by John Norman
“But perhaps not yet,” he said, “in frequent, desperate need.”
“It seems not,” I said.
“You look well,” he said, “your arms up, bearing your burden.”
I was silent. I did not dare release the laundry and yet, holding it, my arms were lifted and, in effect, held in place, as much as though they were at the sides of my head, held in shackles, chained to a ceiling ring.
“Do women of your world bear burdens thusly?” he asked.
“Some do,” I said, “but not in the part of my world from which I derive.”
“You do it attractively,” he said.
This was partly an effect, I supposed, of the position of the arms, and its effect on the girl’s body. A common examination position, as noted earlier, requires the hands to be placed behind the neck, or at the back of the head. Too, there are chaining arrangements which fasten a girl’s wrists together, at the back of her neck.
“On my world,” I said, “I did not bear burdens.”
“You were of high caste?” he asked.
“I was well placed,” I said, “and of high social station.”
“And now you are a mere slave,” he said. “Excellent.”
“‘Excellent’?” I said, angrily.
“Certainly.” he said. “That makes you more interesting, once of superior station, now a reduced, meaningless chain slut.”
“Please release me, Master,” I said, angrily.
To this plea, there was no response.
I dared not turn my head.
“Master?” I said. “Master?”
He then came about, and was facing me.
It was indeed he of the Sul Market!
He was close to me, very close.
“Steady,” he said.
I turned my head away. There was a faded, stained, half-torn poster, advertising a carnival, on the wall opposite.
He then gently took my head in his hands, turned it to him, and held it, and I tried to pull away, but could not do so.
“No!” I begged.
He drew me to him.
“No,” I said, “no!”
Then I felt his lips on mine.
I tried to pull back, but could not do so.
“Part your lips, more,” he said. “Get your mouth open, more.”
I tried to shake my head, negatively, but could scarcely manage it.
“I want to feel your teeth,” he said. “Do not bite, of course, or your teeth must be torn from your head.”
I tried to protest, but could not well form words.
“You have good lips,” he said, “sweetly soft, bred for a master’s kiss.”
I struggled, futilely.
“Touch teeth, gently,” he whispered. “Now,” said he, “tongue, tongue. Surely you have been trained.”
“Please, no, Master, please, no, Master,” I murmured.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, tears ran from my eyes, forcing their way between the clenched lids.
“You are in a collar,” he whispered.
“Yes, yes,” I said. “I am in a collar!”
My body then shook, and I felt weak, and I pressed my lips to his, piteously. But almost at the same time, suddenly, unexpectedly, spasmodically, I thrust myself against him, needfully, beggingly.
I recalled slaves in the house, moaning in their kennels.
I remembered the kitchen of the eating house of Menon, at night, late at night, how I had thrashed in my chains.
I pressed myself against him, my fingers clawing into the laundry I carried.
“Interesting,” he said. “I suspect our barbarian slut is now just another well-oiled, nicely lubricated, juicing slave.”
“I hate you!” I said.
“You might do for a paga tavern,” he said.
How I hated him, but might he not be my master?
I knew I was ready, open, wet, gaping, and a master’s.
“Yes,” he said, “you are red-silk.”
“I am yours, I know I am yours!” I said. “Buy me, buy me, Master!”
“You are anyone’s,” he said.
He then thrust me back, away from him, and held me at arm’s length.
“I have now established what I wished to ascertain,” he said. “You are, as I thought, just another piece of collar meat.”
“Yours,” I said.
“Anyone’s,” he said.
“I cannot help it if I am a woman!” I wept.
“Nor should you,” he said.
“Buy me!” I begged.
“Only a slave begs to be bought,” he said.
“I am a slave!” I said.
“Obviously,” he said.
“Master!” I wept.
“It is a pity to waste you on a woman,” he said. “You are a man’s slave.”
“Yes,” I said, “yes, Master!”
“I thought you might be a hot little thing,” he said.
“Master,” I said, but I could not reach him.
“You have laundry to deliver,” he said.
Two or three fellows were standing about, smiling.
“You have aroused me, as a slave!” I said.
“You are scarcely warmed,” he said. “You do not even suspect what might be done to you.”
I knew Goreans sometimes set aside two or three days for a slave. It was common to devote a day, a morning, or an afternoon, to dalliance, a dalliance in which the slave, from time to time, might scream her need. But, too, of course, the use of a slave could be brief, dragging her to oneself by her leash or chain, throwing her over a saddle, or the arm of a couch, thrusting her, as one wished, to the carpet, kneeling, head to the floor, hands clasped behind the back of her neck, and such. Too, of course, the slave may be commanded to serve her master in a medley of modalities, at so little as a hand sign or a snapping of fingers.
“You have made me show myself slave,” I said, “publicly, in a street. I have been humiliated! I have been treated with contempt, I have been scorned!”
“All women are slaves,” he said. “You are no different.”
“I hate you!” I cried.
“Though not all are in collars,” he said.
“I hate you!” I screamed.
“You, at least, are in a collar,” he said.
I shook with frustration.
