by John Norman
“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.
She had seen that there were dozens of stalls in the square, most lining the fronts of buildings, stalls displaying an incredible variety of goods.
There were, of course, the pans, pots, utensils, lamps, pails, and such, which, on shelves and dangling from poles, she supposed might have suggested the name of the market, but there were also stalls, as well, specializing in many other forms of goods, for example, stalls of fruits and vegetables, and produce of various sorts, and sausages and dried meats, and stalls of tunics, cloaks, robes, veils, scarves, and simple cloth, and of leatherwork, belts and wallets, and such, and of footwear, oils, instruments of the bath, cosmetics and perfumes, and mats and coarse rugs, and such. She saw no stall that seemed to specialize in silk, or gold, or silver, or precious stones, or in weaponry, even simple cutlery. It impressed her as a crowded, dirty, low market, presumably frequented primarily by the poor, or by those of the lower castes, individuals who must carefully guard even their smallest coins.
“For example, slave girls,” said the girl.
“Yes, Mistress.”
Ellen looked to the left and right, on the surface of the shelf. There were seven girls there, including herself, each, as she, stripped and in a heavy collar, chained by the left ankle to a ring. Yes, slave girls, too, were for sale in this market, and she was such a girl. She, too, here, was for sale, up for sale in this cheap, miserable market, in this terrible place.
How amused must be he who had been her master, for, after her beating, she scarcely dared to use his name in her thoughts, to know that she was here. Perhaps he would lift a glass of ka-la-na and proclaim a toast, offering it to her, chuckling, laughing, relishing his triumph over her, what he had done to her, offering it to her, to his absent, discarded slave. Perhaps he would permit Tutina, though too a slave, to join in the toast.
It was now darker in the square and, here and there, torches were being lit.
The ambiance in the market was now subtly different than it had been. A difference in the crowd was detectable. Perhaps there were fewer robes and more tunics. Perhaps some who had worked during the day were coming to the market at night. If possible the crowd seemed dirtier, rougher, and meaner. Some men may not have had employment, or desired such, and now, like nocturnal animals, they came furtively from their insulae, like urts from their holes. There seemed more lower-caste women than before. Some were not veiled. Some young, drunken men staggered by. Ellen shrank back, away from the front of the shelf. She saw two men pass, guardsmen, or such, helmeted, armed, in matching tunics, and many in the crowd drew back, sullenly, to let them pass. Some shook their fists at them, after they had passed. Some children ran through the crowd. A vendor was pursuing them. She saw four women, their hands chained behind their backs, their necks fastened together with a chain, being prodded through the square by three armed men, helmeted and tunicked as had been the other two. The women were naked. Ellen supposed that they, too, then, were slaves. They looked upon the occupants of the shelf, and smiled, tossing their heads, doubtless comparing themselves favorably with what they saw there. “She-urts!” cried the girl to Ellen’s left, with a rustle of chain. One of the women being herded through the square, she who was first in the coffle, turned angrily in her chains and seemed about to reply, but the man nearest to her raised his hand, palm open, menacingly, and she put down her head, cringing, and hurried forward, turning her head so that the pressure of the collar would be at the side of her neck and not the front of her throat. This jerked against the collar of the woman behind her, pulling her collar tight against the back of her neck, causing her to stumble forward, which movement was reflected in the motion of the third and fourth members of the small coffle, who must make hurried, awkward adjustments to retain their balance. “Clumsy slaves!” cried another of Ellen’s chain sisters. At this moment, to Ellen’s dismay, and that of her companions, the lead guard, seizing the first girl by the upper arm, pulled the coffle through the crowd, bringing it to a place just before the shelf. Instantly Ellen, and the other girls on the shelf, frightened, went to first obeisance position. “Kneel up,” said a harsh voice. With a rustle of chain Ellen and the others went to first position. “These slaves,” said the harsh voice, indicating the coffle in his charge, “are to be sold in the Curulean.”
