by John Norman
"Look up," he said.
I rose to my knees, and lifted my head.
"You have a beautiful face," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"And you have a luscious form," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"Kiss the whip," he said.
I did so, quickly, that I might not seem to dally, or he draw it from me, but then, as he held it in place, permitting me to continue, more slowly, more lingeringly. Then he drew it back, and I knelt back, before him.
"Are you going to be any good?" he asked.
I looked up at him, startled, frightened. He had said I had a beautiful face, and a luscious form. What more could anyone want? Then I swallowed hard, understanding him. Of course, of course, I thought. Such things would be only a beginning, perhaps only a small beginning, and doubtless not even a necessary beginning, of what men would expect of me. "It is my hope that I will be pleasing," I said.
"I have high hopes for you," he said.
I was silent.
"I think," he said, "that you will be very good."
"It is my hope that I will be pleasing to my master," I said.
"And to any to whom, in your master's service," he said, "you are explicitly, or implicitly, consigned."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And to men, in general," he said.
"Yes, Master, of course, Master," I said. I was a female slave. I existed now for the pleasure of men. It was what I was for.
"Sometimes," he said, "one encounters an Earth female who believes, at first, for a short time, that she may be resistant, in some respect, either secretly or overtly, to masters. Are you such a female?"
"No, Master," I said.
"In any way?" he asked.
"No, Master!" I said.
"Such recalcitrance is detectable," he said. "It is betrayed by subtle body cues, uncontrollable, and unmistakable."
"Yes, Master," I said, looking down.
"There are drugs, too," he said, "which are pertinent to such matters."
"Yes, Master," I said. I had not known that. I had known about the other sorts of things. They had been graphically illustrated to us in the house of my training. Some had to do with skin blotching and nipple erection. One simple test had been with five of us, one of us, not known to Ulrick, to take a ring and hide it. By holding her hands and looking into her eyes he had almost immediately determined the "guilty girl." He had then, merely by holding her arm, had her guide him, involuntarily, to where she had hidden the ring. These things were done primarily by acute observation and differential muscle tensions, indexed to the girl's knowledge and inward states. The meaning of the lessons, however, had been clear. If our slavery did not go through us, so to speak, if it was not complete, we could not conceal that from the masters. Our choice then, in effect, was to be complete slaves, whole slaves, total slaves, or die. I, and, I think, my entire class, interestingly, had rejoiced in this knowledge. We knew we were slaves in our hearts, as we had learned in our training, and we wanted to be slaves. The knowledge then that we would be unable to conceal any inauthenticity in our slavery from the masters, even if we wished to do so, was a liberating insight. It imposed a welcome, healthful psychological consistency upon us. It deprived us of even the last excuse which our pride or vanity might have left to us not to be perfect in our bondage. To be sure, sometimes a master encourages open defiance or rebellion on the part of a girl, he then enjoying forcing her to serve, and perfectly, so obviously, so visibly, against her will. Too, sometimes, he is amused to indulge a girl's "secret" recalcitrance, well aware of her games, her transparent reservations, her supposedly so carefully guarded and secret resistance, letting her think it is unknown, even unsuspected. When he tires of this sport, however, he reveals to her, to her horror, that she has been all this time as open to him as a book. She can then make the decision of the slave girl, to be a true slave, a full slave, or die.
"Look into my eyes," he said.
I did so. It was not easy.
"Yes," he said, "you are a slave."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Even though you might regret your bondage, or rage against it, from time to time," he said, "yet, in your heart, you know you are a slave."
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.
"You were a slave even on Earth," he said.
"But a secret slave," I whispered.
"Here," he said, "your slavery is patent."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"What was wrong with you, at the end of your sale?" he asked. "You seemed suddenly so awkward, so clumsy, almost as though you were paralyzed."
"I do not know," I said. "Perhaps I realized, suddenly, what was being done with me, that I was being sold."
"But a slave must expect to be sold," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
He looked down at me.
"I was frightened, Master," I said.
