by John Norman
Rask of Treve was popular with his men.
I saw, too, among the warriors, slave girls, collared, in brief rep-cloth tunics. They, too, seemed pleased. Their eyes shone. They crowded near. Laughing, raising his hands, Rask of Treve acknowledged the greetings of his camp.
I could smell roast bosk. It was in the late afternoon.
He untied my ankles from the right-hand saddle ring. He then unbound the strap that lashed my wrists to the left-hand saddle ring, but he did not untie my wrists themselves. My hands, then, were still bound, before my body. He then took me lightly in his arms and slid from the back of the tarn. He set me on my feet at the side of the saddle. He did not throw me to my belly or put his foot on the back of my neck, or force me to kneel.
I dared not look at him.
"A pretty one," said a voice. It was a woman's voice. She was incredibly beautiful. She wore a collar. Her garment was white, and came to her ankles, in classic folds. She did not wear the brief work tunic of the other girls. I gathered she was high girl in the camp and that I, and the other girls, would have to obey her. It is not uncommon, where several girls are concerned, to put a woman over them. Men do not care to direct us in our small tasks. They only wish to see that they are done.
I hated men!
"Kneel," said the woman.
I did so.
Some of the men murmured appreciatively.
"I see she is trained," said the woman.
I reddened. I hated men! But my body, subconsciously, had been trained to be attractive to them.
"She is a pleasure slave," said Rask of Treve, "though of a poor sort. Her name is El-in-or. Also, she is a sly girl, and a liar and a thief."
I was furious.
The woman took my head in her hands, and turned it from side to side. "Her ears are pierced," she said, in irritation.
Some of the men laughed. I did not care for their laughter. It frightened me. I gathered that, because my ears were pierced, they would feel free to do anything they pleased with me.
"Men are beasts," said the woman.
Rask of Treve threw back his great head, like the head of a larl, and laughed. "And you, Handsome Rask," said she, "are the greatest of the beasts." How bold she was! Would she not be beaten?
Rask laughed again, and wiped his face with the back of his right hand. The woman was again looking at me. "So, Pretty One, you are a liar and a thief?" she asked.
I put my head down, swiftly. I could not look her in the face.
"Regard me," she said.
I lifted my head, frightened, and looked at her.
"Is it your intention to lie and steal in this camp? she asked.
I shook my head fiercely, negatively.
The men laughed. "If you do," she said, "you will be punished, and promptly, and your punishment will not be pleasant."
"You will be beaten," said one of the girls nearby, her eyes wide, "and put in the slave box!"
This news, whatever it meant, did not much reassure me.
"No, Mistress," I cried. "I will not lie and steal."
"Good," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"She is dirty and she smells, " said Rask of Treve. "Clean her and groom her." "Is it your intention to put her in your collar," asked the woman.
There was a pause. I put my head down. "Yes," I heard Rask of Treve say. He turned away, and, with him, the others.
"Come with me to the tent of the women," said the woman.
I arose and, wrists bound, followed her to the women's tent.
* * *
The slave girl, with a touch of her finger, put perfume behind my ears. It was not the morning of my second day in the war camp of Rask of Treve. This was the day of my collaring.
I was not permitted cosmetics.
Kneeling within, slave girls preparing me, I looked through the tied-back opening of the tent of the women. Outside, I could see men, and girls, passing back and forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes. Today Elinor Brinton would be collared.
I had been coached in the simple collaring ceremony of Treve. Ena, the high girl, who wore the garment of white, had not been much pleases that I did not have a caste, and could not claim a familiar city as my place of origin. Accordingly, it had been decided that I should identify myself by my actual city, and by my barbarian title and name. In the ceremony then I should refer to myself as Miss Elinor Brinton of New York City. I smiled to myself. I wondered how often, on this rude world, I would have the opportunity to so refer to myself. The proud Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, seemed so far away from me. And yet I knew she was not. I was she. Miss Elinor Brinton, incredibly, uncomprehensibly, found herself kneeling in a barbarian tent, on a distant world, myself, being prepared for her collaring. The fact that New York City was of Earth, and that Treve was of Gor, would not even enter into the ceremony. Scarcely anything would enter into the ceremony save that I was female and he was male, and that I would wear his collar.
