by John Norman
But I walked, and well. I feared his whip. Men cried out with pleasure at the displayed girl upon the block.
"Note the fluidity and grace of her movements," said the auctioneer, "the sweetness of her figure, the straightness of her back, the proud carriage of her head. For a few copper tarsks you can own her!"
A tear ran down my face, over my left cheek.
"Walk well, little Dina," cautioned the auctioneer. "Yes, Master," I said. I walked, back and forth, turning, red with shame before the buyers.
"Stand proudly, little Dina," said the auctioneer. I stopped, and stood on the block, my head high.
"Buy her and put her to work for you," challenged the auctioneer. "Conceive of her naked in your collar, on her knees, shackled, scrubbing the tiles of your compartments. Consider her cleaning and washing and sewing for you. Consider her shopping for you and cooking! Consider her entertaining and waiting upon your guests! Consider her waiting in the furs for you!"
"Ten tarsks," said a man.
"Ten tarsks," said the auctioneer.
"Eleven," said another man, from the left.
"Eleven," said the auctioneer.
I looked out upon the crowd, the men and women. There must have been some four hundred in the amphitheater. Vendors moved about, among them, proffering light foods and beverages. I lightly fingered the chain and sales disk at my throat. I saw a man buy a roll of meat, wrapped about a sauce. He began to eat, looking at me. Our eyes met. I looked away. Some men conversed among themselves, not noticing me. I hated them! I did not wish to be looked upon, but they did not look upon me!
"Examine this beauty," said the auctioneer, indicating me with his whip. "Consider the perfection of her block measurements. 22 horts, 16 horts, 22 horts!" he cried, jabbing me with the whip.
"Fourteen copper tarsks," called a man.
"Fourteen!" cried the auctioneer. "But can the house let this little beauty slip its collar for a mere fourteen tarsks? Say, no, Noble Sirs!"
"Fifteen," said a man.
"Fifteen," said the auctioneer. I knew I had been sold by Rask of Treve to a slaver for fifteen copper tarsks. The slaver who had purchased me had sold me to the house of Publius for twenty copper tarsks. The auctioneer doubtless knew this; doubtless it was entered on my records.
The auctioneer looked at me. "Girl," said he to me, softly, menacingly, "you will, whether sold or not, spend this night in our pens. Is that clearly understood?"
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
He was not satisfied with the bids. If I did not go for a price which satisfied the house I would spend the night under Gorean slave discipline.
I would doubtless be richly whipped.
"On your belly, little Dina," he said. "Let us interest the buyers."
"Yes, Master," I said.
I fell upon my belly at his feet, awaiting his commands. I looked up, terrified, afraid that he might strike me with the whip. I lay there for a long moment. He did not strike me. The crowd was amused at my terror. "You will be prompt, obedient and beautiful, 128," said the auctioneer to me, softly. "Yes, Master," I said. Then, suddenly, snapping the whip, he said, harshly, "On your back, one knee lifted, the other leg extended, hands over your head, wrists close, as though confined in slave bracelets." I complied. Then he began to put me rapidly through the paces of the exhibited female slave; he held me in each position for the sweet instant that well revealed me, tantalizingly, in that attitude or posture, and then barked forth a new command, to a new position or attitude; the sequence of these moves was not an accident; each move followed easily, sometimes by a roll or turn, from the preceding position; shrewd rhythm and flow, calculated and sensual, physically melodious, characterized the performance humiliatingly inflicted upon me; I must submit to the choreography of slave display; I, who had been Judy Thornton, a girl of Earth, was put through Gorean slave paces; then I lay on my belly at his feet, as I had begun; I was trembling; I was covered with sweat; my hair was loose about my head and eyes; I felt the auctioneer's foot upon my body; I put my head to the block.
"What am I bid?" he called.
"Eighteen tarsks," called a man.
"Eighteen," said the auctioneer. "Nineteen? Do I hear nineteen?"
"Nineteen," called a man.
My tears stained the block. I felt its sawdust with my finger tips. Its sawdust, too, adhered to my body, held by the sweat.
The leather of the auctioneer's whip, loosely coiled, was near my back.
I looked up. There were women in the crowd. Why did they not rise up and cry out in protest at the indignity inflicted upon their sister?
But they looked upon me impassively. I was only a slave.
