Mariners of Gor (61 page)

I thought it quite possible that Alcinoë was not mistaken in this matter. Certainly the helplessness of the slave, that she is owned, and such, make her a hundred times more attractive to a male. She belongs to one. One may do with her as one wishes. One’s possessions, of course, are always special to a fellow. Consider, for example, his sleen or kaiila.

“I take it,” I said, “that you do not much care for the former Ubara of Ar.”

“I hate her,” she said.

“She doubtless entertains a similar regard for you,” I said.

“Surely you do not like her,” said Alcinoë.

“What is it to you?” I asked.

Tears suddenly flooded the eyes of the slave.

“I see,” I said.

“No, no, no,” she said. “You cannot see!”

“The conversation,” I said, “which recently took place between a free man and a slave is no concern of yours.”

“I understand, Master,” she said.

“For what it is worth,” I said, “I find you a hundred times more beautiful, and a thousand times more desirable, than the former Ubara of Ar.”

“But she was Ubara!” she exclaimed.

“You are both now slaves,” I said, “women reduced to their primitive essentials, women as slaves.”

“Oh, Master!” she cried. “You care for me!”

“Care, for a slave?” I said. “Do not be foolish.”

“Master?”

“I said that you were beautiful, and desirable,” I said. “If you were stripped on a slave block, any fool could see that, and say as much. Beyond that, do not insult a free man! Do not insinuate that a free man might be so foolish as to care for a slave. Do not dare to utter such an absurdity! Slaves are beasts and properties. They are to be owned, and mastered, that is all. You are a slave. Only a fool would permit himself to care for a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, happily.

If you were mine,” I said, angrily, “you would learn your collar as few women.”

“Teach it to me, Master!” she said.

“But I do not own you,” I said.

She clutched at the ship’s collar on her neck, and, two hands on it, jerked it against the back of her neck, again and again, and tears burst from her eyes.

“No,” she said, “you do not own me!”

I think then she began to understand, more clearly than ever, what it was to be a slave.

“I want you to be my master!” she wept.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because,” she said, “I—I—”

“Yes?” I said.

“Nothing, Master,” she whispered.

“What a stupid little slave you are,” I said, “but one well-curved.”

“You dare to speak so,” she said, suddenly, abruptly, eyes flashing, “to she who was once the Lady Flavia of Ar?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Have your keepers,” I said, “in your training, not put you naked before a mirror, and bound, that you might look upon yourself?”

“Yes,” she said, “and made me struggle in my bonds.”

“Surely then,” I said, “you are aware of your slave curves.”

“I have known,” she said, “since puberty, that I was a slave, and should be a slave.”

“That is often denied,” I said, “but it is not unusual.”

“Are all women slaves?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said, “but surely many are.”

“I am one such,” she said.

“And such,” I said, “will never be fulfilled, until they are at the feet of a master.”

“I would be at your feet,” she said.

“Any man will do,” I said.

“Do you think,” she said, “that a master makes no difference to a slave?”

“You speak of the feelings of a slave,” I said. “Her feelings are unimportant. They are nothing. She is merely a slave.
 
Let her kneel, and hope to please.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“One buys a slave for work and pleasure,” I said.

“The slave seeks love,” she said.

“What the slave seeks is unimportant,” I said.

“How can a slave work for her master, know his domination, obey him, wear his collar, kneel before him, be put to his pleasure, squirm and kick, begging, in his chains, and not succumb to him, not fall in love with him?”

“Such things can take place without love,” I said.

“We want our love master!” she wept. “Do not masters search for their love slave?”

“Speak of love,” I said, “and you may be lashed.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

I grew muchly uneasy, and angry. The slave is a work object and a pleasure object, nothing more. That must be kept in mind. She is a meaningless, purchased beast. See that you treat her as one. She is an animal. See that you train her as one. Dress her, if you do, for her exposure and exhibition, publicly and privately, and for your pleasure. She is to wear her hair, and such, as you please. Belittle and mock her, if you wish. Scorn and detest her, if you wish. Do not be easy to please. Never let her forget that she is a slave, only that. Command her. Master her. Yours is the whip. Hers is the collar. Do not let her forget this. Work her well, and derive much pleasure from her, inordinate pleasure. She is your slave.

“The slave is nothing,” I said. “You must clearly understand that.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do not speak of love,” I said.

“Forgive me, Master,” she said.

“You are, of course,” I said, “not displeasing to look upon.”

“Master?”

“As an exciting, tender morsel of collar meat.”

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

“Excellent slave curves,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“It pleasant to have you on your knees before me.”

“A girl is pleased, if she is found pleasing,” she said.

“You kneel well,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“With one exception,” I said.

“Master?”

“Your knees,” I said, “split them,”

“Yes, Master.”

“More.”

“More, Master?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“How do you feel now?” I asked.

“I have known for years that I was a slave, and should be a slave,” she said, “but until this moment, in this place, I did not expect these feelings, as they are now, which irradiate my body. I am enflamed, Master, helplessly enflamed.”

