She did so. “Oh!” she said, gripped.
“Bend forward,” I said.
She obeyed.
“I think I can give you some idea,” I said, “as to what you will be doing until you find such a fool.”
“Please,” she said. “Mercy!”
“Look at it this way,” I said. “You lived off men, with very little recompense to them. You will now, in a sense, for the time being at least, merely continue doing that, that is, continue to receive your living from men, only now, as opposed to before, you will be doing something for it, and, indeed, something men enjoy and appreciate. You are, at last, going to be good for something. Men, at long last, are going to get some good out of you.”
“I am not a slave!” she said. “Oh!” she said.
“Before,” I said, “men, in a sense, were subject to you. Now you are subject to them.”
She moaned.
“You may move or not, as it pleases you,” I informed her.
She writhed briefly, trying to reach back, but could not escape. She cried out in frustration, and then fear. She then lay extremely quietly.
“I am not a slave,” she said.
“At least not a legal slave,” I said.
She trembled, her entire body, interestingly, responding to these words.
“—yet,” I added.
Again her entire body, helplessly, holistically, organically, spasmodically, responded.
“Please!” she begged. “Do not speak so.”
The holisticality of the female’s response is an interesting one. Their response is a whole, physical, emotional and intellectual. Men have sex; women are sex.
“Why did you pay a tarsk bit for me?” she asked. “Why did you not pay for an inn girl? Were they too expensive? Could you have afforded one?”
“I think so,” I granted her. Thanks, of course, to the coins from the brigands’ coin box, taken from them by the road, if nothing else, my finances were currently in excellent order.
“Then it was I, truly I, whom you wished delivered to your space,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I thought you could use a little humbling,” I said, “and a little informing as to the nature of your womanhood.”
“I am a woman,” she said. “Certainly it is up to me to decide what will be the nature of my womanhood.”
“Not at all,” I said. “The nature of your womanhood has been decided by biology. It was decided for you before you were born, indeed, thousands of generations before you were born. The most you can do is fight it, and deny it.”
“I see,” she said, angrily.
“It is not so bad, actually,” I said. “To be sure, it is not the same as being a man. But that, being a man, for a woman, would surely be a misery and travesty. Perhaps you should yield to your biological womanhood, in all its lovely physical and psychological facets. I think you would then find yourself whole, for the first time in your life. I think you would then find yourself feminine and soft, trusting and devoted, obedient and warm, liberated, relieved, fulfilled, happy.”
“I hate you!” she said. “I hate you!”
Her body seethed with hatred. It was pleasant.
“I am giving you pleasure, am I not?” she asked, angrily.
“Yes,” I said.
She then tried to hold herself absolutely still.
“Too,” I said, “of course, I find you of sexual interest.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you think anyone else would?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
“Oh!” she said suddenly, softly. “Ohh!”
“You moved,” I said.
“I am a free woman,” she said, angrily. “Yet I am at the mercy of the keeper! I am a free woman! Yet I was made to serve at the tables! Now I have been ‘delivered’ to a guest, as though I might be a slave!”
“Your bills have not been paid,” I reminded her.
“I am afraid,” she said.
“Of what?” I asked.
“What if I do not find another fool?” she asked.
I was silent. I did not tell her that the most common thing that is done with debtor sluts is to sell them into slavery.
“Do you think that I will find another fool?” she asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“I must,” she said. “I must! Else something terrible might happen.”
“What?” I asked.
“I might be sold to the collar,” she said. “Then I would be a slave!”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you think such a terrible thing could happen to me?” she asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
She moaned.
“If I were the keeper,” I said, “such would certainly be my decision.”
“What?” she said.
“I would sell you into slavery,” I said.
“Never!” she said. “Never!”
“You should be a slave,” I told her.
“No! No!” she said.
“You are moving,” I cautioned her.
She cried out in frustration.
Then she said, “Oh!”
Then she asked, “Are you going to make me yield?”
“Of course not,” I said. “You are a free woman.”
“Be done with it!” she said.
But I chose, somewhat perversely perhaps, to take my time with her.
Afterwards she clung tightly to me. “Oh,” she sobbed, softly. “Oh, oh.” She seemed confused, frightened, bewildered, at what had been done to her, at what she had felt. I thought the keeper’s man must be due soon.
“I yielded, did I not?” she asked, frightened. “Did I not yield?” The chain, its loose ends, the padlock, the small metal tarn tag, indicating she was in debt to the Crooked Tarn, clinked on her neck.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said. She had actually done very well for a free woman, new to the handling of men who could do what they wished with her. The Lady Temione, though the thought might have horrified her, as she was a free woman, had unusually powerful female latencies. Subject to men and the whip I had little doubt but what she would become extremely passionate, and eventually, even helplessly so.
“You owe a silver tarsk, five,” I mused.
“Are you thinking of redeeming me?” she asked.
