Kajira of Gor (38 page)

it is kept locked up.”

“You must help me,” I said. “I am as sheared as you.”

“What can we do?” asked a woman.

“You had best flee,” said another.

“I do not know what to do, or where to go,” I sobbed.

“Who are you?” asked a woman.

“I am a free woman,” I said.

I heard a reaction, a shrinking back in the chains.

“Do not be afraid,” I said. “I will not hurt you. Too, do not kneel, please.”

“You are not a free woman,” said a woman.

“You are a runaway slave,” said another.

“If you were a free woman,” said another, “you would not come to slaves. You

would go to free persons!”

“I am hungry and miserable,” I said. “I need help. I do not care whether you

think I am slave or free.”

“She is not branded, I do not think,” said a woman. I pulled back. I felt hands

checking my left and right thighs, the two most common brand sites for a Gorean

slave.

“No, I do not think so,” said another woman, apprehensively.

“Some men do not brand their slaves,” said a woman.

“They are fools,” said another.

“Yes,” said another.

“But she is sheared,” said another, feeling my head.

“She must then be a slave,” said another.

“Some free women have themselves sheared, to sell their hair,” said another.

“I am a free woman,” I sobbed.

“She is naked,” said another woman.

“She doesn’t even have a string on her belly,” said another.

I pulled back, angrily, from them. a,

“Free women do not run about the countryside naked, my dear,” said another

woman.

“Nonetheless,” I said, “I am a free womanl”

“Where are your clothes?” asked a woman.

“A man captured me,” I said. “He took my clothesl He sheared my hair, too, for

moneyl”

“Why didn’t he keep you?” asked i woman.

“She must be ugly,” said one of the women.

“I am not uglyl” I said.

“Then why didn’t he keep you?” asked the woman.

“I don’t knowl” I said.

“You are a slave,” said a woman.

“Nol” I said.

“Liarl” said another.

“I am a free woman,” I sobbed. “I am a free woman.

“If you are a free woman, and are not from this area,” said one of the slaves,

“I think you should flee. It is not safe for you here.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Surely it would not do for you to be caught here,” she said.

“No!” I said, frightened.

“Then I think you should flee, now, while there is still time.

“Where can I go?” I asked. “Where can I run?”

“Anywhere,” said a woman. “But hurryl”

“Why?” I asked.

“It is nearly time for slave check,” said a woman.

“Slave check?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“It is too late!” whispered a woman.

I looked wildly about. Not feet away I saw a lantern approaching the back of the

wagon. I quickly lay down, with .the others, huddled against them, as if asleep.

I heard the wagon gate being lowered in the back. It swung down on its binges,

striking against the wagon. I heard the boards of the wagon bed creak as they

were subjected to additional weight. I sensed the light of the lantern in the

wagon, under the tentlike tarpaulin, illuminating bodies.

I lay very still.

“Well,” said a voice, “what have we here?” I felt a foot kick me.

I turned about, blinking up into the light of the lantern, terrified.

“You have been caught, Slavel” said a woman near me, elatedly.

23
   
The Chain

“On your back,” said the man, “and put your hands, palms up, where I can see

them.”

I did so.

‘Now cross your wrists, in front of you,” he said.

I did this and he, with one hand, grasped them both. In this grip I was held as

helplessly as a child. He pulled me to my knees and, lifting the lantern,

examined where I had lain.

He then put me again to my back and released my hands.

“I am unarmed,” I said. “I have no weapons. I am utterly defenseless. Please be

kind to me.”

“Durbarl” he called. He then hung the lantern from a hook on the ridgepole,

beneath the damp, brown tarpaulin.

“I am not what you think,” I assured him. “I am a free woman. I am not a slave.

I am neither collared, as you can see, nor branded, as you may easily

determine.”

“You are a free woman?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes,” I said. “And I am desperately in need of help. It is my hope that you

will be kind to me, giving me food and clothing, and money and guidance, so that

I may return to my home in Lydius. That is on the Laurius river. The town Laura

is east of it.”

“Is Lydius north or south of Kassau?” he asked.

“North,” I said.

“No,” he said. “South.”

There was laughter from the women.

“Your accent,” he said, “suggests that you might be from Tabor.”

“Yesl” I said, seizing on this. “I am. My parents had arranged an unwanted

companionship for me. I fled. I now want to go somewhere else.”

“Tabor is far away,” he said. “Did you come all this way on foot?”

“Yesl” I said.

“That is amazing,” he said, “for Tabor is an island.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. The women in the wagon laughed.

“What is going on?” asked a fellow coming up to the wagon, fastening a belt of

accouterments about himself.

“See what we have here,” said the first fellow.

“Ah!” he said.

“She claims to be a free woman,” said the first fellow.

“Of course,” said the second.

“A man captured me,” I said. “He took my clothes! He sheared my hair, for

money!”

“If you are a free woman,” said the second man, he, I gathered, who was Durbar,

“what are you doing here, crawling about with slaves?”

“I was afraid,” I said.

“If you are truly a free woman,” said the first man, “what were you afraid of?”

“You are right,” I said. “I am a free woman. I should not have been afraid.”

The two men laughed, and the chained women, as well. I looked about, at them,

from face to face. I saw their amusement. I saw the collars and chains on their

necks. How foolish I felt. I had again been tricked. obviously, in a situation

like this, a free woman might have a great deal to fear.

“I am hungry,” I said. “I am desperately hungry. I am starving. Please give me

something to cat.”

“Bring her something to eat,” said the first man to him called Durbar “something

appropriate.”

Durbar left. In a few moments be returned with a small wooden bowl filled with

dried, precooked meal. He poured some water into this.

I was then handed the bowl.