"Twenty," called a man.
"Twenty," said the auctioneer. He removed his foot from my body and tapped me on the back with the whip. "Kneel," he said.
I knelt on the block, near its front, miserable, in the position of the pleasure slave, the light chain and sales disk on my throat.
"I have a bid of twenty copper tarsks for this lovely little beauty," said the auctioneer. "Do I hear a bid of more?" He looked out, over the crowd.
I knelt very still. I knew the house had paid twenty tarsks for me.
"Twenty-one," called a man.
"Twenty-one," said the auctioneer.
I breathed more easily. The profit was small, but it had been turned upon me.
I was very conscious of the sales disk at my throat; it was on a looped, close-fitting chain; I could not remove the chain; it was locked.
Twenty-one tarsks had been bid upon me.
I would not be a loss to the house of Publius.
It costs only a pittance to maintain and train a girl in the barred, straw-strewn pens of a slaver's house. What is the cost of gruel and a whip?
"I have heard a bid of twenty-one tarsks," called the auctioneer. "Do I hear a bid for more?"
The crowd was silent.
I was suddenly frightened. What if the house were not satisfied with the profit they had turned? Surely it was not much. I hoped they would be satisfied. I had done my best to obey the auctioneer. I did not wish to be whipped.
Gorean males tend not to be lenient with girls who have displeased them.
"Stand, Collar Meat," said the auctioneer.
I stood.
"It seems," said the auctioneer, "that we must let this little beauty go for a mere twenty-one copper tarsks."
"Please do not be angry with me, Master," I begged.
"It is all right, little Dina," he said, with surprising pleasantness, considering how harshly he had managed me upon the block.
I swiftly knelt before him, holding his knees, looking up. "Is Master pleased?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"Then Dina will not be whipped?" I asked.
"Of course not," he said. He looked down, pleasantly. "It is not your fault," he said, "that the market is slow."
"Thank you, Master," I said.
"Now, on your feet, little beauty," he said, "and hurry from the block, for we have more animals to sell."
"Yes, Master," I said, swiftly rising to my feet. I turned to descend the block, on the stairs on the opposite side from that from which I had ascended the block.
"One moment, little Dina," he said. "Come here."
"Yes, Master," I said, running lightly to him.
"Place your hands in your hair," he said, "and do not remove them until you are given permission."
"Master?" I asked.
I placed my hands in my hair. He then turned me to face the crowd. His left hand was at the back of my neck. It grasped the chain there. He would hold me in place.
"Behold, Noble Sirs and Ladies," he said.
Suddenly I screamed fighting the looped, heavy coil of the whip.
"Stop! Please stop, Master!" I cried in misery. I dared not remove my hands from my hair. I feared I would, in my helplessness, tear out my own hair. "Please, stop, Master!" I cried out, twisting and squirming, held in place by his hand
on my neck. I tried to fight the sensation of the whip.
"Writhe, little Dina," he said, "writhe."
I cried out, begging him to stop.
"Did you truly think," he hissed, "we would take a profit of only a copper tarsk on you? Do you think us fools to buy a girl for twenty and sell her for twenty-one? Do you not think we know our trade, little slut?"
I screamed for mercy.
Then, his demonstration finished, he released my neck. I fell to my knees before him on the block. My head was down. My hands were still in my hair. "You may remove your hands from your hair," he said. I took my hands from my hair and put them over my face, weeping. I shut my knees tightly, trembling, sobbing.
"Forty copper tarsks," I heard call from the floor, "from the Tavern of Two Chains."
"The Pleasure Silk bids fifty tarsks," I heard.
I had been tricked. The auctioneer had caught me by surprise. Without warning I had been forced to reveal myself, despite any pretenses or intentions I might have, as what I had become on Gor, a true slave girl, and reveal myself as such openly, inadvertently, spontaneously, incontrovertibly, helplessly.
"The Jeweled Ankle Ring bids seventy," I heard.
He had handled his work well. He had exacted from the crowd the highest possible price in the given market before he revealed, unexpectedly and to her dismay, the delicious richness and vulnerability of the girl's exploitable latencies, they as much a part of her as her block measurements, and as much for sale. My responsiveness, like my intelligence, my service and my skills, such as they were, came with my price. The Gorean is satisfied only with the whole girl; it is the whole girl that he buys.
