Kajira of Gor (17 page)

“No!” I had said. He bad regarded me, puzzled. “I want to see who wins her,” I

said, angrily. He looked over to the woman. She was then standing, the chain on

her neck dangling down to the ring. She had one hand at her bosom. She was

frightened. “She is only a slave,” he had said. But he had sat down, patiently,

beside me, content, it seemed, to wait until I was ready to leave. How angry I

was with him them.

Could he not conjecture the feelings, the trepidation, of the poor girl? She had

a chain on her neck. She was a prize. She did not know to whom she would be

awarded. She did not know who it would be whom she would have to serve, who it

would be to whom she would belong! The poor, soft, helpless chained thing! How

callous and stupid are men! Too, I like she, as fortunes shifted in the matches,

as points were won and-lost, was torn back and forth in my conjectures and

anticipations. Doubtless the men in the audience were intent on the bouts,

observing the styles and skills of the contestants, tallying points, and

assessing the play. Surely they seemed to have little mind for the chained

prize. Surely they seemed eager to applaud, striking their left shoulders,

particularly fine a thrusts or particularly tight, fierce passages. I, on the

other hand, I am sure, tended to see the bouts rather differently.

self at him like a tart, and had been rejectedl How could I have done that? Was

I only a little tart, or was I a desperate, needful woman, one who had dared to

be true to her needs?

How I hated him! I was a Tatrix, a Tatrix! He was only a soldier, a mere guard!

I had power. I could have my vengeance on himl I could tell Liguribus that he

bad become fresh with me, that he had dared to try to kiss me. Surely he might

be broken in rank for that, or whipped, or even slain! I wondered why he had not

kissed me. Was il because I was a Tatrix? But I did not think that that thought,

momentous though it might be, would have deterred a man such as Drusus Rencius.

Was it then because I was not sufficiently attractive? Perhaps. But on Earth I

bad been thought to be very pretty. Too, Miles of Argenturn had speculated that

I might bring as much as even a silver tarsk in a market. Was it then because I

was free? Were Gorean men spoiled for free women by those collared, curvacious

little sluts they had crawling about their feet, desperately eager to please

them?

Given such luscious alternatives it was natural enough, I supposed, that men

would see little point in subjecting them-selves to the inconvenience,

frustration and pain of relating to a free woman, with her demands, inhibitions

and rigidities.

Perhaps they could not be blamed for not choosing to reduce the quality of their

lives in this fashion. To be sure, if slaves were not available, then it was

understandable how men might relate to free women. Sexually starved, and driven

by their needs, they would then be forced to make do with whatever might be

available, the best in such a case perhaps being the free woman. But on Gor

alternatives, real alternatives, slaves, were available. It was no wonder free

women as I had beard, so bated slaves. How could they even begin to compete with

a slave, those dreams come true for men? Perhaps that is it, I thought, perhaps

that is why he did not kiss me.

Perhaps fie did not kiss me because I was free, or, I added, in my thinking, not

truly understanding the qualification, because he thought I was free. I lay

there in the darkness, in the heat of the silks. I wondered why I had made that

qualification in my thinking-“because he thought I was free.”

Could he have been wrong, I asked myself. Could he have been mistaken? How

absurd, I thought. What could you possibly mean, I asked myself. The meaning is

perfectly clear, I told myself, irritably. Are you stupid? I am a Tatrix, I

cried out to myself. I am freel Of course, I am freel “Go now to the slave

ring,” a voice seemed to say to me. I got up and, almost as though in a trance,

scarcely understanding what I was doing, went to the slave ring, that at the

foot of the couch. I knelt there. “Are you positioned at the ring,” the voice

seemed to say. “Yes,” I whimpered, to myself. “Take it in your hands, Tiffany,”

it said, “and kiss it.” I took the heavy ring in uny hands, lifted it, and

kissed it. I then put it back gently, lovingly, against the couch. I then felt

it would be permissible for me to return to the couch. I crawled again upon it,

to its center. “Get where you belong,” said the voice, a bit impatiently. I

crawled then to the bottom of the couch and lay there, near its foot, by the

slave ring. I wondered if Drusus Rencius would have refused to kiss me if I had

not been a free woman, but a slave. If I had been a slave, say, perhaps, a

fifteen-copper-tarsk girl, that amount for which be had once suggested a slaver

might let me go, I think I might have received a somewhat different treatment at

his bands.

“It is fortunate for you,” said the voice within me, “that Drusus does not know

that you are a slave.” “I am not a slave,” I said, aloud. “I am not a slave!”

“Remain where you are, at the foot of the couch, until morning,” said the voice

within me. “I will,” I said, frightened. I had then fallen asleep. To my

embarrassment I was still there in the morning when I awakened, Susan having

entered the room. “I must have moved about in my sleep,” I said to Susan. “Yes,

Mistress,” she had said, her head down, smiling. I had considered whipping her,

but I had not done so. “What is it like, being owned, and having a master,” I

had later asked Susan, while being served breakfast, as though merely curious.

“Consider yourself as having a master, and being owned,” said Susan, “that you

are totally his, and that he may do with you, fully, whatever he wants.” I

shuddered. “it is like that,” she said, “only it is real.” “I see,” I had

whispered.

I stood on the riser, behind the parapet.

“I hear it again,” I said, “that sound, as of metal, from within your cloak.

What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said.

On Gor my entire mind and body, in the fullness of its femininity, had come

alive, but yet, in spite of my new vitality and health, I was in many ways

keenly miserable and unfulfilled. On Earth, in its pollutions, surrounded by its

crippled males and frustrated women, exposed to its antibiological education and

conditionings, subjected to the perversions of unisex, denying their sexuality

in its fullness to both sexes, the nature of the emptiness in my life, and its

causes, had been, in effect, concealed from me. I had not even been given

categories in terms of which I might understand it.