Yesterday, by slave girls, under the direction of Ena, who was high girl, I had been washed and combed, and then fed. The food had been good, bread and bosk meat, roasted, and cheese, and larma fruit. I, famished from my trials in the wilderness, fed well. I had even been given a swallow of Ka-la-na wine, which exquisite beverage I had not tasted since the time of my capture, long ago, by Verna outside of Targo's compound.
I had been frightened, but I had been well trained. I had not dared to speak. After I had been washed and combed, and fed, Ena had said to me, "You have the freedom of the camp, if you wish."
I had been startled. I had expected to be close-chained. She seemed amused, regarding my astonishment.
"You will not escape," she smiled.
"No, Mistress," I said.
Then I looked down. I did not wish to leave the women's tent.
Ena went to a chest, opened it, and drew forth a folded piece of striped rep-cloth, a rectangle some two and a half by four feet.
"Stand," she said.
I did so.
"Lift your arms," she said.
I did so, and to my pleasure, she wrapped the piece of cloth about me, snugly, and fastened it with a pin behind my right shoulder blade. She then fastened it again, with anther pin, behind my right hip.
"Lower your arms," she said.
I did so, and stood straight before her.
"You are pretty," she said. "Now run along and see the camp."
"Thank you, Mistress," I cried, and turned, and sped from the tent. I wandered about the camp. It was a war camp, lying in a remote, hilly area, covered with trees. I supposed it to be somewhere in the realm of Ar, perhaps to its northeast, among the foothills of the Voltai range. It was a typical Gorean war camp, though small. It had its compound where tarns were hobbled, and its cooking and washing sheds. There were many warriors about, perhaps a hundred or more, the men of Rask of Treve, and perhaps a hundred or more, lovely ones, in brief work tunics, busying themselves with their tasks, cooking, cleaning leather, polishing shields. Treve, I knew, was, nominally, at war with several cities. Strife is common among Gorean cities, each tending to be belligerent and suspicious of others. Rask of Treve, in his way, as other raiders of Treve, carried the war to the enemy. Earlier, I knew, he had despoiled the fields and attacked the caravans of Ko-ro-ba. He was now in the realm of Ar. He was a bold tarnsman indeed. I expected Marlenus of Ar, its Ubar, said to be the Ubar of Ubars, would give much to know the location of this small, palisaded camp. I enjoyed the smells of the camp, and its sounds. I watched two warriors practicing with their swift, short blades on a square of sand. The ringing of the metal excited and frightened me, the swiftness and cruelty of it. How brave men must be, I thought, to stand so to one another, so close, in combat so near, face to face, wrist to wrist, eye to eye, short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade to short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade. I could not have done this. I would have cried out and fled. What could a woman be but the prize of such men? For a moment I wished
myself back on Earth where there was little for a man to do which could not be done as well, or better, by a woman. But then, as I watched the warriors at their practice, something deep in me did not wish this. Something deep in me, primitive, helpless, and vulnerable, rejoiced that I stood not on Earth, but on Gor, where there were such men. Suddenly my legs felt very bare, and my arms. I was suddenly frightened. What if they should finish their sport, and turn to look upon me, and command me to serve them? Would I not, as a woman, have to give them immediate response? Could I have helped myself, kept myself from yielding immediately and completely to them? When such men command, what could a woman do?
"Ho!" cried one of the warriors, and their exercises were finished. I turned and fled away.
I went to examine the palisade about the camp. It was some twelve feet high and of sharpened logs.
I traced its interior perimeter.
I put my fingers and hands on the logs, which had been smoothed, and were closely fitted together. I looked up at the points, so far above my head. I could not have scaled the wall. I was closed within.
I continued to walk about the inside wall. I avoided this only where the tarn compound adjoined it.
Soon I had arrived at the gate.