"Are you frightened now?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. This was the first time I had been in his presence, to my knowledge, since my sale in Market of Semris. I kept my eyes from meeting his. I could see the vast, hairy chest, crossed by the two belts. The large, drooping mustache suggested a casual, almost indolent power. The scar at the side of his face had been wrought, I supposed, by some primitive device or weapon, perhaps even, though it seemed hard to believe for a female of Earth, in combat. From my point of view, he seemed clearly a barbarian. He would think nothing of owning women. To be sure, from his point of view, it was I, though a refined female of Earth, who, on this world, counted as being the "barbarian." He had been coming back from some place called Torcadino, or near Torcadino, where he had gone, either there, or in its vicinity, to purchase cheap girls for his tavern. I gathered that women, for some reason, were cheap in that vicinity. He had stopped at Market of Semris on his way back to Brundisium, boarding his girls overnight at the house of Teibar. He had stopped in that evening at the sales barn. There he had purchased me. He had not, as far as I knew, made any other purchases there.
"Good," he said. "It is well for a slave to fear her master."
"Yes, Master," I said. I kept my head down. What he said was true, of course. It was indeed well for a slave to fear her master. The master can do what he wishes to her. He has absolute and total power over her.
I watched his fingers move idly on the butt of the whip and on its single, thick blade, coiled back, twice, against the butt.
I suppose I would have feared any Gorean master, they are so strict with us. But I was sure, too, I feared this one more than I might have most. He was so large, and so beastlike, a complex man, I sensed, but one of simplicity in the sense of undividedness or singleness of purpose. To be sure, this lack of self-division, of self-conflict, tends to be characteristic of Gorean males. Their culture does not try to control them by setting them against themselves when they are too young to understand what is being done to them, in some cases, by half tearing them apart. To some extent, I suppose, it satisfies them, and keeps them content, rather as one might throw meat to lions, by throwing a certain sort of woman in their way, the slave. The man who owned me might indeed be, as I had first perceived him, in Market of Semris, he free, looking up at the slave block where I, a naked slave, displayed in high manacles, was being vended, too corpulent, too broad of girth, too gross, too scarred, too loathsome, too hideous, but now that I was his, and within reach of his whip, these initial perceptions were surely expanded or altered by other more pertinent, more trenchant ones. I was now aware not so much of these first-glimpsed things, things which might occur to a stranger looking casually upon him for the first time, from a distance, as other things, things which became much clearer with closeness, closeness such as when one might be kneeling naked before him, so close he could reach out and touch you, a sense of intelligence, and power, and perception, such that one felt he could look through you, and see what was within you, anything, and uncompromising mastery, an
d perhaps mercilessness. The most obvious thing about him, of course, now, from my point of view, was that he owned me, that he was my master.
"But you are not so frightened now," he said.
"No," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"The sale is over," I said. "I know that I am now a sold slave. That is behind me. I have been summoned into the presence of my master. In this he has honored me, for he has many girls. He has been kind enough to express his satisfaction with trivialities of his slave, that she has a beautiful face and form, and his belief that I may perhaps prove to be pleasing in more significant manners. Too, he has informed me that my tongue work upon his feet has not been entirely displeasing."
"For a slave new to her collar," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. "Of course, Master. Thank you, Master."
"I think you were not too pleased to have been purchased by me," he said.
I was silent.
"Perhaps you find me gross," he said, "even hideous?"
I was silent.
"Some women do," he said.
I did not speak.
"It is amusing then to me, sometimes," he said, "to abuse them, and make them, despite their will, cry out for my touch."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"It pleases me to have them crawling to me on their belly, begging piteously to be used."
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Perhaps you find me gross and loathsome," he speculated.
I trembled, head down.
"But it doesn't matter," he said. "You are my slave."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And at so much as the snapping of my fingers, you will bring yourself running to me, obediently and warmly, desperate to please me."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But there is time enough for such things," he said.
I was silent.
"I was not displeased that your performance on the block was as ambiguous as it was, toward the end of your sale," he said.
"Master?" I asked.
"A kajira is occasionally entitled to terror," he said.
"Thank you, Master," I said, hesitantly.
"And it perhaps confused certain buyers," he said, "inhibiting them from submitting higher bids. I turned it thus to my profit."
I kept my eyes down.
"Come closer," he said.
I did so, on my knees. "Ohh," I said, touched by him. I leaned forward, tears in my eyes, pressing myself toward him, gross as he might be, my hands on the sides of the great chair in which he sat. I put my head down on his left knee.
"I thought so," he said. "Look up. Look in my eyes."
I did so, frightened.
"Yes," he said, looking into my eyes. "You are a slave. That is all you are."
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Kneel back," he said.
I knelt back then, tears in my eyes.
"Keep your knees open," he said.