Some of the women laughed.

“Mix it with your fingers,” said the first man. Then be turned to Durbar. “Look

about the camp,” he said. “See if there are any more skulking about.”

“I am alone,” I told them.

But Durbar went to check.

I, mixing the water with the precooked meal, formed a sort of cold porridge or

gruel. I then, with my fingers, and putting the bowl even to my lips, fed

eagerly upon that thick, bland, moist substance.

By the time Durbar had returned I had finished, even to the desperate wiping and

licking of the bowl, that I might secure every last particle of that simple,

precious, vitalizing provender.

“You eat slave gruel well,” said the first men. There was laughter from the

chained women.

I put down my head. The bowl was taken from me. So that was slave gruel, I

thought. I knew that it, with its various supplements, was extremely nourishing.

It had been designed for the feeding of slaves, to keep them healthy, slim and

trim. On the other hand, although I had devoured it eagerly, I could see where a

slave who was not starving might, after a time, desperately strive to improve

her services to the master, that he might see fit, in his kindness, to grant her

at least the scraps of a more customary diet.

“Do you still claim to be a free woman?” asked the first man.

“Yes,” I said.

“You have the body of a slave,” be said.

“It is not my fault,” I said, “that I have the body of a slave.”

“Can you read?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“What is your name?” he asked.

I thought wildly for a moment. Then I said, “Tiffany, La Tiffany!”

“What sort of name is that?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“It is an unusual name,” he said.

“Maybe it is a barbarian name,” suggested Durbar.

“Are you a barbarian?” asked the first man.

“Maybe,” I said. I saw scorn in the faces of several of I chained women.

“Look,” said the first man, taking me by the upper arm, and turning it to the

light. “The barbarian brand.”

I did not see how I could explain this vaccination mark the men without making

clear that my origin was not Gorean. The vaccination was in connection with a

disease which, too, as far as I knew, did not even exist on Gor.

“Get on your feet, here by the lantern,” said the first m

“And open your mouth, widely.”

I complied.

“Durbar, come up here,” said the first man. He was joined by his fellow. “Back

there, see?” he asked Durbar.

“Yes,” said Durbar.

As a child I had had some fillings in the molar area, on lower left side.

“They are common in barbarians,” said the first man.

“Yes,” said Durbar. “But, those of the caste of physician do such things. I have

seen them in some Gorean girls.”

“That is true,” admitted the first man.

These fellows must also know that doubtless such things might be found

occasionally in the mouths of some Gorean men. On the other hand, of course,

they would not have been likely to have seen them there. They would have seen

them presumably, only in the mouths of girls, slaves. One of things that a

master commonly checks in a female he is considering buying is the number and

condition of her teeth.

“Lie back down,” said the first man, “on your back, as before.”

I did so.

“Are you a barbarian?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I did not see how I could, in the light of facts, hope to conceal

this from them.

Several of the women laughed. Barbarians, I gather were to be held in contempt.

The men, however, I no somewhat to my uneasiness, did not seem to be viewing

with contempt. They were viewing me, rather, with definite interest. I did not

understand clearly, at that time, the rather special position on Gor occupied by

barbarian slaves. Servile and low, and trained to sensuous wonders, they often

brought high prices; to many Gorean men they seemed ideal objects, or among

such, on which to slake their most primitive and brutal sexual lusts.

“You speak the language very well,” said the first man. “I could not even place

your accent. indeed, I was not even certain it was barbarian.”

“It is,” I said. “Thank you.”

As I lay at their feet, on the blanket, on the boards of the slave wagon, they

were looking down at me. I was aware that it was very much as a female that I

was being looked at.

“what are you going to do with me?” I asked.

The first man shrugged. “Turn you over to the authorities,” he said.

“Please do not do so,” I begged. “Please!”

They continued to look at me.

“Please,” I begged. “Please, please,” I whimpered. I lifted my body, piteously,

to them.

“Slut!” hissed one of the chained slaves.

“Please,” I whimpered. “Please!”

“We’ll give you a trial,” said the first man. “You first, Durbar.”

I reached up for him as he crouched down, swiftly, between my legs. Durbar was

not first in the camp, I realized.

He would warm me for the use of the other. It was he whom I must especially

please.

A few Ehn later, in the arms of the leader, the first driver, I suddenly cried

out with fear and surprise. It had been my intention to be especially pleasing

to him but, suddenly, it seemed as though I were being taken away from myself.

“No!” I said, suddenly. “Please, stop!” But I clutched him desperately. “Stop!”

I begged. “Oh, stop!” I gritted my teeth.

My fingernails cut into his arm and back. “Slut!” hissed one of the slaves.

“Slut!”

“The feelings!” I cried. “The feelings! Please, stop!” But the brute laughed,

and did not stop.

“I cannot stand it!” I cried

But still the beast did not desist!

The sensation that Speusippus had begun to induce in me long ago, that which had

struck such terror into me, now, seemingly from somewhere deep in my belly,

began to emerge irresistibly. I had not known what it would be like in its

larger effect, let alone its resolution.

“No!” I cried.

And then I yielded to him.

“Slut, slut, slut!” hissed one of the slaves.

I then clutched him, startled and astounded. I could hardly believe what I had

felt. I held tightly to him. “Please do not let me go,” I begged. “Hold me, if

only for a moment! Hold me! Hold me, please!”

“what a slut she is,” said a woman.

“Yes,” said another.

I held tightly to the man. I tried to cope with my feelings and understandings.

It had been my intention merely to be very pleasing to him; I had desired,

really, to do little but give him great pleasure. Then something had happened.

It seemed somehow as though he had suddenly taken me away from myself. He had

taken command of me. He had suddenly begun to make me move and respond according