Kajira of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "Master?"

  "For untold generations they have been, and remain, the subject of looting, abduction and trade. Accordingly, many females, particularly attractive ones, the ones of greatest interest to strong men, found themselves transported into, or carried into, unfamiliar environments, linguistic and otherwise. Clearly then, adaptability, and certain talents, linguistic and otherwise, would provide advantages in certain of these unfamiliar environments. Those, for example, who quickly learned the languages of their new mates, companions, captors or masters would muchly improve their opportunities of being pleasing, and thus of literally surviving, of being kept, and bred. And thus, statistically, a variety of talents, linguistic talents amongst them, became ingrained in slave stock."

  I shuddered, suddenly coming to a new understanding of my sex. Suddenly a variety of things, linguistic and otherwise, which might have seemed genetic anomalies, or simply hitherto inexplicable, became very plausible, and made alarming sense. How differently then I suddenly saw my own kind. If we were prizes, then, too, were we not objects, merchandise, of a sort. Were women then not the slave sex, the sex bred in many ways for the service and pleasure of masters?

  "But enough of such arcane matters," he said. "Let us address our attention to matters more particular to you, and surely within your purview."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Are you a good lay, Tiffany?" he asked.

  "Master?" I said.

  "Surely you are familiar with the word," he said. "It is from your own native language. I have made inquiries."

  "It surprised me to hear it, here," I said.

  "But you know the word?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "It refers, does it not," he asked, "to a woman who is sexually vital, and is sexually stimulable?"

  "Yes, Master," I said, "—in its way."

  "To one whom men find pleasing in the throes of intimate congress?"

  "Yes," I said, "I suppose so, that—and such things."

  "Are the women of your world good lays?" he asked.

  "I do not know, Master," I said.

  Few, of course, were slaves.

  "Most women on your world, as I understand it," said he, "are free."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Then," said he, "they are self-centered, self-seeking, egocentric, petty, proud, haughty, suspicious, unpleasant, petulant, greedy, cold, sexually inert, and so on."

  "Some, doubtless," I said. "I hope not many."

  It seemed to me that most of the women of my world were neither vicious nor cruel. It did seem to me, however, that most were somehow unhappy. I felt that many nourished unsatisfied desires, even deep, unrequited passions. Most, I felt, suspected that there might be much more to life than they knew, but did not understand what it might be, or where it might lie.

  Whatever my civilization might favor or encourage, it did not seem to be humanity, or love.

  And those, I knew, who made the most of such words tended to be the greatest of the haters and controllers.

  The last thing they wanted was a natural world in which human beings might once again be themselves, a world which would liberate humanity to be what it was bred to be, and flourished as, in the long course of nature's callous, implacable, discriminative eons. And what did the haters and controllers know of love, in its deepest sense, in its most profound expressions?

  "But then," said he, "what of other things, what of loneliness, of unhappiness, of confusion, of misery? What of a sense of being lost, of being unfulfilled, of wanting something and not seeming to even know what it is they are wanting, a sense of something that is missing from their life?"

  I put down my head.

  "Tiffany?" he said, not unkindly.

  "Alas, Master," I said. "I fear you know the lot of women on my world well."

  "And what do you think they need?" he asked.

  "I dare not speculate, Master," I said.

  "Perhaps they need a different world," he said.

  "Perhaps, Master," I said, my head down.

  There was a long pause.

  I kept my head down, miserably.

  "Sheila!" he suddenly snapped, loudly, unexpectedly.

  Startled, wildly, I raised my head.

  "It seems our girl answers to that name," he said.

  "No, Master!" I said. "You startled me! I am not Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus! I am Tiffany, only a slave, Tiffany, only of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus!"

  "Of course," he smiled.

  I was miserable. I saw he believed me to be Sheila, the former Tatrix of Corcyrus.

  How pleased he must be to have me naked before him, thinking me to be she.

  How, I feared, he would humiliate me, and toy with me.

  Tears sprang into my eyes.

  "Are you afraid?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "If you are not Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," he said, "you have nothing to fear."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  Did he truly think that an agonizing death, writhing on a high, narrow impaling spear, some twenty feet in height, unable to free myself, in a public square, or on the walls of Argentum, in public view, to the jeers and cries of a vengeful crowd was not to be feared?

  "I am Tiffany," I said, weakly, "of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus."

  "Of course," he said.

  "Are you trained, pretty Tiffany, of Feast Slaves?" he said.

  "To some extent, Master," I said.

  I had no doubt he had detailed records at his disposal. There was little about me, I supposed, that he would not know.

  Slave houses and businesses keep such records on their properties. For all I knew, there were detailed slave papers on me, which might accompany me in a sale. I did know, for example, that in the house of Aemilianus I had been finger printed, and toe printed.

  "I wonder if Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, has been trained," he said.

  "Surely that would be most unlikely, Master," I said.