"Oh, please, Master!" I begged.
His eyes were stern.
Immediately I opened my knees, widely, as was appropriate for the type of slave I was, a pleasure slave.
"One might think almost," he said, musingly, "that you were not a virgin. It is interesting to speculate what you will be like when you have been adequately opened and regularly utilized."
I kept my head down.
"It will probably not even be necessary to encourage you with the whip," he said.
I did not dare to speak.
"But the whip will be always there, should you require refreshening on your status, or become to any degree less than perfectly pleasing," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You may have fooled others in your terror," he said, "but you did not fool me."
"Master?" I asked.
"Beneath the terror," he said, "I saw the beauty, and the slave."
I did not speak.
"I saw, too," he said, "the dancer, particularly in your transitions between the attitudes commanded of you in the slave paces. I knew then you were either a dancer, or had the makings of a dancer. Too, of course, your response to the slaver's caress, later, was indicative. That, of course, would have been obvious even to a tharlarion."
"Yes, Master," I whispered, head down.
"But it was, of course," he said, "for you, a very poor, or limited, response, certainly one far below what might ordinarily have been expected from one with your sensitivity levels."
I looked up at him, startled. How could he have known that?
"To a discerning eye," he smiled, "it was evident, in your subsequent movements, and certain tiny, fleeting expressions, though these were subtle things, as you were inwardly relieved, pleased at how well hidden, you thought, remained the real depth and urgency of your needs."
I regarded him with horror.
"We are not going to have any secrets between us, are we?" he asked.
"No, Master!" I said, frightened. Before him I realized that it might be not only my body which was naked, but my mind and heart as well. I felt utterly exposed before this man, as only a slave can feel exposed to her master.
"Do not be frightened," he said.
I trembled, uncontrollably. Too, I remembered his touch.
"In a man's arms," he said, "you are the sort of woman who is so much alive, that you will be splendidly, utterly helpless."
I sobbed, shuddering naked, in my collar before him.
"Do you think you will like Brundisium?" he asked.
"I think so, Master," I whispered. I understood that Brundisium was one of the largest and busiest ports of this world. It was a commercial metropolis of sorts. I remembered in the slave wagon that several of the girls had hoped, desperately, not to be taken from this place. They had hoped fervently, it seemed, to wear their collars here. Ironically, it had been I, purchased in Market of Semris, a barbarian, who had been brought back to Brundisium. Many of my chain sisters, surely, would have envied me my good fortune. I was pleased enough to be here, from what I knew. Too, the city had seemed colorful and exciting to me, in my glimpses from the slave wagon. To be sure, at least one district through which we had passed in the wagon was still black with the residues of a great fire, one which had reportedly taken place in Se'Kara, some months ago. If I were never permitted outside the precincts of the tavern, of course, as I had not yet been, I did not think I would much enjoy the city. I had hopes, however, that I might, as several of the girls were now, eventually be granted such a lovely liberty. In such a matter, of course, the masters take little, if any, risk. The girls are collared and branded so there is never any doubt about what they are or where they belong. Too, in Brundisium, as with most Gorean cities, kajirae are not allowed outside the city gates unless in the keeping of a free person. In these peregrinations about the city, of course, the girls were sometimes expected to wear their master's advertising on their tunics.
"Did you enjoy the trip here?" he asked.
"Master was kind," I said, "to provide us with blankets."
