by John Norman
“Prepare supper,” she had then said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.
I did not know where Kleomenes had gone, as he left us in Venna. The last I had seen of him he had purchased a saddle tharlarion, a hunter, and was departing, westward, Nora on foot, chained by the neck to his stirrup. The fellow who had decided to sell Chloe in Venna had apparently changed his mind. I last saw him on foot, Chloe behind him, heeling him, carrying his pack. She was humming, and he did not turn and cuff her. They were bound somewhere north, perhaps Torcadino or even Brundisium, on the coast. Trachinos, who had originally claimed to be from Turia, was apparently curious to see what Turia might be like. In any event, he had purchased a wagon and tharlarion, and was allegedly returning to Turia. The last I had seen of him was his wagon, disappearing down the road. His slave Mina followed on foot, chained by her wrists to the back of the wagon. I thought that, soon enough, she would be beside him on the wagon box, though perhaps braceleted or shackled. Astrinax had returned to Ar, to his jobbing, and Lykos, too, was now in Ar. He had opened a day stall on the Street of Coins. It was not easy to think of him with scales and an abacus. It was easier to remember him on his rope, ahead of the wagons, plunging his great staff through the snow, wary of concealed crevices. Grendel had followed him, with his hands on the rope, the other end about his own waist, to draw him to safety if the snow gave way. It had, several times. Akesinos had remained in Venna, to hire himself out as a wagon guard, an honest guard, I hoped. He had also invested some of his resources to obtain a share in a small tavern in Venna. He had offered half a silver tarsk to the Lady Bina for me, but his offer had been declined. Thus I escaped becoming a paga girl. I did not know the whereabouts of Desmond of Harfax. Nor was I now interested in knowing his whereabouts. He had not approached the Lady Bina on my behalf, he had made no offer to buy me. I now realized how little I meant to him. How right I was to have hated him. And how right I was to hate him now.
“Turn about, Allison,” said the Lady Bina, “and place your hands behind your back.”
“Mistress?” I said.
“Now,” she said.
To my surprise, and lack of ease, I felt slave bracelets snapped on my wrists.
I pulled a bit, at the pinioning.
“There is no point in struggling, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “You are secured, perfectly.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “May I ask why?”
“There are several reasons for back-braceleting a slave girl,” said the Lady Bina. “It makes her helpless, it increases her sense of vulnerability, it is sexually stimulating, it reminds her that she is a slave, it considerably reduces her juicing time, it nicely accentuates her figure, and such.”
“Surely,” I said, “there is little doubt about a girl’s figure if she is in a slave tunic.”
“And doubtless less, if she is camisked,” she said.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“You were camisked in the Cave,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Would you prefer a camisk?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “Not in the public streets.”
“Perhaps you would prefer such in the privacy of a domicile,” she said, “that you might thereby excite yourself and a master.”
“Perhaps,” I said. To be sure, slave girls were not unoften kept naked indoors, save for their collar.
“It is not wise to excite strangers,” she said. “Some are brutes and ruffians.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“To be sure,” she said, “slave tunics are not much better.”
“They are designed to be provocative, and revealing,” I said.
“They are designed to divert attention from free women,” she said, “and thus they increase the security of the free woman.”
“I do not think that is the main reason,” I said.
“Oh?” she said.
“Men like to see slaves thusly,” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said.
I jerked a little at the bracelets.
“Usually you do not bracelet me so,” I said.
“No,” she said. “But on this errand I do not want your little hands to be busy.”
“My hands,” I said, “are no larger or smaller than those of Mistress.”
“But,” she said, “they are the hands of a slave.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“I have here,” she said, “a small sack, on its cord, which I will hang about your neck. I have tied it shut, with my signature knot. It contains a message which you, as you are illiterate, cannot read, even if you could reach the sack. You will seek the shop of Amyntas, the wine merchant. It is on Teiban, near Clive. Present yourself, on behalf of your Mistress, Bina of Ar. The message will be read, and a small package will be placed in the sack, which will be knotted closed. Presumably that will be done with the signature knot of Amyntas. You will have been expected. This has been arranged. Return then.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “Must I truly go braceleted?”
