Kur of Gor (19 page)

"The gravity surrogate,” said Pyrrhus, “is achieved by rotation."

"It seems much like that of Gor,” said Cabot.

"Intentionally,” said Pyrrhus.

"One can arrange a variety of gravities,” said Arcesilaus, “depending on the speed of the rotation."

"I did not understand such worlds to be so large,” said Cabot.

"This is far from the largest,” said Arcesilaus.

"How large is it?” asked Cabot.

"In measures with which you are familiar,” said Arcesilaus, “some sixteen hundred square pasangs."

"The territory of Venna,” said Cabot, “is not so great."

"I do not know,” said Arcesilaus.

"It is very large,” said Cabot.

"Far from the largest,” said Arcesilaus.

"It is the size of a small country,” said Cabot.

"I suppose so,” said Arcesilaus.

"There is day and night here,” said Cabot. He had ascertained this while still in the stable. The brunette had been left behind, on her chain. With the group, other than Cabot, Arcesilaus, and Pyrrhus, were the interlocutor, whom we shall call, following an earlier conversation between Cabot and the brunette, Grendel, and one or perhaps two others, depending on how one wishes to count. We must certainly count at least one, for he was a male human, a Gorean, a confederate of the Kurii, whose name was Peisistratus, who was of Cosian origin. He was not armed, for humans are not permitted arms in the habitat, save in the areas reserved for them. He did, however, carry a switch. It was some two feet in length. It was clipped on his belt. It was of slender, black, supple leather. It was felt that his presence might be useful if difficulties arose in communication with the human, Tarl Cabot. Also, as we know now he was a spy for the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, who was Theocrat of the Steel World in question. When necessary, we shall refer to the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, not inappropriately we trust, by the name of a powerful war leader and king, Agamemnon. The Agamemnon of whose name we have availed ourselves may, as we understand it, have been mythical. I suspect not. The Eleventh face of the Nameless One, however, is not mythical. Its presence we are told is everywhere. I do not know if that is true or not. I doubt it, however, for if it were true, why would it make use of spies? It does, however, upon occasion, assume bodies. I have seen more than one.

The other entity in our small group, which may or may not be counted, as one wishes, was the leashed pet of Arcesilaus, an unspeeched blonde human female, indeed, she whom we encountered earlier in the container. She was very pleased to have been allowed to accompany her master, even into the stable, where he, Pyrrhus, the interlocutor, and Peisistratus, the human, had come to fetch Tarl Cabot, who had, upon their arrival, risen to his feet, and saluted them, with an uplifted hand, and the word “Tal,” to which greeting Peisistratus had responded, similarly. “Tal” had come, too, from the translators of Arcesilaus and Pyrrhus. The blonde had snarled at the brunette, for she remembered her with hostility from the container, and the brunette, on all fours, had drawn back, pulling to the length of her chain.

Her discomfiture amused the human, Peisistratus. “She is
kajira
?” he inquired of Cabot.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Why is she not in position?” inquired Peisistratus.

"She does not know she is
kajira
,” said Cabot.

"Position her,” said Peisistratus.

"She is still learning the language,” said Cabot. Among Goreans when one speaks of “the language,” it is always Gorean, as though no others existed.

"She is not speechless?” asked Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot.

"She is a barbarian,” he said.

"Yes,” said Cabot. Goreans often think of those who do not speak their language as barbarians. Indeed, that is the usual definition of a barbarian in Gorean, “one who does not speak the language."

"Earth?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"I have gathered fruit on Earth,” said Peisistratus.

"You are a slaver?” said Cabot.

"Yes,” he said. “What is her language?"

"English,” said Cabot.

Peisistratus turned to the brunette.

He spoke to her in English.

"Girl!” he said.

"I beg your pardon,” she said, startled.

"Slut!” he snapped.

"Sir!” she protested.

"Are you a female?"

"I do not understand,” she said.

"Are you a female?” he inquired, again, patiently.

"Obviously!” she said.

"And how should a female be before men?” he asked.

