in the cage, Thurnus's other girls.
"Did you know," asked one, "that Dinas are suitable to be the slaves of slaves?"
"No," I said, "I did not."
"You were not given permission to cover your brand," said one, sharply.
I drew back my hand. I turned to face them, on my knees. I kept my knees spread, as I had been commanded to assume the position of the pleasure slave. That command had not been rescinded. Before men, of course, I would have knelt naturally in that position. It would not have needed to have been commanded of me. Indeed, I might have been lashed did I not assume it immediately, gracefully, attractively. I had learned what I was. They had left me in little doubt as to the sort of slave I was. Before free women, on the other hand, even a pleasure slave would have been likely to kneel in the position of the tower slave, or woman's slave, knees closed, unless ordered to do otherwise.
The other slaves sat in the cage, on the straw.
I looked at them. They were large, coarse girls, though perhaps not without their charms. Clearly they were field sla
ves, or kettle slaves, or work slaves.
"Are you a pleasure slave?" asked one, curious.
"Yes!" I said, brazenly.
"Oh?" said one of the girls.
"Men have so regarded me," I said.
"I can see why," said one. "You are a pretty, meaningless little slut."
"What is she good for?" asked another, "save to give pleasure to men?"
"Nothing," said another.
"It is not my fault," I said, "if men see me in terms of the pleasure I can give them."
"And you object?" asked one.
I was silent.
"She is silent!" laughed one of the girls.
"You like being a pleasure slut!" said another.
Again I was silent.
"Of course, she likes it," laughed another. "See her blush!"
"You lick and kiss, and whisper, and squirm well in the furs," said another.
"I am going to ask you a question," said the largest girl, Sandal Thong, who seemed to be first in the cage. "Think carefully before you answer. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said.
"Yes, what?" asked Sandal Thong.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Keep your knees spread," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
Reddening, I further widened my knees.
The other girls laughed.
"Think carefully," said Sandal Thong, menacingly. "Are you—a pleasure slave?"
I was afraid to answer, but, again, I was even more afraid to remain silent, or to dissemble.
There were four other slaves in the cage, and any one of them could have subdued, bound, and beaten me.
"Speak," said she.
What was I, truly?
All the misery and shame of Earth suddenly swept through me! How unworthy, how contemptible, how despicable, how terrible I was! The negativistic conditioning of a world, of years of pathological conditioning, swept through me, that I might, as intended, be a stranger to myself, that I might be trained to mindlessly, reflexively, behave in accordance with the prescriptions of the inert, the frigid, the ignorant, the unsuspecting, the vain, the ambitious, the manipulative, the biologically disinherited, the organically ill-constituted, that I might be trained to distrust and repudiate my most precious and profound instincts and needs, that I might be taught to fear, hate and loathe my deepest and dearest self, only that I might please those who neither respected me nor cared for me, those who held natural, loving women in contempt, and feared and hated them. And well might they fear and hate them, for such women, natural, loving women, by their very existence are a reproach to them, revealing their pathetic limitations, their linearities and inadequacies.
But surely I who had been Judy Thornton could not be a pleasure slave!
But was I a pleasure slave?
But if so, even then, surely I could not admit that I was so inconsequential and low a thing as that, a pleasure slave!
But even on Earth I had occasionally looked upon my body in the mirror and wondered on what sort of world it might find its meaning.
Then I had been brought to Gor, and had discovered that I was beautiful, truly beautiful, and that such as I might well belong to glorious, male beasts who would relish and treasure us, and master us!
Was I a pleasure slave? Could I be a pleasure slave?
I had been an excellent student at an elite girls' school, an English major, a poetess, and then, inexplicably, for no reason that I understood, I had been brought to Gor, and was soon introduced to my new life, that of a branded slave.
I became aware of men, true men, and their attractiveness, and might. I became aware of how I was seen by them, and the only way I, with my beauty and nature, could be seen by them.
I knew I wanted to love and serve them, and that only in this way could I find my true happiness and fulfillment.
I had been Judy Thornton.
I had tried, on Earth, honestly enough, to fulfill the stereotypes prescribed for me.
Had I not been a "good little girl" of Earth, though they would scarcely, the manipulators and would-be controllers, have used those words? I thought so.
Then I had been brought to Gor.
That had changed many things.
What had she here discovered herself to be, truly, the former Judy Thornton?
"Well?" pressed my interrogator.
Was I a pleasure slave?
Yes, yes, I who had been Judy Thornton was a pleasure slave! Moreover I now realized I had always, even on Earth, though latently, and unfulfilled, been a pleasure slave!
On Gor I had learned myself. On Gor I had found myself!
I was a pleasure slave!
"Speak!" said Sandal Thong.