“Be careful of the laundry,” he said.
He then turned about, and left.
I turned to look after him.
After a bit, he turned, looking back. “Perhaps sixty copper tarsks,” he called. “Not a silver tarsk!”
Tears burst from my eyes.
He then resumed his departure.
After I had delivered the laundry, I returned to the street, to make my way back to the house of Epicrates.
On the wall opposite the back entrance, one of several, to Six Bridges, there was a faded, half-torn poster.
I had seen it before, but had paid little attention to it.
But, somehow, I had not forgotten it.
I now went to it, and, for the first time, regarded it with care. Amongst the animals portrayed on the poster, snow larls, large, striped urts, snarling sleen, performing tharlarion, prancing kaiila, there was another, where the poster was half torn. It was a beast, much like Master Grendel. It was clearly Kur.
Then I dismissed the matter from my mind.
As I made my way back to the house of Epicrates I recalled the Metal Worker. What a hateful brute he was. How I loathed him!
How he had humiliated me, and taught me my collar!
But it was nice of him, was it not, to have protected me from the girls of the house of Daphne? He needed not have done that. And how had he been there so opportunely? Was that a coincidence? I did not think so, which thought gave me considerable satisfaction. Too, I was sure I had seen him, from time to time, even before the Sul Market. It seemed likely that, at least from time to time, he had followed me. Certainly some men will so follow a slave about, or even a free woman. What then
might be his motivation? Might he have some interest in a slave, even one who might be a mere barbarian slut?
Surely he was muchly different from most of the men I had known on my former world.
He was Gorean.
And I was a slave.
On the way back to the house of Epicrates, I hummed, and sang.
Chapter Eleven
“We think it is in the sewers,” said Antiope, rinsing a master’s tunic, at the public troughs, late in the afternoon.
“What?” I said.
I knew little of what might be about. Perhaps my mistress, the Lady Bina, and her escort, or associate, or colleague, or guard, whatever he might be, the beast, Grendel, might know, but they had not spoken to me of such things, nor before me of such things. I think the Lady Bina may have been as uninformed as I. I was less sure of the beast.
“It,” she said, “the thing, or things.”
Shadows were long, near the troughs, at this time of day.
Patrols of guardsmen were more frequently about, of late.
“You know something, or think something,” I said, “I am sure of it. Tell me.”
I had been trying to cultivate her, and some others, for several afternoons now.
“You are a barbarian,” she said.
“Forgive me,” I said.
“Soak, and rinse, these coverlets for me,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, adding, “Mistress.”
This pleased her.
A few Ehn later I mentioned, “I have a candy.”
“Oh?” she said.
“It is as large as a tiny tospit,” I said, “hard, and yellow-and-red striped, and has a soft center.”
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a kajira.”
I had wheedled this prize from Grendel, who sometimes purchased such things for the Lady Bina. After my beating, following my brief essay at assertiveness, and discovering that even the least impertinence or forwardness was not acceptable in a woman who wore the collar of Gor, I had gotten on quite well with the beast. The beast was male, and, as with other males, males of the Gorean type, it is easy to get on with them, provided one is, so to speak, at their feet, intent to please and zealous to obey. On its peg hangs the whip. One hopes to keep it there.
“But not unknown,” I said.
Neither the Lady Bina nor the beast were particularly cruel or demanding. I rejoiced that the Lady Bina had not been acculturated as a Gorean free woman, with their usual contempt for, and hostility toward, female slaves. Accordingly, she saw no point in the exercise of arbitrary, gratifying authority, nor in the infliction of humiliation or pointless pain. Part of this may well have been because it never occurred to her, in her unquestioning confidence in her own beauty and intelligence, to think of me, as other free women might, as some sort of rival. “The beauty of a free woman,” she once said to me, perhaps having acquired such views from Lady Delia, downstairs, the companion of Epicrates, “is a thousand times beyond that of a mere slave. It is as the moons, and the stars, and other things, which I forget. A slave’s beauty, on the other hand, is that of a mere accessible, squirming beast, chained at a man’s ring.” “Oh?” I said. “What do you think?” she asked. “Perhaps it depends on the woman,” I said. “Quite possibly,” she said. “I shall soon deliver the laundry,” I said. “Good,” she said. I did not doubt but what the Lady Bina, herself, properly stripped and collared, would make an exquisite little bundle at a man’s feet. Perhaps she might then better assess the views of the Lady Delia, whom, I suspected, might not do all that well at a man’s slave ring. It was fortunate, I thought, that she, the Lady Bina, had not ventured herself to the Central Cylinder several days ago, when I had been belabored with boots and spear butts in proxy for her naive importunity. She would doubtless have been recognized as barbarian, suspected to lack a Home Stone, and one thing might have led to another. To be sure, I would not, in such situation, have cared to deal with a pursuing, vengeful beast. And with the beast, as I have suggested, I had little, if anything, of which to complain. Despite his hirsute, ferocious, dangerous appearance, he was invariably kind to me, and was extraordinarily understanding, patient, and gentle with the Lady Bina, who seemed, if anything, to despise him for this indulgence. I often wondered about the nature of the beast, and his unusual devotion to her, a devotion so profound, it seemed, that he would abandon a world for her. It sometimes seemed to me that he was almost human, and then I recalled his fangs, and how I might once, in a moment of rage, have had my head torn from my shoulders. He was clearly Kur. All in all, as you may have surmised, my bondage in their loft, if one may so characterize it, was a fairly light one, save, of course, for labors involved in the business of the laundering, which business did accrue, from month to month, a small store of copper tarsks, some delivered, some collected, for her commission, by the Lady Delia.
