"Stand straighter," he said.
I stood straighter.
"Why did you make me drink unsweetened slave wine?" I asked.
He looked me over, casually, not hurrying, from my head to my toes, and then, slowly, back.
"It was fitting," he said.
I gasped. The arrogance of him!
"What do you have there!" I said.
He had removed a pair of light bracelets, joined by about five inches of light chain, from his pouch.
"Slave bracelets," he said. "Turn around, facing the door, your hands behind your back."
Almost numbly I did so. I heard him approach me. Then he stood behind me, quietly, not moving. Perhaps he was looking at me. Then, suddenly, I felt the two bracelets flung about my wrists, striking them, encircling them and snapping shut.
I was suddenly very frightened.
I tried, tentatively, behind my back, to separate my hands. They could move only to the ends of their short chain.
"You are braceleted," he said.
I leaned against the door, terrified, almost fainting, using it for support. I was breathing deeply. My heart was pounding. I was braceleted! He was busying himself elsewhere in the room. I do not think he noted my condition.
How helpless I felt, braceleted.
In a moment he had returned to my vicinity, by the door. I now straightened my body. I was struggling to regain my composure.
"You braceleted me easily," I observed, lightly.
"It is not hard to bracelet a woman," he said.
It had been done so casually, so expertly, with apparently so little thought. Too, it had seemed to me to happen very suddenly, very decisively. In one instant I was free, and in the next I was held helplessly, the prisoner of bands and a chain. I was still shaken, perhaps even visibly so, with the enormity of what had been done to me. I had been made helpless.
"You have braceleted other women, haven't you?" I asked. He had done it so easily, so nonchalantly.
"Yes," he said. I hated those other women. I tried again to separate my wrists. I could not do so, of course. How short, how strong, seemed the chain that held them in proximity to one another. Suddenly I felt very weak. I, like the other women before me, perhaps women who were mere slaves, wore the steel of Drusus Rencius.
"We shall leave now," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. "Oh!" I said. "I did not mean that! Forgive me! It slipped out. I did not mean it."
"Do not worry about it," he said. "It is difficult for a woman clad as you are, and braceleted, not to think of a man as her master."
"Thank you, Drusus," I said. "You are very kind. Such a mistake, as you might imagine, is very embarrassing."
"Doubtless," he granted me, indulgently.
I wondered what it would be like to be owned, and to have to call a man "Master." But, of course, owned, it would be quite suitable and proper for one to do so, for he would be, in fact, in such a situation, one's master. My mind was racing. How could it be that I had called Drusus Rencius "Master"? How inadvertently, how naturally, it had slipped out. I wondered if I were actually a proud, free woman, as I thought, or was something else, perhaps only a slave.
"If Lady Sheila is ready," he said, "perhaps we should leave now."
I put up my head.
I reminded myself that I was not really, in a sense, braceleted. Oh, I wore the steel. It was locked on me, and well, but I was the Tatrix of Corcyrus. I could order Drusus Rencius to remove it from me at any moment I wished, and he would. Thus, in that sense, it was not truly on me. I did shudder, for a moment, at the thought of what it would be to be truly in such bonds, but then I hastily dismissed such fearful and unsettling thoughts from my mind.
"Lady Sheila?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Let us go."
He then opened the door and, holding me by the left arm, conducted me from the room.
8
I Have Been in the House of Kliomenes;
The Room in the Inn of Lysias;
War
"Perhaps now," said Drusus Rencius, "you have a better idea of the nature of the pens."
I could not even answer him, accompanying him back through the alleys to the inn of Lysias. I feared that my head might begin to swirl, that I might lose consciousness. I was scarcely aware of my surroundings, of where I was or what I was doing, or even of my feet touching the ground. I felt light-headed. I was trembling. I was filled with wild, turbulent emotions. I would never have believed that women could be subjected to such domination. I hoped that Drusus Rencius could not smell my arousal.
"Leading position," said Drusus Rencius.
I put my head down to his waist and he fastened his left hand in my hair.
"Tal, Citizen," said Drusus Rencius to the fellow passing us in the alley.
"Tal," said he.
It was in this fashion, my head down, his hand in my hair, my head turned to the side, hair, too, about my face and features, obscuring them, that Drusus Rencius had chosen to convey me past strangers in the alleys, coming and going to the house of Kliomenes. There was little danger I would be recognized. When we had passed the stranger he released my hair and I again straightened up. I was following him, generally, a little behind and on his left. It seemed appropriate that I, in my disguise, might seem to heel him, as though I might be a mere slave. It seemed to me that he had held my hair more tightly than he had needed to, when we had passed the stranger. I still wore the slave bracelets. He had declined to remove them when we had left the house of Kliomenes. In his steel, heeling him, occasionally being put into leading position by him, I felt much in his power.
"Did you enjoy the pens?" asked Drusus.
"Please do not make me speak," I whimpered. I was terribly conscious of the heat in my body, and the absence of a nether closure in my garment. Had Drusus Rencius so much as snapped his fingers I think I might have thrown myself to my back in the alley, begging for his touch.