  "I have sometimes wondered," said he, "if beneath the golden brocades of a Tatrix, any tatrix, might not be found the rep-cloth tunic of a slave girl."

  "Master?"

  "That beneath the hauteur and cruelties of her office might lie the longing, burning heart of a slave."

  "Surely not, Master," I said.

  "Do you know where the Tatrix of Corcyrus is?" he asked.

  "In the palace, somewhere, I suppose," I said.

  "Yes," said he, "she is in the palace."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Perhaps, even, she is very close," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "Perhaps, Master."

  "Why are you trembling?" he asked.

  "I do not know," I said. "Forgive me, Master."

  "I wonder whatever became of Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," he said.

  "Was she not captured by Hassan, the Slave Hunter," I said.

  "Was she?"

  "Master?"

  "I think that woman was a decoy," he said.

  "Master?"

  "Would it not be clever," he said, "to plant a false trail to a decoy, and meanwhile conceal the true Tatrix elsewhere, under a different identity, one unlikely to arouse suspicion, one almost inconceivably inappropriate, to conceal her even, perhaps, as a slave?"

  "I am Tiffany," I said, "of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus!"

  "I would be the last to deny that," he said.

  "Yes, Master."

  "I never forget a face," he said.

  I was silent.

  "I understand," said he, "pretty Tiffany, that you are the sort of slut who is helplessly and uncontrollably hot in the furs."

  "Perhaps, Master," I said, weakly.

  "Then I think we may account you a good—what is the expression?—a good lay," he said. "Certainly the least that is expected of a feast slave is that she should be a good lay."

  "Yes, Master," I whispered.

  "So," said he, "are
you a good lay?"

  "Some men have found me acceptable, Master," I said.

  "We are going to play a little game, Tiffany," he said.

  "We are going to pretend that you are Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus," he smiled.

  "But I am Tiffany," I said, frightened, "of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus!"

  "But we are going to pretend, aren't we?" he asked.

  "As Master wishes," I said, frightened.

  "Stand," he said.

  I did so.

  "Straighter," he said.

  I straightened up, even more.

  He then, from a chest at the side of the room, fetched forth a lovely, yellow, silken sheet. This he draped, regally, about my shoulders.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Tiffany!" I said. "Tiffany, of Feast Slaves, of the Enterprises of Aemilianus!"

  "But we are playing, aren't we?" he asked.

  I shuddered.

  "Now," said he, "who are you, really?"

  "Sheila," I murmured. "Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus."

  "I thought so," he said.

  I looked at him wildly, frightened.

  "Sit in the chair," he said.

  "I dare not!" I said. The thought of sitting in such a chair terrified me. It was the chair of a free person. I was a slave. I might be whipped, or slain, for sitting in such a chair. The greatest honor I might expect in connection with such a chair was to be permitted to crouch or lie at its foot, or, perhaps, to be chained by the neck to its side.

  "Is a command to be repeated?" he asked.

  "No, Master!" I said. I hurried to the chair and, small and frightened, sat down within it.

  "Sit up more straightly, more regally, and put your hands on the arms," he said. "Good."

  Then he came over to the chair and, bending over, carefully adjusted the sheet about me. He then stepped back. "Good," he said. Then he sat, cross-legged, on the tiles, a few feet from me. "Yes," he said. "Good. That is it." As he sat, he was below me. The angle would be similar to that which he had had from the floor of the great hall, or from the lower steps of the dais, looking up at me on the throne.

  "I never forget a face," he reassured me.

  I was silent.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "I am Sheila," I said, "the Tatrix of Corcyrus."

  "Yes," he said, "you are."

  He then rose up and approached me. He drew away the sheet and folded it, horizontally, again and again, until it formed, with several folds, a thick, long, narrow band, about six inches in height and the sheet's length, about seven feet, in width.

  He then passed this band about my waist and about the back of the chair. He then tied me, snugly, back in the chair. He then resumed his place on the floor.

  "Yes," he said, "clearly, at least a silver-tarsk girl." I recalled that he had conjectured in the great hall, much to the fury of many of my retainers, that that might be about my value in a slave market.

  He then rose up, again, and approached the chair. I tried to back, even further, against the back of the chair. My hands and arms were free but the thick, yellow band, knotted tightly behind the back of the chair, held me helplessly in place.

  "You are not going to interfere, are you?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said.

  Then he began to caress me.

  "There was quite a search for you," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It was lucky that I found you in Ar, wasn't it?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It is convenient that the addresses of many slaves are on their collars, isn't it?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It was thus easy to find you," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "What is wrong?" he asked.

  "Nothing, Master!" I said.

  "You are squirming," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Did you have a nice trip from Ar?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Were you in chains all the way?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  I tried to hold my body still. I dug my fingernails into the arms of the chair.