This meant nothing to Ellen, but to the other girls it seemed to have some considerable impact, producing even a sentiment which might be bordering on awe.
The neck-chained women smiled. They stood straighter.
The accent of the man, Ellen noted, did not seem the same as those accents with which she was most familiar, but he did speak Gorean, and she had no difficulty in understanding him. Not all Gorean accents, of course, are easily understood, the one to the other.
The man’s tunic was scarlet, and he wore a sword belt slung across his body, from the right shoulder to the scabbard at his left hip, facilitating the right-handed draw. This belt, and the scabbard, and the crest on his helmet, were yellow. Though this was not known to Ellen at the time, the scarlet denoted the caste of Warriors, one of the five high castes of Gor, the others being the Initiates, Physicians, Builders and Scribes. The yellow was part of the dress uniform of the occupational forces, as a whole, but was common in the Cosian military. In times of danger or imminent conflict, the sword belt is looped simply over the left shoulder, so that it, and the attached scabbard, the blade drawn, may be discarded. This prevents the belt being grasped in combat by an enemy, which might be to the disadvantage of its owner. The two men who had passed through the market earlier had been similarly attired and accoutered, as were this man’s companions.
“You may speak,” said the guard to his charges.
Instantly a fierce torrent of abuse from the chained women rained upon the occupants of the shelf, to which the occupants of the shelf did not dare to reply. “Cement-shelf girls!” “She-urts!” “She-sleen!” “Pot-and-mat girls!” “Low slaves!” “Barbarians!” “Earth-girls!” “Bondmaids!” “Plow-thralls!” “Collar meat!” “Slave meat!” “Flesh-trash!” Such were the epithets that sped forth that evening from the throats of their fair rivals. There were other names, phrases and remarks that Ellen did not even understand.
A moment’s digression may perhaps be in order, as some may find it of interest.
The Gorean slave girl, unlike free women, particularly those of lower caste, is not permitted to be vulgar. And, indeed, most are not. The virulence of the coffle, as it poured scorn on the shelf girls, was certainly clear, and its expressions vehement and explicit, but it utilized few, if any, expressions which would not have been in common use in the surrounding community. As an analogy one might note that, on Earth, it might be discourteous to refer to a woman as, say, a tart or a hussy, but it would not be regarded as vulgar to do so, whereas certain other expressions, which might come to the mind of a native English speaker, would presumably be regarded as vulgar, even quite vulgar. Bondage, of course, with its dramatic contrast between the master and the slave, brings out a woman’s femininity. It is hard to be kneeling before a man, perhaps in a scrap of silk and chained, and not be extremely aware of one’s femininity. Contrasts, of course, are sexually stimulatory. As the saying is, if one wants a man to be more of a man one should be more of a woman. This, in its folklike way, recognizes not only that the human species is radically sexually dimorphic, but that this dimorphism is profoundly relevant to sexuality. Even small enhancements of natural differences, for example, by cosmetics, can be sexually stimulatory, more readily triggering response-dispositions, rather in the nature of innate releasing mechanisms, as has been known for millennia. Studies with primates demonstrate that the testosterone levels of males who have been kept in sexually negative, sexually depressive, environments rise dramatically when the environment is changed, to include, for example, receptive females. Sexuality does not prosper in the androgynous environment. And the master/slave relationship is the least androgynous environ
ment conceivable. It is its diametrical opposite. It, in virtue of its contrasts, is the most sexually stimulatory environment possible. In it we have the slave, vulnerable, lovely, owned and obedient, dressed, if dressed, for the pleasure of the master, at his feet, perhaps bound or chained, in the beautiful symbolism of her condition, subject to discipline, and we have the master, male, lordly and powerful. She is his to do with as he pleases. His virility races; he exults. She, knowing herself his, trembles with need and receptiveness before him. “Put me to your slave ring, Master. I beg it. I am yours. Do with me as you will, my Master!” Both find themselves within a culture’s glorious enhancement of, and celebration of, nature’s primordial determinations. But to return to more prosaic matters, the Gorean slave girl is not permitted vulgarity. She, though