* * * *
"This is the house of Kliomenes," had said Drusus Rencius, climbing the stairs to the narrow, heavy iron portal, recessed some feet back, at the end of a narrow tunnel, in the wall. It was on the street of Milo. Above the entrance to the tunnel, and on its right, in the wall, hanging from an iron projection, was a narrow, blue-and-yellow banner. I followed Drusus Rencius carefully, that I might not fall. "This is one of the better, and more respectable of the slave houses in Corcyrus," he said. "That is one of the reasons that I have selected it for your visit, that your sensibilities, those of a free woman, not be excessively offended."
"I see," I said.
"On the other hand, do not expect it to compromise overly much with its women. Such would be a violation of the ethics of the slavers. Its women, you will find, all things considered, are held rather close to the standards of slave perfection."
"I see," I said.
He beckoned and I joined him in the narrow tunnel leading to the door. I regarded the iron door, apprehensively. "There are truly slaves in there?" I asked.
"Of course," he said. "If you enter, you will be, probably, the only free woman in the house, unless there is a new girl in there, in chains, awaiting, say, the iron and the collar."
"Oh," I said.
"Do you wish to enter?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"You are a woman, and it is the house of a slaver," he said.
"I will enter," I said.
He then struck on the iron door. He then thrust me in front of him, so that I, in the tunnel, was between him and the door.
There was a small, rectangular, iron observation panel, now shut, in the door.
I felt the stone of the tunnel beneath my feet, the steel holding my wrists helplessly behind me.
The observation panel slid back. I saw eyes looking at me, and then, beyond me, at Drusus Rencius.
The panel slid shut with a click.
I wanted to turn and run. I could not do so, of course, because of the walls of the tunnel, and Drusus Rencius behind
me.
"They are expecting us," said Drusus Rencius, sensing my sudden terror.
I heard chains and bars behind the door, bolts being freed. Then the door swung open. "Enter," said a pleasant-enough-looking young man in the threshold. I entered, followed by Drusus. Beside the young man there was a guard, too, within. I heard the door, with its various devices, being refastened behind me. We were in a tiny torchlit room. Only a few feet before us was another door, also iron, similar to the outside door.
"Bracelet check," said the young man to me, pleasantly.
"Turn your back to him, and lift your wrists," said Drusus Rencius.
I did this and the young man quickly, expertly, checked the bracelets. They were locked on me. I was helpless.
I then turned again, to face the interior door.
I cried out, startled.
The guard, crouching beside me, had taken my left ankle in his left hand and run his right hand beneath my foot.
"No," said Drusus Rencius, deterring the guard, "there is nothing taped to her instep, nor is there anything else of the sort for which you might be searching concealed about or in her body or hair. She is to be exempted from slave search." I then realized, shuddering, just how thorough slave search might be.
The guard looked at the young man, who nodded. The guard then stood up.
The young man then tapped a complex signal on the inner iron door. In a moment I heard it being freed of its fastenings. It then swung open and we, the young man, Drusus Rencius and myself, were admitted to the corridor beyond. The guard there refastened the door and then took his place on a stool behind a small table.
"We need a pass and a license," said the young man to the guard.
I looked at Drusus Rencius.
"The license is only a formality," he said. "No free woman, unless a capture, may proceed beyond this point unless she is in the charge of a free man who is responsible for her and has a current license for her. This is a device to control the movements of free women in the house and a precaution against the attempted escape of slave girls pretending to be free women."
"Here is your pass," said the young man, handing a small disk to Drusus Rencius. It was not unlike one of the ostraka used as tickets or tokens for admission at the theater or other such events. The guard, meanwhile, was writing something down on a small, rectangular form. I had little doubt what it was. "And here," said the young man, taking the form from the guard and handing it to Drusus Rencius, confirming my speculations, "is your license for the female." I was a woman. Accordingly, I had to be licensed in the house of Kliomenes. How humiliating! The Goreans have a saying, "There are only two kinds of women, slaves—and slaves." I pulled at my wrists. They were well held in the bracelets.
"Is she really free?" asked the young man.
"Yes," said Drusus Rencius, putting the pass and license in his pouch.
"Interesting," said the young man.
"Do you find it surprising?" asked Drusus Rencius.
"Yes," said the young man.
The guard then stood up and came about the table. I backed away a foot or two.
He crouched down near me, and then stood up, regarding me. "Those are slave curves," he said, "and rather lovely ones."
I blushed, helpless.
"Such curves," he said, "should not be wasted on a free woman."
"I do not think Publius will believe she is free," laughed the young man.
I looked at Drusus Rencius.
"Publius," said Drusus Rencius, "is the house master. I know him from Ar."
"He would like to see you, after your tour," said the young man, "to drink a cup of paga."
"I shall be delighted," said Drusus Rencius. He did not ask me for my permission to do this, I noted.
"She is truly free?" asked the guard.
"Yes," averred Drusus Rencius.
"It is a shame," said the guard. "Curves like that should be up for sale."
"From what I have heard of her," said Drusus Rencius, smiling, "she is the sort of a woman who has her price." I wondered what he meant by that.
"Hermidorus will accompany you in the house," said the young man, "if we can tear him away from his scrolls."