"I do not understand you,” she said, frightened.

"Are you
kajira
?” he asked, harshly.

She looked wildly at Cabot, who nodded.

"Yes,” she said, nodding, “I am
kajira
."

Peisistratus looked to Cabot. “I thought you said she did not know herself
kajira
."

"She does not know the meaning of the word,” he said. “She thinks it means she is beautiful, or a beauty, such things."

Peisistratus then turned again to the girl.

He removed the switch from his belt.

She regarded the implement disbelievingly.

"Kneel,” said Peisistratus to the girl, “now, instantly! Back on your heels. Spread your knees!"

"My knees!” she cried.

"Yes,” he said, “widely. More widely! Straighten your back, place your hands, palms down, on your thighs, lift your head, look straight ahead!"

"Never!” she cried.

And then the switch fell savagely upon her, twice.

She screamed in misery.

She looked at Cabot, startled, disbelievingly, in pain. She had felt the switch. Cabot supposed it might have been the first blow she had ever received. This was true, as she had been, for most practical purposes, reared by nurses, maids, and governesses, none of whom would have dared risk their positions by more than a suggestion or a gently reproving word, easily ignored. “Help me!” she cried. There were two marks on her body. Doubtless the blows stung. He had struck her only twice. He had shown her indulgence, doubtless because he sensed her ignorance. A more aware
kajira
would have doubtless been punished seriously for her lack of instant obedience. But then a more aware
kajira
would not be likely to have been punished at all, for she would have obeyed instantly. Aware
kajirae
are seldom punished, for there is no reason to punish them. They know, of course, that they may be punished for the least failure to be fully pleasing. Indeed, they know, as well, the master needs no reason to punish them. They may be punished at any time, at his pleasure, with or without a reason. He is master.

"No,” he said.

"Up, slut, position, position!” said Peisistratus.

Wildly, frantically, sobbing, tears streaming from her eyes, in pain, the brunette knelt before Peisistratus, in position, as required.

"Keep your hands on your thighs!” snapped Peisistratus, for she had dared to move to cover herself.

She complied instantly.

Cabot was pleased to note this alacrity.

Too, he was pleased to see her in position.

She looked well in position, in the position of a Gorean female slave, indeed, rather, in the position of a Gorean female slave of a particular sort, the Gorean female pleasure slave.

Indeed, Cabot thought, she might make a nice pleasure slave.

He supposed that her former male acquaintances would have enjoyed having her kneeling so, before them.

"Do you speak Gorean?” Peisistratus inquired of the girl.

"A little,” she stammered. “A few words, some simple sentences!"

"What were your first words in Gorean?” he asked.

"
La kajira
!” she said.

Peisistratus then turned to Cabot, and he spoke in Gorean. “You did well,” he said.

"She bespoke herself
kajira
on a satellite of Priest-Kings, the Prison Moon,” said Cabot.

"I had heard this,” said Peisistratus, who glanced at Arcesilaus, who nodded.

The two men then returned their attention to the girl on the chain, kneeling before them, in the straw.

Yes, Cabot thought, the former male acquaintances of the former Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym would have doubtless enjoyed seeing her as she was now, frightened, and obedient, in the position of a Gorean pleasure slave, subject to masculine discipline and direction.

"You are a professional slaver, are you not?” said Cabot.

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

"What do you think of her?” asked Cabot.

"Less than a half tarsk,” he said.

"So little?” said Cabot.

"She is a barbarian,” he said. “She knows little Gorean. She is new to her condition. She is ignorant, untutored, untrained. She does not yet know how to drive a man out of his mind with pleasure."

"But we are thinking in terms of silver, I trust."

"Yes, silver."

"Then you think she has promise?"

"They all have promise,” he said. “The collar brings out their beauty. Her slave curves could be worse."

