Quarry of gor, p.20
Quarry of Gor, page 20
If necessary, the whip will see to it.
It was yellow-tunic night at the Golden Chain.
One of the indications of the quality of the Golden Chain, aside from the excellence of its paga and provender, apart from the richness of its music and the beauty of its slaves, was the varying of its décor and appointments, often indexed to holidays of one sort or another. Today was the fourth day of En’Var, or En’Var-Lar-Torvis, which month follows the last day of the Third Passage Hand, which is the summer solstice. On this day, in Year Eleven of the Council of Captains, the Palace of Captains, actually a rather fortresslike structure, had been completed by the men of the Builders, one of Gor’s high castes, the caste color of which is yellow. Generally it is taken that there are five high castes, the Initiates, Scribes, Physicians, Builders, and Warriors, whose colors, respectively, are white, blue, green, yellow, and red. The Merchants often claims to be a high caste, which claim, if accepted, would bring one to six high castes. The colors of the Merchants are white and yellow, or white and gold. The Slavers is commonly accounted a subcaste of the Merchants, but some deem it an independent caste. The caste colors of the Slavers are blue and yellow. Much on Gor varies from city to city. Unfortunately, there is no common coinage, but two important coins, at least in the northern hemisphere, against which other coins are often measured, are the silver and gold tarn disks of Ar, and the silver and gold staters of Brundisium. Needless to say, many transactions are conducted by means of scales. The Council of Captains, which body is sovereign in Port Kar, meets in the Palace of Captains.
The taverner’s deputy brushed back my hair. I pursed my lips and thrust my head a little toward him, my eyes closed. My left cheek suddenly stung, sharply slapped.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, opening my eyes and looking away. I felt a tear course down my stung cheek.
His hands then were at my yellow tunic, pressing against my hips, and then drawing it down, more tightly against my body.
I forced myself not to respond.
“You are well-curved and pretty, as many meaningless barbarians,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said, careful not to meet his eyes.
“It is all you are good for,” he said.
“We hope to please our masters,” I said.
His hands had excited me. How well I would pour paga tonight, how mutely I would plead in a slave girl’s thousand ways, to be alcoved!
The taverner’s deputy now stood back and regarded me.
I, as were my chain sisters, was now in a brief, wrap-about yellow tunic. It had a light belt of yellow cloth, supported by four loops, which belt, fastened by a slip knot, might be easily undone, allowing the folds of the tunic to be delicately or rudely parted.
I spoke of my “chain sisters” but there was a mighty gap between us, between Gorean beauties in their collars and barbarians, perhaps beauties, in theirs. I thought of Adraste and others, so arrogant, so superior, in their contempt of barbarians, who were themselves, as slaves, no better than the barbarians they scorned. And, I knew, we sold as well, if not better, than they. Gorean masters did not share their scorn and were fond of having us, mere barbarians, lowly as we might be, needful and begging, chained at their feet.
I was not ashamed at being from Earth.
Do not some of the finest slaves come from Earth?
Surely slavery was nothing new to my former world.
I stood beautifully, as a property and slave.
I did not move, as I had not been dismissed.
Aglaia and Daphne pressed past me, making their way through the beaded curtain.
The taverner’s deputy, to my uneasiness, stepped behind me.
I did not, of course, dare turn my head.
I heard a rustle of thick cloth and leather behind me.
“Hold, steady,” said the taverner’s deputy.
Then I could not see, for a slave hood had been pulled down, over my head. It was of layers of thick, opaque cloth, fitted with a ringed, threaded neck belt. I felt the leather encircle my neck closely at which point, at the back of my neck, adjusted, it was fastened shut by means of a padlock snapped through two rings. The hood was thus locked upon me. It is difficult to convey to one who has not worn a slave hood how disconcerted and helpless one is in such a device, how much at the mercy of others one is. It is particularly frightening to be switched or whipped in such a device.
“May I speak, Master?” I begged.
“Yes,” he said.
“Have I not been pleasing?” I asked. “I have striven to be pleasing.”
“Why then,” said he, “should you be afraid?”
“Perhaps I fear I may have failed in some way, a way I do not even understand, to be pleasing, fully pleasing.”
“Do not concern yourself,” he said.
“I am afraid,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
“I am hooded,” I said.
“Do not concern yourself,” he said.
“I can see nothing, and am utterly helpless,” I said.
“Do not concern yourself,” he said.
“Am I not to be sent out upon the floor?” I asked.
“Perhaps later,” he said. “Now, for a time, you are reserved.”
“‘Reserved’?” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said. “I am not special. No one knows me.”
“I will conduct you momentarily to a designated alcove,” he said.
“No one knows me,” I said.
“Surely you have served many customers,” he said.
“Most do not know my name,” I said, “even when they bind and alcove me. I am only another slave to them.”
“You are right,” he said. “It is interesting.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Perhaps you are known to someone you do not know,” he said.
