I looked to one of the tables near my own. There was the free woman, in the sleeveless dress, with the low décolletage. She looked about. The fellow she had earlier approached was now slumped on the table. On the table was a bottle of ka-la-na. There were two glasses there. I saw her cut the strings of his purse and slip it inside her dress. On her left hand, as she did this, I saw a ring. I did not think she had had it on her hand before. I had seen such rings before.
“What would you like?” asked my hostess.
I had been considering a glass of paga, perhaps, if it were available in a place such as this, of the brewery of Temus. I now, considering the rather revealingly clad free female, changed my mind.
“I think, upon reflection,” I said, “that I shall order later.”
“Very well,” she said. Then she turned to Louise, kneeling in attendance. “When you are dismissed, if you are dismissed, return to your post,” she said. “Do not neglect, however, to observe this table. When he wishes to order, and lifts his finger, hurry to him. Then obtain what he wishes from the bar.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Louise.
“I may be ordering a bottle,” I said to the hostess.
“The admission price was only a tarsk bit,” she reminded me.
“Forgive me,” I said. I then counted her out five copper tarsks. I did this a bit obtrusively. The free woman, she with the low décolletage, as I had expected, did not fail to note this. She glanced back at the fellow slumped over the table. He would not awaken, doubtless, for some time, perhaps an Ahn or more.
“Ah!” said my hostess. “You are generous! For so much whatever you might like in the house, and as much of it as you like, is yours.”
“Thank you,” I said.
My hostess then took her leave.
I regarded Louise.
She looked up at me.
“Master?” she asked.
“You should say that with more deference,” I said.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“Do you understand?” I asked, menacingly.
She then clearly understood that she was in the presence of one of Gor.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened.
“You are dismissed,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She rose to her feet, her head down, backed away a step or two, and then turned and hurried back to her place with the other girls. She did it well. The female, I saw, had had some training.
I smiled.
Women are to be kept under good discipline.
“I see that you have dismissed a slave,” said the free woman, she with the low décolletage.
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you from out of town?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. The ring was not on her finger now.
“Are you enjoying Ar?” she asked.
I shrugged.
“It can be lonely for a stranger,” she said.
“Would you care to join me?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It would not be proper. I do not even know you.”
“Forgive me,” I said. “I did not mean to be forward.”
She moved her left foot a little, causing the bangles on her left ankle to move slightly. Most free women, of course, would never wear such things. They are regarded as suitable and appropriate only for slaves. She moved the bracelets on her left wrist up her left forearm an inch or two. The tiny noise this made was exciting, slave exciting. With one hand she threw her hair back. It was loose. Slaves commonly wear their hair loose. She moved subtly, charmingly, seemingly inadvertently, within the dress. Then she seemed, suddenly, concerned with it. Could there be something wrong with it? She then, almost apologetically, adjusted one of the shoulder straps of the dress, pulling it up tighter and more to the side. She did this as though not giving it much thought, and as though modestly, but in such a way, with such a movement of her body, and with such an effect, that she called dramatic and inevitable attention to the marvelousness of her breasts. Such breasts, I thought, would probably increase her value as a slave.
“That is all right,” she said. “No offense is taken.”
“I am really very sorry,” I said.
“It is my fault,” she smiled. “I should not have been so forward. I should not have spoken first.”
“Please join me,” I said.
She knelt at the table, in the position of the free woman.
“I spoke,” she said, “for I was pleased to see that you had dismissed the slave.”
“She is only an Earth girl,” I said.
“I have heard of Earth,” she said.
I shrugged.
“There is such a place?”
“I think so,” I said.
“They bring them in from there,” she said. “I take it that it is a far country.”
“In its way,” I said.
“Some of them are very pretty,” she said.
“I think so,” I said.
“I hear they make good slaves.”
“I have heard that,” I said.
“I wonder if that one is a good slave,” she said, with a toss of her head and hair, after the retreated Louise.
“Not yet,” I said. “She is not yet mastered.”
“‘Mastered’?” said the free woman.
“Yes,” I said.
“I see,” said the free woman. She laughed, lightly, uneasily.
I noted that Louise was watching us. She did not seem too pleased. The free woman was, of course, quite lovely. Why should Louise be concerned with that? She was watching. If I were to so much as lift my finger, she must hurry to the table, to serve. Until that time, of course, she must remain to the side, where she was, forbidden to rise, or approach.
“I have never understood,” said the free woman, “what men see in slaves.”
“Oh?” I said.
“They can be bought and sold,” she said. “They can own nothing. They are nothing. They are animals.”
“But surely some are of interest,” I said. After all men went to great lengths to obtain them. Wars have been fought for them. Men have killed for them.
“Perhaps,” she laughed. “Like a kaiila, or a she-sleen.”
I looked about the floor.
I thought of the note supposedly thrust under the door of Achiates.
