“I think so,” I said.
At that moment there was a great impact somewhere, perhaps a hundred feet away.
Lady Publia, bound at our feet, winced. There was a noise as the leash ring moved on the collar ring.
“It is the artillery,” said Lady Claudia, shivering. “It has begun again!”
“She is pretty,” I said. “Perhaps Cosians might spare her.”
“I think so,” said Lady Claudia.
“Why do you speak so explicitly of Cosians?” asked Lady Publia suddenly, apprehensively. “Am I not beautiful?”
“Yes,” I said. “You are.”
“Then would not anyone spare me?” she asked.
“Perhaps not just anyone,” I said.
She looked at me, frightened. “Even if I were docile, and concerned to be pleasing?” she whispered.
I smiled.
“Not even if I yielded myself to my bondage, totally?” she asked.
“Would you be prepared to do so?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
Lady Claudia gasped.
“There is your ‘free woman,’” I said. “You see, she is the same as you, after all.”
“Yes,” said Lady Claudia, softly.
“You understand, do you not, Lady Publia,” I said, “that there are many ways, behavioral and psychological, in which one can determine whether or not a woman’s bondage is meretricious?”
“Yes,” she said, frightened.
Bondage on Gor is not a halfway thing, unless the master, for a time, perhaps for his amusement, permits it. There are techniques for determining whether or not the woman is wholly a slave. If she is not, she may be made wholly a slave, or, if the master wishes, disposed of.
“Yet, even so,” I said, “one might be found who might not choose to spare you.”
“What are you waiting here for?” asked Lady Publia, frightened. “Why do you not run? Why do you not flee?”
“We are waiting for a caller,” I said.
“Who?” she asked, apprehensively.
“Surely you have not forgotten,” I said. “He was to have been along in a few Ehn. I expect him in a bit, the assaults now having abated.”
“If she is to be me,” said Lady Publia, suddenly, frightened, looking at Lady Claudia, wearing her former rags, veil and scarf, “what then is to be my role in this farce?”
While we had been talking I had taken the cloth which Lady Claudia had brought from the side earlier, that which she had cut from the tunic of one of the guards, and had been tearing it here and there, and working with it.
“Can you not guess?” I asked.
“No!” she cried. “No!”
“Perhaps,” I said. I was now wadding one of the pieces of cloth into tight ball.
“Are you not a Cosian?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“What is your city?” she asked, frightened.
“Port Kar,” I said.
She suddenly turned white.
“Glory to Port Kar,” I said.
“Mercy!” she cried.
“Glory to Port Kar,” I said, regarding her, evenly.
“Glory to Port Kar!” she cried, desperately, fervently.
“Three times,” I said.
“Glory to Port Kar,” she cried, thrice.
I then thrust the small ball of tightly rolled cloth into her mouth, where, instantly, as it was actually a rather large piece of material, it expanded.
“Those may be the last words you ever speak,” I said.
She looked at me wildly, tears in her eyes, squirming, shaking her head, protesting, making tiny noises, but I then secured the wadding tightly in her mouth, with two rolled strips of cloth, pulled back tightly between her teeth, and tied in back of her neck.
“When the executioner arrives,” I said, “who do you think he is going to find, waiting for him?”
She turned white, squirming, shaking her head.
“You were not really very pleasing,” I said. “Perhaps you would like to be more pleasing now?”
She nodded, desperately, tears bursting from her eyes.
“Hold her leash, close to the collar,” I said to Lady Claudia, who was white-faced, too.
This would keep Lady Publia from plunging her head to the floor, at our feet.
“Perhaps you would like to beg to be spared?” I said.
She nodded, desperately.
“Perhaps you would like, even, to be permitted to declare yourself a slave?” I speculated.
She nodded again, desperately, piteously.
“Perhaps you would like, even, to be permitted to use some of those formulas and phrases which you rehearsed so carefully, for use before Cosians?” I asked.
Her head jerked affirmatively, tears pouring from her eyes.
“But we cannot risk being softened, can we?” I asked.
She threw her head back, in misery.
But I pulled it forward, by the hair, and covered it, with a large piece of cloth from the guard’s tunic. I then, with a knife, and a cord of rolled cloth, put through holes in the bottom of the cloth, made it into a rough hood, and tied it on her, fastening it behind the back of the neck.
“Perhaps if you had been more pleasing,” I suggested.
She then began hysterically, piteously, to squirm and moan.
I rose to my feet. I gestured to Lady Claudia to release the leash. It seemed she could hardly open her fingers but she did so. Lady Publia, as I had expected, as soon as the leash was released, put her head, secured in the darkness of the crude hood, wildly, piteously down, searching, groping, for my feet, to press her covered, parted lips and stopped mouth against them. I let her search for them for a moment, and not find them. Then I took the leash back between her legs, crossed her ankles, and bound them together with it. She was thus, having herself assumed this position, now, at my convenience, fastened helplessly down, bent over, on her knees. Her head, held by the leash and collar, was down, at the floor. She could not lift it.
I stood up. I looked down at her.
Yes, it was a position of obeisance.
In it women look well.
“See if anyone is coming,” I said to Lady Claudia.