It, too, was of logs, though here they were separated somewhat. It was a double gate, with, in effect, log bars. It was shut, two beams in brackets, chained, locking it. To my surprise I saw that there was another gate, though of solid logs, beyond that one, and that the camp was ringed, actually, with a double palisade. The exterior palisade had a catwalk, for defending the wall. The interior palisade, on the side of the camp, was without a catwalk. I was angry. The exterior wall permitted them defense. The interior wall, high and smooth, a quite effective barrier, served well to keep their slaves within. I was furious. "You will not escape," had said Ena.
"Girls may not linger by the gate," said a guard.
"Yes, Master," I said, and turned away.
How furious I was!
I continued to walk about the wall. At one point I found a tiny door, no more than eighteen inches in height. It was such that one man, at a time, could crawl through it. And it, too, was secured, fastened shut with two heavy chains and locks. And it, too, was guarded.
I saw that I could not, even by standing on the chains, remotely approach the top of the palisade. I imagined myself standing on my toes and stretching my arms and fingers. My fingers would have still been several feet beneath the points. It was so futile!
I was well imprisoned within.
"Move on, Girl," said the guard.
"Yes, Master," I said, and again turned away.
"You will not escape," had said Ena.
Tomorrow I, Elinor Brinton, would be collared!
I then began to walk through the camp. I saw the tents and the fires, and the men talking, and the girls about their tasks. I hated men. They made us work! Why did they not do their own cooking, and polish their own leather, and go to the stream or the washing shed and wash their own clothes? They did not do so because they did not wish to do so. They made girls do their work! I hated men. They dominated us and exploited us!
I found, in one place in the camp, a grassy area, on a slight hill. There was a metal ring there, near the top of the slight hill. It was fixed in a heavy stone, buried level with the grass.
In another place, I found a horizontal pole, itself set on two pairs of poles, leaning together and lashed at the top. It was, I gathered, a pole for hanging meat. Oddly enough, there was also an iron ring, set in a stone, buried in the ground, beneath the center of the horizontal pole. Off to one side, in an open area there was a small iron box, a square of some three feet in dimension. In the front of the box there was a small iron door, with two slits in it. One, near the top, was about seven inches in width and about a half inch in height; the other, its top formed by a rectangular opening in the bottom of the door, its bottom formed by the iron floor of the box, was about a foot wide and two inches in height. The door could be closed with two heavy, flat, sliding bolts, and locked with two padlocks. I wondered what could be kept in such a box.
I continued to walk about the camp.
In one place I found a long, low shed, formed of heavy logs. It was windowless. Its heavy plank door was locked with two hasps and staples, secured by two heavy padlocks. I supposed it a storage shed.
My steps now, inadvertently, took me toward the center of the camp. I stood before a large, low tent of scarlet canvas, suspended on eight poles. Inside, through the opened tent flap, I could see the scarlet canvas was lined with silk. It was a low tent, and only near its center could a man walk upright. Inside, in a brass pan, there was a small fire of coals. Over the coals, on a tripod, there was, warming, a small metal wine bowl. Warriors of Treve, I had heard, had a fondness for warm wines. I supposed that Rask of Treve might have his wine so. It seemed strange to me to think of such tarnsmen, such brutal, wild men, caring for such a small pleasantry. Too, I had heard, they were fond of combing the hair of their slave girls. Cities and men, I thought, are so strange, so different. I suspected there were few men as fierce and terrible as those of Treve, dreaded throughout Gor, and yet they enjoyed their wine warmed and were fond of so simple a thing as smoothing the hair of a girl. Inside, the tent was floored with heavy, soft rugs, from Tor and Ar, perhaps the booty of caravan raids. And, within, from extensions of certain of the tent poles, there hung, on hooks, burning tharlarion-oil lamps of brass. It was a bit chilly tonight. And it was growing dark now. The interior of the tent seemed inviting, redly warm and dark. I put the thought from my mind that I wished I was within that tent. I wondered what it would be like to lie within such a tent, naked and collared, on its soft furs, in the light of the small fire, the tent flaps tied shut, completely at the mercy of its master. Against its far wall I could see great chests, heavy and bound with iron, filled doubtless with a raider's abundant booty, gems and golden wire, and necklaces and coins, and pearls, and jewelries and bracelets and bangles, set perhaps with precious stones, which might serve to adorn the limbs of exquisite female slaves. Much booty was there. And I reminded myself that I, too, as much as any coin or precious cup in such a chest, or in this entire camp, was booty. I, too, was booty. I wondered, too, if those chests might contain the light, precious chains of silver and gold, wrought by slavers so cunningly, to hold a girl in given positions, while she was subdued at a master's leisure. I trembled. And I wondered, too, if they might contain nose rings, and if one would be put on me. I shuddered. "Whose tent is this?" I asked a passing slave girl.
