“You did not sell her?” I asked.
“Who would want a she-urt?” he asked. “I am going to take her now to the public shelves.”
Looking at me the small, lovely, dark-haired girl drew back.
“What do you want for her?” I asked.
“It cost a copper tarsk to brand her,” he said.
I looked at her. She looked at me, and trembled, and shook her head, negatively.
I threw him a copper tarsk.
“She is yours,” he said.
He took his strap off her throat, and unbound her hands.
“Submit,” I told her.
She knelt before me, back on her heels, arms extended, head down, between her arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding.
“I submit to you, Master,” she said.
I tied her hands together; she then lowered her bound wrists; I pulled up her head. I held before her an opened collar, withdrawn from my sea bag. I had had one prepared.
“Can you read?” I asked her.
“No, Master,” she said.
“It says,” I said, “‘I am the girl of Tarl of Teletus.”’
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I then collared her. I had thought that some wench, probably one to be purchased in Schendi, would have been a useful addition to my disguise, as an aid in establishing and confirming my pretended identity as a metal worker from the island of Teletus. This little wench though, now locked in my collar, I thought would serve the purpose well. There was no particular reason to wait to Schendi before buying a girl. Besides, the collar on her might help to convince Ulafi, who seemed to me a clever and suspicious man, that, whatever I might be, I was a reasonably straightforward and honest fellow. I traveled with a girl who wore a name collar.
“Are there papers on her?” I asked the guardsman.
“No,” said the guardsman. Most Gorean slaves do not have papers. The brand and collar are deemed sufficient.
I pulled the little slave to her feet, and pointed out the Palms of Schendi.
“Do you see that ship?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Run there as fast as your little legs will carry you,” I said. “And tell them to cage you.”
“Yes, Master,” she said, and ran, sobbing, toward the ship.
I then shouldered my sea bag and followed her. A moment after I had trod the gangplank, it was drawn up. The railing was shut and fastened.
A sailor thrust the small dark-haired slave into a small cage, and snapped shut the padlock, securing it. It was next to another cage, that which contained the blond barbarian. The dark-haired girl looked at her, startled. “You!” she said. The blond girl drew back, as she could, in her cage. “Kajira!” hissed the dark-haired girl, angrily, at her. It was the blond who had taken her garment as she had lain trussed with Turgus of Port Kar, while awaiting the arrival of the guardsmen who would take them into custody. There were tears in the eyes of the blond girl. She pulled with her wrists against the bracelets which held her hands behind her. Then she looked angrily at the dark-haired girl. “Kajira!” she said to her, angrily.
Mooring ropes were cast off.
Sailors, at the port rail, with three poles, thrust the Palms of Schendi away from the dock. Canvas fell from the long, sloping yards.
The two helmsmen were at their rudders.
The first officer directed the crew. The captain. Ulafi of Schendi, stood upon the stem castle.
“Ready,” called the second officer.
Ten sailors, on a side, slid oars outboard.
“Stroke,” called the second officer, he acting as oar master.
The long oars dipped into Thassa and rose, dripping, from the greenish sea. The vessel moved slowly outward, into wider waters. A breeze from the east, over Port Kar, swelled the sails. They lifted and billowed.
“Oars inboard!” called the second officer.
The helmsman guided the ship to the right of the line of white and red buoys.
I watched Port Kar, its low buildings, fall behind. The sky was very blue.
I went to the cage which contained the girl I had bought. She looked up at me. Her wrists were still bound.
“I do not have a name,” she said. It was true. She was as nameless as a tabuk doe or a she-verr. I had bought her. I had not yet given her a name.
“You are Sasi,” I told her, naming her.
“Yes, Master,” she said, putting her head down. She would wear her old name, but it had now been put on her as a slave name, by my will.
The second officer, now freed of his duties as oar master, approached me. He indicated Sasi. “There is an extra charge,” said he, “for the keeping and feeding of livestock. It will cost you an extra copper tarsk.”
“Of course,” I said. I handed him, from my pouch, a copper tarsk. He turned about, and left.
I looked down at the other cage, and the blond-haired barbarian, who had been an agent for Kurii, kneeling, naked, her wrists braceleted behind her, put her head down. I looked at the brand, fresh in her burned thigh. It was small, precise, deep, clean and sharp, a severe, lovely mark, unmistakable and clear; her thigh now well proclaimed what she was, a Gorean slave.
Ulafi, merchant and captain, stood upon the deck of the stern castle.
I stood at the rail. Canvas snapped in the wind over my head. The masts and timbers of the ship creaked. I smelled the sharp freshness of gleaming Thassa, the sea. I heard her waters lick at the strakes. A sailor began to sing a song of Schendi, and it was taken up by others.
I watched Port Kar drop behind.
5
We Ply Toward Schendi
“Lesha,” snapped the second officer to the blond girl.
She spun from facing him, and lifted her chin, turning her head to the left, placing her wrists behind her, as though for snapping them into slave bracelets.
“Nadu!” he snapped.
She swiftly turned, facing him, and dropped to her knees. She knelt back on her heels, her back straight, her hands on her thighs, her head up, her knees wide.
