Kajira of Gor (5 page)

The man in charge nodded. “Close the container,” he said.

I looked at the door. There was no handle or device for opening it on my side,

and, even had there been, I could not, restrained as I was, have begun to reach

it.

I whimpered piteously, as an utterly helpless, restrained woman. I looked at

them, piteously. They must show me mercy

Then the door was closed.

I was plunged into darkness, save for the tiny bits of light coming through the

two small, round holes on my right, near my face.

When the door had closed two snap-fastenings had shut, one near the top of the

door and one near its bottom. I then sat inside, helpless. I heard ten screw

bolts twisted shut, unhurriedly. Three were along the top of the door and three

were along the bottom of the door; two each were at the sides of the door, two

between the hinges and two between the locks.

Earlier I had asked the man if the box might have been a safe. I had gathered

from his response that it was not really a safe but that it might, indeed, upon

occasion, be used in the securing of valuables.

I struggled in the straps, helpless.

I wondered if I might take some bitter consolation in his laconic response,

which now seemed so ironic. Perhaps I, now so well secured within the box,

might, at least, count as a valuable.

I pressed my head back against the iron behind me. I heard the movement of the

two rings.

But how valuable could I really be, I asked myself. I doubted, frankly, that I

could be of much value. If I were really of value, of much value, I did not

think I would be fastened like this, strapped naked in a box.

I tried to peer out the small holes in the door.

I could see very little, a part of the upper wall in the apartment, a small

framed print, of flowers, which had been there when I bad rented the apartment.

The box was then lifted, apparently by handles.

I suddenly felt extremely faint. I fought against the loss of consciousness.

The box was then lowered into the cardboard carton.

I turned my bead, moaning. I heard the clink of the two rings. I tried to move

my wrists and ankles. I could hardly move them. The broad leather strap, buckled

shut, pressed, too, deeply into my belly, holding me in place.

Outside of the two small holes now tay the’ cardboard. I could see a little

light from the overhead lamp.

I turned my head and struck with the side of it against the iron behind me.

“Do not be stupid, bitch,” said the man outside the box.

I sobbed.

I fought more fiercely to retain consciousness.

Because of the rings and straps, and the closeness with which they held me to

the wall, I could gain little leverage. I could do little more than tap or rub

my head against the iron.

I had indeed been stupid. Even under ideal conditions, fully conscious, and with

an abundance of possible rescuers in the vicinity, any girl confined and gagged

as expertly as I was would be able to do very little to call attention to her

captivity. It was unlikely that even her fiercest and most desperate signals

would be audible more than a yard or so from her tiny prison.

I began to moan and whimper. They must show me mercy

The top of the cardboard carton was then closed.

I struggled, fiercely, for a moment, but then felt exhausted.

I heard a segment of sealing tape torn from a roll and then, apparently, the top

of the carton was sealed shut.

I put my head back against the iron. The two rings made a tiny sound. I became

very conscious of the feel of the leather straps binding me. I pressed back.

This eased the pressure of the strap at my belly. I felt my hair, still damp

from the shower, between my back and the iron. Beneath my body, where I sat upon

it, the iron felt cool, smooth and hard. I felt it this way, too, beneath my

heels.

Then the carton was lifted, and was being carried. It would appear to be a

carton in the care of professional moving men.

No one would think twice about it.

The thought crossed my mind that it was Tuesday evening.

Tomorrow would be Wednesday, my day off at the store. I would not be missed

until Thursday.

I then lost consciousness.

3
     
Corcyrus

It was warm in the room.

It seemed a lazy morning.

My fingers felt at the red-silk coverlet. I lay on my stomach on the soft,

broad, red-silk surface. I tried to collect my wits. I moved my body, a little.

I felt the soft silk move beneath it. I was nude. Too, I felt the warm air on my

body and legs. I was not covered. I was lying nude, uncovered, on my stomach, on

a wide, soft, silken surface.

I remembered the men, the straps and the box.

I turned and sprang to my hands and knees on the soft surface. I was on a vast

bed, or couch. It was round and some fifteen feet in diameter. I was, half sunk

in its softness, near the center of it. I had not realized such luxury could

exist. A glance informed me, to my relief, that I was alone in the room. The

room was a large one, and extremely colorful.

The floor was of glossy, scarlet tiles. The walls, too, were tiled, and glossy,

and covered with bold, swirling designs, largely worked out in yellow and black

tiles. At one point there was a large, scarlet pelt on the floor. Against some

of the walls there were chests, heavy chests, which opened from the top. There

were mirrors, too, here and there, and one was behind something like a low

vanity. I also saw a small, low table. It was near the couch. There were also,

mostly near the walls, some cushions about. To one side there was a large,

sunken basin. This was, perhaps, I thought, a tub. There was no water in it,

however, and no visible faucets. I saw myself in one of the mirrors, on all

fours in the great bed. I hastily looked away. To one side there appeared to be

some sliding doors. On my right, and several feet away, there was, too, a heavy

wooden door. It looked as though it might be very thick. I saw no way, no bars

or locks, no chains or bolts, whereby its closure might be guaranteed on my

side. It might be locked on the outside, I supposed. But, clearly, I could not

lock it from the inside. I could not keep anyone out. I could, on the other

hand, doubtless be kept in. At one point on the floor there was, fixed in the

floor, a heavy metal ring. I also saw, in one wall, two such rings. One was

mounted in the wall about a yard from the floor and the other, about a yard to

its left, was mounted in the wait, about six feet from the floor.