We had spent the night of our sale in the cages located in the exit corridor. The next morning, at dawn, the cages had been opened, and we had been ordered forth, each to our own disposition. My hands had then been manacled behind my back, by my master's man. He had then given me a handful of slave gruel, putting it in my mouth as I knelt before him, my wrists chained behind me. We were not fed by the house of Teibar, of Market of Semris, that morning, as we were no longer its responsibility. I was then gagged and hooded, utilizing the devices of the ball-gag, the straps, the leather covering, the buckles and lock, as I had been when first leaving the house of my training. There were very good reasons for this, as I later learned. I was to be transported by tarn basket. When a girl cannot see and cannot communicate, it is much easier to manage her. I was taken out into the courtyard, gagged, hooded, and manacled. Then I was put on my belly in the dirt. I knew nothing about what was going on. Then I heard a succession of wild, startling sounds, like the snapping
of great sheets, and it seemed I was in the midst of a whirlwind, mad, choking dust swirling up and about me. I tried to rise, but a man's foot pressed me back to the dirt. I also heard a sudden, shrill, terrifying, piercing scream. It was not a human noise, but the cry of something terribly large and fierce. It could only be, I conjectured, some sort of giant bird. I lay trembling in the dirt, helpless, the man's foot on my back. I would learn it was indeed a large bird, one called a "tarn." And, I would later learn, it was not even a warrior's mount, bred for swiftness and aggressiveness, a war tarn, but a mere draft tarn. I had been gagged, and hooded and manacled, and put on my belly, because the first sight of such a beast, at close hand, I was told, not unoften, in its size and ferocity, and terribleness, produces a miasma of terror in a female, and she is unwilling even to approach it, whips being often necessary. Happily I was unaware of the full terror within whose orbit I lay. I was pulled to my feet by an arm and walked for a few feet and then put down, on my back, on a blanket, on the ground. This blanket was wrapped about me, closely. It was then secured on my body apparently by ropes, above and below my breasts, about my waist and below my knees. I was then lifted in it and set down, sitting, on what seemed to be a heavy wicker surface. A leather collarlike arrangement was then put about my neck and my head was pulled back, apparently, as I could tell, pressing back through the hood, against a vertical wicker surface. This held me in place. I was then pushed back, further, against the vertical wicker surface. A broad belt then, perhaps some five or six inches in width, was put about my waist, drawn snug, and buckled shut. This, too, held me in place. My knees were up slightly. My ankles were then roped together, and fastened down, in place. This was done, apparently, by the rope being threaded once or twice through the wicker flooring and then being resecured about my ankles. I then heard again, it startling me, terrifying me, that sudden, loud, shrill, piercing scream, this time, it seemed, from terribly close, surely no more than a few feet away. I squirmed helplessly in the tight blanket, in the manacles, in the straps and ropes. I knew almost nothing of what was going on. We are so helpless when we are gagged and hooded. I then was conscious of other weights being placed in the area where I was, and being cinched in place. I was conscious of their movements, and squirmings, through the wicker. Then, in a few moments, it seemed a side gate was shut, near me, and roped shut. I heard the rattle of harness, sensed the attachment of ropes, the tying of knots, the drawing of them tight, their testing. Then, in a bit, I heard a cry and the jerking of harness, and that wild scream again, so piercing, hurting my ears, making me again leap and squirm, terrified, miserable, in my bonds. I heard great snapping sounds. There was a sudden swirling of air. I felt the pitting of dust against the hood and my feet. I heard the striking of small pebbles against the outside of the wicker. Then, to my astonishment, the object in which I had been placed began to slide rapidly along the ground and then, in a moment, it taking my breath away for an instant, it swung free, and was rising. I was off the ground! We were climbing. After a few minutes we were moving in a level manner. I could feel, even with the blanket, the wind whistling through the wicker walls. I hoped the object in which I was confined was strong. I sat very still. I did not want to risk weakening its structure in any way. I had no idea as to how high we were. It was cold. After a few hours, from the warmth in the hood, on my right, I conjectured we might be flying west, and perhaps to the north. My wrists were sore. Earlier, in my fear, I had fought too much with the manacles. My ankles, too, felt cut and raw. Too much in my earlier terror I had fought against the close loops, the coarse, narrow, bristly bands that confined them. My struggles had been futile, of course. Gorean slave girls are tied by men who know what they are doing in such ways that they cannot even think of escaping or freeing themselves. My struggles, I now realized, had been foolish, but at the time I had not seemed able to help myself. They had been the reflexive, or almost reflexive, struggles of a bound girl finding herself absolutely helpless in a terrifying reality. I hoped I had not marked or cut myself in such a way that scar tissue might form, for I might be beaten for that. Too, I did not want such marks, or scars, to detract from my appearance. I supposed I had a slave girl's vanity. Things had then seemed calm. It seemed the ropes suspending this object would hold, that the surface on which I was confined was not likely to suddenly give way. I was then mainly grateful, in the cold, that we had been given blankets. Then, as my composure grew, I became eager and curious to know more about my surroundings. I did not know in what sort of device I was located. I did not know how high I was. I wondered what the countryside below might look like. Were there fields down there? Rivers? Forests? Would I be able to see the shadow of our passage, fleet and rippling, on the terrain below? What was the nature of the beast, or bird, that drew this carriage so swiftly through the sky? I wished I could see. That, however, was not now possible. That liberty had been denied to me by my master.