Where I bad needed reality and truth I had, been given only lies, propaganda and

false values. Here on Gor, on the other hand, I *was becoming deeply in touch

with ‘my femininity.

as keenly and deeply, never on Never on Earth had I felt it Earth had I been so

deeply sensitive to it, so much aware of its needs, delicacy and depth. But here

on Gor I was clearly aware of my lack of fulfillment, instead of, as on Earth,

usually only vaguely or obscurely aware of it. What had been an almost

unlocalizable malaise on Earth, except at certain times when, to my horror, I

had understood it more clearly, on Gor had become a reasonably clearly focused

problem. On Earth it had been as though I was miserable and uncomfortable

without, often, really knowing why, whereas on Gor I, bad suddenly become aware

that I was terribly hungry. Moreover, on Gor, for the first time, so to speak, I

had discovered the nature of food, that food for which I so sorely hungered, and

the exact conditions, the exclusive conditions, perhaps so humiliating and

degrading to me, yet exalting, under which it might be obtained. Such thoughts I

usually thrust quickly from my mind.

“You are right, Drusus,” I said, suddenly. “Slaves are unimportant. They are

nothing.”

“Of course,” be said. “But what has brought this to mind?”

“A conversation I had this morning with that little chit of a slave, Susan.”

“Ob,” be said.

“It is unimportant,” I said.

He nodded.

“Do you know her?” I asked.

“I have seen her, yes, several times,” be said.

“What do you think she would bring?” I asked.

“She is a curvaceous little property,” be said, “and seems to understand herself

well, and the fittingness of the collar on her beck.”

“Yes?” I said.

“Three tarsks, perhaps,” he said.

“So little?” I asked, pleased.

“Three silver tarsks, of course,” said he.

“Oh,” I said, angrily.

“There is little doubt what she would look like at the slave ring,” he said,

“and, too, she has doubtless received some training.”

I did not doubt but what Susan, the little slut, had received sonic training.

There was not a detail about her which did not seem, in its way, a perfection.

This morning she had again, in entering my quarters, discovered me near the foot

of the couch. Usually, early in the morning, before she entered, I would try to

be elsewhere.

“I do not know what is wrong with me,” I confessed to her, desperately needing

someone to talk to, as she served my breakfast. “I sometimes feel so empty, so

miserable, so uncomfortable, so meaningless, so restless.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she had said, deferentially.

“I just do not know what is wrong with me,” I had lamented.

“No, Mistress,” she had said.

“You,” I said, “on the other hand, seem contrastingly content and serene, even

fulfilled and happy.”

“Perhaps, Mistress,” she smiled.

“What is wrong with me?” I asked.

“Your symptoms are clear, Mistress,” she said.

“Oh?” I said.

“I have seen them in many women,” she said.

“And just what is wrong with me?” I asked, irritably.

“I would prefer not to speak,” she said.

“Speak!” I had said.

“Must IT’ she asked.

“Yesl” I said.

“Mistress needs a master,” she said.

“Get outl” I bad screamed, leaping to my feet, kicking aside the small table,

sobbing. “Get outl Get outt”

The girl had fled from the room, terrified.

I bad sobbed then in the room, and thrown things about and run to the wall, and

struck it with my fists, weeping.

“No!” I bad cried. “That is stupid, stupidl She is wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,

wrong!”

Only later had I been able to wash and compose myself, and prepare to accompany

Drusus Rencius to the height of the walls, to enjoy the view, as we had planned.

I had recalled that he had not, initially, wished to take me to the walls, and

then, rather suddenly, it had seemed, had agreed to do so.

“I am a larger woman than Susan,” I informed Drusus Rencius, on the wall,

acidly. “I am taller, and my breasts are larger, and my hips are wider.”

“These things being equal, such things might somewhat improve your price,” he

admitted

“I scorn slaves,” I said. “I despise them.”

“Quite properly,” said he.

I looked out, over the wall.

How pleased I was that I was freel How frightful, how terrible, it would be, to

be a slave!

“Is Lady Sheila crying?” he asked.

“No!” I said.

I fought the wild needs within me, seeming to well up from my very depths, needs

which seemed to be to surrender, to submit and love, totally. irreservedly,

giving all, asking nothing. How superficial, suddenly, seemed then the

dispositions to selfishness and egotism in me. From whence could these other

emotions, so overwhelming within me, have derived, I asked myself. Surely they,

frightening me in their way, seemed directly at odds with the Earth

conditionings which I had been subjected. I feared they could have their source

only in the very depths of my nature and being.

I dabbed at my eyes with the corner of my veil. “I am not crying,” I said, “It

is the wind.” I then turned about, to look back from the wall over the city of

Corcyrus. “Here,” I said. “That is better.”

The tarns on their perches were now on my left.

I looked over the roofs of Corcyrus. I could see, among trees, the various

theaters, and the stadium. I could see the palace from where we stood. I could

see, too, some of the gardens, and the-roof of the library, on the avenue of

lphicrates.

“The city is beautiful,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, joining me in surveying it.

I was in love with the Gorean world,-though I found it in some ways rather

fearful, primarily, I suppose, because it permitted female slavery.

I wondered if Susan were right, if J needed a master. Then I put such thoughts

from my mind, as absurd.

I was not a cringing, groveling slave, a girl locked in a collar, who must hope

that some brute might see fit to throw her a crust of bread. I was quite

different. I was a woman of Earth. I was proud and free. Indeed, on this world I

even enjoyed a particularly exalted status, one a thousand times beyond that of

my imboDded sisters in the city below. I was a Tatrixl

I looked down from the wall, over the many roofs of Corcyrus.

Why was Susan happy, and I miserable? She was only a collared slave. I was free.