But such points, as I recall, have been hitherto noted.
"How graceful she is," he commented.
"Yes," I said.
I suspected that a perceptive master might have a woman such as she trained in slave dance, that she might please him also in this way. I could imagine her, even now, in the floor movements of slave dance. I wiped sweat from my brow.
How beautifully walked the girl, how conscious now, how proud, how pleased, she seemed, in the abundance of her beauty, her desirability and power. How different she was from many of the free women we had seen earlier being led through the streets, piteous, overfed, stumbling creatures following behind on their leashes, their heads down, loudly bemoaning their fate. But even those, I suspected, given diet, exercise and training, could, in time, be transformed into dreams of pleasure.
"Slave!" hissed a free woman to the girl. Then she was behind us. Her voice had been fraught with hatred.
"She thinks you are a slave," I said.
"Yes," laughed the girl, delightedly.
For some reason, or reasons, as I have earlier noted or suggested, free women hate female slaves. They are often quite cruel to them, even to those whom they themselves own. I am not certain of the explanation of this seemingly unreasoning, inexplicable hatred. Perhaps they hate the slave for her beauty, for her joy, her truth, her perfections, her desirability, her happiness. At the root of their hatred, perhaps, lies their own unhappiness and lack of fulfillment, their envy of the slave, joyful in her rightful place in nature. In any event, this attack on the part of the free woman, which happily had been only verbal, as they often are not, and the abused slave in any event dare not protest or object, as they are at the mercy of free persons, was in its way a profound compliment. So beautiful and exciting was the girl that the woman had naturally assumed she was that most marvelous, helpless, lovely and degraded of objects, the female slave.
"Turn left here," I said to the girl.
"Masters?" she asked, stopping.
"Left," I said. As she was free I did not demur to repeat a command. Also, punishment for having to repeat a command is always at the option of the master. For example, a command might not be clearly heard, or might not be clear in itself, or might appear inconsistent with the master's presumed intentions. Whether punishment is in order or not is then a matter for judgment on the master's part. In this case, of course, as we were on Tarngate, at Lorna, she had every reason to question my direction.
"Masters," said the girl, "may I speak?"
"Yes," I said.
"This is not the way to the district of Anbar," she said. Perhaps she thought we were strangers, brought in as auxiliaries, and did not know the city. To be sure, there were many areas in Ar which I did not know.
"That is known to me," I said.
"Where are we going!" she asked.
"We are taking you home," I said.
"No!" she cried, aghast.
I regarded her.
"You are to take me to the loot area in the district of Anbar!" she said. "When I was within the chest I heard it so said!"
"You are going home," I said.
"We could sell her," said Marcus.
"Yes!" cried the girl. "Sell me!"
"No," I said. "You are going home."
She tried to back away but in an instant was stopped, the inside of the leash collar tight against the back of her neck. "Perhaps you have forgotten that you are leashed, female," I said.
She approached me and fell to her knees before me, the leash looping up to my hand. She put her head to the stones, at my feet. I think she then, better than before, understood her helplessness, and the meaning of the leash, and why I had put it on her.
"I thought you said you would not run away," I said.
She lifted her head. "I cannot run away," she said. "I am leashed!"
"Yes," I said.
"I am in your power," she said. "You can do with me as you wish. I beg to be taken to the loot pits. I beg to be taken there, or sold!"
"No," I said.
"Keep me then for yourselves!" she said, looking from me to Marcus, and back again.
"No," I said.
"Surely you do not doubt that I am a slave, and need to be a slave!" she wept.
"I do not doubt that," I said. "But I think it is a bit early to harvest you."
"Harvest me?" she said.
"Yes," I said. This expression was a common one used of the acquisition of women. It suggests, I suppose, the picking of dangling, defenseless, ready fruit in an orchard. Too, it doubtless suggests that nature in her wisdom and bounty, in a sort of biological horticulture, has prepared and intended women for men, and has accordingly seen to it that they may be easily acquired.
"Surely that is a matter of opinion," said Marcus.
"True," I granted him.
"Surely you have seen such slips of girls chained in the loot lines of conquered cities," he said.
"Yes," I admitted.
"They do not discriminate against them there, do they?" he said.
"No," I said.
"And surely you have been pleasured in various taverns by such," he said.
"Yes," I said.
"And they are excellent in their way, are they not?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Even though they do not yet have the full perfections of their femaleness upon them."
"What scruple then," asked he, "gives you pause?"
"She is rather young," I said. "Also we owe something to her father."
"What is that?" he asked.
"He is a brave man," I said.
"'Brave'?" asked Marcus. "Did you not observe his wringing of hands, his wailing unmanliness, his terror, his obsequiousness, not see too to what extent he would go to accommodate himself to Cosian will?"