Instantly I thought of Addison Steele, but why would he not simply avail himself of me, if interested or so inclined, like a pastry or a drought of paga? Too, he had seemed to enjoy observing my slightest nuances of expression, tone, or movement. I remembered the alcove in the cheap, low tavern, the sordid Whip and Chain, on the Thieves’ Way South. Surely one could take only a despised woman, perhaps the daughter of an enemy, or a slave, to such a place. I had found I could hide nothing from him. How all of me had been revealed to him! How frightening it is to be truly seen by a man, and as a slave! I feared that my heart had been as displayed to him as fully as my collared body. What woman can be more truly seen, understood, and known than when she is in a collar?
I felt the firm grip of the taverner’s deputy on my upper left arm.
“I will conduct you to the designated alcove,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
We then, I being guided, brushed through the beaded curtain, and turned left, toward the alcoves.
Chapter Thirteen
I am Interviewed
I knelt in the alcove, waiting.
I had not been told to remove my tunic, nor even to leave it parted. This perplexed me, and made me uneasy, for it suggested that, at least initially, I had not been reserved for slave use. What then might masters wish, in such a place and at such a time?
The leather curtains of the alcove had been drawn shut. I supposed that some sign or token had been placed on the curtains, on the outside, to indicate that the alcove was temporarily unavailable to the public. On the inside of the curtains there are fastenings by means of which the alcove, once entered, may be secured, the curtains tied shut, this protecting the privacy of its occupants.
The taverner’s deputy had chained my left ankle to a wall ring in the alcove before taking his leave, closing the curtains.
Slaves are often bound or chained, sometimes blindfolded or hooded, sometimes gagged, and so on. I think one would be mistaken if one took this sort of thing, in most instances, to be simply, or even primarily, custodial in nature. Obviously I, even if not hooded, even if not chained, even were it not for the preciousness of my collar to me, could not, in any practical sense, flee. I, no more than others similarly tunicked, marked, and collared, had any realistic prospect of escape. Consider merely the slave’s garmenture. She is clad, when clad, in a very distinctive fashion, one instantly and easily recognized, commonly in a brief, revealing tunic, a form of garmenture which would not only scandalize a free woman but plunge her into the throes of shame, consternation, and dismay. A former free woman, recently embonded, must often be whipped into the streets before she dares to show herself publicly so. In time, of course, as she learns the collar, she comes to find such garmenture not only appropriate for her, but thrillingly so. It arouses her, and those who look upon her. And should the slave, stressed and distraught, beside herself and foolish, be tempted to run, where shall she run? There is nowhere to run. The society accepts slavery as a valuable and important institution. Every hand would be against us. There is no escape for us. We are slaves and will remain slaves, unless the free should deem otherwise. And so, commonly, the slave is constrained primarily not to prevent her escape, but because she is a slave. It seems appropriate that she, being a slave, be bound or chained, or such. Beyond that, constraints can exercise a mnemonic function. She is reminded, in no uncertain terms, that she is a slave, and at the mercy of the free. Bonds also can be sexually stimulatory to the slave, reminding her of her helplessness and vulnerability, and to the master who looks upon her, defenseless, at his mercy. Bonds reassure the slave of her bondage. Chained, the slave is in no doubt that she is a slave.
I sensed a movement outside the alcove, and suddenly I heard the leather curtains parted, sharply, quickly, and, a moment later, I knew that I was no longer alone. Almost at the same time I heard the curtains being tied shut on the inside. As soon as I had heard the curtains parted I had gone to first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the floor, the palms of my hands on the floor, on either side of my head.
“Kneel up, slave,” said a male voice. “Nadu, nadu.”
It had not been the voice of Addison Steele!
I instantly went to nadu, kneeling up, back on my heels, my back straight, my head up, my knees spread, the palms of my hands down on my thighs. The commands of a master are to be obeyed immediately and unquestioningly. Hesitation or reluctance can be a cause for discipline.
A tear ran down my cheek, inside the hood.
While I had been awaiting the pleasure of a master, I had rehearsed my responses to the possible arrival of Addison Steele. Might it not be he who, for some reason, perhaps fearing to face me after his unconscionable mistreatment of me, had arranged this odd charade, even my hooding? I would show him my rage, an icy fury. He would not escape my wrath. I would visit upon him my contempt and hatred, the fearful indignation of a proud woman of Earth, whose temper was to be feared, whose scorn was to be dreaded. Doubtless he had already suffered for days recalling his indiscretion, and was now desperate to beg my forgiveness. One might even feel a little sorry for such a fellow, so miserable, so stung with remorse, so self-castigating, and self-torturing. Perhaps, I thought, I might even hint, mercifully, that, in time, say, a long time, I might relent and forgive him, after which we might consider arranging a suitable, meaningful relationship, founded on respect and equality. After all, was he not a male of Earth, another pathetic, manipulable male fool, putty in the hands of a clever woman such as I? Surely I could arrange matters to my satisfaction. But these thoughts, so natural to the promptings of my terrestrial indoctrination, my Earth training, the dictates of a pathological conditioning regimen, had almost immediately been swept aside. I knew I did not want him to be another exploitable, weakling of Earth. I knew I wanted to lie chained at his feet. I knew I wanted his collar on my neck. I knew I wanted to be his slave.