It was the position of the pleasure slave.
“Sula, Kajira!” said the man.
She slid her legs from under her and lay on her back, her hands at her sides, palms up. her legs open.
“Bara, Kajira!” he said.
She rolled quickly to her stomach, placing her wrists behind her, crossed, and crossing her ankles, ready to be bound.
“She is a pretty thing,” said Ulafi, and turned away.
“Yes,” I said.
“Sula!” said the man. “Bara! Nadu! Lesha! Nadu! Bara! Sula! Nadu!”
The girl was gasping. There were tears in her eyes, as she knelt on the deck. Once she had been struck when her transition between two of the movements had been insufficiently beautiful. Another time she had been struck when her response had been insufficiently prompt.
The trip south towards Schendi is a long one, consuming several days, even with fair winds, which we had had.
“Do you think she will make a good slave?” asked Sasi, standing beside me, eating a larma.
“Perhaps, in time,” I said. “How are her lessons in Gorean coming along?”
Sasi shrugged. “I am teaching her as I can,” she said. “Barbarians are so stupid.”
I had had Sasi, at the invitation of Ulafi, spend several hours a day tutoring the blond girl in Gorean. Sasi enjoyed this, standing over the blond girl with a strap, striking her when she made mistakes. When she had had a good session Ulafi would sometimes, when he thought of it, throw her a bit of cake or pastry, which she would gratefully receive. She would then kneel before Ulafi and kiss his feet, clutching the bit of cake or pastry. “Thank you, Master,” she would say. She would then kneel before Sasi, her teacher, and offer her the bit of cake or pastry, which Sasi would take, taking most of it and returning a portion of it to her. “Thank you, Mistress,” she would say, for Sasi was first girl She would then creep to her cage, and be locked within it. S
he would lie curled up in it, a lovely, helpless slave, and try to make the bit of cake or pastry last as long as possible.
When more than one slave girl stands in a relationship of slave girls, as when they serve in the same shop or house, or adorn the same rich man’s pleasure gardens, it is common for the master, or masters, to appoint a “first girl.” Her authority is then to the other girls as is that of the master. This tends to reduce squabbling. The first girl is usually, though not always, the favorite of the master. There is usually much competition to be first girl. First girls can be cruel and petty but, commonly, they attempt to govern with intelligence and justice. They know that another girl, at the master’s whim, may become first girl, and that they themselves may then be under her almost absolute power. In my own house I often rotated the position of first girl among my slaves who were native Goreans. I never made an Earth-girl slave first girl. This is fitting. Let them be always as the slaves of slaves.
I looked at the Earth girl, who had been left kneeling on the deck, the second officer having left her there. She did not move a muscle. She was being well trained.
“I hate her,” said Sasi.
“Why?’ I asked.
“She is so stupid and slow,” said Sasi.
“Things are hard for her,” I told Sasi. “Remember that she is only a barbarian.”
“She is stupid,” said Sasi.
“I do not think she is stupid,” I said.
“She is slow,” said Sasi.
“She is learning,” I said.
“She will always be a pitiful, clumsy slave,” said Sasi.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.” Frankly I did not think she was, even now, a pitiful, clumsy slave. She seemed to me to learn quickly. I felt that she would, in time, particularly if put under sex conquest, prove superb.
“Are you going to train me a little tonight, Master?” asked Sasi.
“Perhaps,” I said.
I had already brought her past the limitations of the free woman’s heat.
Sometimes at night I would pull her forth from her cage, the key to which had been given to me, use her, and then put her back in the cage.
After the first three or four days she had begun to grow rather food of her collar. It is an interesting transition in a woman.
I looked at the blond-haired slave, kneeling in the position of the pleasure slave.
Sasi bit into the larma fruit.
The first two days the blond-haired girl could not eat. She had shrunk back in honor from the gruel of meal and fish, fit provender for slaves, thrust in its pan into her cage. She had looked at me. Compared to it, the garbage of Port Kar had been haut cuisine. But on the third day she had finished it, thrusting it with her fingers into her mouth and licking the pan clean. Slaves are often not permitted utensils. Seeing that the pan was clean, Ulafi had then had his second officer commence her lessons. The next day Sasi, at Ulafi’s request of me, had begun to improve her Gorean.
“Do you think she is pretty Master?’ asked Sasi.
“Yes,” I said. I did think she was pretty. She seemed more lovely now than when we had left Port Kar. It was probably the fresh air, the exercise and the finding of herself under the absolute domination of men. The training, too, doubtless helped.
The second officer now returned to the kneeling girl and, standing behind her, loosely, with a movement of the slave whip, looped the five broad blades of the whip about her neck. He then held the loops against the whip’s staff, her neck encircled by them. He then, pulling against the side of her neck, threw her to his feet.
“What are you?” he asked.
“A slave girl, Master,” she said, her neck in the loops of the whip.
“What Is a slave girl?” he asked.
“A girl who is owned,” she said.
“Are you a slave girl?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Then you are owned,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Who owns you?” he asked.
“Ulafi of Schendi,” she said.