As the weeks had sped forth, however, particularly at night, when I was chained across the threshold of the apartment, at the head of the stairs, I had grown increasingly uneasy. It was sometimes difficult to sleep. I would sometimes twist, and sweat on my mat. Sometimes I would pull a little at the chain on my left ankle, fastened on one side of the threshold, and that on my right wrist, fastened to the other side. I knew myself chained, and as a slave. Chains are arousing to a female who knows she is a slave, and what she is for, and yet these were not the chains of a man, a master whose helpless possession and plaything one might know oneself to be, but those of a mistress and a beast, to neither of which, I gathered, was I of more interest than a small, silken, pet sleen.
I would with my left hand sometimes touch the collar on my throat. Sometimes I would try to pull it off, but it was locked on me. What is the point, I wondered, of being in a collar, if it were not the collar of a master?
I was uneasy.
My belly, my thighs, were restless.
I remembered the kitchen of the eating house. There, at least, from time to time, men would put me in their hands, and do astonishing things to me, which left me in no doubt as to my bondage. Too, in the gambling house, though seldom, for we were not to distract the men from the tables, I was put to a customer’s pleasure, usually when it was feared he might be on the point of leaving. At such times a copper tarsk was often put in my mouth, to be retrieved by the customer when done with me, a tarsk which might be redeemed for tarsk-bits, to be spent on the tables, tarsk-bits which might, soon, result in the loss of tarsks, even of silver.
I do not think I was truly suffering from the fiercer conflagrations of slave fires, not as they so acutely tormented some slaves, thrashing about, and crying out with need, but I had little doubt that the former Allison Ashton-Baker, so refined, cool, and lovely, was now muchly different than she had been on her native world. She was now a half-clad, collared Gorean slave girl, and her belly needs, as those of others, were beginning to assert themselves, muchly troubling her.
It is no wonder free women thought themselves so superior to us.
Or were they so superior? Perhaps they just had not yet been awakened. And what, I wondered, if anything, did they whisper to their pillows and coverlets in the night?
“You have a candy?” said Antiope.
“Yes,” I said.
“Let me hold it in my mouth for a time,” she said. “I will not steal it.”
“What is going on in the city?” I asked.
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a kajira.”
“You are kajira,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “but I know.”
“Tell me,” I said.
“Perhaps you will let me have the candy, just for a little while,” she said. “I will not run away.”
“I have finished this laundry for you,” I said, rinsing the coverlets.
“Thank you,” she said.
I envied Antiope. She had a master. I had seen him once, when he, from some yards off, had summoned her. How delightedly, how swiftly, she had run to him. He was a handsome fell
ow. I envied Antiope. I suspected she was excellently and wholly mastered. She had that look about her.
“There are the extra guardsmen,” I said, “the additional patrols, the uneasiness, the early closure of some stalls, some markets, the curfew.”
“It is understandable,” she said.
“I think,” I said, “you do not really know what is going on.”
“Oh?” she said, archly.
“No,” I said.
“Give me the candy,” she said. “Just for a little bit. I will not keep it. If it is hard, as you say, it will last a long time. I will give it back to you.”
“It has a soft center,” I said.
“No matter,” she said.
“Very well,” I said, and I freed the small candy from its wrapper, the candy and wrapper extracted from a tiny sleeve inside the hem of my tunic.
Antiope looked about.
We were the only slaves at the troughs now, and it was late afternoon. In an Ahn or so the curfew bar might sound.
Our laundry was piled to the side.
I shivered a little, as it seemed to be cooler now.
“You know about the killings?” asked Antiope.
“Very little,” I said.
“Some beast, or beasts, is in the city,” she said. “Eight or ten men, some women, have been torn to pieces, in different places, in different districts.”
“Could a larl be in the city,” I asked, “or a wild sleen?”
“Unlikely,” she said. “The work does not suggest the attack of such beasts.”
“Something different?” I said.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
I must have turned white, for I thought of the beast, Grendel. Such a thing would be fully capable of such work. How did I know the beast remained on the roof of the dwelling of Epicrates? It would be easy for something of its size, agility, and power to descend to the street. I knew it tended to leave the domicile only at night.
Antiope, holding the candy delicately, touched her tongue to the candy, her eyes closed.
“The bodies were not robbed,” she said. “They were partly eaten.”
“A larl then,” I said, “or a sleen?”
“No,” she said, “the larl, the sleen, kill in their own ways. Some of the bodies were crushed, others had the neck broken.”
