Plunder of Gor (13 page)

“Clearly, on this world,” I said, “female slavery exists.”

“And male slavery,” he said, “but male slavery is less obvious, as most male slaves are utilized in the quarries, on the galleys, on the great farms, in such places. Occasionally a male is taken from your former world, a typical male of your former world, suitably conditioned, and thus reduced and tamed, to be sold as a silk slave to a Gorean mistress. Such can be perilous though, for they sometimes, on this world, learn their manhood, and may thus constitute a danger to the mistress, who might find herself gagged and put in a slave sack, to be sold, or even, collared, to find herself at the feet of her former slave. Accordingly most slaves brought to Gor are women, namely, members of the slave sex.”

“The slave sex?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “though it would not do to say that to a Gorean free woman.”

“I see,” I said.

“But, enslaved, they learn their collars quickly enough,” he said.

“There is a slave traffic with Earth?” I said.

“There is an extensive slave traffic, an extensive slave trade, on Gor,” he said. “Indeed, wars have been fought to obtain slaves. There are Slave Roads. There are hundreds of markets, large and small. Cities may exchange slaves. Tributes are often levied in terms of female slaves, and so on. But there is nothing like a slave traffic, or slave trade, where Earth is concerned, not recently, at any rate. Rather, Earth is regarded as a breeding ground for female slaves, a place from which suitable stock may be easily obtained.”

I trembled, at his feet.

“The women of Earth,” he said, “sell well in our markets. Some men prefer them even to Gorean women. They have never had a Home Stone. One need not be concerned with them. They are nothing. Too, they make excellent slaves. They are soon grateful for their collars.”

I was silent.

“Women have needs,” he said, “slave needs. The women of Earth, familiar only with the typical men of Earth, confused, crippled, timid, diffident, apologetic, diminished, eager to conform, zealous to please those who hate them, are frequently starved for sex. How can they be fulfilled by half men, by nonmen?”

“Surely there are true men on Earth,” I said.

“Are they not against the law?” he asked.

“Perhaps they exist, in secret,” I whispered.

“That is doubtless wise,” he said.

“Master?” I said.

“Why should they not keep manhood secret?” he asked.

“Master?” I said.

“A thousand squeaking urts,” he said, “could eat a tethered kailiauk alive.”

I did not understand what he said.

“Goreans,” he said, “regard the women of Earth as self-­acknowledged, self-confessed, slaves. Consider the lack of veiling and concealment, the brazen display of their faces, the frequent flaunting of ankles and calves, even of arms and shoulders, the styles of summer wear, the garments of beaches, the nature of night wear, the sheerness of hose, the pleasantries of lingerie, the use of cosmetics and perfumes, which a master might enforce upon a slave. These delicious and delightful adornments are the obvious vanities of slaves. Do they not beg, in their way? Do they not say, ‘Consider me! I am here! I am lovely! Have me! Own me! Collar me!'?”

“I wore an anklet,” I said. “When I awakened, at the foot of your couch, it was gone.”

“It was no longer needed,” he said.

“I know little of your world,” I said.

“There are things about this world,” he said, “of which many Goreans, themselves, know nothing.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Dark forces are afoot,” he said. “Worlds are at stake. Species, equipped and resolute, are at war. Laws are ignored, at great peril. Mysterious ships stalk the night.”

“I understand nothing of this,” I said, frightened.

“Do not be concerned,” he said.

“But I would know!” I said.

“Curiosity,” said he, “is not becoming in a kajira.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, lowering my head.

I sensed he was considering me. Even on Earth many women are sensitive to such things. How can some, I wondered, pretend to be ignorant of the tensions, the cords of interest and desire, which attend the interactions of the sexes? Are they unaware of the radical centrality of sexuality to the human condition? Do they lie, or are they somehow ignorant, or inert, simply blind to the turbulence of invisible torrents rushing about them? Have they never experienced seemingly small things, betokening broad, sweeping currents, tiny things hinting at looming storms, the lifting of eyes, the catching of breath, the pounding of a heart, the unsteadiness of a body? Have their bodies and emotions never responded to having been viewed with interest, even desire? Have they never trembled, knowing they were wanted, and have they never admitted to themselves, as well, their own desires, that they, too, hope, and want? These things, so natural, so vital, and healthy, so frequently denied on Earth, subject to even fearful, pathological denials or dismissals, things taught on Earth to be soiled by shame and hypocrisy, are accepted and welcomed on Gor. Goreans, male and female, are not conditioned to dread and fear nature, to abet the agendas of the weak, strange, and ill-constituted, those who would seek power by means of imposing values and disvalues, those who would strive to instill and manipulate guilt to their own advantage. In any event, Goreans, male and female, slave and free, by whatever glimpse of wisdom and truth, or by whatever stroke of fortune, have never been taught to suspect themselves of some shameful unworthiness for the crime of being alive and human. It would no more occur to them to do so than it would to denounce breathing, or the circulation of the blood.

I did not speak.

Even I, from childhood on, I suspected, had been taught a sort of treachery to myself.

To be sure, one is taught, as well, not to ask questions, not to notice that views and values may have origins, histories, and purposes.

But perhaps they do.

Surely it was not difficult to detect the work of militant factions on my former world, intending to advance their own interests by distorting, denying, diminishing, and even nullifying nature. Surely there was an agenda behind the project of cultivating suspicion and hostility toward men in females and striving to devirilize males, so that the ‘true male', the male to be societally approved, would be the least like a man.

But surely one must sympathize with those who would commit themselves to so ambitious a project, to so arduous an endeavor!

How brave and noble they are!

It is not easy to do away with nature.

It is not an easy thing to destroy, even if one wishes earnestly to do so.