“Surely you have seen braceleted slaves in the streets,” she said, “front-braceleted, and back-braceleted.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Would you prefer to go back-braceleted, and nude?” she asked.
“No, Mistress,” I said
“Be careful on the stairs,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“And do not dally,” she said.
“No, Mistress,” I said.
I then exited the domicile. I wondered how many kisses, and embraces, I might be forced to endure, back-braceleted. That might have much to do with whether or not free women were in the vicinity. Once, though I had not been back-braceleted, I had been seized and lip raped by a strong, handsome Tarnster. A frowning free woman had rushed over and berated the fellow, roundly. Even though I was frightened, and squirmed, he had not discontinued his attentions. I was helpless in his arms. I could not help myself. I must have moved as a slave. How can one help being a slave, if one is a slave? When satisfied, he laughed, and thrust me down, to my belly, a well-kissed slave, and faced the free woman. “Perhaps you would like to be in a collar,” he snarled. The free woman had then turned about, and fled. I had thought the matter done, but the free woman had turned about afterwards, and followed me. She accosted me, and, when I knelt before her, as I must, she struck me and kicked me, several times. “Slut,” she cried. “Slut! Seductive slut!” “I was seized, Mistress!” I protested. “I saw you!” she cried. “They like your sort in the paga taverns! Run to a paga tavern, grovel, and beg to be caressed!” “Please do not hurt me!” I begged. “Would that I owned you!” she said. “If you so much as raised your head in the streets, you would be lashed!” I recoiled under her blows. “Slave,” she said. “Slave, slave, slave!” “Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I am a slave.” She struck me twice more. She then turned about, and left. “Yes,” I thought, “she would like to be in a collar.”
* * * *
I hurried up the stairs to the second floor of the house of Epicrates, where we maintained our domicile.
I was dirty, weeping, and bruised. My tunic was torn. Shortly after having received the package, I had been set upon by two men, who had been hooded. A wad of cloth had been thrust into my mouth and tied there, with another band of cloth, knotted behind the back of my neck. I had then been drawn into an alley, flung to the gutter, in the alley’s center, and the sack I had worn about my neck had been cut away. The two men had then tied my ankles together and fled away. They had not made use of me. I was muchly helpless, and in consternation. Perhaps, if my wrists had not been pinioned behind my back, I might have offered the assailants some resistance, or, at least, delayed their depredation long enough to attract the attention of passers-by. I must now try, painfully, miserably, bit by bit, to edge my way to the mouth of the alley. But, a moment later, a Leather Worker, passing by in the street outside, was in the mouth of the all
ey. He, apparently curious, was looking after the two running fellows. He then looked into the alley, saw me, and, a little later, my ankles had been freed. I looked at him, wildly, piteously, over the gag. I made muffled noises, begging that the gag be removed. But he left it in place. “I wonder why they ran,” he said. Then he said, “You are pretty.” His hands were on my ankles. I shook my head, wildly, negatively. And then he made use of me. For a time I squirmed, in protest, but then, after a bit, a slave, overcome, mastered, submitted, I threw back my head, helpless and lost, in a grateful bliss I was unable to resist, a bliss I only hoped would be prolonged. When he was finished with me he removed my gag but placed his finger across my lips, that I would not speak. He then drew a copper tarsk-bit from his pouch and placed it in my mouth. I could not then well speak, for the coin in my mouth. “That is for your master,” he said. He then stood up. “I wager those two,” he said, looking down the alley, “did not even pay.” I made clear to him, with small sounds, kneeling before him, that I wished to speak. He put out his hand and I dropped the coin from my mouth into his palm, “They did not make use of me,” I said. “I was robbed.” “No wonder they ran,” he said. “But do not concern yourself. No one would entrust anything of value to a slave.” “May I go, Master?” I asked. “You are a hot little pudding,” he said. “I cannot help myself,” I said. “I could not resist.” “A barbarian, too,” he said. “I heard that they were all inert.” “Inertness is not permitted to us,” I said. “We are in collars.” “I have heard, too,” he said, “that they are disgusting creatures, helpless, marvelous slaves, who will pant, beg, and crawl for it.” “We are women,” I said. “Slaves,” he said. “Yes, Master,” I said, “slaves.” “What do you cost?” he asked. “Apparently only a tarsk-bit,” I said. “Do not be bitter,” he said. “May I go?” I asked. “The ruffians bruised you,” he said. “You must be in pain.” “May I go?” I asked. “Please, Master.” “Open your mouth,” he said. He then replaced the coin in my mouth. “Remember,” he said. “That is for your master.” I made a single small noise. If gagged, one such noise signifies “Yes,” and two, “No.” It is not unusual for a slave to carry a coin or coins in her mouth. She is not permitted a pouch, and slave garments, like most Gorean garments, save those of artisans, and such, do not contain pockets. I then sprang up and hurried from the alley.