"The Perfumed Rope bids eighty copper tarsks," I heard.
I could not believe the bids.
"She is 'paga hot,'" laughed a man.
"True," said another. "I wish I had her in my collar."
On the block I sobbed, kneeling. I could not help that I had responded as I had to the touch of the whip. I could not help it! "The Silver Cage bids eighty-five," I heard. I wept, shuddering. I had been exhibited naked. I was being sold to the highest bidder. And I knew that I was not being sold merely as a beautiful girl, for such a girl might have gone for twenty-one tarsks, but as something more, as a beautiful slave girl.
"I have heard from the agent of the Silver Cage," called the auctioneer, "a bid of eighty-five copper tarsks. Is there another bid?"
"The Belled Collar," I heard, "bids one silver tarsk."
There was silence in the hall.
"There is a bid of one silver tarsk," said the auctioneer. I could tell he was pleased.
I looked down, shuddering, my knees closely together. The recent bids had been by the agents of paga taverns. I had some notion of what it would be to be a paga slave. The belled, silked girls of the taverns were well known in the cities of Gor. Their purpose was to please the customers of their master. They came with the price of a cup of paga.
"The Belled Collar has given us a bid of one silver tarsk," called the auctioneer. "Is there a higher bid?"
I looked up, and, startled, saw the eyes of the various women, over their veils, upon me. The holding of their bodies, and what I could see of their faces, frightened me. I was regarded by them now with unmistakable hostility. It is hard to be naked, as a slave, before a woman. They make you feel doubly naked. I would rather there had been only men in the market. Were the women comparing their beauty with mine, perhaps unfavorably? Were they wondering, perhaps, if they might give a man more pleasure than I? I wondered why now, for the first time, they looked upon me with such resentment, such anger. Before they had only looked upon me as merely another girl slave, to be sold from the block in her turn for a handful of copper tarsks. But now they looked upon me differently. Now they looked upon me with the fury of the free woman for the hot, desirable female slave. Were they jealous? Did they resent the interest of men? Did they wish that it was they upon the block? I did not know. Free women are often cruel to beautiful female slaves. They put us under terrifying discipline. Perhaps they sense in us something of greater interest to men than themselves, something which constitutes to them a threat, something which is subtly competitive, and successfully so, to them. I do not know. Perhaps they fear us, or the slave in themselves. I do not know. Mostly I suspect the women were furious with me because I had been responsive to the touch of the auctioneer's whip. Free women, desiring to yield, pride themselves on their capacity not to yield, to maintain their quality and integrity; slave girls, on the other hand, are not permitted such luxuries; they, whether they desire to yield or not, must yield, and totally; perhaps free women wish they did not have to be free, and could relate in biological naturalness, like the slave girl, to the dominant organism. Perhaps they wish they were slaves. I do not know. One thing is certain, and that is that there is a deep, psychological hostility on the part of the free woman for her sister in bondage, particularly if she be beautiful. Slave girls, accordingly, fear free women; slave girls want to be locked in the collars of men, not women. To make matters worse the women in the tiers, because of the bidding, now saw me, and understood me, as a girl destined for the taverns, hot, spiced meat, delicious to men, a delectable accompaniment, like the music, to the tawny fire of paga. Some of them looked at their companions, or escorts. Did they wonder if some of them might now frequent a new paga tavern? I shuddered. I feared the hostility of the women, for I was a slave.
"Stand, little Dina," said the auctioneer.
I stood.
I brushed back my hair. I choked back my sobs.
I looked out to the crowd, to the men, and the women.
"I have from the tavern of the Belled Collar," said the auctioneer, "a bid of one silver tarsk. Is there a higher bid?"
Strangely, at that time, I thought of Elicia Nevins, who had been my rival at the college. How amused she would be, I thought, to see me being sold naked from a block.
"Sold to the Belled Collar for a silver tarsk!" said the auctioneer.
I had been sold.
He then thrust me toward the stairs and I, stumbling, descended the stairs, on the side opposite from that from which I had ascended the block.
"Girl 129!" I heard him call.
