Quarry of gor, p.6
Quarry of Gor, page 6
“This is not an important market, is it?” I asked.
“Lesser known, and more obscure than I would like,” he said. “We do not even keep papers on our girls.”
I supposed then it would be hard to trace slaves marketed through the House of Anesidemus.
“Still,” I said, “I am sorry I did not sell for more.”
“You sold for three copper tarsks, and forty tarsk-bits, Brundisium,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“We only expected to get two copper tarsks for you,” he said.
“Oh,” I said.
“Someone must have wanted you,” he said.
“For what?” I asked.
“Do not be naive,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Still,” he said, “over three copper tarsks, in this market. That is interesting.”
“‘Interesting’?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps you are in some way special to someone.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “to some man I am the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
“Then,” I said, “I will have an easy life. He will be eager to please me. I can control him. He will do whatever I ask.”
“And you will be well lashed,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. I gathered that the men of Gor were different from those of Earth.
He smiled.
“In what other way could I be special?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said, “unless it is because you are new to this world, and know little of it.”
“Master?” I asked.
“I must get back to the block,” he said. He then turned and left.
Why should that matter, I wondered, that I might be new to this world and knew little of it?
I was pleased to see that there was a small blanket in my cage.
Chapter Four
Adraste
I lay down in the cage. It was a small cage, a typical slave cage, sturdy and closely barred. One can kneel or sit in it, but little more. One may not fully stretch out in such a cage. Aside from the obvious custodial aspects of such a device, it has its aesthetic and psychological aspects, as well. Aesthetically, men apparently find us attractive in cages. And, psychologically, they enjoy seeing us as the slaves we are, helplessly caged, confined within the limits they have seen fit to impose on us, and, of course, from the slave’s point of view, psychologically, we well understand ourselves to be the slaves we are. And, of course, as slaves, we are animals, and is it not appropriate that animals be caged?
In the distance, through the passages, I heard the gong sound. Adraste, then, she supposedly brought in from the World’s End, who had been the slave behind me in line, must have been sold. She, exquisitely featured, excitingly figured, dark-haired, green-eyed, and olive-skinned, was surely one of most beautiful women I had ever seen. I recalled that two of the slaver’s men, before I had ascended the block, had been bemused that such an item, supposedly worthy of the central block of the Curulean, whatever that was or wherever it might be, should be offered in this market, near the wharves, in an evening sale.
Shortly after the sounding of the gong, Adraste, bent over, in leading position, at the side of the slaver’s man, her hair in his grasp, appeared. She was put to all fours and ensconced in a cage two cages from mine. The intermediate cage was empty, and we could see one another, though not easily, through the bars. “Did you see the tarsk?” she said. “He put me, me, in leading position, as though I might be a slave!”
“I do not understand,” I said. And then I was frightened. I had never seen a Gorean free woman closely. I had seen some tonight, in the tiers, with escorts. They were at a distance, and the light was poor, except in the vicinity of the block. I recalled clearly, however, the terror of my instructresses in my training, in the house, at the bare mention of free women. One of the slaver’s men once threatened to sell them to a free woman, and the two instructresses, so frightening to us, with their strictness and switches, and contempt of us, new, naked, collared slaves, had suddenly themselves become piteous, terrified, groveling slaves at the fellow’s feet, begging to be spared such a fate. How they had wept, and licked and kissed, his feet. I had then realized more about free women than I had hitherto understood. And my alarm was all the more increased when I came to better realize the chasm which, on this world, divides the free and the slave. The slave to the free woman is less than the dirt beneath her dainty slippers. We are clothed, when clothed, in such a way as, in the opinion of the free women, to shame, humiliate, and degrade us, but, perhaps to the chagrin of free women, we soon grow fond of our tunics and collars. Perhaps the free women begrudge us that. Perhaps they wish that they, too, were so clad, and under the eyes of proud, free, greedy, lustful masters, who well know how to look upon helpless, vulnerable slaves. In any event, surely there is no mistaking us for free women. Robes and veils are one thing; tunics and collars are another. We yield them position, withdraw from their path, efface ourselves before them, dare not meet their eyes, and kneel, if addressed, or looked upon, commonly with our head to the ground. We dare not raise our voice in their presence, and, if we are permitted the honor of speaking to them, will commonly do so softly, head down, with extreme deference. The least suggestion, even imagined, of hesitation, impatience, unwillingness, presumption, recalcitrance, pertness, or sarcasm on our part is likely to bring a beating. We are much at the mercy of free women. They hate us and they can switch or lash us with impunity, which it seems they enjoy doing. The interest taken in us by free men outrages them. Too, most slaves are attractive. If they were not so, they would not, for the most part, have been put in the collar. Men would not have wanted them. Thus, in their way, the mark and the collar, are badges of approval. The woman who is marked and has a collar on her neck knows that she has been found desirable, worth marking and collaring. What strong, fine male does not want a beautiful woman at his slave ring?