“I was thinking about it,” I said. I must try to gain admittance to Ar’s Station. It was invested by Cosians, and mercenaries. I might have use for such as she.
“Do not,” she said.
“I thought you wanted to be redeemed,” I said.
“Not by you,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“I want a gentleman to redeem me,” she said.
“You do not think I would do?”
“Certainly not,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I would be afraid to be redeemed by you,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“If you redeemed me,” she said, “I would be in your total power. You would, in effect, own me.”
“True,” I said.
“And would you then give me my freedom, as would others?”
“The fools?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“No,” I said.
“I did not think so,” she said.
“You are aware, of course,” I said, “that you have, ultimately, no control over who redeems you, no more than a slave has, ultimately, any choice over who buys her.”
“I know,” she said.
I lay there, quietly, thinking. Yes, I thought, I might have use for a woman, or women, such as she.
“You took me like a she-tarsk,” she said, poutingly.
“You responded well to the taking,” I said. “Perhaps it is fitting for you.”
“You do not respect me,” she said.
“You do no
t want to be respected,” I said. “You want to be cherished, treasured, handled, abused, mastered, raped, owned, subdued, forced to serve and love.”
She was silent.
“Someone is coming,” I said. “Do you hear him, on the stairs?”
“No,” she said.
“He is on the first landing now,” I said. I sat up. “It is a male,” I said.
“I hear him now,” she said, after a moment or two. “Oh!”
I had turned her to her belly, on the blanket, spread over the boards.
“My wrists!” she protested.
They were then thonged. I had drawn them behind her, and held them together there, crossed, with my left hand. With my right I had removed the restraint from her left wrist. A moment later she was bound. Originally I had assumed it was the keeper’s man, but the tread, now, seemed heavier. Lady Temione rose to her right elbow, her hands tied behind her. I thought I must know who it was. I glanced at the space next to me. He had arrived at the inn later than I, I supposed, as he had eaten later. If that was the case it was not at all unlikely that he might have been rented the space after mine. If so, that might make things a great deal easier. I would not even have to search him out, in the darkness. There was a fellow slumbering in space 99, in the corner. He must have come to the inn rather early, I supposed, to obtain one of the four coveted corner spaces. If the fellow coming up the steps was indeed who I expected it was, and had rented the space near me, and if things proceeded as I expected, I thought I might be able to enlist the support of the fellow in the corner. The second portion of my plan required a confederate.
“Ai!” I heard someone cry, a few yards away, near the entrance. The newcomer, it seemed, had had some paga, perhaps a second or third kantharos. I wondered if he had paid for them. I heard another cry of rage. There was then a blow. The newcomer continued on, somewhat unsteadily. Another guest cried out, angrily, and rose up. He backed away a step, however, when he saw that he did not come up to the newcomer’s shoulder. Then the newcomer beckoned he should come forward. Frightened, he did so. Then the newcomer suddenly, without warning, doubled him with a blow to the gut, and he sank, groaning, to his place. Another fellow half rose up, and another blow was struck, and the fellow fell back, to the side. Another fellow said something to the newcomer and the newcomer’s sword half emerged from its sheath, and the other fellow rolled back, away, quickly, feigning sleep. The sword slammed back into the sheath. Two men moved at the noise. I saw the free woman, whom I had gagged and trussed, to whose clothing I had addressed the attentions of her own knife, which I had taken from her, and later destroyed and thrown away, lying very still. She was absolutely helpless, and her clothing, so cut and divided, could be lifted aside at anyone’s convenience. It was no wonder she did not dare to move. I wondered what her thoughts might be, so helpless and vulnerable in her femaleness. Doubtless, disarmed and helpless, her beauty at anyone’s convenience, her weakness manifested, she now knew herself much better than she had before. Sometimes such experiences help women understand that they are women. In a moment or two the newcomer was at the space, 98, next to mine. He looked down, angrily. I was pleased to see that he still carried the pouch.
He put it down, by the wall, with his helmet.
“Oh!” cried the Lady Temione, pulled half to her feet.
I noted the pouch had a lock. It would not, thus, be easy to open it and examine, or remove, the contents. To be sure, I was less interested in its contents than in something else. It would, of course, as he seemed to be some sort of courier, be a useful adjunct to a disguise.
He held the Lady Temione before him, her head back, his beard but inches from her throat.
“That is a free woman,” I said, dryly.
With a noise of disgust he turned and cast her from him, to her side, to the foot of my space, on my blanket.
I did not know if he recognized her from before, from the paga room, or not. He was drunk. It was dark.
He looked about. As I thought, he would prefer the corner space. I did not think it would matter much to him that it was occupied.
“Ai!” cried the fellow from that space, lifted up, and suddenly thrown against the wall.
The newcomer thrust his face against the fellow’s face, holding him back to the wall. “Why are you in the wrong space?” he asked him.
“I am not in the wrong space!” gasped the fellow.
He was then flung again against the wall.
“Why!” demanded the newcomer.
