by John Norman
I thought of what is sometimes spoken of by the red savages as the Memory.
"I understand," I said.
The red savages doubtless found their vengeance a sweet and fitting one. How almost incomprehensibly cruel it was, how horrifying, how brilliant and insidious.
"The teachings of the Waniyanpi," I said, "were doubtless originally imposed on them by their red masters."
"Perhaps," she said. "I do not know. They may have been invented by the Waniyanpi themselves, to excuse to themselves their cowardice, their weakness and impotence."
"Perhaps," I admitted.
"If one is not strong it is natural to make a virtue of weakness."
"I suppose so," I said. I then speculated that I had perhaps judged the red savages too harshly. The Waniyanpi, it then seemed likely, may have betrayed themselves, and their children. In time, of course, such teachings, absurd though they might be, would come to be taken for granted. In time they would come to be sanctioned by tradition, one of humanity's most prized substitutes for thought.
"You, yourself," I said, "do not seem much infected by the lunacy of the Waniyanpi."
"No," she said. "I am not. I have had red masters. From them I have learned new truths. Too, I was taken from the community at an early age."
"How old were you?" I asked.
"I was taken from the enclosure when I was eight years old," she said, "taken home by a Kaiila warrior as a pretty little white slave for his ten-year-old son. I learned early to please and placate men."
"What happened?" I asked.
"There is little more to tell," she said. "For seven years I was the slave of my young master. He was kind to me, and protected me, muchly, from the other children. Although I was only his slave, I think he liked me. He did not put me in a leg stretcher until I was fifteen." She was then silent. "I have combed my hair," she said.
"Come here," I said, "and kneel here." She rose from the water, it dripping from her body, and came and knelt on the grass, on the bank of the small stream, where I had indicated. I took the comb from her and laid it to the side. I then took the brush and, kneeling behind her, began to brush out her hair. It is not unusual for Gorean masters to comb and groom slaves, or ornament them personally, much as they might any animal that they owned.
"We were gathering berries," she said. "Then I saw him, suddenly, almost angrily, cutting a stick, and notching it with his knife. Too, he had thongs. I was afraid, for I had seen other white slaves put in such devices. He turned to face me. His voice seemed loud, and full, and husky. "Take off your dress," he said, "and lie down, and throw your legs widely apart." I began to cry, but I obeyed him, and quickly, for I was his slave. I felt my ankles lashed tightly to the stick, the stick behind them. I had not realized that he had grown so strong. Then he rose to his feet and looked down at me. I was helpless. He laughed with pleasure, a man's laugh, who sees a woman tied before him. I was crying. He crouched down beside me. Then, suddenly, scarcely before I understood what I was doing, I opened my arms to him, overcome suddenly by the stirrings of my womanhood. He embraced me. I began to sob again, but this time with joy. The first time it was finished almost before we realized it. But he did not leave me. For hours we remained among the tiny fruit, talking and kissing, and caressing. Later, near dusk, he freed me, that I might gather berries for him, and feed them to him. Later I lay on my belly before him and kissed his feet. That night we returned to the village. That others in the village might understand what had happened, he did not permit me to ride behind him, on his kaiila. He tied my hands behind my back and marched me at his stirrup, a thong on my neck tied to the pommel of his saddle. Two children had left the camp that morning. What returned to it that night were a master and his claimed white slave. I was very proud. I was very happy."
"What then happened?" I asked. I stopped brushing her hair.
"I loved my master," she said, "and I think that he, too, cared for me."
"Yes?" I said.
"That it seemed he had grown fond of me brought ridicule on him from his comrades," she said. "To this sort of thing, as you might not know, red savages, in their tribal groups, are extremely sensitive. To allay these charges he, in his anger, would berate me publicly, and even beat me in the presence of others. At last, to put an end to the matter, and perhaps fearing these charges might be true, he sold me to an older man, one from another village. After that I had many masters, and now I have yet another."
I then began again to brush her hair. "Was it the lad who gave you the name Pimples?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "I was given the name at puberty and, for some reason, it was never changed. Red masters commonly give such names to their white slaves, trivial names that seem fitting for slaves. My first year as the slave of my young master I was not even given a name. I was referred to only as Wicincala, or 'Girl.' I was later called 'Wihinpaspa', which means lodge-pin or tent-pin, probably because I was little and thin. Then later, as I have mentioned, I was called 'Pimples', 'Wasnapohdi', which name, partly because of habit, and partly because it amused my masters, was kept on me."
"You are neither little nor thin," I said, "and, as I have earlier remarked, you do not have pimples."
"Perhaps I might bring four hides," she laughed.
"It is not impossible," I said. "Do you think your first master would recognize you now?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "I would suppose so."
"Do you remember him?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "It is difficult to forget the first man who tied you."
"Do you love him?" I asked. I laid the brush aside.
"I do not know," she said. "It was long ago. He sold me."
"Oh," she said, her hands now thonged behind her back. She tensed.