"It is true, Masters," said the girl, "if I may speak, as I gather I may, as you seem to insist upon treating me as a free woman. My father is a negligible coward."
"No," I said. "He is a brave man."
"I believe I know him better than you," she said.
"Surely Marcus," I said, "you would not begrudge the fellow a certain dismay over the destruction of his shop and the grievous impairment of his means of livelihood."
"His reaction was excessive," said Marcus.
"Exaggerated, you think?"
"If you wish," he said.
"For the benefit of whom, do you suppose?" I asked.
"I do not understand," said Marcus.
"What would you have done?" I asked.
"I would have scorned the Cosian openly," said Marcus, "or set upon him, and the others, with my sword."
"Are you a tradesman?" I asked.
"No," said he. "I am of the Scarlet Caste."
"And what if you were a tradesman?"
"I?" he asked, angrily.
"Do you think that in castes other than your own there are no men?"
"I would have scorned them even if I were a confectioner," said Marcus.
"And hurled sweets at them?"
"Be serious," said he, irritably.
"And presumably, by now," I said, "You would have been beaten, or maimed or slain, and your property confiscated. At the least you would have been entered on one of the lists of suspicion, your movements subject to surveillance, your actions the objects of reports."
"This is more of your Kaissa," said he, distastefully.
"As a warrior," said I, "surely you are aware of the virtues of concealment, of subterfuge."
"No," said the girl. "My father is a coward. I know him."
"You have mistaken concern for cowardice," I said.
"My father does not understand me," she said.
"No fathers understand their daughters," I said. "They only love them."
"You saw to what an extent he would go to accommodate himself to Cosian will," said Marcus.
"To protect his daughter," I said. "Surely you, in his place, in his helplessness, lacking your sword, your skills, would have done as much, or
more."
"I do not want his protection," said the girl. "He keeps me from myself!"
"He sees you in terms of one ideal," I said, "while it is actually another, one more profound, which you manifest."
"I do not want to go back to him," she said.
"He loves you," I said.
"I despise him!" she said.
"It is true that sometimes strangers understand a woman better than those closest to her, and see what she is, and needs. They see her more directly, more as herself, and less through their own distorting lenses, lenses they themselves have ground, lenses which would show her not as she is but as they wish her to be."
"I hate him!" she said.
"And love him," I said. "You will always love him."
"He is a coward!" she cried.
"No," I said.
"I know him!" she said.
"You do not," I said.
"Surely you do not claim he is a brave man?" said Marcus.
"He did not identify us," I said.
"He did not recognize us," said Marcus.
"But he did," I said.
Marcus looked at me, angrily.
"Yes," I said.
"Our features were concealed," said Marcus.
"Do you think he would not recognize our builds," I asked, "our clothing, our sandals? Do you think this would be so hard to do, within moments of having seen us before?"
"If you feared this," he asked, "why did you reenter the shop?"
"Because of the patrol," I said. "I feared they might kill him, in vengeance for the carnage wrought in the shop. Too, we were in the vicinity, and it might seem unusual, surely, if we did not add our presence to the investigation. That might have attracted comment and inquiry, had it been noticed. Too, who knows, perhaps there could be more swordplay within."
"But you did not attack the patrol," he said.
"They were, I think," I said, "all or mostly lads of Ar, and thusly it would have been not only impolitic but, in my opinion, actually objectionable to have done so. After all, we are, in our way, acting in support of Ar, the old Ar, the true Ar, and the officer, though obviously a Cosian sleen, was not a bad fellow. We cannot blame him for being angry that the carnage was wrought within his precinct, almost under his nose, and he could, at least, recognize, as her father could not, the true nature of this little slave slut before us."
The girl put down her head.
"You think the tradesman recognized us?" asked Marcus.
"Yes," I said.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"I saw it, in a flash, at first, in his eyes," I said.
"But he did not betray us."
"No," I said.
"He might have won much favor with Cos had he done so," said Marcus.
"Undoubtedly," I said.
"He is a brave man," said Marcus.
"And only a tradesman," I reminded him.
"There are brave men in all castes," smiled Marcus.
"Look," I said, pointing to a wall on Lorna, near where we stood. I had not seen it before. "The delka," I said.
We had not put it there.
"And Lorna is a muchly frequented street," I said.
"Interesting," said he.
"Yes," I said.
I looked down at the kneeling, leashed girl.
"I want to be forced to fear, and serve, and yield totally to my master," she said.
"And undoubtedly in time it will be so," I told her.
"I am not yet ready, you think?" she said.
"No," I said.
"Perhaps in a day or two," grumbled Marcus.
"Why will you return me to my father?" she asked.
"Because you are young," I said.
"And?" she asked, skeptically.
"Because we owe your father something," I said.