She hurried, distraught, to the cell door.
In a moment she had returned.
“Doubtless he will be along presently,” I said.
Lady Claudia looked down, horrified, at our helpless warder.
I crouched down by the prisoner. “The spear, as I understand it,” I said, trying to recall the words of our warder earlier to Lady Claudia, “is a solid piece of polished metal, very long, and less than a hort in width. It is tapered to a point, and fits in a mount.”
Lady Publia squirmed on her knees hysterically. She uttered tiny, wild, protesting noises.
Lady Claudia looked at me wildly, over the veil. There were tears in her own eyes.
At that moment there was a hideous impact some forty feet or fifty feet from us and on the other side of the interior wall to the left, as one would face the cell door, in what, presumably, would have been the cell adjoining ours, there was a bursting inward of brick and stone. In a moment there was a cloud of dust in the corridor, some of which drifted into our cell. I put my arm before my face. Lady Claudia’s veil and Lady Publia’s hood doubtless afforded them some protection.
We heard a cough in the corridor outside.
In a moment a tall fellow entered our cell. He wore a black hood, which, save for a narrow, rectangular opening for the eyes, covered his entire head. The hood and shoulders, in particular, were covered with dust. He struck some dust from his clothes and body. “The wall weakens,” he said to me. “In a few Ehn they will be coming again. They are forming. We can no longer keep them back. Their engines are almost climbing the walls.”
I nodded.
“You are Lady Publia, the warder?” he asked Lady Claudia.
“I am,” she said, boldly.
It was for this reason that I had not ens
laved Lady Claudia. I did not want the slave transformations to occur in her prematurely, those deep, beautiful and exciting transformations which occur in a woman when she realizes she is truly slave. I did not want her to tremble, or stammer, for example, as she, knowing herself slave, and its meaning, might have had to struggle against an almost overpowering impulse, desire and disposition to fall rightfully to her knees before a free man, address him as “Master,” and such. By such falterings, and behavioral cues, subtle or not, a slave might have given away our little game. She could always be enslaved later, and begin to learn true bondage, at a man’s convenience.
“I do not approve of woman warders,” said he. “It is a task for men.”
She tossed her head.
“Perhaps you regret having accepted the position,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Lady Claudia.
At our feet, Lady Publia, kneeling, bent over, small, hooded, the leash tight against the back of her neck, unable to raise her head, squirmed and uttered wild, tiny noises. We paid her no attention, as she was the prisoner. I supposed, however, that perhaps she did, now, upon reflection, regret having accepted the position of warder.
“You have pretty legs,” said the fellow to Lady Claudia.
She did not respond.
“What is your caste?” he asked.
“The Merchants,” she said.
“Why are you not in the white and gold,” he asked, “on this, of all days?” White and gold, or white and yellow, are the caste colors of the Merchants.
She did not answer.
“You are not even in the Robes of Concealment,” he said.
“They are not appropriate here,” she said.
“You do not wear them here because it is not appropriate for them here,” he asked, “or is that why you are here, because it is not appropriate to wear such things here?”
“There are many places where they would not be appropriate,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, “for example, on a Cosian sales block.”
“I meant other places,” she said.
“It is true,” he said, “for example, in climbing the rubble, carrying stones to workmen on the walls, in tending the wounded, and such. Thus I wonder why it is that you chose to be here.”
“It is cool here,” she said.
“And perhaps you could feel more like a man here,” he said.
“Perhaps,” she said, as though angrily.
Lady Publia, in the hood, tied at our feet, made a small, wild noise, as of understanding, acknowledgment, dismay, regret, misery and pain. The fellow’s question had apparently seemed profoundly meaningful to her, for some reason. At any rate, if she had had secret, internal pretensions to manhood, or to similarity to men, or something along these lines, it seemed unlikely she now retained them. I thought that she probably now realized she was something quite different, and, in my opinion, something quite individual, authentic and wonderful, a woman. At any rate, she would know something that was indisputable, that she was at our feet, a helplessly bound female.
“From the look of it, woman,” said he to Lady Claudia, “I do not think you have underrobes beneath those rags.”
“That is my own concern,” she said, loftily.
“By nightfall you will probably be in a collar, licking the feet of a Cosian,” he said.
“Perhaps,” she said, angrily.
“And what of you, my little vulo,” he said, not unkindly, crouching beside Lady Publia. “I wager that you, too, would like to have the opportunity to prostrate yourself before Cosians.”
Lady Publia began to squirm and wriggle wildly, making piteous sounds.
“You must have fed her very well,” said the fellow, looking up at Lady Claudia, whom he took for Lady Publia. “She has a great deal of energy.”
Lady Publia struggled wildly, trying to pull her head up, against the thick collar and heavy strap. But, in the end, she was exactly as she had been before.
“Why is she gagged?” asked the fellow.
“That she not be able to make her identity known,” I said.
Lady Publia stopped moving, startled.
“I do not understand,” said the fellow.