But the voice had not been that of Addison Steele!
Within the hood tears streamed down my cheeks.
So I knelt in nadu before whom I knew not. In such a position a woman well knows she is a slave.
I wondered what my visitor might wish of me.
I did not sense that he had removed, or was removing, his garmenture.
The cloth belt of my tunic was not undone.
I was not seized, and thrown beneath him, or flung as an object to my belly.
I did not understand my hooding, my being reserved. These things were mysterious to me and, I suspected, had been mysterious to the taverner’s deputy, as well.
It is unusual for a paga girl to be held for a given customer, to be reserved. Others may want her.
I remained silent.
“You are Zia,” said the voice. “You are a barbarian. Your first public sale was in Brundisium, at the market of Anesidemus. You were sold for three copper tarsks, forty. You are currently a paga girl at the Golden Chain, and your current master is Ho-Tosk, Taverner of Port Kar.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do you know one who calls himself Rutilius of Ar or Bruno of Torcadino?”
“I encountered one spoken of as Bruno of Torcadino in Brundisium,” I said, “a one-legged man.”
“Do you know Decius, of Venna?” the voice asked.
“I do not think so,” I said.
“I think you have met him,” said the voice.
“I do not know the name,” I said.
“Are you familiar with a kajira named ‘Adraste’?” the voice asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said. “Very much so. She may be on the floor now. She is a paga girl here, at the Golden Chain. I know her even from Brundisium.”
“She was sold directly after you,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said, surprised.
“What do you know of her?” I was asked.
“Very little,” I said. “She is very beautiful. Her accent reminds me somewhat of yours.”
“It is an accent of Ar,” he said.
“I think her name is Cosian,” I said.
“It is,” he said.
“She was imported from the World’s End,” I said.
“With many others,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“In Port Kar, one hears many accents,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Tell me of Adraste,” he said.
“I know little about her,” I said. “She claims to have been of high caste.”
“Perhaps she is lying,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“What do you think of her?”
“She is insufferable,” I said. “She is cold, arrogant, and supercilious. She despises us. I do not think she knows she is in a collar. One would think she was free.”
“You do not like her?”
“Who would like her?” I asked. “I do not know how Ho-Tosk puts up with her.”
“Perhaps she does not belong to Ho-Tosk,” he said.
“Master?” I asked.
“You know little of Gor,” he said, “of its events, and history.”
“I am a barbarian,” I said.
“You do not recognize my voice,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Yet you have heard it,” he said.
I was very uneasy. “Perhaps long ago, and far away,” I said. “Or briefly. I do not recall.”
“I suppose,” said he, “in the light of torches, exhibited, it is hard for a slave to look into the darkness of the high, far tiers.”
“You know me?” I said.
“It was I who purchased you and a confederate, one temporarily in fee to the house of Anesidemus itself, who purchased another, both of us acting on behalf of a principal who needs not be named,” he said. “You, in particular, cost us more than we expected, three copper tarsks, forty, forty tarsk-bits.”
“The house was surprised,” I said.
“You are worth more now,” he said. “If I had kept you, I might have turned a nice profit on you.”
I wished Addison Steele had heard this remark.
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
“Considerably more,” he said. “You have blossomed in the collar.”
“You have seen me on the floor,” I said.
“And on the streets,” he said, “near the arsenal, by the canals.”
“You have observed me,” I said.
“Even in your training,” he said.
“I am flattered,” I said.
“Adraste was sold after you,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“Do you know what she went for?” he asked.
“I heard later, in the cages below,” I said, “a silver tarsk fifty, fifty copper tarsks.”
“It was a cheap market, catering to a less affluent clientele.”
“I see,” I said.
“A low market,” he said, “one in which a particular slave might be discreetly vended.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Who did you think bought you?” he asked.
“I did not know who bought me,” I said.
“What do you think you were purchased for?” he asked.
“I, and others, to be transported to Port Kar,” I said, “for the taverns.”
“In a sense, yes,” he said.
“There is more?” I asked.
“Possibly,” he said.
“I am owned by Ho-Tosk, Master of the Golden Chain,” I said. “Surely Adraste, too, is his property.”
“Perhaps, not,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“A slave, sometimes,” said he, “for one reason or another, is not always kept in the house of her master, but is loaned out, so to speak, or rented.”
“Their rental cost,” I said, “being easily defrayed, that in virtue of the additional business their beauty might bring to an establishment.”