“Who trains you?” he asked.
“Shoka of Schendi,” she said.
“Do you have a brand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a slave.”
“Do you wear a collar?”
“Yes, Master.”
“What sort of collar do you wear?”
“A shipping collar, Master. It shows that I am a portion of the cargo of the Palms of Schendi.” I thought the girl’s Gorean, though the responses were generally simple, had improved considerably in the last few days.
“What is the common purpose of a collar?”
“The collar has four common purposes, Master,” she said. “First, it visibly designates me as a slave, as a brand might not, if it should be covered by clothing. Second, it impresses my slavery upon me. Thirdly, it identifies my master. Fourthly-fourthly-”
“Fourthly?” he asked.
“Fourthly,” she said, “it makes it easier to leash me.”
He kicked her in the side. She winced. Her response had been slow.
“Do you like being a slave girl?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She sobbed. She was again kicked.
“Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” she cried.
“What does a slave girl want more than anything?” he asked.
“To please men,” she said.
“What are you?” he asked.
“A slave girl,” she said.
“What do you want more than anything?” he asked.
“To please men!” she cried.
“Nadu!” he cried, loosening the whip coils on her throat.
She swiftly knelt, back on her heels, back straight, head high, hands on her thighs, knees wide.
He then left her again, and she remained kneeling. She moved no muscle.
“Is she more pretty than I, Master?” asked Sasi.
“Your beauties are quite different,” I said. “I think you are both quite pretty. I think you will both make superb little slaves.”
“Oh,” said Sasi.
An additional utility of the collar, though it did not count as one of its four common purposes, was that it made it easier to put the girl in various ties. For example, one can use it to tie her hands before her throat, or at the sides or back of her neck. One can use it with, say, rope or chain, to fasten girls together. One can tie her feet to her collar, and so on. If the feet are tied to the collar the knot is always in the front, so that the pressure will be against the back of the girl’s neck and not the front. The purpose of such a tie is to hold the slave, not choke her. Gorean men are not clumsy in their binding of women.
I looked at the kneeling, blond-haired girl. How miserable, superficially, she seemed in her slavery. I supposed that if she were asked, outside the context of training, where certain answers are prescribed, if she liked being a slave girl, she would have denied it vehemently, perhaps with tears. Doubtless she would have begged piteously for her freedom. Yet I recalled that when her trainer, Shoka of Schendi, had flung her to his feet by the whip coils on her neck she had fallen in a certain way, and had lain at his feet in a certain fashion. I recalled the position of her wrists and palms, and the look in her eyes, as she had looked up at him. Her hip had been turned. Both legs had been drawn back, but one more than the other. Her toes had been pointed, accentuating the turn of her calf. She had not fallen clumsily. She had not lain clumsily at his feet. She had lain at his feet, and looked at him, as a slave. She had not been trained to do that. I did not even think she was aware of this sort of thing.
“Do you like me, Master?” asked Sasi.
“Yes,” I said, “particularly since you have had a bath.”
“Oh, Master,” she said.
I had scrubbed her the first day out from Port Kar, she kneeling in a tub, with sea water and a deck brush.
“What was the last time you ha
d a bath?” I asked her.
“A girl pushed me in the South canal a year ago,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“Is Master fastidious?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” I said, “but I will expect you to keep yourself reasonably clean from now on. You are no longer a free woman.”
“No, Master,” she said.
“You are now a slave girl,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She knew that slave girls must be attentive to matters of appearance, health, cleanliness and hygiene. They are no longer free women.
Yesterday the blond-haired girl had been permitted to walk about the deck. I had stopped near her and she had, immediately, knelt, for she was in the presence of a free man. I had walked slowly about her. She was very nice. I had then stood before her, and she had, suddenly, dropped her eyes. I saw a tiny movement in her hands, on her thighs, as though she would turn them, exposing the palms to me, but then she pressed them down her thighs, hard. I crouched beside her. Then I smiled. I smelled slave heat. Then I got up and went about my business. I saw her later leaning against the main mast. Later I looked at it, and saw that she had made marks in it with her nails.
“I myself prefer the training of the furs,” said Sasi, biting again into the larma fruit.
The blond-haired girl still knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. For the time her trainer had forgotten about her.
“You just do not like being struck with the whip,” I told her.
“Perhaps that is it,” she laughed. “Master,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“If I am good, you will not whip me, will you?” she asked.
“I might,” I said.
“Oh,” she said.
Sometimes I had had Sasi train with the blond-haired girl, but generally I did not. Ulafi had no objection to her sharing the barbarian’s training. Indeed, he had even suggested the arrangement. Graciously he had made no charge for this. On the other hand I had not charged him for the instruction which Sasi was giving the blond barbarian in Gorean. Our arrangement, thus, though tacit, was a tidy one.
Sasi, Gorean, even in the collar a few days, was already far beyond the blond-haired barbarian. It was for this reason that I had had her seldom train with the barbarian. There had simply not been much point to it. The barbarian still needed the simplest and most elementary lessons of slave training.
Norman, John - Gor 13 - Explorers of Gor.txt Page 9