“Describe your feelings,” I said.

“I feel slave,” she said. “I feel slave.”

“You are slave,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“A slave,” I said, “yearns for her master.”

“I would,” she said, “that you would be the master of my slave, the slave that I am.”

“You are not an unattractive slave,” I said.

“Choose me!” she begged.

“As what?” I asked.

“As a mere slave,” she said, “surrendering all, giving all, to her master, asking nothing, expecting nothing, of her master.”

“I see,” I said.

“Choose me, choose me!” she begged.

“Slaves do not choose their masters,” I said. “Masters choose their slaves.”

“Choose me!” she wept.
 

“I cannot,” I said. “You belong to the Pani, to the ship.”

She bent over, before me, her head down. Tears fell to the dirt.

After a time, she looked up, her face tear-stained.

I pointed to my feet, and she bent down, and kissed them. Tears were on my boots.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered, sensitive of the privilege which had been accorded to her, however unworthy she might be. She, a mere slave, had been permitted to kiss the feet of a free man.

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“All women are slaves,” she whispered.

“Oh?” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“I did not know that,” I said.

“It is true,” she said.

“Excellent,” I said.

I smiled. I had thought that a secret shared only by strong free men, the sort who have women only as slaves, the sort before whom a woman can be only a slave, the sort before whom they remove their clothing and kneel.

She then looked up. “Perhaps,” she said, “a free man may conduct a slave to her kennel.”

“It will be so,” I said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Victory of the Exploratory Force;

There Will Be Feasting

I heard the drums, and emerged from the barracks.

It was early morning.

“The exploratory force returns,” I heard, “in glorious triumph!”

I had heard nothing of them in the vicinity. Thus, I supposed they had marched all night.

“Let us see the trophies, and women!” cried a fellow, hurrying toward one of the plateau gates, surmounting a trail south of the castle grounds, that eventually abutting on the road leading to the largest of the three local villages.

I climbed the stairs to the parapet of the interior wall, of the three walls, which was the highest wall.

I had no glass of the Builders but one could make out the thatched roofs in the distance.

There were two Pani on the parapet.

There was a darkness on the road, in the distance.

“What is going on?” I asked the Pani.

One was shading his eyes.

“Tal,” said the other, politely. They did not respond otherwise.

The courtyard below was beginning to be crowded, as men, our armsmen, and Pani, even some free women, or contract women, emerged from their respective housings.

Looking across the courtyard, I saw a vulo exit the castle. It seemed to circle, for a time, and then flew north, and west, toward the mountains.

Turgus and Tyrtaios both now joined me on the parapet, Turgus, liaison to Lord Nishida, Tyrtaios to Lord Okimoto. Each bore a glass of the Builders.

Tyrtaios spoke neither to me nor to the Pani, but scanned the trail, the road, the village, the horizon, quickly, expertly. Then, in a moment, he had descended from the parapet, striding toward the castle. Turgus, too, put the glass to use, but more thoughtfully. Then he lowered it.

“The exploratory force returns?” I said.

“Yes,” he said, and handed me the glass.

I looked down the trail. A column was indeed approaching. Before it were carried the narrow, vertical banners of Lord Temmu.

The order of march seemed ragged.

The column, as a whole, I conjectured, is separated from this column, a shorter column, on the trail, which must be the vanguard.

I turned the glass on the village, and its road. The thatched roofs swirled into focus, and the darkness on the road resolved itself into tiny figures, and several hand-drawn carts. Among these figures I made out what seemed to be a coffle, of some eight or ten figures, being moved northwest, toward the mountains.

I looked to Turgus.

“The village,” he said, “is being abandoned.”

Thetis and Iole had been returned to the castle grounds four days ago, following their disciplinary interlude in the slave hut. It was said their service was now humble, and zealous. It was also noted that now, before Pani warriors, they did not kneel, but prostrated themselves, putting themselves instantly, trembling, to second obeisance position, prone, hands to the sides of their head, eyes to the ground.

I returned the glass to Turgus.

He did not seem eager to report to Lord Nishida.

I suspected that Lord Nishida, perhaps from messages conveyed by vulos, had already sufficient reports in hand.

Down in the courtyard, now, in addition to the drums, there were soundings on the Pani’s conch horns.

I made my way down to the courtyard, to welcome the returning troops, or, I trusted, the vanguard.

The plateau gate, the trail of which led most directly to the largest of the villages below, was swung open. I could then see, beyond it, the other two gates, already opened. I could see the tops of banners, approaching, up the trail, then helmets, then men. Blasts were blown on the conch horns. Drums rolled bravely. We in the courtyard moved to the sides, to clear a passage for the column.

None of the high Pani came to greet the column.

Several men began to cheer, but were then quiet.

The drums were silent; so too, the conch horns, or trumpets.

“Where are the trophies?” asked a man.

“Where are the women?” asked another.

The column, preceded by its bannermen, in rows of four, entered the courtyard.