"Did your red masters teach you well what it is to be a slave?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I tightened the knots on her wrists.
"Do you think your lot will be easier with us?" I asked.
"I do not know, Master," she winced.
"It will not be," I assured her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I bent down and kissed her on the side, on one of the long welts raised by the whip stroke, one of the blows in virtue of which she was assessed.
"You struck me with great force," she said.
"No, I did not," I said.
She shuddered. "You are then very strong," she whispered.
I turned her about, and put her on her back, before me. I knelt beside her and sniffed her belly. "Again," I said, "you are womnaka."
"I am only a slave," she said. "Does it please you, or displease you, that I am unable to resist you?"
"It does not displease me," I said. I then touched her.
"Oh," she cried, eyes closed, squirming helplessly, rearing half upward, trussed, then falling back. She looked at me, wildly.
"You are indeed a slave," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Do you beg to be had?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Yes, Master!"
"First," I said, "you will earn your keep. You will be put to work."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I then pulled her to her knees and lay then on one elbow, indolently, watching her. She then, on her knees, her hands bound behind her, with her hair, her mouth and body, needfully and desperately, began to please me. In a short while I took her and threw her beneath me.
"Aiii!" she sobbed. "I yield me your slave, my Master!" She was superb. I wondered if the lad who had been her former master, and who now must be a man, and had sold her, had any idea as to the wonder, the surrendered, curvaceous, obedient, orgasmic triumph, which his little Lodge-Pin or Pimples, now a ravishing, helpless beauty, had become. Had he any notion of this it was difficult to imagine that he would be able to rest until he had once again fastened his beaded collar on her throat. Clearly she was now the sort of woman for whom men might kill.
"Am I worth four hides, Master?" she as
ked, gasping.
"Five," I assured her.
She laughed, and kissed me happily.
* * * *
"This is Wagmezahu, Corn Stalks," said Grunt. "He is Fleer."
"Hou," said Corn Stalks.
"Hou," said I to him.
"Is the new slave satisfactory?" asked Grunt.
"Quite," I said.
"Good," he said.
I sat back, cross-legged, away from the fire. I now understood why Grunt had been scanning the plains. I now understood why he had wished to remain at the trading point. He had, doubtless, been waiting for this Fleer. This was also, doubtless, the reason he had encouraged me to take my time with the new girl, which I had, that they not be disturbed. Although the Fleer speak a language clearly akin to Kaiila and Dust Leg there had often been strife among them. Thusly the Fleer had waited before coming to the camp. If the Dust Legs knew of his presence in their country they had not chosen to do anything about it, perhaps in deference to Grunt.
Grunt and the Fleer spoke largely in sign, this being easier for them than the attempt to communicate verbally.
I sat back from the fire, watching them closely. It was now late at night. Grunt had shortened the coffle by two collars and chain lengths. I had put the new girl in Margaret's place, after Priscilla and before the Hobarts. This was the position of "Last Girl," which, fittingly, not counting the Hobarts, she would occupy, being the newest girl on the coffle. Coffle arrangements, incidentally, are seldom arbitrary. One common principle of arrangements is in order of height, with the tallest girls coming first; this makes a lovely coffle. Sometimes, too, coffles are arranged in order of beauty or preference, the most beautiful or the most preferred girls coming first. Coloring and body type can also be important. It is for such reasons, perhaps, that the coffle is sometimes spoken of as the slaver's necklace. Sales strategies, too, can enter into the formation of a coffle, as, for example, when a girl is put between two plainer girls to accentuate her beauty, or a superb girl is saved for last, and many other considerations, as well, can enter into the formation of a coffle. When one sees a chain of beauties, fastened together, say, by the neck, or the left wrist or left ankle, it is well to remember that their locations on that sturdy, metallic bond, keeping them precisely where the master wishes, are seldom likely to be merely fortuitous. After I had carried the new girl to the chain and put her on the grass, locking the collar on her, I went to the red-haired girl and, as I had earlier promised her, bound her hand and foot. She had asked a stupid question, one pertaining to respect. She would spend the night tied.
"Is the new girl pleasing?" she had asked me, reproachfully.
"Yes," I said.
"More pleasing than I?" she asked, lying at my feet, her hands tied behind her, her ankles crossed and bound, her neck in the coffle collar.
"Yes," I said. "She is an experienced slave. You are only a new slave. You have much to learn."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I then, for good measure, gagged her. She must learn that she was a slave.
Corn Stalks, after a time, took his leave. Before he left Grunt gave him some hard candy and a fine steel knife.
"You seem moody," I said to Grunt. He had returned to the fire, and sat before it, not speaking.
"It is nothing," he said.
"I should like to learn some Dust Leg," I said.
"I will teach you some, as we ride," he said.
"If I learn some Dust Leg, I should be able, to some extent, to communicate with Kaiila," I said.
"Very easily," said Grunt, "for they are much the same, and, too, you would be able to make yourself understood to the Kailiauk, and, to some extent, to the Fleer."
