by John Norman
The brand and collar, though mighty in their significance, offer little actual impediment to a girl’s action, unless, perhaps, she desires to pass alone and unchallenged through a city gate. Chains, on the other hand, permit her only certain latitudes of movement or keep her fixed in a given place. They, by actually putting a physical bond on her, and one which she knows she is powerless to break or escape, one in which she is absolutely helpless, bring her slavery home to her in a clear and unmistakable manner. They well teach her that she is a slave and owned. How could it be made more clear to her, that she is his to do with as he pleases, than when she actually wears his chain?
It is difficult to describe the subtle and exquisite emotions, so profound, and helpless and feminine, which may be felt by the chained woman. “You are chained, and a slave,” the chains say to her. “He has chained you, and he is your master. He may now do with you as he pleases. You are now in your place. Choice is gone. Now you can be only, and wholly, a woman. Prepare now to serve your Master, beautiful chained slave.”
It is a well-known fact that the mere sight of chains can make many women, even free women, sexually uneasy. Imagine if they were put in them! The chain, like the rope and the strap, and the whip, even when they have no reason to believe they will ever be used on them, speak on some profound level to women. Imagine, then, that a woman, falling slave, suddenly realized that she was now, in effect, subject to them! Consider her fears, her curiosity, her arousal! A woman, often, particularly if stripped, seeing a chain and knowing that it is to be placed upon her, will feel uncontrollable sexual desire, her body opening like a humid flower in its receptivity. That response can characterize even a free woman. Imagine, then, if you will, that now the woman is not free, but has fallen slave! She now knows that she is subject, categorically and in all ways, to the full domination of the master. No longer does she have even the theoretical option of offering a token resistance. Open, enraptured, joyful, she writhes moaning and crying out on the furs of love, a conquered slave, a fulfilled woman.
“There must be levies of men and ships, from the signatory towns,” Glyco was saying to Callimachus, “rotations of men, and perhaps, too, of ships. Patrols must be organized. Communications and signals will be of great significance.”
“You are now first captain in Port Cos, are you not?” I asked Calliodorus. He had been captain of the valiant Tais. I assumed, with the fall of Callisthenes, that the mantle and helmet of the first captain would surely devolve upon him.
“I am acting first captain,” said Calliodorus. “But it would be my hope that Callimachus, who was once first captain, may be prevailed upon to resume that post.”
The two slaves had now left the pastries and custards upon the table, and had returned to the kitchen. They would there presumably be relieved of their chains and would return with the black wine.
“The citadels of Policrates and Ragnar Voskjard have been burned, I heard,” I said.
“Yes,” said Tasdron. The citadel of Ragnar Voskjard had been fled by its defenders, after the news of the battle at Victoria reached them, they knowing themselves too few to defend it against a concerted siege.
“They might have been useful as bastions for the Vosk League,” I said.
“The Vosk League,” smiled Tasdron, “is a simple league, whose intent it is merely to control piracy on the river.”
“That was the original intent, too, as I understand it,” I said, “of the league on the Olni which became the Salerian Confederation.”
“We did not want trouble with Cos and Ar,” said Tasdron.
“Not while we are weak,” said Glyco.
“I see,” I said.
“Not only have they been burned,” said Tasdron, “but they will be dismantled. We have taken proposals on this work from stone merchants.”
“And salt will be cast upon the ashes,” said Glyco.
“Salt,” I said, “can be a sign of life, and luck.”
“True,” smiled Tasdron.
“The headquarters of the Vosk League, as I understand it,” I said, “is to be located in Victoria.”
“Yes,” smiled Tasdron. “The choice seemed judicious.”
“Victoria was centrally involved in the resistance to the pirates,” said Aemilianus.
“And it was here that the decisive victory was won,” said Calliodorus.
“And in this fashion,” grinned Aemilianus, “the headquarters of the league is not in Port Cos.”
“And, similarly,” smiled Calliodorus, “it is not at Ar’s Station.”
There was laughter at the table.
The two slaves, their chains removed, now returned, and began to serve the black wine. The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus, whom he had not yet named, placed the tiny silver cups, on small stands, before us. The lovely little slave in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, holding the narrow-spouted, silver pouring vessel in a heavy cloth, to retain its heat and protect her hands, poured the scalding, steaming black fluid, in narrow, tiny streams, into the small cups. She poured into the cups only the amount that would be compatible with the assorted sugars and creams which the guest might desire, if any, these being added in, and stirred, if, and as, pertinent, by Aemilianus’ slave, who directed the serving.
