Plunder of Gor (18 page)

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said. “Would you care to spend another such night?” he asked.

“No, Master!” I said.

“You did not behave well of late,” he said. “You dared to speak to free persons, not once, but twice, and the second time after having been warned. You were insufficiently deferent. You were displeasing. That is not acceptable in a slave. Too, you lied. A kajira is not a free woman. A kajira is not permitted to lie. Try that when you are in a man's collar, and see what you get.”

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“Perhaps you know better now that you are a slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“What are you?” he asked.

“A slave,” I said, “only a slave.” I knew that answer from the house of training. But this time I knew it was true. I was a slave, only a slave.

“I gather you are new to bondage,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You have much to learn,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Have you ever been in close chains?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“That is far worse, is it not, than what I did to you?”

“Yes, Master,” I said. It was true. In the cage, I had been able to move about somewhat, to relieve my pain.

“In the light of your newness to bondage, I was extremely merciful to you,” he said. “I trust that you understand that.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Thank you, Master.”

“I did not even put you under the slave whip,” he said.

I had never felt the slave whip.

“A slave is grateful,” I said.

“Draw her up,” I heard.

A bit later, the cage, shedding water, was drawn up to the wharf, and then dragged across the boards, and placed where it had been before. There was a slight breeze over the wharf, moving amongst the boxes, and bales, and cages, and, though the day itself was warm, I shivered with cold. For a moment my teeth chattered. A small blanket was thrust through the bars, and I dried myself, as I could, and then wrapped it, gratefully, about me. Later, a pan of hot mush was thrust through the narrow opening between the gate of the cage and its flooring. I lifted it to my mouth, with both hands, and ate, eagerly.

An hour or so later, as the day continued to warm, the blanket was drawn away from me, and I was handed a wide-toothed wooden comb.

“Make yourself presentable,” said one of dealer's men.

“Stupid barbarian,” said the girl caged to my left.

When I had combed my hair, as I could, I lay down in the cage, my legs drawn up. Men walked to and fro about the wharf.

The cage to my right was empty. Its occupant had been sold.

Chapter Ten

“I will look upon that one,” he said.

Some days had passed, since I had been ‘bathed'.

“Surely, Master,” said the dealer.

I heard the key inserted into my cage lock. I looked up, frightened. The dealer thrust back the gate. “Out,” he said. “On all fours, head down.”

I was then leashed.

I felt the leash pulled up. “Look up,” said the dealer. I was still on all fours. The leash was taut. I looked up, as I must, the leash collar tight under my chin.

“She is not a bad-looking slut,” said the dealer. “I am sure you could make her squirm well on a mat. It is easy to get them to squeak and beg.”

“Get her to the yellow circle,” he said.

He was bearded.

“I see Master is interested,” said the dealer.

I then noted, to my unease, that the fellow carried a whip.

“She is too scrawny,” he said.

“Not scrawny,” said the dealer, “but lithe, sweetly slender.”

“Her ankles are small,” said the fellow.

“Not small,” said the dealer, “but slim, in lovely proportion to her slender body. And it is well known that such ankles look well in shackles.”

“Any woman's ankles look well, shackled,” he said.

“To be sure,” said the dealer.

“Her hair is too short,” said the fellow.

“Not so short,” said the dealer. “And it will grow, and it may be groomed, of course, to the master's preference, with the same ease as that of the mane of a kaiila.”

“To the yellow circle,” suggested the man.

“Come along, slim, meaningless slut,” said the dealer. “Perhaps we can find you a master.”

I then, on all fours, obedient to the leash, as had been the other girl, was conducted to the yellow circle. It had been drawn in chalk, crudely, on the boards of the wharf.

“Perhaps you should return her to her cage,” said the fellow, skeptically.

“At least look at her,” said the dealer.

“Very well,” he said.

“Stand,” said the dealer.

I winced. I moaned. I had not been out of the cage since I had first been inserted into it.

“I trust she is capable of an upright posture,” said the man.

“Her body has been cramped,” said the dealer. “Small cages take up less space.”

“They are useful, too,” said the man, “for disciplinary and monitory purposes.”

“Very true,” said the dealer. “Also, they are less expensive.”

“You deal with cheap slaves,” said the fellow.

“My market is well known for its bargains,” said the dealer.

“You put your cages where you wish,” said the man.

“Thus, I need neither buy nor rent a building, a shelf, a cell,” said the dealer. “The money saved, applied to the prices of the merchandise, redounds obviously to the benefit of the customers.”

“There may be advantages, too,” said the fellow, “in the way of mobility.”

“Sometimes it is judicious to change a venue,” acknowledged the dealer.