"I have heard little of the Kailiauk," I said.
"They are not well known west of the perimeter," he said. "Their country lies to the south and east of that of the Kaiila."
"Mostly," I said, "you spoke to Corn Stalks in sign."
"Yes," he said. "It is easier for us." He looked at me. "To learn sign," he said, "would probably be more useful to you, all things considered, than learning a smattering of Dust Leg."
"Teach me sign," I asked.
"To be sure," he said, "it would be wise for you to learn some Dust Leg or Kaiila. There is no substitute for being able to converse with these people in their own language. Sign, as far as I know, is common to all the tribes of the Barrens."
"Why are they called Dust Legs?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Grunt, "but I think it is because they were the last of the major tribes to master the kaiila. Afoot, they were much at the mercy of the others. Their heritage as traders and diplomats may stem from that period."
"It is an interesting hypothesis," I said.
"I can teach you hundreds of signs in a short time," said Grunt. "It is a very limited language, but in most situations it is quite adequate, and, because many of the signs seem so appropriate and natural, it can be easily learned. In four or five days you can learn most of what you would need of sign."
"I would like to learn something of Dust Leg and Kaiila, and also sign," I said.
"I will be pleased to help you," said Grunt.
"Grunt?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"After I came to join you," I said, "Corn Stalks did not stay long."
"He does not know you," said Grunt.
I nodded. Goreans, in general, not merely red savages, tend to be wary of strangers, in particular those who speak other languages or come from other territories or cities. There is only one word in Gorean, incidentally, for stranger and enemy. To be sure, the specific meaning intended is usually clear in the context. Goreans are not unaware that there may exist such things as familiar enemies and friendly strangers.
"He did not do trading, as far as I know," I said.
"No," said Grunt. "We talked. He is a friend."
"What is the sign for a red savage?" I asked.
Grunt rubbed the back of his left hand from the wrist to the knuckle with his right index finger. "The general sign for a man is this," he said. He held his right hand in front of his chest, the index finger pointing up, and raised it in front of his face. He then repeated the sign for the red savage. "I am not clear on the specific rationale for the sign for the savage," he said. "You will note, however, that the same finger, the index finger, is used in the sign, as in the sign for man. The origins of some of these signs are obscure. Some think the sign for the red savage has a relation to the spreading of war paint. Others think that it means a man who goes straight or a man who is close to the earth, to nature. Doubtless there are other explanations, as well. This is the sign for friend." He then put his first two fingers together and raised them upward, beside his face. "It probably means two men growing up together."
"Interesting," I said. "What does this mean?" I put the middle fingers of my right hand on my right thumb, extending the index and little finger. This suggests a pointed snout and ears.
"You have seen Dust Legs make that sign," he said. "It means a wild sleen. It is also used for the Sleen tribe. Do you know what this means?" He then spread the index finger and the second finger of his right hand and drew them from the left to the right, in front of his body.
"No," I said.
"That is the sign for a domestic sleen," he said. "You see? It is like the spread poles of a travois, which might be drawn by such an animal."
"Yes!" I said.
"What is this?" he asked, drawing his right index finger across his forehead, from left to right.
"A white man?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "Good."
"It is like the line of the brim of a hat, across the forehead," I said.
"Good," he said. "And this?" With the fingers of both hands slightly curved, he made downward motions from the top of his head to the shoulders. It was as though he were combing hair.
"A woman?" I asked.
"Good," he said. "Good. And this?"
"A white woman?" I asked.
"I am not sure," I said.
"The second sign indicates bondage," he said.
"A female slave?" I asked.
"Yes," said Grunt, "but, more generally, it is another sign which may stand for any white woman, and is often used in this way."
"The same sign then," I said, "that sign, stands for both white woman and female slave?"
"Yes," he said. "It is the most common way of referring to a white woman. You see, in the Barrens, all white women are regarded as being female slaves. Our friends of the plains divide white women into those who have already, properly, been embonded, and those who, improperly, have not yet been embonded."
I considered the nature of women, and their desirability. "That distinction makes sense to me," I said. "But are there no women of the red savages themselves who are slaves?"
"Of course, there are," said Grunt. "They are fond of carrying off women of the enemy to make their own slaves. Surely you can imagine how pleasant it is for these fellows to be served, and as a slave, by one of the enemy's women."
"Of course," I said.
"Such a woman may be designated as follows," he said, "by use of the sign woman, followed by the sign for the red savages, followed by a bondage sign."
"I see," I said. He had illustrated his words with the sign.
"If the context is clear," he said, "the signs simply for a female slave may be used."
"I understand," I said.
"Here is another way of designating a white woman or a female slave," he said. He then made the sign for woman, followed by a downward striking motion, as though holding a switch. "Sometimes, too," he said, "when the context is clear, this sign alone may be used." He then spread the first and second fingers of his right hand and laid them over the index finger of his left hand. "You see?" he asked. "It is ankles bound on a leg stretcher."