Cabot nodded. To him, of course, somehow, she was maddeningly attractive. Had not the Priest-Kings seen to that? But, too, he did not doubt that she was, objectively, an incredibly beautiful young woman, who would be of interest to almost any connoisseur of her form of merchandise. And he did not doubt that several of the men she had known on Earth might very well have considered her, as she had claimed, the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. And she, in her unweening vanity, may well have held this view herself. Her mirror, surely, had not lied. On the other hand, her mirror, too, had not been familiar with, other than its owner, women of an excellence sufficient to be brought to the marking irons and the clasping collars of Gor.

"What do you think, with training, and such,” asked Cabot.

"Perhaps as much as three silver tarsks,” he said, “perhaps as much as four, or five."

"Excellent,” said Cabot.

In a market where beauty was commonly cheap that was an excellent price. But had he not assured her that he thought she would sell well, that she would bring a good price in market of the right sort, a slave market?

"Do you have any objection,” inquired Peisistratus, “to enlightening this stupid little vulo, this ignorant little tasta, as to what she is?"

Cabot shrugged. “No,” he said, “she must learn sometime."

"I think it will be much to her advantage to come to a realization of this as soon as possible, particularly if she should be outside the stable."

Cabot regarded the former Miss Pym, who had wisely retained position.

"I think so,” said Cabot.

Women well understand the switch, the whip, the rope, the chain, such things, often from the very first sight of them.

Outside the stable, a slave, not knowing herself a slave, she might inadvertently behave improperly, and find herself subjected to reprimands which might place her very life in jeopardy. Too, in many milieus it is far safer for a woman to be a slave than to be free. The free person might be simply slain; the slave, as a valued domestic animal, would be far more likely to be spared. Similarly, one would not slay valued kaiila but would add them to one's herds.

Peisistratus then spoke to the brunette in English.

"Repeat,” he said, “firmly, and clearly, the first words you learned in Gorean."

"
La kajira
!” she said.

"Again!” he snapped.

"
La kajira
!"

"Keep your knees apart!"

She complied, frightened.

How soft, and inviting, were her thighs, and how sweet the secret gate to which they led.

"Again!"

"
La kajira
!” she cried.

"It is true,” he said.

"Sir?"

"What do they mean?” he said.

"I do not know,” she sobbed. “That I am a beauty, that I am beautiful, I do not know!"

"You are vain, are you not?"

"I do not know!” she wept.

"You are,” he said.

"Yes, Sir,” she sobbed.

"But that is quite all right, for one such as you,” he said.

"For one such as I?"

"Yes,” he said, “for one who is
kajira
."

"It does mean then that I am beautiful?"

"No,” he said, “but it is seldom that one who is not beautiful is
kajira
."

She regarded him, frightened.

"You suspect, do you not?” he asked.

"No,” she said. “No! No!"

"Yes,” said he. “It means ‘I am a slave girl.’”

"No!” she cried. “No! No! No!"

"Do not break position,” warned Peisistratus.

"You bespoke yourself slave on the Prison Moon,” said Cabot. “The words were spoken. The thing was done."

"I was frightened!” she said. “I didn't think! I didn't know what I was saying!"

"Slaves may not lie,” said Cabot. “Do not lie. You knew well what you were saying. Do not lie. You are not a free woman. They may lie, you may not. Do not lie. You are now subject to discipline, and may be whipped."

"Whipped?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “The words were spoken. That is sufficient. It was done. Clearly, too, you meant what you said. It was obvious. But that is not important. It does not matter whether you meant what you said or not. The words were spoken. The thing was done."

"I was then a slave?"

"Yes."

"I am a slave?"

"Yes."

"You knew this all the time!” she said to Cabot.

"Yes,” he said.

"But you did not tell me!"

"Of course not,” said Cabot. “I was amused by your arrogance, and such, how you carried on as though you might be free."

"You were playing with me!"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Beast!” she wept, but feared to break position.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Free me!” she cried.

"Free yourself,” he said.

"How, how?” she asked.

"There is no way,” he said. “You are slave. There is no way you can free yourself."

"I despise men!” she cried.

"I do not think so,” he said.

"I do, I do despise them!” she wept.

"You now belong to them,” he said.

"I do not want to be a slave!” she cried.