I quickly, frightened, crawled back off the bed. It was not easy to do, given

its softness. I felt the smoothness, the coolness, of the scarlet tiles on my

feet. I saw that there was, anchored at one point in the couch, at what may have

served as its foot, another such sturdy ring. Beneath it lay a coil of chain.

Smaller rings, too, I noted, circling the couch, appeared at regular intervals

about its perimeter, about every four or five feet, or so. Beneath these,

however, there lay - no chains. I fled to the window, which was narrow, about

fifteen inches in width. It was set with heavy bars, spaced about three inches

apart, reinforced with thick, flat, steel crosspieces, spaced at about every

vertical foot. I shook the bars. They did not budge. I hurt my hands. I stood

there for a moment, the shadows of the bars and crosspieces falling across my

face and body. Then I fled back to the couch and, fearfully, crawled onto it.

There seemed something different, frighteningly so, about this place in which I

now found myself. It seemed almost as though it might not be Earth. This did not

have to do primarily with the room, and its appointments and furnishings, but

rather with such things as the condition of my body and the very quality of the

air I was breathing. I supposed this was the result of the lingering effects of

the substance with which I had been sedated or drugged. The gravity seemed

different, subtly so, from that of Earth. Too, my entire body felt alive and

charged with oxygen. The air itself seemed vivifying and stimulating. These

things, which appeared to be objective aspects of the environment were doubtless

merely subjective illusions on my part, resulting from the drug or sedative.

They had to be. The obviously suggested alternative would be just too

unthinkable, just too absurd. I hoped I had not gone mad.

I sat on the bed, my chin on my knees. I became aware that I was very hungry.

One thing, at least, assured me that I had not gone mad.

That thing supplied a solid reference point in this seemingly incredible

transition between environments. It had been locked on me in my own kitchen. It

was a steel anklet. I still wore it.

I looked over to one of the mirrors. I looked small, sitting on the great bed. I

was nude. I wondered in whose bed I was.

I then heard a sound at the door.

Terrified I knelt on the bed, snatching up a portion of the coverlet on which I

knelt, and held it tightly, defensively, about me.

The door opened, admitting a small, exquisite, dark-haired woman. She wore a

brief, whitish, summery, floral-print tunic, almost diaphanous, with a plunging

neckline. The print was a tasteful scattering of delicate yellow flowers,

perhaps silk-screened in place. The garment was belted, and rather snugly, with

two turns of a narrow, silken, yellow cord, knotted at her left hip. She was

barefoot. I noted that she did not wear an anklet, such as I wore. There was

something on her neck, however, something fastened closely about it, encased in

a silken yellow sheath or sleeve. I did not know what it was. It could not be

metal, of course. That would be terrifying. I noted that the door, which now

closed behind her, wag some six inches thick.

“Oh,” said the girl, softly, startled, seeing me, and knelt.

She put her head down, and then lifted it. “Forgive me, Mistress,” she said. “I

did not know whether or not you were yet awake. I did not knock, for fear of

disturbing you.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“I have come to serve Mistress,” she said. “I have come to see if Mistress

desires aught.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Susan,” she said.

“Susan who?” I asked.

“Only Susan,” she said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“That is what I have been named,” she said.

“Named?” I asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” she said.

“I am Tiffany,” I said. “Tiffany Collins.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said.

“Where am P” I asked.

“In the city of Corcyrus,” she said.

I had never heard of this city. I did not even know what country it was in. I

did not even know in what continent it might be.

“In what country is this?” I asked.

“In the country of Corcyrus,” she said.

“That is the city,” I said.

You are then in the dominions of Corcyrus, Mistress,” she said.

“Where is Corcyrus?” I asked.

“Mistress?” asked the girl, puzzled.

“Where is Corcyrus?” I asked.

“It is here,” she said, puzzled. “We are in Corcyrus.”

“I see that I am to be kept in ignorance,” I said, angrily, clutching the

coverlet about my neck.

“Corcyrus,” said the girl, “is south of the Vosk. It is. south-west of the city

of Ar. It lies to the east and somewhat north of Argenturn.”

“Where is New York City?” I asked. “Where are the United States?”

“They are not here, Mistress,” smiled the girl.

“Where is the ocean?” I asked.

“It is more than a thousand pasangs to the west, Mistress,” said the girl.

“Is it the Atlantic Ocean or the Pacific Ocean?” I asked.

“No, Mistress,” said the girl.

“It is the Indian Ocean?” I asked.

“No, Mistress,” said the girl.

I looked at her, puzzled.

“It is Thassa, the Sea, Mistress,” said the girl.

“What sea is it?” I asked.

“That is how we think of her,” said the girl, “as the sea, Thassa.”

“Oh” I said, bitterly.

“Has Mistress noted certain feelings or sensations in her body, perhaps of a

sort with which she is unfamiliar?” asked the girl. “Has Mistress noted any

unusual qualities in the air she is breathing?”

“Perhaps,” I said. These things I had construed as the lingering effects of the

substance which had been injected into me, rendering me unconscious.

“Would Mistress like for me to have her bath prepared?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I am clean.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she said. I realized, uneasily, that I must have been cleaned.

“I have been perfumed, have I not?” I asked. I did no know if the room had been

perfumed, or if it were I.

“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl.

I pulled the coverlet up, even more closely, about my neck.

I felt its soft silk on my naked, perfumed body. The perfume was exquisitely

feminine.

“Am I still a virgin?” I asked.

“I suppose so,” said the girl. “I do not know.”

I looked uneasily at the heavy door, behind her. I did not know who might enter

that door, to claim me.

“In whose bed am I” I asked.

“In your own, Mistress,” said the girl.

“Mine?” I asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” she said.

“Whose room is this?” I demanded.