“May I speak, Mistress?” I asked.
This mode of address seemed to mollify the beauty.
“Yes,” she said.
“Is Mistress not a slave?” I asked.
“She-tarsk!” she hissed.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I said.
“I am marked and collared,” she said, angrily. “I have been put to use by various masters, who did with me what they pleased. I have just been sold, to whom I know not!”
“Surely Mistress then is a slave,” I said.
“Yes!” she said angrily. “I am a slave. I, I, of all women, of all women, have been made a slave!”
“‘Of all women’?” I asked.
“I was once free,” she said, carefully.
“So, too, was I,” I said.
“I was of high caste, noble, important!” she said.
“I had no caste,” I said.
“You were nothing before,” she said. “Now you are less than nothing!”
“You are a slave,” I said.
“Yes,” she snapped.
“As much so as I?” I said.
“As much so as you, she-tarsk,” she said.
“If you are a slave,” I said, “why should you object to being put in leading position?”
“I am not a common slave,” she said.
“You are very beautiful,” I said.
“That tarsk who dared to insult me by putting me in leading position should have been boiled in oil,” she said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Once,” she said, “I could have had it done.”
“He also put you to all fours, and caged you,” I said.
“So a thousand tortures,” she said, “and then boiling in oil.”
“I am Zia,” I said.
“A meaningless slave name,” she said, “like Lita, or Lana.”
“What sort of name is Adraste?” I asked.
“Do you dare use my name?” she asked.
“Why should I call you ‘Mistress’,” I asked, “as you are a slave, as I am, and you are not “First Girl” to me?”
“Impudent barbarian,” she said.
“I saw your mark,” I said. “I have not seen one like it.”
“It is the mark of the city of Treve,” she said.
“You are from Treve then?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Do you know accents,” she asked, “that of Cos and Tyros, of Ti, of Torcadino, of Thentis, of Port Kar, of remote Turia?”
“No,” I said.
“Your mark,” she said, “is the common kef. Almost all slave girls wear it, common girls, particularly in the northern hemisphere, even as far east as the barrens.”
“It is a lovely mark,” I said.
“It looks attractive, burned into the hide of a common girl,” she said.
“I have not heard the name ‘Adraste’ before,” I said.
“It is not an unknown name in the nearer islands, Cos and Tyros,” she said.
“Then you are from Cos or Tyros,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“From where?” I asked.
“From far away,” she said.
“I understand you were brought here from what they call the World’s End,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Then,” I said, “you are from the World’s End.”
“Yes,” she said, cautiously, “I am from the World’s End.”
I heard the sales gong sound in the distance. Doubtless Adraste heard it, too. Another girl had been sold.
“We are named, of course, as masters wish,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“We are animals,” I said.
How true that was!
I now understood myself, profoundly, as an animal, only an animal.
“You are a pretty animal,” she sneered.
“And you,” I said, “are a beautiful animal.”
She grasped the bars of her cage, and shook them, angrily, futilely.
“You cannot escape,” I said. “You are caged.”
“She-tarsk!” she said.
“Surely you understand that you are an animal,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, bitterly, holding to the bars. “I am an animal.”
“Accept yourself as such,” I said, “and be fulfilled.”
I had, long ago, in the joy of my collaring and marking, welcomed that I was now an animal, which, helpless and rightless, could be owned. I found freedom, liberation, and fulfillment in the collar of a slave.
What had I been before?
Only an uncollared slave.
“I named my slaves as I wished,” she said.
“You once had slaves?” I said.
“I told you,” she snapped, “that I was of high caste, that I was noble, and important!”
“Yes,” I said.
“I was rich,” she said, “and powerful!”
“Very powerful?” I asked.
“We have spoken enough,” she said, warily.
“How many slaves did you have?” I asked.
“As many as I wished,” she said.
“Several?” I said.
“Of course,” she said. “One needs several slaves, some for the care of one’s hair, some for the bath, for lotions and creams, some for the care of one’s robes and veils, some for dressing one, and so on.”
“I see,” I said.