At the foot of the block a man from the house took me by the wrist and pulled me to a chain. Slave bracelets, spaced at regular intervals, of about four feet each, had already been attached to the chain. He thrust me behind the last girl on the chain; she was kneeling, braceleted to the chain, facing away from me; her head was down; I wondered if she had been sold before; I did not speak to speak to her, of course; nor did I want to speak to her; what was there to say; and I was miserable; and, too, I was still stung by shame, and my lashing; why had he beaten me; I was only a slave girl; had I been so displeasing; but, of course, we may be lashed, for we are slaves; we must be controlled perfectly, so we are subject to such things; too, of course, even had I wished to do so, I would not have dared to speak to her; a girl may be beaten for speaking in coffle; indeed, it is commonly understood that a girl should request permission to speak before speaking, and not presume to speak unless that permission has been granted; "May I speak, Master?" is a simple, familiar, common formula for requesting this permission; the permission, of course, may not be granted to her; that is up to the master; I think that there is little that so impresses male dominance on us as does this requirement that we may not simply speak, but must first obtain his permission to do so; how helpless and vulnerable, and dependent, this makes us feel; the chain was over her left thigh, and against her side; then it went behind her; "Kneel," said the man, my keeper of the moment, he who had conducted me from the foot of the block to my chain-place; I knelt; he fastened my wrists in the next pair of slave bracelets attached to the chain; I then knelt at the chain, secured; he tossed the chain over my left thigh, and drew it against my left side; slavers are fond of such aesthetic uniformities; they display girls well; in time another girl who, too, had been sold, was placed on the ch
ain behind me; and then another, and another, and so on.
We did not speak. We dared not.
I knelt, locked in the bracelets, secured to the chain.
The chain was placed attractively on my body, as it was on that of the others before me, and those behind me.
Men are fond of such touches. We dare not alter them.
We, all of us, were secured with perfection.
I looked down at my imprisoned wrists, locked closely in the slave bracelets, and the chain to which the bracelets were attached.
I was well held.
Such things well convey to a girl her bondage.
We were helpless properties, secured animals, chained. We were held with perfection. It was the will of men, the masters.
There was no escape for us.
We were Gorean slave girls.
This night we would spend in the pens.
In the morning we would be delivered, hooded, bound, to our new masters.
I was a slave girl. I was naked and chained.
I had been sold.
14
Two Men
"Paga, Master?" I inquired.
He waved me away.
I turned from him with a rustle of bells, looking about me. The girl in the sand was quite good. It was still early in the evening, the sixteenth hour. She scarcely moved, swaying, ankles close, arms over her head, wrists back to back, palms turned out. Yet she subtly danced, controlled by the music of a single flute. Some men watched her. We had five dancers at the Belled Collar. I thought all were fine. The best would perform later in the evening. Four performed a day, and one would rest. I could not dance. There was only one musician at the side of the sand. Others would join him later. Their leader was Andronicus, who played the czethar.
"Paga," called a man.
I hurried to him, carrying the large bronze vessel of paga, on its strap about my shoulder.
I knelt and filled his cup. He did not order me to an alcove. I rose and, carrying the vessel of paga, went to the door of the tavern, to step outside, to taste the air. As a paga girl I came with the purchased cup of fluid, but, of course, I, like the others, was only a lovely option; whether I served in an alcove depended entirely on the whim and appetite of the customer. Many men, naturally, came to the tavern only to meet their friends, to talk and drink. Some nights I had not been used at all. I had been, of course, completely available. As paga girls went I was popular, and my master, Busebius, was not disappointed in me. He had made, I gather, a good buy on me. More than many of the girls had I squirmed in the alcoves, sometimes chained, writhing under the touch of masters, whimpering and crying out the submission I could not help but yield. I knew there were men who came back particularly for me. I had brought business to the tavern. The rules of the tavern with respect to the slave girls were simple. The customer could select any serving slave for his pleasure, providing he had paid the price of the paga; he could pick the girl of his interest, whether she had poured him the paga in question or not; to be sure, the customer usually commanded his paga from the wench who had caught his fancy, if he was planning on using her; if he was not interested in the having of a slave girl he would usually call his paga from the closest wench; each cup of paga entitled him to take one slave to the alcove; thus, theoretically, he might use several in one evening; these arrangements, however, terminated with the dawn, and the closing of the tavern; he might not, so to speak, save his cups for later. Dancers must be separately negotiated for.