"He understands, does he not," asked Drusus Rencius, "that the woman is free and, accordingly, certain things are not to be seen."
"Of course," smiled the young man. "Hermidorus!" he called, loudly.
In a few moments, from a side door, a few yards farther down the corridor, another young man emerged. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and had a rather scholarly look about him. He did not seem much different to me than some young men I had seen about universities. He seemed an improbable inhabitant of such a place.
"This is Drusus, a soldier of the city," said the first young man. "He is known to Publius."
Drusus Rencius and the newcomer inclined their heads to one another.
The newcomer then looked me over.
"Do you think she could pass as a slave?" asked the first young man.
"Easily," smiled the second. I realized then the question had been rhetorical. I flushed. Why did Gorean men, seemingly so naturally, look upon me as a slave?
"Follow me," said the young man, turning about.
* * * *
"Leading position," said Drusus Rencius.
Swiftly I put down my head again and winced as Drusus fastened his hand in my hair.
Thus again was I led past a stranger in the alleys. As we passed the stranger, he approaching us, he was on our right. Goreans commonly pass in this fashion, the sword arms of right-handed individuals being thus on the side of the approaching stranger.
I saw some girls rummaging through a garbage can. They wore short tunics but they were not slaves. Goreans sometimes refer to such women as "strays." They are civic nuisances. They are occasionally rounded up, guardsmen appearing at opposite ends of an alley, trapping them, and collared.
* * * *
"Buy me, Master," begged the girl, kneeling before Drusus Rencius. "I will give you much pleasure."
"Next!" barked the trainer, in the house of Kliomenes.
The next girl hurried forward and knelt before Drusus Rencius, kissing his feet, and then lifting her head, piteously, to him. "Buy me, Master," she said. "I will give you much pleasure."
"Next!" barked the trainer.
The next woman then hurried to Drusus and threw herself to her belly before him, kissing his feet. She then rose slowly to her knees, kissing him from the ankles to the waist. Kneeling before him, then, close to him, holding his legs she looked up at him. "Buy me, Master," she whispered. "I will give you much pleasure."
How furious I was that these women were being sent to the feet of Drusus Rencius. They were naked and beautiful, but who would want to buy them? They were only slaves. That could be told by the collars they wore, bars of rounded iron which, here, in the house, had been curved about their necks and hammered shut. I stood in the background, angry, braceleted, helpless.
"You!" said the trainer, gesturing to another girl with his whip. "To his feet! Beg for love!"
This girl hurried forward and knelt before Drusus Rencius. "I beg for love, Master," she whispered.
"You!" said the trainer, indicating another girl. She, too, hurried forward. She knelt before Drusus Rencius, her palms on the floor, her head to the very tiles. "I beg for love," she whispered. "I beg for love, Master."
I was startled. I realized, suddenly, that these two women, indeed, were begging for love. "Beg elsewhere, sluts!" I thought. "Leave Drusus Rencius alone!" And how offensive that a woman should beg for love! Surely her intimate, desperate needs for attention, for affection and love were better concealed even from herself, if possible, and certainly, at least, from others! And if they must beg, the helpless sluts, did they not know how a woman begs, by looks, by glances, by small, hopeful services. Surely a woman should not be expected to speak honestly in such matters. What brute would force her to such extremities? Too, how vulnerable a woman
would make herself, placing herself so at the mercy of men, subject to being spurned, subject to his scorn and rejection. Yet how simple, how straightforward and liberating might be such a confession. How beautiful it might be to so express one's vulnerability, and femininity, so tenderly, so piteously, so openly. To be sure, one would expect such a confession only from a woman whose needs were both desperate and deep, a woman who had needs such as might characterize slaves.
"Come along," said Hermidorus.
* * * *
"Please, Drusus," I said. "My hands have been braceleted long enough. I am beginning to feel too helpless, too much like a slave. Please release me."
"I will release you in the room," he said.
I then continued to follow him, still braceleted, through the alleys, toward the inn of Lysias.
* * * *
"Slowly, more humbly," cautioned the trainer, half crouching over, watching carefully, moving slowly beside the girl. Then he moved about her, more quickly, varying his perspective. Then he moved to the end of the room, where he might wait for her to approach. "Head lower," he said. "Better, better." I watched her approach him, head down, on her hands and knees, her breasts depending beautifully. Then she dropped the whip from her teeth before his booted feet. She then remained there, head down, in position. "Better," he said. He then picked up the whip and tossed it across the tiles. "Again," he said. She then rose lightly to her feet and hurried to the whip, where, once more, she dropped to her hands and knees. She picked up the whip delicately in her teeth, and looked at him. He snapped his fingers. Again, then, head down, slowly, she approached him, the whip held in her mouth.
* * * *
"Kneel, back on your heels," said the trainer to the dark-haired woman. "Straighten your back, suck in your gut, put your shoulders back, thrust out your breasts, spread your knees, widely, lift your chin, put your hands on your thighs. You are not going to be sold as a tower slave, Lady Tina. You are going to be sold as a pleasure slave."
Kajira of Gor Page 16