I regarded the small reddish lamp on the table, with its flickering light. It reminded me of the small lamps of love sometimes kindled in a fellow’s compartments, the light from which has such an interesting effect on the skin of a slave chained to the couch ring. The resemblance was undoubtedly a calculated one.
“I do wish they would put them in clothing,” said the free woman.
“They do have their collars,” I said.
“True,” she laughed.
“Are you sure you could not accept a drink?” I asked.
She seemed to consider the matter, and then, after giving it some thought, smiled. “All right,” she said.
“What would you like?” I asked.
“Perhaps a tiny glass of ka-la-na,” she said, “among friends.”
I looked to the left. Louise, as she had been bidden, was watching. I lifted my finger. The Earth girl then leapt up and hurried to the table. At the table she knelt.
“A small bottle,” I said, “of the Slave Gardens of Anesidemus.”
“I have heard that is a marvelous ka-la-na,” said the free woman, her eyes alight.
“So, too, have I,” I said.
“It is very expensive,” said the woman.
“Are you familiar with it?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said, lightly, “I have had it a few times.”
“Do you like it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes!”
“Fetch it,” I said to Louise.
“Yes, Master,” she said, rising to her feet, and hurrying to the bar.
“That is the slave whom you earlier dismissed, is it not?” she asked.<
br />
“I think so,” I said.
“You hardly noticed,” she said, pleased.
I shrugged.
“I am so pleased to meet a man such as you,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“One who understands the value of a free woman,” she said.
I supposed free women did have value. Slavers, for example, will pay for them.
“So many men,” she said, “are interested only in slaves.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said. “I have no understanding of it. I find it unaccountable.”
“I can see you are astounded,” I said.
“What can a man see in any of those sluts?” she asked.
“A slave,” I said.
“Precisely!” she said. “Disgusting!”
“Some men like them,” I said.
“Is that what men really want?” she asked. “A woman who is totally theirs, one who is fully in their power, one who must strive desperately to serve them perfectly in all things, one who is absolutely and helplessly at their mercy, one who must lick and kiss at their least word?”
“I am afraid there are some men who do not object to that,” I admitted.
“I am sure you find free women of some interest,” she said.
“Certainly I find them of interest,” I said. The most interesting thing about them, of course, was that they could be seized and enslaved. After that they might become of real interest to a man. The female slave, of course, yours in her servitude, is ten thousand times more interesting than a free woman could ever dream of being. In any contest of desirability the free woman must always lose out to the slave, and if she does not seem to do so, then let her be enslaved, and see how she then, suddenly, in a moment, competing then with her former self, becomes ten thousand times more desirable than she ever was as a mere free female.
“Master,” said Louise, the nude, slender, red-haired Earth-girl slave, returning. She knelt near the table. She placed the small bottle of ka-la-na on the table, and two tiny cups.
“She is a pretty little thing,” said the free woman.
I flicked my finger, dismissing the slave, not bothering to look at her. This pleased the free woman. I wondered how one of the usual, close-fitting Gorean slave collars would look on her own throat. Well, I thought. Such collars set off the beauty of a woman, the encircling steel, significatory of bondage, contrasting nicely with the softness of her throat, shoulders and breasts.
“Yes, please,” said the woman.
I poured.
“To you,” she said, lifting her glass.
“No,” I said, “to you.”
“Thank you,” she said. I saw that she was flattered by this. She glowed. Her breasts were very nice.
We touched glasses. We drank.
“Oh, it is marvelous ka-la-na,” she purred. I gathered that she had never before had such ka-la-na. True, it might run the buyer as much as three copper tarsks, a price for which some women may be purchased.
“I am pleased that you like it,” I said.
“I am Tutina, Lady of Ar,” she said, warmly, intimately, leaning forward.
“That is a lovely name,” I said. To be sure, if I owned her, I thought I would shorten it to Tina. That is an excellent slave name. Indeed, I had owned slaves with that name.
She basked in my praise.
“I am called Tarl,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, reprovingly, “that is such a fierce name.”
I shrugged.
“It is a northern name, is it not?”
“It is common in the north,” I said, “particularly in Torvaldsland.”
“Men from Torvaldsland frighten me,” she said. “They are so strong with women. You are not from Torvaldsland, are you?”
“No,” I said. To be sure, I had been in Torvaldsland, and I felt that I knew as much as any fellow there about what to do with a woman at his feet. But then any true master anywhere knows as much. Indeed, although the men of Torvaldsland are fine and strong masters, they are generally rather direct and straightforward about what they are doing. In the south, in the cities, in my opinion, because of the richness in history and tradition, and the much greater cultural sophistication and complexity, a female is likely to find herself placed under a much stricter and more exacting bondage than in the north. To be sure, much depends on the girl and the master. Some girls thrive best with uncompromising barbarian masters who will put them on the oar or under the whip at the least sign of their being displeasing and others find that they did not truly understand helplessness and submission until they found their chain fastened to the couch ring of a gentleman.