In the domicile, I knelt before my Mistress, the Lady Bina, and dropped the coin at her feet. Lord Grendel was also present. I then, shaken that I had been robbed, miserable in the pain of my bruising, distraught that I had failed to return home with the package, frightened that I would be punished, poured out, in a torrent of tears what had occurred. I did not neglect to explain the origin of the coin. I may have omitted some of the details pertaining to the later phases of my usage. To be sure, such might have been conjectured, as I had been paid, or, rather, as my master or mistress, as the case might be, had been paid.
“I have failed you!” I wept.
“Not at all,” said Lord Grendel. “You have done splendidly.”
“Master?” I said.
“It was intended,” he said, “that the package be stolen. We have let the importance of the wine shop of Amyntas be known in certain quarters. Certain individuals have even permitted themselves to be bribed, to let a certain code sheet fall into certain hands. Indeed, this domicile is doubtless under surveillance, now that spring has come. The package stolen from you contained a code deck, whose message would be revealed by the purchased code sheet. The message, intended to fall into certain hands, specifies a supposed meeting of more than a hundred operatives opposed to the plans of Agamemnon. The enemy will doubtless wish to eliminate these operatives. When they attack the meeting site they will find it empty, but they, themselves, will be surrounded and attacked. In this way we hope to obtain a number of prisoners, who, if not of the importance of Pausanias, and such, might be important, and, properly persuaded, might lead us to the higher, even the highest, conspirators. If this plan proceeds to fruition we will not have ended the conspiracy, of course, which is far reaching, and may have support from various steel worlds, but it should deal it a serious blow.”
“Should I not have been told?” I said.
“Certainly not,” said Lord Grendel. “You must play your part in total ignorance. An inadvertent look, a mere expression, a lapsed word, a too-ready acquiescence, might have brought about the ruin of the entire plan.”
“Might I not have been killed?” I said.
“No,” said Lord Grendel. “No more than a kaiila or tarsk.”
“The men were hooded,” I said.
“Certainly that, or masked, or veiled,” said Lord Grendel, “that you would be unable to recognize them.”
“I was back-braceleted,” I said.
“To further protect your life,” said Lord Grendel. “Had you been able to offer the least resistance, and had you been so foolish as to have done so, which we feared you might, delaying the theft, or jeopardizing it in any way, you might have been summarily slain. It is possible you owe your life to something as simple as a pair of slave bracelets.”
“Might they now be removed?” I asked.
“Certainly,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I wager,” said the Lady Bina, “there is someone whose bracelets you would like to wear, and perhaps his shackles, as well.”
“Mistress?” I said.
“Someone by whose coin you would like to have been taken off the slave block,” she said.
“I will have to sew my garment,” I said. “It is torn.”
The Lady Bina fingered the tarsk-bit. “When I bought you,” she said, “I thought you might be of interest to men.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Is this,” she asked, looking at the coin, “all your use was worth?”
“I had nothing to say about it,” I said. “It was what he gave me.”