  "It seems that you have been shorn," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "It was done last to me a few months ago by Borkon, my whip master, in Mill 7, of the Enterprises of Mintar."

  "I see," he said.

  "Oh," I sobbed. "Oh!" Then I could no longer control my body.

  "You are squirming again," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I moaned. I writhed, helplessly, uncontrollably, held in place by the tight band of the sheet, my fingernails digging into the arms of the chair.

  "You respond like a slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "Sheila," I said, "Tatrix of Corcyrus!"

  "I know," he said.

  I tried to lift my body more to him, to make it easier for him to touch.

  "That is enough for now," he said. He removed his hands from my body.

  I looked at him wildly, piteously, pleadingly. He must not stop now! Surely he knew what he was doing to me.

  "Now," he said, "Lady Sheila, you are going to be leashed, and then you are going to perform on your leash, and superbly, and, after that, you are going to beg to please me, and as a slave."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He then went to a chest and from it fetched forth a high, thick, plain, black-leather collar with a lock closure. There was a sturdy ring attached to this collar, and, attached to the ring, there was a long slave leash of black leather. It was some fifteen feet in length. In most leadings, of course, this amount of length would not be used, but would be coiled in the grasp of the master. The length is useful if the slave is expected to perform leash dances, is to be bound with the leash, or if, it doubled at the master's end, it is to be used to train or discipline her.

  I sat back in the chair, held helplessly there by the thick bond of the yellow sheet. I watched him approach, with the collar and leash. He then stopped before the chair.

  "I am now going to leash you," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Lift up your chin," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I then felt the high, thick collar put about my neck, over the collar of Aemilianus. I could feel it snug under my chin. It was then snapped shut.

  "You are leashed," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He then untied the sheet from the chair. I had not been freed of that bond until after I had been leashed. This sort of thing is almost second nature with Goreans in the tyings and chainings of slaves. This is reasonable, I suppose, at least in many instances, that one security should be kept in effect until it has been replaced by another. He folded the sheet twice and dropped it beside the chair.

  "What is a woman in a slave leash doing on such a chair?" he asked.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. I did not leave the chair, however. I did not know what he wanted me to do.

  "Slip from the chair now," he said, "and go to all fours, and then, in this fashion, crawl ten feet away, and then turn and, in this fashion, face me."

  I hastened to obey. Then, in a moment or two, I faced him on all fours, the leash dangling from the collar, its end, as I had crawled, and turned, in front of me, a few feet from the foot of the chair. He had now taken his place on the chair. How right he seemed there, how lordly and masterful.

  "You will note," he said, "that you wear a common slave leash and collar. There is nothing unusual or valuable about them. The collar, for example, is neither set with sapphires nor is it trimmed with gold. The leash, similarly, is of plain, sturdy material. Both devices are quite ordinary, but, of course, quite efficient."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It amuses me to put you in such common articles," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You are now going to make as co
mplete a circuit of the room as is practical," he said. "You will, where practical, kiss the walls at the corners, on each side of the corner, about five horts from the corner and about ten horts from the floor. Where you come to chests or furniture, you will treat them as extensions of the wall, kissing them at the corners, and so on. You will then return exactly to your present position."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You may now begin," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "Thank you, Master." I then began my journey. The kissing of inanimate articles, such as a master's sandals, or the tiles on which he has walked, is useful in teaching a girl respect and reverence. There was something of this involved in his command, the having to kiss the walls of his room, the furniture there, and such, but the form of the command was presumably motivated primarily by the consideration that compliance with it would guarantee a full and adequate negotiation of the room's interior perimeter.

  I was then, after a time, again where I had been before, on all fours, some ten feet from his chair, facing him. The leash, dangling from my collar, was now trailing behind me, between my legs.

  "Lift your head," he said.

  I did so.

  "Come forward five feet," he said, "and keep your head up."

  I complied.

  "Put your head down," he said.

  I complied.

  "To your belly," he said.

  I went to my belly.

  "Up again," he said, "to all fours."

  I complied.

  "Lift your head," he said.

  I did so.

  "It is pleasant to have the Tatrix of Corcyrus naked and on my leash," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You may now bring me the end of the leash," he said, "—in your teeth."

  "Yes, Master," I said. I went back to the end of the leash and, putting down my head, to the tiles, picked it up in my teeth. I then, on all fours, brought it, between my teeth, to Miles of Argentum.

  He took it from me. I looked up at him, from all fours.

  "Does Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus, beg to perform on her leash for Miles, general of Argentum?" he inquired.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He stood up, then, and, with a snap, shook out the leash, and then, looping it, drew it back a bit towards him. He would play it out, or draw it in, as it pleased him, varying his perspective, and my distance from him, as I squirmed, and writhed and posed, from as little as an inch or two to the full length of the leash, something in the neighborhood of a full fifteen feet.