“Doubtless,” said the man.

“It is so,” said the dealer.

“Remove the leash,” said the man.

This was done. I gathered that not even so small a thing was to be allowed to interfere with my perusal.

I was still on all fours, at the feet of the masters.

“Can you stand, kajira?” inquired the dealer.

“Yes, Master,” I said. “I think so. I will try.”

Slowly, painfully, with the assistance of the dealer, he steadying me, I rose to my feet. I was not sure I could stand, without falling.

In the meantime, several men had gathered around, some of them stevedores. Men are often attracted to the sales of women. It is not unusual for them to find such sales of interest. To be sure, in most markets spectators will outnumber bidders.

I stood, unsteadily.

“Examination position,” said the dealer.

I had been taught two or three of the most common examination positions in the training house, one of which I assumed, a bit unsteadily, feet widely spread, hands clasped behind the back of the head, head up, and back, looking upward. A woman may be examined in any position, of course, and it is not unknown for a potential buyer to instruct her to assume a variety of positions. Obviously a given item of merchandise may be displayed in any number of ways.

It is difficult to move when one's feet are widely spread. One remains in place, and feels helpless. With the hands clasped together, behind the head, the hands are immobilized, and there is nothing to interfere with the customer's vision, or the assessments of his touch. The breasts are also lifted, as is the behind-the-neck tie or the behind-the-neck braceleting. The head being back, and lifted, it is difficult for the slave to be aware of the eyes and expressions of the examiner, and thus of his interests or intentions. It is also difficult, of course, to anticipate and prepare for any evaluative testing or handling.

Wild thoughts went through my head. Could this be I?

In the office, and in my former life, generally, in all of its quotidian commonplaces, in all of its prosaic routines, banalities, repetitions, and boredoms, it had never occurred to me that I might one day be standing naked on a wharf, on another world, a slave, goods, being sold. What would my friends, my luncheon friends, have thought, could they see this? Would they be horrified? I doubted it. I thought, rather, they would be amused, even delighted, thinking it a well-deserved fate for their doubtless resented, smartly dressed, pretentious, vain, snobbish, shallow luncheon fellow. Or would they too long to stand in a yellow circle, so displayed, knowing that they then must be women, and will be women, as men want them. I wondered how my employers might have reacted. I had seen them look at me. I suspected they might have been bid on me.

“She is too short,” said the man.

“Not at all,” said the dealer. “Why should you say so? I do not understand. She is not short, nor is she tall. She is a pleasant average height, much the same height as most slaves. Her legs are spread widely. As you well know, that makes them seem a bit shorter.”

“That is true,” said a stevedore.

The man looked about, annoyed.

“Can you not conjecture,” said the dealer, “what she would be in your arms, what she would look like on your chain, or roped hand and foot at the foot of your couch, in your furs, or kneeling before you, licking your ankles?”

“What is this mark, on her shoulder?” asked the man. “A slave mark?”

“Scarcely,” said the dealer. “She wears the Kef.”

“A blemish,” he said.

“Scarcely noticeable,” said the dealer.

It was my vaccination mark. This time the reference was clear. I remained silent. Indeed, I had not been given permission to speak.

“Open your mouth,” said the man.

I opened my mouth, widely.

“I forgot to mention,” said the dealer, hastily, “she is a barbarian.”

“I see,” said the man. “It slipped your mind.”

“I fear so,” said the dealer.

“You may close your mouth,” said the man.

I did so.

“How is her Gorean?” asked the man.

“Flawless,” said the dealer.

“Adequate?” asked the man.

“Yes, adequate,” said the dealer, “for her time with the tongue.”

My instructresses, as I recalled, had been pleased with my Gorean, at least to that point. I had profited from the skill and diligence of their instruction, and, doubtless, from the attentions of their switches. One is less likely to commit grammatical mistakes when one is punished for them.

“Buy her,” suggested one of the stevedores.

“Please be quiet,” said the man.

The fellow touched me, slapping me lightly, here and there, with the coiled whip.

“I trust she is satisfactory, and Master is pleased,” said the dealer.

“A poor slave,” said the man.

“But a bargain,” said the dealer.

“She is not Gorean,” said the man.

“Thus you need have no reservations with respect to her treatment,” said the dealer.

“One need have no reservations where any slave is concerned,” said the man.

“So true,” said the dealer.

“She is a barbarian,” said the man.

“
Ela
,” said the dealer. “It is true.”

“Gorean women are beautiful,” said the man.

“How true,” said the dealer. “Yet, say, one in a thousand is less beautiful.”

“Possibly,” said the man.

“And barbarians,” he said, “are selected carefully, with an eye to intelligence, beauty, and passion. In many markets they sell quite as well as Gorean women.”