"Foolish Kajira," she said, "it is the tent of Rask of Treve."
I had known that it would be.
Outside the entrance of the tent, squatting down, leaning on their spears, there were two guards. They were watching me.
I stood outside the tent. Rask of Treve did not wish to see me now. "Be off with you," said one of the guards.
I heard the flash of a pair of bangles and saw a dark-haired girl, the two golden bangles on her left ankle, come to the opening of the tent. She wore brief, diaphanous scarlet silk. She looked at me, and then quickly tied shut the tent flaps.
The guard who had spoken to me rose to his feet.
I fled away, back to the tent of the women.
When I reached the women's tent, I flung myself down on its rugs and wept. Ena, who had been sewing a talmit, a headband sometimes worn by tarnsmen in flight, came to me. "What is wrong? she said.
"I do not want to be a slave girl!" I wept.
Ena held me. "It is hard to be a slave," she said.
I sat up and held her. "Men are cruel." I said.
"Yes," said Ena.
"I hate them! I hate them!" I wept.
She kissed me. She smiled.
"May I speak?" I asked. "Surely," she said. "In this tent you are always free to speak." I looked down. "It is said," I said, "a€”I have hearda€”that Rask of Treve is a hard master."
She smiled. "That is true," she sai
d.
"It is said," I blurted out, "that no man on Gor can so diminish or humble a woman as Rask of Treve."
"I have not been diminished or humbled," said Ena. "On the other hand, if Rask of Treve wished to diminish or humble a woman, I expect he would do it quite well."
"Suppose," I said, " a girl had been insolent, or arrogant with him?" "Such a girl, doubtless," said Ena, "would then be well diminished and humbled." She laughed. "Rask of Treve would doubtless teach her her slavery well." This news did not reassure me.
I looked at her. "It is said he uses a woman but once," I wept, "and that he then, with contempt, brands her and discards her."
"I have been used by him many times," said Ena. "Rask of Treve," she added, smiling, "is not a madman."
"Were you branded with his name, after he used you? I pressed.
"No," she said. "I was branded with the mark of Treve." She smiled. "When Rask captured me I was free. It was natural that, after he had used me, had enslaved me in his arms, I should, the next day, in witness to this fact, be marked." "He enslaved you in his arms? I asked.
"Yes," she said, "in his arms I found myself a slave." She smiled. "I expect that in the arms of such a man as Rask of Treve any woman might find herself a slave."
"No I!" I cried.
She smiled.
"If a girl is already branded," I said, casually, but frightened, "she would not be again branded, would she?"
"Commonly not," said Ena. "Though sometimes, for some reason, the mark of Treve is pressed into her flesh." She looked at me. "Sometimes, too," she said, "a girl may be branded as a punishment, and to warn others against her." I looked at her, puzzled.
"Penalty brands," she said. "They are tiny, but clearly visible. There are various such brands. There is one for lying, and another for stealing." "I do not lie or steal," I said.
"That is good," said Ena.
"I have never seen the brand of Treve," I said.
"It is rare," said Ena, proudly.
"May I see your brand?" I asked. I was curious.
"Of course," said Ena, and she stood up and, extending her left leg, drew her long, lovely white garment to her hip, revealing her limb.