“I would have supposed you should have brought twice that,” she said, “two tarsk-bits.”
“Ela,” I said, “Mistress was not there to negotiate.”
“Many men,” said Lord Grendel, “coming upon a luscious kajira, gagged, and secured, helpless, totally at their mercy, in a secluded place, would not pay at all.”
“Would it not be the same with a free woman?” I asked.
“Certainly not,” he said. “The free woman would be instantly freed, succored, and restored to dignity. And if not, if one were so boorish, or foolish, as to risk torture and impalement, one would not pay, anyway, as the free woman is priceless. To give her a coin would be a great insult.”
“And we are quite different?” I said.
“Quite,” said Lord Grendel. “You are not priceless. You are worth what men will pay for you.”
“At least,” I said, “we have some sense then of what we are worth.”
“Of course,” said Lord Grendel.
“But he did pay,” said the Lady Bina.
“That suggests,” said Lord Grendel, “he was well satisfied.”
“Was he well satisfied, Allison?” inquired the Lady Bina.
“I think he was pleased with a slave,” I said.
“And you, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “Were you well pleased?”
“Please do not make me speak, Mistress,” I said, my head down.
“Speak,” she said.
I looked up at her, tears in my eyes. “I am a slave, Mistress!” I said.
“I understand,” she said. “Excellent.”
“As I understand it,” said Lord Grendel, “a copper tarsk-bit is the usual price for a use, for example, to be placed in the pan beside a secured camp girl, to be put in the chained neck box of a coin girl, and such.”
“Good,” said the Lady Bina. “Then a single copper tarsk-bit is not a negative reflection on the quality of the slave.”
“Not at all,” said Lord Grendel.
“Excellent,” she said.
“And in the taverns,
” said Lord Grendel, “a tarsk-bit will usually purchase a goblet of paga, and, if the customer wishes, the use of a paga girl. Sometimes dancers are extra.”
“I am very pleased,” said the Lady Bina, smiling upon me.
“Am I not to be despised?” I asked.
“No,” said the Lady Bina.
“I cannot help myself,” I said.
“Nor should you,” said Lord Grendel. “Rather, you should desire it, with all your heart, to be so alive, and female.”
“But you do not understand,” I said, “how helpless one is!”
“You do not yet know how helpless a slave girl can be,” said Lord Grendel. “When your slave fires are better kindled, you will begin to understand.”
“You may begin to repair your garment,” said the Lady Bina. “After that, you may prepare supper.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“And thus,” she said, “you see the difference between a mistress and a master.”
“Mistress?” I said.
“A master,” she said, “would doubtless have you prepare supper before repairing the garment, that he might see you serving in a torn tunic.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Or less,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
Chapter Fifty
“Scribe’s Urt,” had said the Lady Bina, and I located the card, and placed it on the pile.
Only one other card was left, and so she needed not read it. It was Warrior’s Sleen. I placed the last card on the pile. As I suppose is clear, when one wishes to transmit the message, one takes a deck, rearranges the cards, inscribes the message on the edges of the deck, and then replaces the cards in the usual order. The recipient, then, who has the card sheet used for the particular message, places the cards in the order prescribed by the sheet, and, once again, the message is visible. In the Cave, the visible message was in substitutions, a Tau for an Al-Ka, or such, but often enough, now, it was in clear Gorean. Substitutions were still used if the matter was sensitive, but, now, often enough, this layer of security was omitted. All that was sought, frequently enough, now, was a certain level of privacy. To be sure, the message could be in clear Gorean, inscribed openly on a sheet of paper, and it would have remained opaque to me. The Lady Bina would not even tell me the names of the letters, or their values. “You do not need to read, Allison,” she informed me. “I have little doubt, Mistress,” I said, “that you are far more intelligent than I, but I am sure that I, just as you have, might learn to read.” “I am still learning,” she said. “Cursive script is a bother.” “Even so,” I said, “is there that much difference between us?” “There is a considerable difference between us,” she said. “And what is that?” I asked. “Your neck is in a collar,” she said.