perhaps scarcely clad, or stripped, and kneeling, must be in many ways very “ladylike,” for lack of a better word. This, too, of course, contributes to the contrast between herself and the master, much as did the contrast between “gentleman” and “lady” in the Victorian Era, with its concealed, mysterious, romantic, latent, explosive, subterranean sexuality. Sometimes when low-caste women are enslaved they must be taught to be more ladylike, as their masters will have that of them. Their mouths, for example, may be washed out with soap, literally. That is a symbolic, but surely unpleasant, lesson they are not likely to forget. And it may be repeated as often as the master pleases. Most upper-caste women, whereas they might be smug, haughty or cruel, are not vulgar, regarding vulgar language, allusions, gestures, and such as being incompatible with the dignity of their caste. This is not to deny that an upper-caste woman, say, recently enslaved, or any slave girl, for that matter, may not be commanded upon occasion to use the most vulgar language conceivable, in referring to herself, or in begging for use, and such. Here, again, it is the contrast, as well as the understanding on the master’s part that he can exact this of the slave and on the part of the slave that it can be exacted from her, that is sexually stimulatory. Sometimes, for example, a slave’s referring to herself in a vulgar fashion, or begging for use in a very explicit and very vulgar manner, can help her to achieve a clearer concept of what she is and, of course, consequently, contribute to her readiness for use. On the whole, however, Goreans tend to be remarkably free of vulgarity, perhaps because their world is, on the whole, so much more innocent, natural and conducive to human happiness than at least one other world. There is thus a paradox of sorts which arises. The Gorean will often tend to be courteous and refined in his speech, and yet, in action, direct and forceful, sometimes even ruthless and brutal. We thus have the combination of a gentleman and an uncompromising master in one, with that of a slave and lady in one. But then I suppose that this is not really so difficult to understand. If you are a male, reading this, ask yourself what you would rather have at your slave ring, lying there naked and chained, looking up at you, cringing in the shadow of your whip, a simple, slovenly, vulgar-mouthed slut or a highly intelligent, cultured, refined lady.
Androgyny is inimical to sex; complementarity is stimulatory to sex. The greatest complementarity conceivable occurs within the rigors of the master/slave relationship. This is the secret of its capacity to fulfill, and satisfy, both partners.
To be sure, if one’s political programs require the devirilization, and consequent destruction, of the docile, obedient, duped male, then one must do all one can to confuse, deny, blur, and eliminate sexual differences, in this project having recourse to whatever distortions, lies, misrepresentations and propaganda one can manage, and, eventually, of necessity, to the bayonets and guns of a collectivistic, authoritarian state, one that can enforce, by means of executions and camps, the will of an unnatural, aggressive, self-seeking minority on the community as a whole. The destruction of nature and the ruin of human happiness presents an enormous challenge to social engineering, one to which a pathological society, by seizing control of education, the media, and such, must, if it is to be successful, address itself with courage and determination. To be sure, its ends might be achieved more easily by destroying the offspring of all males who show evidence of virility or genetically engineering a new species, a more bovine or insectoidal form of life.
These developments, however, are not likely to occur on Gor. That is because of the nature of Gorean men. Indeed, even on another world which occurs to me, such developments would seem unlikely, once the fevers and fits of madness have passed. Surely even that world, finding itself on the brink of species suicide, might be expected to draw back in horror. Let the fanatics and the insane be put to one side, not to be followed, but to be ignored, as was done before, when one emerged from the late Middle Ages, and into the light of the Renaissance.
Let manhood be reborn.
“Obeisance!” snapped the guardsman.
Instantly Ellen, and her sister slaves, went to first obeisance position, head down to the cement.
“You may now beg the forgiveness of our charges,” said the guardsman.
“Forgive us, Mistresses,” said the girls on the shelf. “Forgive us, Mistresses,” said Ellen, too, following the lead of her chain sisters, she, like the others, head down to the cement, in first obeisance position.
