Swordsmen of Gor (79 page)

Then, Priest-Kings, for their own purposes, had brought her to the Prison Moon. There, in fear of her life, in the midst of a Kur raid, she had proclaimed herself slave. The slave, of course, cannot unsay such words, for she is then a slave. At that moment, whether she had understood it or not, she had become a slave. Later, on a far world, far beyond the Prison Moon, a Steel World, as there were slavers there, and her attractions warranted this, she had been simply taken in hand, and branded and collared, routinely so, they not even understanding at that time that she was already a slave, not that that would have spared her the brand and collar, for such details are in order, and prescribed by merchant law. It had been done without thought, with indifferent and impersonal efficiency, precisely as it would have been done to any similar female in such circumstances. Indeed, had she not already been a slave, she would then, as thousands of other women, not self-proclaimed slaves, have become a slave. Branded and collared, of course, she is clearly identified, indisputably, publicly and legally, as what she is, a slave. And so what she was, from that time forth, was clearly displayed, for all to see.

She was marked and collared.

No longer would she frustrate men.

Her status and condition were now clear.

She was a female slave.

“Ohh,” she said softly, suddenly.

It is pleasant to have a slave in one’s arms.

She gasped. “You will give me no choice, will you, Master?” she said.

“No,” I said. “You are not a free woman. You are a slave. You will be done with as a master pleases.”

“I am content,” she whispered.

“Would you have it another way?” I asked.

“No, my Master,” she said. “No.”

I looked down on her. “The collar is lovely on your neck,” I said.

“It is yours,” she said.

“And so, too, is its occupant,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Perhaps you should remove it,” I said.

“I cannot, Master,” she said. “I am a slave. It is locked on my neck.”

It was late, past the eighteenth Ahn.

The small, glass-enclosed tharlarion-oil lamp, moving with the motion of the ship, provided a dim illumination in the cabin.

“Oh,” said the slave, suddenly. “Oh!”

On a peg to the side hung the whip. I had seen to it that she had well pressed her lips to it.

“Does it amuse you to have me so in your arms?” she asked.

“How?” I asked.

“Helpless, and needful,” she said, “begging, if you wish.”

“It pleases me,” I said.

“We are so at the mercy of our masters,” she whispered.

“Men will have it so,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I love it,” she whispered. “I love it!”

“This world,” she said, “is a man’s world.”

“There are free women,” I said.

“Even they must know,” she said, “if they are not unutterably stupid, that their privileges and freedoms are a gift of men, perhaps temporarily accorded to them, revocable at will.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I do not envy them their freedom,” she said.

“They may envy you your collar,” I said.

“They may not have it,” she whispered.

“Then perhaps another,” I said.

“Each of them, somewhere,” she said, “has her master.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Let us hope they meet,” she said.

“I suppose you are right,” I said.

“Master?” she said.

“That this world, Gor, is a man’s world,” I said.

“I would not have it otherwise,” she said.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because,” she said, “I am a woman.”

“And a slave,” I said.

“We are all slaves,” she said. “We all hope to meet our masters.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Which of us does not wish to be sold off a block,” she said, “into the arms of a master?”

“Perhaps you would like to choose the master,” I said.

“Of course!” she laughed.

“But it is you who are chosen, you who are sold,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

I then reminded her of her vulnerability and bondage.

How pleasantly, in her collar, and how helplessly, unable to help herself, for I had denied her this option, she writhed, thrashed, and begged.

Slaves should be perfectly mastered, but not abused. They are lovely creatures to be owned and ruled, and worked, and put to the fullest of female uses, but are not to be treated with cruelty nor subjected, no more than any other animal one might own, to gratuitous pain. That is pointless, counterproductive, and irrational. The slave must strive to her utmost to be a good slave, to be pleasing, fully, to her master, but if she is honestly and sincerely, fervently and deferentially, doing her best, for what more could one ask? Relish her, and, if you wish, grant her a kind word, and, should it be your pleasure, a caress. From the body and mind of your slave extract the most exquisite and inordinate pleasures that a human male can know, the mastery of a female of his species.

Keep her in her collar, and enjoy her.

The finest of slaves knows the whip exists and that it will be used on her promptly if she is not pleasing, and that doubtless flavors the relationship, but, too, fear of the whip is much less likely to be her motivation than her desire to please her master. She is grateful to have a master, and grateful that he has seen fit to own and fulfill her.

When she had fallen asleep I covered her carefully with the blankets, arranging them about her, in the berth. I then dressed, and drew my sea cloak about me, left the cabin, ascended the stairs in the companionway, and went to the main deck, and thence to the stem castle. I stood there for a long time, watching the sea. The light of the three moons, visible together this night, shimmered on the water. I could occasionally hear the snap of the canvas of the three large, square sails, adjusting to the wind, and the creak of the yards from which they were suspended.

Our course, as I determined from the stars, would continue to take us south of Cos, and north of Tyros. Beyond these island ubarates would be some small, farther islands. It was not clear what might lie beyond those tiny islands.

Beyond them nothing was charted.