“That is reassuring,” she smiled. “Where are you from?”
“From the northwest, near Thassa,” I said. I saw no reason to tell her I was from Port Kar. She might then have become not feignedly, but actually, alarmed. Most of the fellows of Port Kar have something of the ruthless lust of pirates in their view of females, coupled with some knowledge, because of a popular form of commerce in the city, of sophisticated techniques of slave handling and management.
“Where did you just come from?” she asked.
“Torcadino,” I said.
“Oh,” she said, disappointed.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“You are not a refugee, are you?” she asked.
“Why?” I asked.
“Then you might have had a difficult trip,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“I do not believe things are as bad in Torcadino as they say,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “They are just trying to frighten us.” I saw her eye was on my purse.
“I came in by fee cart,” I said.
“I see,” she said. I saw she liked that information. I had thought she would. It suggested I had money.
“Are you of the Merchants?” she asked.
“I have sometimes bought and sold things,” I told her. I saw that this pleased her. I did not tell her that many of the things I had bought and sold were much like herself.
“May I call you ‘Tarl’?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said. She was, after all, a free woman. If she were to become a slave, of course, there would be no such liberty in such matters.
On Gor it is extremely rare for a female slave to address her master by his name. Such would commonly be regarded as insolence, and would be viewed as a punishable offense. She addresses him as ‘Master’ or ‘my Master’. That is fitting, as he is her master, and she is his slave. Some masters, on the other hand, do permit the slave to address him by his name. Generally this is frowned upon, and is regarded as a laxity. Certainly it seems subversive of discipline. Many slaves, almost all slaves, I would suppose, would regard addressing the master by his name as improper, and as a lapse in deference; they would not only be reluctant to avail themselves of such a liberty, but would be distinctly uneasy and unhappy about it, and would much rather not do it. It suggests an equality which by no means exists in fact. It is like speaking a lie. Is it a joke? Is it a way of preparing punishment for them? Too, they want their masters, who are in fact their masters, to be their masters. In passing one might note that the slave addresses all free men as ‘Master’ and all free women as ‘Mistress’. Needless to say, this form of deference is commonly required of slaves. Its omission is ordinarily dealt with severely. There is an enormous chasm separating the slave from free persons. The slave, even the Earth girl, quickly learns this. Free persons are immeasurably her superior in status and power. Before them she is legally, socially and economically nothing. Before them she is only an animal, only property. Understanding this she understands that it is not only appropriate but entirely seemly that she should render deference. They are her masters, free persons. Indeed, they are permitting her to live.
Whereas the slave may not commonly address the master in terms other than ‘Master’ or ‘my Master’, l
apses subject to discipline, and whereas she will usually refer to him simply as ‘my master’ or ‘the master’ when speaking with others, lapses also subject to discipline, there are times, of course, when she may appropriately speak, even write, if she is literate, his name. She is likely to use the master’s name acceptably in a variety of contexts, such as in running errands, in shopping and bargaining, in making inquiries on his behalf, in referring to him with people who do not know his name, and in identifying whose slave she is. To be sure the latter information is usually on her collar.
I poured her more ka-la-na.
She drank. She leaned forward, her elbows on the small table. Her breasts seemed to invite my touch. Her lips were warm and soft. “There was another reason,” she said, “other than the peremptory, splendid dismissal of a slut slave from your presence, why I came to your table.”
“Oh?” I said.
“I feel drawn to you,” she said.
“I understand,” I said. I glanced at the fellow still slumped on the other table.
“And, too,” she whispered, “I am lonely.” Her hand then touched mine. I was becoming excited. I restrained myself. She belonged, really, to the fellow at the other table.
“Tarl,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. She knew her business, this woman. The sooner she was in a collar the better.
“Yes?” I said, softly, encouragingly.
“Oh, no,” she said, drawing back, suddenly, seeming to wipe a tear from her eye, “I must not say such things to you.”
“What?” I asked, kindly.
“I must leave,” she said. “I must hurry away now.” She put her hands out, that I might gently take them in mine, holding her at the table, restraining her sweetly, in earnest, gentle persuasion, from departing. But I, curious to see what would happen, apparently did not notice this opportunity.
She did not leave.
“I just do not know what to do,” she said, turning her head from side to side.
“What is wrong?” I asked, seemingly concerned.
“How terrible you must think me,” she said, wiping away another tear, it seemed, from the corner of her eye.
“Not at all,” I said. I certainly did not think her terrible at all. Indeed, I thought she was luscious.
“I have been too bold,” she said. “I approached your table. I have spoken to you first. I have permitted you, a man I scarcely know, to buy me ka-la-na. I am so ashamed.”
Mercenaries of Gor Page 40