"And you owe me nothing?" she said.
"No," I said. "We owe you nothing." Then I added, "Nothing is owed a slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"On your feet," I said.
"I will get my collar!" she said. "If necessary I will slacken my veil. I will lift my robes in ascending a curb, that my ankles may be glimpsed. I will dare to walk the remote districts, and to tread high bridges!"
"Must a command be repeated?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said, quickly, rising.
"I will get my collar!" she repeated.
"I wonder if you will be as eager to wear it," I said, "when it is locked on your throat and you cannot remove it, when you find that you are truly a helpless slave."
She turned white.
"I will try to serve my master well," she whispered.
"Let us hope he is a kind one," I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
"You could be bought by anyone," I said.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"Precede us," I said.
She went left, as I had directed, on Lorna.
"Walk well," I cautioned her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Surely it is an error to let such a lovely slut go free," said Marcus.
"One as attractive as she will probably not be permitted to go free for long," I said.
We would keep to the main streets for a time. It would attract more attention, I feared, to march our captive between buildings, through backways and alleys, as though we wished to hide her. As it was, she was, in her way, well disguised, as her clothing could not be recognized nor, as she would customarily, at her age, be veiled, her face. When we reached the vicinity of the shop I would take her around the back, to conceal her delivery. In the meantime I thought it would do the exciting little chit good to be marched naked through the streets. Too, it was not unpleasant to walk behind her.
In time we had come to the vicinity of the shop and I directed her to the alley behind it.
We paused before the rear door of the shop.
I took up some of the slack in the leash and she turned and faced me, defiantly.
"So I am rejected as a female," she said, "and you return me here?"
I handed the leash to Marcus.
I turned her about and freed her hands. The leash was still on her neck.
"Do you think I am not beautiful enough, or intelligent enough," she said, angrily, not facing me, "to be a slave?"
"Oh!" she gasped, suddenly turned about, rudely, forcibly, by me, and held helplessly before me, by the upper arms. She was frightened. "You're hurting me," she whispered. "Oh!" she said, wincing, as I tightened my grip. She knew herself helpless. "Yes, Master," she suddenly breathed, her eyes closed. I saw that she understood masculine power, and would respond well to it.
I then, reluctantly, with some force of will, removed my hands from her.
"You are both beautiful enough and intelligent enough to be a slave," I said.
She looked at me. The prints of my grip lingered on her arms.
"Yes," I assured her.
"Then do not bring me back here," she whispered. "Take me to the loot pits, or keep me, or sell me, but do not bring me back here. No longer is this my home. My home I now know is in my master's house, or, if he will have it so, in his kennels."
I regarded her.
"Shall I knock?" asked Marcus.
I looked at the girl. She looked well, leashed.
"Yes," I said.
"If it were not for what you owed my father," she asked, "would you have brought me here?"
I considered the matter, and regarded her. "No," I said.
She smiled, through her tears, almost defiantly.
I suddenly seized her by the hair, and twisted her head back, and regarded her, her lovely throat and face. "No," I said.
"Then I am beautiful enough and intelligent enough to be a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said.
She sobbed.
"Beauty and intelligence are all well and good," I said, "but the best slave is she who loves most deeply."
"My master will be all to me," she said.
I regarded her. She would never be truly happy until she was in her place, at a man's feet.
"Someone is coming," said Marcus.
I released her.
"So it is all the will of men?" she said, through her tears. "All the debts, all the owing, all the payments? And nothing is owed to me?"
"No," I said. "Nothing is owed to you. You are a slave."
"Yes, Master!" she said.
We heard a fumbling with the bolts and chains on the door, and a lifting of the two bars. Gorean doors are often firmly secured.
"Remove the leash," I said to Marcus. In a moment he had freed her neck of it.
"Kneel here," I said to the girl, "head down, and cover yourself."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
The door opened.
"Hurry inside," said the tradesman to the girl. She rose up and sped within, covering herself as she could. She turned once, inside the threshold, cast a wild glance at Marcus and myself, and hurried further within.
"I have been waiting for you," said the tradesman.
"How did you know we would return?" asked Marcus.
"You are men of honor," he said.
"I think it would be well," I said, "if you changed your name, and set up your business elsewhere."
"I have already considered the arrangements," he said.
We heard the girl cry out, startled inside.
"They have not yet come for the bodies," said the tradesman.
"They are sending a wagon," I said. "Doubtless it will not arrive until after dark." The girl, of course, would have only a very imperfect idea of what had occurred, as her father had doubtless hurried her to the chest upon the entry of the brigands. The details of the afternoon, however, would presumably be made clear to her by her father. He, too, would presumably be interested in her afternoon. I suspected that her account to him would not be accurate or, at least, complete, in all respects.
Magicians of Gor Page 27