“Have the pirates been disposed of, suitably?” I asked Tasdron.
“Yes,” said Tasdron. “We divided them among various wholesalers, with the understanding that no more than one of them will be sold in any given market, in any given city or town, or village or fair. Thus they will be well scattered, and distributed, over all known Gor.”
“I see,” I said. Policrates, Kliomenes and Callisthenes, and such men, branded and collared, would soon be owned slaves, laboring for masters. There are many uses for such slaves. They can be purchased for work chains, to be rented out by their masters, sometimes marched between cities, depending on the seasons and the work available. They can serve, too, in such places as the mines, the quarries and great farms.
“Master?” asked the girl in yellow gauze, who had been Shirley and now belonged, for the moment nameless, to my friend Aemilianus, of Ar’s Station.
“Second slave,” I told her, which, among the river towns, and in certain cities, particularly in the north, is a way of indicating that I would take the black wine without creams or sugars, and as it came from the pouring vessel, which, of course, in these areas, is handled by the “second slave,” the first slave being the girl who puts down the cups, takes the orders and sees that the beverage is prepared according to the preferences of the one who is being served.
“Second slave,” said the slave of Aemilianus.
“Yes, Mistress,” said the girl in bluish gauze. She was extremely careful not to spill a drop. Black wine, except in the vicinity of Thentis, where most of it is grown on the slopes of the Thentis range, is quite expensive. Also, of course, clumsy slave girls are often whipped. The expression “second slave,” incidentally, serves to indicate that one does not wish creams or sugars with one’s black wine, even if only one girl is serving.
“Where is Krondar?” I asked Miles of Vonda.
“On his way to Ar,” said Miles.
“To Ar?” I asked.
“He fought well with us,” said Miles. “I freed him.”
“Excellent,” I said, “he is a splendid fellow.”
“And I gave him portions of my share of the spoils, from the holding of Policrates.”
“Excellent,” I said.
“Do you remember that luscious little brunet, Bikkie, from the holding?”
“Of course,” I said. “She was allotted to you, with Florence, in the division of the spoils.”
“I gave her to Krondar,” said Miles.
“Superb,” I said. “He will make her writhe well.”
“That is certain!” laughed Miles.
“How you men speak of us!” protested Florence.
“Be silent, Slave,” said Miles.
“Yes, Master,” she sa
id, putting her head down, shyly. I smiled. Obviously she, too, was not averse to being made to writhe by her master.
I saw the two slaves returning now to the kitchen.
“Why is Krondar going to Ar?” I asked.
“He intends to purchase fighting slaves,” said Miles, “and then free them, and organize matches among free men. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“There are perhaps places where such things are done,” I said.
“Free men fight with weapons,” said Miles. “They are not animals.”
“Warriors are trained in unarmed combat,” I said.
“But only as a last resort, only for emergencies,” said Miles.
I shrugged. There were surely those at the table who knew more of such things than I.
“It is difficult to kill a man with your bare hands,” said Miles.
“There are several ways in which it may be done, easily,” said Callimachus.
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes,” said Calliodorus.
“Yes,” agreed Aemilianus.
“Oh,” said Miles of Vonda.
“Are you enjoying your supper?” I asked Calliodorus, who had been rather subdued most of the evening.
“Yes,” he said. “It is very nice.”
“I see that you have brought no slave with you,” I said.
“No,” he said.
Calliodorus, as we knew, had once wooed a maid in Port Cos. The companionship, however, had never materialized. The maid, it seems, before the ceremony, had fled the city.
“You should have a slave,” I said. “They are marvelous in contenting a man.”
“There is only one woman,” he said, “on whose lovely throat I ever wanted to lock a slave collar.”
I lifted the tiny silver cup to my lips and took a drop of the black wine. Its strength and bitterness are such that it is normally drunk in such a manner, usually only a drop or a few drops at a time. Commonly, too, it is mollified with creams and sugars. I drank it without creams and sugars, perhaps, for I had been accustomed, on Earth, to drinking coffee in such a manner, and the black wine of Gor is clearly coffee, or closely akin to coffee. Considering its bitterness, however, if I had not been drinking such a tiny amount, and so slowly, scarcely wetting my lips, I, too, would surely have had recourse to the tasty, gentling additives with which it is almost invariably served.