“You will now, in order, shelf-girls,” said the guardsman, “acknowledge your inferiority to our charges.”
And he was not satisfied until each of the slaves on the shelf acknowledged herself inferior goods to those on his chain. With the two girls who had called out derisively he was most demanding, until he had them in tears praising the beauty and value of his coffle and confessing their own comparative worthlessness, that they were unworthy to act even as the lowliest of serving slaves to such beauties, and so on. He was quick with Ellen, perhaps because of her youth, perhaps because she had refrained from participating in this small contretemps, perhaps in his eagerness to get to the culprit on her left.
“And you,” he said to her, “do you acknowledge yourself inferior to these slaves?”
“Yes, Master,” said Ellen, and so easily did she escape his further attention. She kept her head down to the cement. Too, objectively, given what she now was, collar meat, a commodity, an object for sale, she had no doubt but what it was true. She was inferior to, and much less than, any of the four neck-chained beauties who stood before the shelf. They were all more beautiful than she. She could not hope to bring the same coins to her master that any of them might. Targo, she supposed, would have rejoiced to have any one of them on his chain.
Perhaps, she thought, if I were not so young.
Then, mercifully, the Cosian dragged the lead girl in the coffle away from the shelf and began to conduct her, her chain sisters perforce behind her, through the crowd. Ellen lifted her head a little. One of the girls in the coffle, she who was last on the chain, or slaver’s necklace, turned about to cast a last contemptuous glance at the shelf, but the guardsman behind her struck her a sharp, stinging blow with the flat of his hand below the small of her back, which resounded throughout the market, and she, sobbing with humiliation, with a jangle of chain, hurried forward.
They are still only slaves, such as we, thought Ellen. At various times, in her training, and after her training, when returning to her cell, kennel or cage, one of the guards had given her a similar slap. Such attentions, of course, hurry a girl on. Perhaps that is their ostensible purpose. But they also inform her, whether she wishes it or not, that she is of sexual interest. They also remind her that she is a slave.
“So,” said Targo, appearing from the right, as one would look out toward the market, “you are all in trouble.”
“No, Master!” said more than one of the girls, still in obeisance position.
“You shall not be fed tonight,” said Targo.
There were cries of misery from several of the girls.
“You are all too fat,” said Targo.
“And it will save gruel,” said Barzak, appearing, too, from the right.
“That has nothing to do with it,” said Targo, “bu
t, it is true, it will save some gruel.”
“You give us little to eat anyway, Master,” sobbed a girl.
“You are all too fat, and I am a poor man,” said Targo.
Ellen supposed that Targo and Barzak might have been in the vicinity during the scene with the guardsmen, but, doubtless wisely, wishing to avoid further unpleasantness, if not actual danger, did not step forward and identify themselves.
“May we break position, Master?” asked one of the girls.
“Yes,” he said, absently.
There was a rustle of chains.
Ellen, now sitting, looked at the shackle closed about her left ankle. Her ankle was abraded, where she had futilely, foolishly, struggled with the obdurate impediment.
Had she not understood that she was chained? Did she think that those who had chained her did not know their work? Did she think she might simply remove the chain?
Foolish slave!
She pulled a little at the chain, tears in her eyes.
She understood now, and very clearly, that she was chained, that she would remain where she was, precisely there, fastened there, a chained slave, until others might see fit to release her.
“The torches are lit,” said Targo.
Indeed, two torches had even been lit on the building behind the shelf, one rather at each end. The torches, and some lamps, tend to be lit toward dark by the market attendants. The two streets beyond the market were now dark. Individuals in poorer districts, leaving their homes after dark or returning to them after dark, commonly carry their own light, usually a lamp. Individuals can be hired, in squares and markets, to escort individuals to their destinations. In better districts, and on the great boulevards and such, high lamps, usually hung from poles, are usually lit after dark by employees of the city, sometimes by guardsmen.
“The light is not so good,” said Targo. “That may work in our favor. Buyers may not see what poor stuff you are.”