“There must be some mistake!” said the fellow. He was the same fellow, incidentally, happily, as I now noted, whom the newcomer had earlier ejected from his bath, and then drafted into service as a bath attendant. He was probably the sort of fellow who was very well organized and rational, had come early to the inn, generally conducted his life in a sensible manner, and so on. To be sure, fellows such as the newcomer can be the bane of such fellows. Again he was flung against the wall. This was a bit noisy, but then I was not asleep.
“I have the ostrakon for this space!” said the fellow.
“What has that to do with it?” asked the newcomer, again slamming him against the wall.
“Nothing, of course!” said the fellow, trying to get his breath. “I am sorry I am in the wrong space! I apologize! Forgive me! It was stupid of me!”
The newcomer let him slip to the floor and the fellow hastily, crawling, fetched his belongings from space 99.
“You would not be thinking of leaving, perhaps to complain to the keeper, would you?” asked the newcomer.
“No, no, of course not,” said the put-upon fellow.
He then placed his belongings in space 98, next to mine.
I frankly doubted that the keeper would be keen to mix into such an altercation, particularly one involving an armed mercenary, a fellow of the company of Artemidorus.
“You are a big fellow, too,” said the put-upon fellow, looking at me. “I trust you do not want this place.”
“No,” I told him.
“If you do,” he said, “I could always fling myself into the wall now. I have had experience.”
“Do not be bitter,” I said.
“Get that thing out of my sight,” said the bearded fellow, looking at the Lady Temione. She still lay much where she had been thrown, away from him, on her side, much afraid to move, her hands tied behind her, her head toward my feet, the chain, and the tag, on her neck. She put her head down, not daring to look upon him.
“I rented her for an Ahn,” I said. “I think the time must be nearly up, and the keeper’s man should be along presently.”
“What did she cost you?” he asked.
“A tarsk bit,” I said.
“That is far more than she is worth,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“In many cities,” he said, “one could have a coin girl for that.”
“True,” I said. Coin girls were a form of street slave, usually sent into the streets around dusk by their masters, who commonly own several of them, with a chain on their neck, to which would be attached, normally, a bell, to call attention to their whereabouts, and a small, locked coin box. And woe to the girl who returns without coins jangling in the box! To be sure, in some places, one might even have a paga slave, or a brothel slave, for as little as a tarsk bit.
“It is too much for a free woman,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Particularly one such as that,” he said, contemptuously.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Perhaps it is appropriate,” he said, “a tarsk bit for a fat she-tarsk.”
“She is not really so fat,” I said. To be sure, her figure could be considerably improved, and, if she became a slave, undoubtedly it soon would be.
“I have seen tharlarion,” he said, “who were better looking.”
Lady Temione, lying on her side, her hands tied behind her, stiffened in anger. I did not understand her response. Certainly she did not think t
hat she was slave attractive—certainly not yet.
“They could not easily have charged less than a tarsk bit,” I said, somewhat irritatedly. I must try to control myself. The tarsk bit, of course, in most cities, is the smallest-denomination coin in common circulation.
“For so much,” he said, “they should have rented her to you for a month.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Such she-tarsks are worthless,” he said. “She probably doesn’t even know what to do with her toes.”
“Probably not,” I admitted.
Lady Temione looked up, startled.
“She should have been put in a slave harness and sent to a training school,” he said.
“I doubt that there are any nearby,” I said.
“She should have been apprenticed to a slave,” he said.
“Perhaps she will be,” I said. “As I understand it, it was only tonight that she was put in the chain collar.” Such training schools are normally found only in the cities. Usually, but not always, they are attached to the houses of slavers. Needless to say, their students are seldom free women, but almost always slaves. The harness he referred to was undoubtedly not a security harness but a training harness, a complex affair, consisting of numerous straps and rings. It is useful, for example, in helping a woman learn how to serve a master while being denied the use of certain of her limbs, for example, her hands. It is commonly worn naked. Similarly, it helps the woman to adjust to her helplessness and her condition, as, in it, she may be fastened in an incredible variety of attitudes and positions. Its utility is limited by little more than the imagination of the master.
“You must be a strange one,” he said to me, “to make do with a free female.”
“She does not have to remain free,” I said.
Lady Temione shuddered with fear. The tag, and padlock, shook on her collar.
“But she is free now,” he said.
“That is true.”
He looked at the Lady Temione. She did not dare to meet that fierce gaze. Perhaps it was just as well. She might have been cuffed or kicked. I would not have approved had he done this, but under the circumstances, considering my purposes, I would not have interfered. As she was within my rental, and a free person, of course, the administration of any such discipline was really mine to do, and not his. If he wished to beat her, he should have requested my permission. Alternatively, he might have waited a bit, and paid her next rent fee himself. Any free person, incidentally, may discipline a slave. If this were not the case, then a slave, outside the knowledge of her master, might dare to be insolent to a free person.
Renegades of Gor Page 12