“Slaves are useful,” she said. “They can carry messages; they can be distributed about, in the streets and markets, to listen and gather information; the slave girl, unsuspected, can follow men and women unobtrusively. I can place them in houses and taverns. They can serve wine and paga; they can wheedle secrets from boastful, naive males. They can apprise themselves of facts which I find valuable, economically and politically, allowing me to later control and manipulate others, sometimes others of standing and power. They can learn even the moods of cities, the existence of disgruntlement and discontent, discover even the threads of plots and conspiracies.”
“You use them as spies,” I said.
“Informants,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I direct them whom to cultivate, whose favor to win, whose confidence and trust to secure, whom to bed with, whom to interrogate.”
“‘Whom to bed with’?” I said.
“Of course,” she said, “and learn from.”
“You employ their charms and bodies for your own purposes,” I said.
“Surely,” she said. “They are slaves.”
“Yes,” I said, “they are slaves.”
“And if they are in the least bit hesitant, inefficient, or displeasing, I have them well lashed,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“It is amusing to see them weep and writhe under the whip.”
“I do not think I would care to belong to you,” I said.
“You need not fear,” she said. “I would not stoop to owning a barbarian. They are ignorant and stupid.”
“I am ignorant,” I said. “I am not stupid.”
“Do you think you are intelligent?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, angrily. “I am quite intelligent.”
“I suppose you have been taught to kneel and belly, to roll and squirm, to lick and kiss,” she said.
“Yes!” I said.
“Slave!” she said.
“Have you not been taught such things,” I asked, “if only by the rod, switch, and lash?”
“She-tarsk!” she hissed.
“I see you have,” I said.
“Worthless, barbarian slave,” she said.
“I imagine you would dance quickly enough,” I said, “to the snap of a whip.”
“Doubtless you applied your high intelligence to well learn such lessons,” she said.
“I tried to master them,” I said, “I paid attention, I applied myself, but I do not think intelligence was much involved. I found such things congenial, natural, a matter of innate dispositions, of instinct. Certainly I wanted to learn how to please a master. I wanted to learn how to be a desirable slave. What slave does not wish to please her master? And she had better please him, or she will feel the lash! But I think intelligence is important. Surely if one is highly intelligent, one will be more adept at pleasing a master.”
“Yes,” she said. “The brutes enjoy having a highly intelligent woman naked at their feet.”
“I long to be at a man’s feet,” I said. “It is where I want to be, where I belong.”
“I once knew a man from your world,” she said. “He was a weakling, grateful for a smile.”
“Perhaps he has changed,” I said.
“I despise him,” she said.
“I think you have not yet met your master,” I said.
“I conquer men with my beauty,” she said.
“Perhaps when you were free,” I said.
She was silent.
“I expect it would be difficult to conquer men when one is on one’s knees, stripped and collared,” I said.
“I hold men in contempt,” she said.
“They are beasts, of course,” I said, “but we belong to them.”
“Like sandals and tarsks!” she said.
“Have you no desire to kneel gratefully at the feet of a master?” I asked.
“Were I free,” she said, “I would have the skin lashed from your bones!”
“You are a woman,” I said. “You need a master.”
“Be silent,” she said. “Someone approaches.”
“It is the slaver’s man,” I said, “and he has a newly vended girl with him. She is in leading position.” This was easier for me to see, than for Adraste, given the location of our cages.
“Do not speak,” whispered Adraste. “We could be beaten.”
Slave girls are commonly at liberty to speak to one another, but it is quite a different thing if a free person is present. In such a situation, the free person may not wish to hear the discourse of slaves.
The new girl was placed in the cage next to that of Adraste, to my right. She was a blonde, short and sweetly figured.
She had scarcely been ensconced in her cage and the slaver’s man departed than she turned to me, speaking through the cage that separated us. “I went for six copper tarsks. What did you go for?”
“I went for three copper tarsks, forty tarsk-bits,” I said, adding, “of Brundisium.”
“You are only a barbarian,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“But that is a good price for a barbarian, in this market,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I am Fina,” said the new girl.
“I am Zia,” I said.
“I do not know why they hold sales this time of night,” she said, “here, near the wharves. Who will attend them?”
“Some, I suppose,” I said.
“It is almost as though they did not want the best prices,” she said.
I did not fully understand what she was saying.
“I understand it was a regularly scheduled sale,” I said.
“The venue is obscure,” she said.
“Perhaps the time and place are convenient for a certain clientele,” I said, “dock workers, mariners, warehouse men, and such.”
“True,” she said.
“I take it you are natively Gorean,” I said.
“Of course,” she said.
“It is kind of you to speak to me,” I said. Many Gorean slaves would not deign to converse with a barbarian.
“Who else is there to speak with?” she asked.
“She to your right,” I said, puzzled.
