Kur of Gor (97 page)

"And you hope to reclaim her?"

"Why not? I own her, legally. And once she was unkind to me. And so I hope to have her naked on her knees before me, in slave bracelets."

"Doubtless she is very beautiful."

"Quite so,” said Cabot. “Certainly worth a collar, as many others."

"But is she not a great and noble woman?"

"Doubtless she seems so to the world,” said Cabot, “but now, under her father's own laws, she is only another slave."

"She sits upon the throne?"

"And desecrates it,” said Cabot. “Can you conceive the ignominy of this? Commonly, even in low-caste households, a slave is not permitted to sit on a bench or chair, and certainly would not be permitted to recline on a supper couch. Indeed, in many domiciles, a slave is not even allowed on her master's couch, but is used at its foot."

"Yet,” said the slave, “she sits upon the throne?"

"Uneasily, I trust,” said Cabot, “in terror, lest her secret be discovered."

"In the garb of a free woman?"

"Did the girls in the pleasure cylinder not speak to you of such things,” he asked, “when they were measuring you for a tunic, teaching you how to belt a camisk, and such?"

"Yes, Master,” she said, “slaves must be distinctively garbed, that there be no mistaking them for free women."

"It can be a capital offense,” said Cabot, “for a slave to present herself as a free woman, to pretend to be a free woman, to garb herself as a free woman, or such."

"Surely she must know this,” said the slave, fearfully.

"Of course,” said Cabot.

"And you hope to bring her to your holding?"

"Certainly,” he said.

"Let me be her sandal slave,” said the brunette.

"No,” said Cabot. “You are clearly a man's slave."

"Yes, Master,” she smiled.

"Trust that you never become the sandal slave of a free woman,” said Cabot.

"I gather from Corinna,” she said, “that that would be unpleasant."

"You have little to fear there,” said Cabot, “as you are ignorant of the intricacies of the free woman's toilette, the arrangements of robes, their foldings, drapings, and closures, the subtleties of various veils, the choice of scents, many things."

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"A not unknown punishment for a slave,” said Cabot, “is to sell her to a free woman."

"I see,” she said.

"The mere fear of that,” said Cabot, “motivates many a slave to increase many times her efforts to please her master."

"The slave, being a slave,” said the brunette, “must in any event strive to serve and please her master!"

"And?” said Cabot.

"—in all ways, to the best of her ability,” said the slave.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

They were then silent, for a time. Cabot seemed angry, and lost in thought, and the slave was at first reluctant to speak.

"I grieve that Master is distressed,” she said, at last. “And I fear I do not, at least to my satisfaction, understand wholly the causes of his concern. The considerations which seem to motivate him do not seem to me coercive, even weighty."

"You are not a man,” he said, “nor are you of my caste, the scarlet caste, nor are you Gorean."

"It seems, to me,” she said, “that I am like a piece of fruit, in some lovely orchard, dangling on a branch before you, perhaps luscious fruit, certainly within reach, which you might pluck or not, as you pleased. Why then would you not reach out your hand, and seize me, and pluck me from the branch? Some men, I am sure, would enjoy having me at their feet. I knew men on Earth who would, I am sure, have reveled in my bondage, and striven to buy me."

"I did not seek you in the markets, or hunt you, or capture you,” said Cabot.

"Release me into the forest,” she suggested. “With a word to Ramar he will bring me back, bleeding, to your feet."

"I did not choose you,” said Cabot.

"Choose me now,” she said.

"—Now?” said Cabot.

"Choose me now,” she said. “See if I prove satisfactory. Slave girls, surely, are often tried out by masters, to see if they are satisfactory, and, if they are not, the master may seek another. Can you not try me out?"

"—Perhaps,” said Cabot.

"Are not some girls rented, or put out, on a trial basis?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"It is now your free choice,” she said, eagerly, “to choose me or not."

"Interesting,” said Cabot.

"Others may have brought me to your attention,” she said. “But the choice is yours. You may accept me or not, and for a given time or not. It is up to you."

"True,” said Cabot.

"You may then, later, if you wish,” she said, “give me away, or, better, as I understand it, sell me, to get some better sense of my value, what I might bring on the sales block."