“Master, may I have that pastry?” asked Florence, indicating the one she desired.
“No,” he said.
She knelt back.
But I noticed that, in a moment, he had given it to her, and she knelt back on her heels, her knees closely together, holding it with two hands, eating it.
I watched Aemilianus’ slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black wine.
The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“Forgive me, Master,” she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.
“What is going on?” asked Miles of Vonda.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Is it an entertainment?” asked Glyco.
“Perhaps,” I said.
The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered the room. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.
I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness.
I was startled.
What memories this stirred in me!
The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.
There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table.
“She is beautiful,” said Tasdron.
“What manner of garments are those?” asked Glyco.
The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown. Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.
“I do not understand this,” said Miles of Vonda. “Is this meaningful?”
I was almost overwhelmed. “It is very meaningful to me,” I said. “Permit me, my friends, to explain. First, Glyco, in answer to your question, the garments she wears are much like, and are meant to suggest, the garments which a free woman may wear on Earth.”
“But they are slave garments,” said Glyco. “See! The arms and the shoulders are bare!”
“Nonetheless,” I said, “on Earth free women may wear such garments.”
The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.
“They are slave garments,” said Glyco.
“True,” I said, “but to understand what she is doing, you must understand that such garments, on Earth, are understood to be exquisite and lovely free-woman’s garments.”
“Very well,” said Glyco.
“Too,” I said, “they are, in this case, meant to remind me of, and resemble, the garments which she once wore, as a free woman, to a meeting with me. That is important.”
“I understand,” said Glyco.
“They would also be the garments in which, for the first time, to my knowledge, she had ever dared to explicitly express her femininity.”
“Do the women on Earth not dare to express their femininity?” asked Glyco.
“Many fear to do so,” I said.
“What of the men of Earth?” asked Glyco.
“Many of them encourage the women to pretend to be pseudo-men,” I said.
“What sort of men are they?” asked Glyco.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Observe the hair,” I said.
“It seems severe, tight, rigid, constricted, constrained,” said Glyco.
That is part of the costume, so to speak,” I said, “of many male-imitating women. The straight lines and severity are supposed to suggest, I gather, efficiency and masculinity.”
“Interesting,” said Glyco. “It is incongruous, of course, with the garment, which seems rather feminine.”
“Such incongruities,” I said, “are not uncharacteristic of many Earth women. They can indicate ambiguities in self images and confusions, in particular, as to their sexuality. There might, of course, I suppose, be many other reasons for them. For example, in some cases, they may represent that a transition is in progress toward femininity.”
“The cloth on the table and the candle,” said Miles of Vonda, “are supposed to suggest to you the place of this meeting of which you spoke.”
“Yes,” I said. “It was a place where food was served, and where one might engage in pleasant conversation.”
“A tavern?” asked Tasdron.
“Not exactly,” I said. There is no precise Gorean expression for a restaurant. “There were no paga slaves there, and no dancers.”
“Why would one go to such a place?” asked Miles of Vonda.
“She went there that she might engage in delicate and intimate discourse with me,” I said.
“That she might offer herself to you as your slave?” asked Glyco.
“If so,” I said, “that was not clearly understood at the time.”
“She appears then now before us,” said Glyco, “much as she appeared then before you?”
“Yes,” I said, “thoug
h there are, of course, differences. For example, at that time, her throat was bare.” The girl now wore a light white scarf twisted about her throat, the ends over her left shoulder. “Too,” I said, “at that time she carried a small silver-beaded pouch.”
“I see,” said Glyco.
The girl did not now, of course, carry a purse. Slave girls are not permitted to carry such things. When shopping she carries the coins usually in her mouth or hand. Sometimes she ties them in a scarf about a wrist or ankle. Sometimes her master places them in a bag, which is then tied about her neck. Gorean garments, generally, incidentally, except for the garments of craftsmen, do not have pockets. Coins, and personal items, and such, are usually, by free persons, carried in pouches, which are usually concealed within the robes of a free woman, or slung about the waist, or shoulder, of a free man.
The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her hands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.
I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair.
There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman’s unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.