“I have heard so,” said the man.

“Too,” said the dealer, “they are cheap. One need not risk one's life for them, raid caravans, fight wars, sack and burn cities, and so on. Indeed, one does not even pay for them. As I understand it, one simply picks them up, as one might please, much as one would pick flowers in the wild or pluck fruit from unguarded orchards.”

“Then you should let them go very cheaply,” said the man.

“Yet one must buy feed for them, keep chains on hand, buy cages, and such,” said the dealer.

“Four tarsk-bits,” said the man.

“A silver tarsk,” said the dealer.

The man turned abruptly away.

“I misspoke,” called the dealer. “Forgive me. I meant fifty copper tarsks, say, of the weight of the copper tarsk of Brundisium.”

This meant little to me at the time, but I would learn that coinages might differ considerably from city to city. In some cities, there are eight copper-tarsks to a silver tarsk, and, in others, as in Brun­disium, where many land and sea routes converge, and business tends to be brisk, one hundred copper tarsks to a silver tarsk. This facilitates small transactions. Too, coinages, certainly gold and silver, are often weighed when the coinage is of one city and the transaction takes place in another. This is sometimes done even when the coinage has been minted in the same city in which the transaction takes place, apparently because of the possibility of a private debasement of coins, the shaving of coins, and such. In the northern hemisphere of Gor it is common to standardize weights against the silver and gold coinages of Ar, the silver tarsk of Ar and the golden tarsk and tarn of Ar. In the southern hemisphere, the coinage of mighty Turia serves a similar purpose.

“Five copper tarsks,” said the man.

“But consider her lineaments,” said the dealer, “her flanks, her wrists, her shoulders, her throat.”

“I am not looking for a pleasure slave,” he said. “I am buying work slaves, to sell south of the Vosk.”

“Even a work slave may be attractive,” said the dealer. “Forty copper tarsks.”

“Perhaps ten,” he said.

“You carry a whip,” said the dealer. “May I inquire your caste?”

“The blue-and-yellow caste,” he said.

“I suspected as much,” said the dealer. “You are then a shrewd judge of collar meat, a skilled appraiser of girl stock. Surely then you must recognize that forty copper tarsks is a splendid buy for this lovely beast.”

“Ten,” said the man.

“What of thirty?” inquired the dealer.

“I do not need to buy, not here,” said the man. “Ten.”

“Thirty does not seem unreasonable,” said the dealer.

“Ten,” said the man. “I would hope to sell her for thirty.”

“Would you consider twenty?” asked the dealer.

I sensed the man had moved behind me. I thought little of it. A customer, or client, often views an article from more than one perspective. A slave expects to be so considered. Indeed, many slaves, after a sale or two, not only expect to be well displayed, but, in their vanity, enjoy it, and look forward to it. Who does not wish to be beautiful, and excite desire? On a block, of course, the girl is likely to be turned for the buyers.

“Aii!” I cried, suddenly, reacting, involuntarily, spasmodically, wildly, reflexively, helplessly.

What had been done to me!

I could not believe what had been done to me, how, by another, without my permission, I had been forced to reveal myself, to betray my needs and sex.

I was horrified, outraged, and shamed, to the core of my being, and then I recalled I was a slave. I was a beast, an object. Anything might be done to me.

Men laughed.

My body, I feared, was a raging storm of scarlet tissue.

I struggled to return to the examination position.

I was shaking. I was trembling.

Mirth was about.

An aspect of my being, as much as my hair or eye color, had been blatantly exhibited, apparently to see if it might be of interest to masters.

“But what is wrong,” I later asked myself, “with being vital, and alive?” The deceits and pretenses of the free woman are not for the slave, who is owned. They are not permitted to her. She is slave.

It had been done gently, but firmly, with the coiled whip. I had been administered the Slaver's Caress!

The men about were muchly pleased. Two slapped their thigh.

“Twenty copper tarsks,” said the fellow with the whip, now, again, somewhere before me.

“Done!” said the dealer, pleased. “I will call for the scales.”

“Shameless slut,” said a feminine voice. There had apparently been a free woman in the throng about, of whose presence, I, in examination position, had been unaware. “I would never react so,” she said, apparently to someone with her.

“Nor I,” said another feminine voice, indignantly.

“What a disgusting, leaping, meaningless slut she is,” said the first woman.

“A slave,” sneered the other.

“Yes,” said the first.

“They are all the same, in their collars,” said the second.

“Yes,” said the first.

I think they then took their leave.

“You may break position,” said the dealer to me. “Remove yourself from the circle. Go there, to the side, there, and wait. Lie down, in bara.”