"Yes!" I said, suddenly, shamelessly, defiantly. "Yes, Mistress! I am a pleasure slave! It is not only what I want to be, but what I am! Yes, Mistress, it is what I am. I am a pleasure slave, a pleasure slave! I should be purchased as such, and sold as such! It is what I am—a pleasure slave, a pleasure slave! I acknowledge this, and rejoice in it! I am a pleasure slave!"
"Yes?" said Sandal Thong.
"Yes, Mistress!" I said.
They were then silent, for a time. I do not think they expected this outburst, this admission, from me.
"Well, little pleasure slave," said Sandal thong, "there is not much silver here to buy you."
They laughed at Sandal Thong' observation.
"No, Mistress," I said.
"You will not find a block here for you to run up on and pose for rich men," said one of the girls.
"I think not," I agreed.
"Too bad," said one.
"Yes, too bad," I said.
"We do not like you," said one of the girls.
"No," said another.
"I did not ask to be here," I said.
"You must be a poor pleasure slave," said one, "or your master would not have given you to Thurnus."
"Perhaps," I said.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
"So you are a pleasure slave?" asked one.
"Yes," I said.
"Here you are not a pleasure slave," said one. "Here you are a work slave!"
"Here you will be worked hard," said another.
I had not asked to be here.
Did they think I wanted to be here?
I straightened my back. They made me angry. I assessed them, obviously to a woman's eyes, though a man might not have noticed, one by one. It is a slight, tacit thing that women understand. I smiled. They were angry.
"Perhaps I will not be worked as hard as you think," I said.
I was clearly their superior in beauty.
"Insolent slave!" cried one. "How haughty you are, Slave Girl!" said another.
I shrugged.
"Do you think you are more beautiful than we?" asked one of them.
"Yes," I told them.
"Do you think you will please the master more than we?" asked another.
"Yes," I told them. "I am clearly more beautiful."
"She-tarsk," said one. "She-sleen!" cried another.
"You will be worked hard!" said another girl.
"We will see to that!" vowed the fourth girl.
"Do you have a comb for my hair?" I asked.
"Do not break the position of the pleasure slave," warned the largest of the girls, she, Sandal Thong, a long-armed, freckled giantess of a peasant wench.
"Very well," I said.
"It becomes you," said Verr Tail, a wide-shouldered, auburn-haired girl.
"Thank you," I said.
I did not wish to be caged with them. I could sense their hostility. Too, they could surely detect that I did not care for them, either. But we were locked in the same small cage.
"Doubtless you will soon become the master's favorite," said Turnip, a dark-haired, wide-faced girl.
"Perhaps," I said, tossing my head.
"Radish is now favorite," said Sandal
Thong, indicating a blondish, thick-ankled girl at her left. I recognized her. It was she whose heartbeat had given the time count in the boys' sport of "girl hunt" the preceding night. Last night she had served one of the warriors of Clitus Vitellius. I recalled her pressing back against him, his hand on her heart, his calling the count. I myself had been in the arms of such men many times. They were not peasant boys.
"I was the girl of a warrior," I told them.
"You are very pretty," said Radish. I decided I did not dislike Radish.
"You were poor in the furs," said Sandal Thong. "That is why he gave you away."
"No!" I cried.
"Poor in the furs!" laughed Sandal Thong.
"Why did he give you away?" asked Verr Tail.
"I do not know," I said.
"Poor in the furs!" said Sandal Thong, pointing her finger at me.
"We have few furs in this village," laughed Turnip. "We will see how you roll in the straw!"
"If you are not good," said Verr Tail, "we will soon know. Thurnus will tell everyone whether you are good or not."
"I am good," I told them.
"Why did your master give you away?" asked Turnip.
"It amused him," I said. "He is Clitus Vitellius, a captain. He can have many girls, more beautiful than I. He made me love him, hopelessly and desperately, and then, for his amusement, discarded me. He toyed with me. He used me for the object of his sport. Then, when he had won, fully and completely, he cast me aside, ridding himself of me, giving me away."
"Did you truly love him?" asked Radish.
"Yes," I said.
"What a slave you are!" laughed Sandal Thong.
"He made me love him!" I cried defensively. Yet I knew I would have loved him, even had he not made me love him. Had I had the choice as a free woman I would have chosen to love him; but the choice had not been mine, for I had been a slave; he had overwhelmed me, forcing me to love him, consulting not my will, before I could have chosen to do so; I who had desired to kneel before him of my own free will had been commanded to his sandals as a slave girl.
"You are a fool to have loved your master," said Sandal Thong.
"I love my master," said Radish.
Sandal Thong turned about and struck Radish to the side of the cage. "Slave!" she cried.