"True,” said Cabot.

"Put others, and their thoughts, or plans, or projects, from your mind,” she said. “If you let such things, their fulfillment, or their defiance, the acceptance of their views, or the repudiation of their views, influence you, it is they, you see, who determined you, not you yourself. You are Master. Not they! If you find a slave of interest, keep her, if only for an Ahn, or if you do not find her of interest, it is a simple thing to rid yourself of her. She is a slave. Return her to the markets. Perhaps another might find her of interest."

"You are a clever slave, Cecily,” he said. “But that is not unusual for a girl in a collar. It is a pleasure to have them under our whips."

"I do not know if I am clever or not,” she said, “but I am a slave, and yours."

"True,” said Cabot.

"I am a human female, at your feet,” she said. “Is this not where you want us?"

"It is,” said Cabot.

"And it is where we want to be,” she said.

"As an abject slave?"

"Certainly,” she said, “and the more abject the better, the more abject the more owned, the more helpless, the more possessed, the more as we want to be, the more as we want to know ourselves, the female of a master!"

"Interesting,” said Cabot.

"We do not dream of weaklings,” she said. “We dream of masters."

"What you say is true,” said Cabot, “that is, that it is I who should decide, as I wish, and not be forced, or guided, in one way or another, into, or from, channels wrought by others."

"You are Master,” she said. “Not they, whoever or whatever they might be."

"Men are sometimes blinded by their vanity,” said Cabot. “Sometimes they fear being tricked or manipulated, of being lured into pathways and projects not their own. Sometimes they stumble over themselves. Sometimes, too often, I fear, they are their own most grievous foes."

"Sometimes, Master,” she said, “what lies in plainest view, most open to all, is most concealed to some, who refuse to see it."

"I think that is true,” said Cabot.

"A stranger, a bystander, a child, might see such things,” she said.

"Even a slave,” said Cabot.

"Yes, Master,” she said, “even a slave."

"And perhaps particularly,” said Cabot, “one who is keenly motivated, one who fears to be put into the markets, who is reluctant to ascend to the height of the auction block."

"It is true,” she said, “that I hope my master will keep me. I will strive zealously to please him."

"Why do you wish to be kept?” he asked. “Perhaps you fear being exhibited naked, under the torches, standing in the sawdust of the block, being bid upon, being displayed by the auctioneer?"

"Perhaps, Master,” she said.

"Millions of women, in numerous cultures, on various worlds, have had this experience,” said Cabot, “some of them several times."

"Yes, Master."

"The female is a familiar and popular commodity,” said Cabot.

"I know enough of the history of Earth,” she said, “to be well aware of the market value of my sex."

"And if you knew more of Gor,” he said, “you would be even more clearly aware of it."

"My master may exhibit me, and put me up for sale,” she said. “I know that. But I hope he will not do so."

"Why?” he asked.

She looked away. “Please do not make a slave speak,” she said.

"You need not speak,” he said.

"Thank you, Master."

"I think I should lash you,” he said.

"Please, do not, Master,” she said.

"I do not think men alone are plagued by such self-deceit,” said Cabot.

"No, Master,” she said, “I knew long I was a slave, before I was knelt before masters. Thousands of times I screamed aloud in my mind against the quiet, insistent whisper, the amused, mocking whisper, which came, again and again, from the mind beneath my mind. ‘You are a slave,’ it said. ‘Do you not know it? Look in the mirror! Strip yourself and kneel. Do you not see a slave there, and it is you who are the slave!’ Long I denied the needs of my belly. Long I fought my heart's pleas! And then, strangely, fragments and planets away from Earth, in a cylindrical world, a world made of steel, I found my lips pressed at last to the whip. It was there I was rightfully knelt."

"As you should have been, on Earth,” he said.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"In a way,” said Cabot, “one could see all this as a splendid joke."

"Master?"

"In attempting to manipulate me,” he said, “they, whom you need not know, for you are a slave, they, in all their wisdom and cunning, may have succeeded in little other than putting in my way a pleasant little slave, one on whose neck my collar looks well, and with whom I may do as I please."

"Master?” she said, suddenly frightened.