“It is the orders of Aemilianus,” I said. “He was not certain whether or not there were more than one spy of such a nature in the city. Accordingly, in this fashion, if there should be more than one such agent, Cosians would not know which of them was mounted on the pole. Too, the hood might, concomitantly, to some extent, though it seems a little late now, impair the functioning of their intelligence network in the city. Also, the other agents, if there are such, might be intimidated or terrified, not knowing which of their number had been captured, how much was known, who might be next, and so on.”
“The commander is a clever man,” said the fellow.
“Yes,” I agreed. I did have respect for Aemilianus as a commander.
Lady Publia squirmed, and wept. The hood was wet with her tears.
“Do not fret, little vulo,” he said to her, putting his hand on her head, “you will soon be on the spit, cooking in the sun.”
She wept and struggled.
“It seems there will be little difficulty in getting this one to squirm on the spear,” said the fellow.
Wild, tiny, piteous noises emanated from Lady Publia’s hood.
“Sometimes they wriggle well,” he said, “perhaps because they are afraid, or because they think they can get off the spear somehow, or because they are trying to end it. Sometimes they try to hold themselves as still as possible. Sometimes then we use the whip on them, and sometimes not. If we let them take their time about it, of course, the penetration is sometimes as little as a hort an Ahn. The end result, of course, is the same.”
Lady Publia squirmed hysterically. She uttered desperate, piteous, pleading sounds.
“Usually they are not this agitated,” said the fellow. “Usually, by this time, they are numb with fear and dread, and offer no resistance. Many cannot even walk.”
I recalled that Lady Claudia had been much that way earlier.
“It is time to go, little vulo,” said the fellow, getting to his feet.
Lady Publia, at his feet, shook her head wildly, feverishly, piteously, desperately, as she could, in the constraint of the collar. It must have burned the back of her neck. Because of the coils of rope I could barely see her back.
“She begs for time, for mercy,” said the fellow.
“Perhaps,” I said.
She whimpered, piteously.
“Filthy spy,” he said. He then, angrily, spurned her with his foot, thrusting her to her side.
Lady Claudia, wide-eyed, frightened, looked at the prisoner, lying on her side, helpless, and looked then, too, at the fellow. Perhaps she had never before seen a woman so treated, or at least a free woman so treated.
The fellow then freed the ankles of Lady Publia, and brought the leash forward, between her legs. He then coiled it, to the leash ring. Then, one hand on her arm, the other on the leash coils, he pulled her to her knees.
Lady Publia whimpered piteously before him. I think she was now beginning, better than before, to understand her unenviable position. I feared she might collapse or faint. I was not certain she could even stand now.
“Think now on Cosian gold,” he said, bitterly.
She shuddered.
“Let us show your Cosian friends how pretty you will look on the spear,” he said, angrily.
She shook her head, numbly.
“I am now giving you tether,” he said. He shook out the leash. “When I pull twice on the leash,” he said, “you will rise and follow me, responsive to, and conducted by, the leash.”
But before he could draw twice on the leash, giving the prisoner her signal, she thrust her head down, to his feet, reaching for them, as she had earlier for mine. He let her find them, for a moment, and press, and rub, her face, her head, her gagged, covered mouth desperately, piteously against them.
“You seem to have the dispositions, and makings, of a slave,” he mused.
She lifted her head to him, in the darkness of the hood, pathetically, hopefully.
“And surely your body,” he said, “so trim and excitingly shaped, is much like those that are found in slave markets.”
She whimpered affirmatively, beggingly.
“But unfortunately,” he said, “you are a free woman.”
She shook her head.
“You seem to have forgotten your brand,” he said.
She made a small, begging sound.
“But perhaps all you free sluts are truly slaves and belong in collars,” he said. He looked at Lady Claudia. “Your friend, Lady Publia, the warder,” he said to the prisoner, “has pretty calves and ankles. Doubtless those are displayed for the interest and delectation of Cosians, and masters.”
Lady Claudia stood back, not answering.
I wondered if the fellow saw that Lady Publia was thinking of running.
“Traitress,” said the fellow to Lady Publia.
Lady Publia then, suddenly, leaped to her feet and tried to run, but, in an instant, expertly, with a turn of the leash, she was flung to her side before him. He held the leash. His foot on it, near her neck, kept her head down. Lady Claudia’s hand went before her veiled lips. She looked down at the helpless, prostrate Lady Publia. I supposed that perhaps Lady Claudia had never seen a woman subjected to leash control before.
“That was stupid,” said the fellow. “Now, shall we begin again?” He took his foot off the leash. He shook the leash once, to alert the prisoner that a leash signal was imminent. Then he drew on the leash twice. “Stand,” he said. “Follow.”
Lady Publia struggled to her feet, then her legs gave out, under her, and she collapsed.
“Be warned,” he said. “If I carry you, I shall carry you as a slave is carried.”
But I think Lady Publia, now, truly, could not stand. I think that her bonds, the security of her gag, her inability to dislodge the hood, its effectiveness in concealing her, the ease with which her attempted escape had been dealt with, had all combined to make clear to her her utter helplessness, that she could not, in the least, by her will or action, alter the course of events. We had seen to it. Now she could scarcely move.
With a thong he addressed himself to her ankles.
Renegades of Gor Page 30