Nature, unlike self-serving political programs, is not the product of ideologically motivated committees; who would seize control of education and the means of communication, to bend innocent, trusting children, and even unwitting populations, to their views; nature is an obstacle to such programs; it is not contrived to serve the interests of a particular group on a particular afternoon. It is real, and tenacious. It lurks in secret places, in each gene in the human body.

And not all cultures and societies need view her as an enemy, to be denounced, and done away with as soon as possible.

I suspected there were other ways to live.

And I feared that one such way had been found on Gor.

In any event, on Gor, as far as I could determine, the realities of sex not only existed, as they must, but, too, more significantly, they were acknowledged, and welcomed.

The mightinesses of nature, and the profound, interrelated, complementary differences between men and women were recognized and celebrated.

Considering these things, I shook with terror, for here I was not a free woman, exalted in society, possessed of a Home Stone. I was the most vulnerable of all women, the female slave, in a world in which men had never relinquished their sovereignty, their nature as men, their possessiveness, their aggression, their claimancy, and lust, a world in which they might do as they wished with one such as I.

And yet I feared I had a place on such a world, a natural place, one for which I might be fitted, and one in which I belonged.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, Master,” I said.

I recalled the words of one of my instructresses, she switch bearing and herself collared, in the house of training. “You are a slave,” she said, “behave as a slave, move as a slave, speak as a slave, think as a slave, feel as a slave, be honestly and openly, in every bit of your body and mind, what you are, and want to be, a slave.”

“Is something wrong?” he said.

“No, Master,” I said.

The differences between men and women, profound as they were anywhere, I would learn, were far more intensified, far more visible, far more open, on Gor than on my former world, even amongst the free, and so would they not be multiplied a thousandfold between the free and slave, and I was slave.

I was sure he was thinking of me, kneeling before him, tunicked. What man would not?

“You are frightened,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“That is fitting,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I think you will make the transition into slavery easily,” he said.

“Master?” I said.

“You were born to be a slave,” he said, “to wear a collar, to be a man's work beast and plaything.”

“Master?” I said.

“Consider your body, its smallness, its slightness and softness, your features, their vulnerability, their delicacy and sensitivity, their expressiveness, your lips, your eyes, your wrists, your shoulders and throat, your dispositions and emotions.”

“I thought,” I said, “I was only a pot girl, only a kettle-and-mat girl.”

“That is all you are,” he said, angrily.

I was frightened to see him angry. I did not know why he was angry. I was muchly uneasy. On the wall, to my left, on its peg, hung a five-stranded Gorean slave whip.

I put my head down.

He was large, and strong.

I sensed that his blood was quickening and heating, and I was before him, collared.

I was desperately frightened.

“Master,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“I was brought to Gor with others,” I said, “to be the slave I am, branded and collared. What of the others?”

“There are commonly a hundred, certainly in the typical consignment, sometimes a few more or a few less. You were in capsule ninety-seven.”

“We were looked upon, while we were sedated,” I said.

“There is monitoring,” he said.

“In the house of training,” I said, “I saw no members of my party.”

“Probably not,” he said. “The stock is distributed to a variety of markets; sometimes one answers orders. It is thought wise to scatter stock. In that way their origin is not easily traced, which might lead to the discovery of sensitive information, even a ship.”

“There is much danger?” I said.

“The rulers of the world of Gor,” he said, “object to violations of their technology laws. Certain forms of technology are denied to humans, certainly technology of the sort that would be involved in such a ship. What is perilous, then, is bringing such a ship to the shores of Gor. Great care, and stealth, is involved.”

“And thus the anklets were removed, and your captures distributed about?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You spoke of the rulers of the world of Gor,” I said, “who would be concerned with certain forms of technology.”

“They are called Priest-Kings,” he said. “I know little about them. They are the gods of Gor. I assume they are large, and handsome, and much like us, that they are glorious, formidable manlike things.”

“You spoke of war, and of species, before,” I said.

“I have seen beasts,” he said, “foes of Priest-Kings.”

“Beasts?” I said.

He shuddered. “Kurii,” he said. “Let us not speak of them. Do not concern yourself. You are no more likely to see one than a Priest-King.”

“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“War?” I said.

“Between Priest-Kings and beasts,” he said. “Few on Gor even know it exists. Its waging is subtle. It is largely invisible.”

“I am frightened,” I said.

“I, too,” he said.

“How is it that you have ships?” I asked.

“Both Priest-Kings and Kurii,” he said, “enlist human allies. And Kurii have no objection to arming, and equipping, humans, provided we prove to be of service, transporting envoys and agents, carrying messages, probing defenses, obtaining rare materials, metals, chemicals, and such, scarce in the Kur worlds.”

“Kur worlds?” I said.

“Large worlds, but constructed worlds,” he said, “steel worlds.”

“They have no planet?” I asked.

“Once, perhaps,” he said. “But it seems it was destroyed, or rendered sterile.”

“How could it be?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said.

“How could a planet be ruined?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said.

I feared I could conjecture how such things might take place. Might not an axis be tilted, following fearful explosions, might not a core be split, might not such a world, sundered, be driven from its star, might not an atmosphere be poisoned? I supposed a world might die quickly, or slowly, perhaps by inches, almost unnoticed.

“Kurii now want Gor,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“Are you not particular whom you serve?” I asked.

“Who knows where right and wrong lie?” he said. “Priest-Kings are tyrants. Kurii give us power, and gold.”

“Master,” I said.

“Yes?” said he.

“Do you know the fate of a slave named Paula?”

“She would not be easy to miss,” he said. “All approved her. Who would not remember her? She was the beauty of your shipment.”