"For that is all you are, now, in my view,” he said, “a pleasant little slave."

"Surely more than that, Master!” she wept.

"To be sure, one who is nicely curved."

"Master!” she protested.

"You do have nice slave curves, Cecily,” he said.

"Surely I am more to you than just any slave!” she said.

"Why?” he asked.

"Have we not been matched?"

"Certainly,” he said.

"Have I not been selected, with you in mind?” she said.

"Yes,” said he, “and my thanks to those who have done so."

"Surely, then,” she said, “I am not just another slave to you!"

"You have been nicely selected,” he said. “And that is very nice. Certainly I appreciate that. Who would not? But when all is said and done, that is all you are, just another slave to me."

"Please, no, Master!” she wept. “Please, no, no, Master!"

"Perhaps you understand better now, what it is to be a slave."

"Master!"

"Get up,” he said. “The feast is not yet done. Return to your serving."

"Master!"

"Now."

"But my needs, Master!” she wept.

"Needs?” he asked.

"My needs, my slave needs!” she cried. “Please! Be kind! Have mercy! Surely you have some sense of my misery, what I feel! I am only a slave! Is it not you who put slave needs into me? Is it not you who have done this to me? Do you think I am any longer a free woman? I am not! I am a slave! I beg you! Be kind! Please be kind to me! If nothing else, touch my arm, my hip, my thigh, that I might cry out, and weep!"

"Resume your service, slave,” he said. “Now."

"Yes, Master,” she wept, and leapt up, and hurried to resume her duties.

"Paga!” called a fellow.

"Yes, Master!” she wept, and went to the vat, to obtain a pitcher.

It was something like an Ahn later, and more than one fellow had retired from the circle, to his blankets.

Cabot had watched the brunette in her service. Her movements now were stiff, almost wooden. Tears had coursed down her cheeks. She did not meet his eyes. He did not summon her to him.

Only seven or eight fellows, mostly half asleep, were still about the fire. Some three slaves were about, in case anything might be needed.

Corinna, who had remained at service, looked to Cabot, and he nodded.

Corinna then fetched a goblet of paga, and went to the brunette slave, and spoke to her. The brunette shook her head piteously, negatively, but Corinna was firm, and was not to be gainsaid, and pressed the goblet into her hands, and indicated Cabot.

The brunette approached Cabot, and knelt before him. She lifted the goblet toward him, holding it in both hands. Her head was down, between her extended arms.

"Wine, Master?” she said.

"It seems paga,” said Cabot.

The slave looked up, and drew back the goblet a bit.

"We have no wine,” she said.

"That is known to me,” said Cabot.

Again she put down her head, and offered the goblet.

"Wine, Master,” she said.

"You understand this, do you not?” asked Cabot.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"You offer me your wine,” said Cabot.

"Yes, Master,” she said. “But reject my wine, as I know you will. Do not play longer with me. I have suffered enough. I know now you despise me. You have not touched me. I know I am only an ignorant Earth-girl, who finds herself unaccountably in a man's collar. I cannot dance. I do not know the kisses. I cannot compete with the Corinnas of the camp. I am not Gorean. I am only an ignorant Earth girl."

"You might try to interest me,” said Cabot.

"Please do not mock me,” she said.

"Kiss the goblet,” said Cabot, kindly. “Lingeringly. And regard me while you do so. Now lift your head and touch the goblet, lightly, to your collar, so that you hear the sound."

"Please do not make me do these things!” she said. “You do not know what it is doing to me, how it makes me feel!"

"You have lovely breasts,” said Cabot. “Now touch the goblet lightly to each of them, first the left, then the right. Make certain you clearly feel the touch, pressing it in a bit."

"Master!” she protested.

"Now lower the goblet to your belly,” he said, “and, while first looking at me, and then, secondly, down to the goblet, press the rim into your belly, firmly."

Tears coursed down her cheeks.

"You may now,” he said, “offer me wine."

She then put her head down, again, between her extended arms, the goblet grasped with both hands.

"Wine, Master?” she said.

Cabot did not respond, and the slave kept her head down.

"I offer you my wine, Master,” she said. “Please accept my wine, Master. Please, Master, accept my wine!"