I cried out, a long, anguished cry, then knowing myself a slave girl. "Kajira" and "La Kajira" are often the first words a girl of Earth, carried to Gor, must learn. The women of Earth, to the mighty men of Gor, are good for little but slaves.
When I had cried out with anguish, bound on the inclined trunk of the white-barked tree, two men rose from near the fire and, as though they had been waiting for some such cry on my part, evidence that I now, to my horror, understood truly what I was, that I had now, in my own heart, and to my own misery, incontrovertibly acknowledged my new nature, came to the tree and, swiftly, casually, unbound me. They then carried me by the arms and put me to my knees before my captor, who sat, cross-legged, by the fire. I knelt, my head to the grass, a slave girl trembling before him.
In the camp, hitherto, my captor had confined me to degrading handouts, which he would place in my mouth, or make me reach for, kneeling, not using my hands. Eta now came forward. She held two copper bowls of gruel. Next to me, she knelt before my captor; she put one bowl down before me; then, holding the other bowl, she handed it to my captor; one of the men pulled my head up by the hair, so I could see clearly what was being done; my captor took the bowl of gruel from Eta, and then, saying nothing, handed it back to her. Now he, and his men, and Eta, looked at me. I then understood what I must do. I picked up the bowl of gruel, with both hands, and, kneeling, handed it to my captor. He took the bowl. Then he handed it back to me. I might now eat. I knelt, shaken, the bowl of gruel in my hands. The symbolism of the act was not lost upon me. It was from him, he, symbolically, that I received my food. It was he who fed me. It was he upon whom I depended, that I would eat. Did he not choose to feed me, I understood, I would not eat. My head down, following Eta's example, I ate the gruel. We were given no spoons. With our fingers and, like cats, with our tongues, we finished the gruel. It was plain. It was not sugared or salted. It was slave gruel. Some days it was all that would be given to me. A girl does not always, of course, take food in this fashion. Usually she prepares the food and then serves it, after which, if permitted, she eats. Many men permit a girl, for most practical purposes, to eat simultaneously with him, provided he begins first and it does not interfere with her service to him. Thus he gets his girl, fed, more swiftly to the furs. Much depends on the man; the will of the girl counts for nothing. In some dwellings a girl must, before the evening meal, hand her plate to the man; he will then, normally, return it to her; if she has not been completely pleasing to him, on the other hand, she may not be fed that night. Control of a girl's food not only permits the intelligent regulation of her caloric intake but provides an excellent instrument for keeping her in line; control the food, control the girl. Food control, for the man, also has unexpected rewards. Few things so impress a man's dominance on her, or her dependence upon him, than the control of her food. So simple a thing thrills her to the core. It makes her eager to please him as a slave girl. I finished the slave gruel. It was not tasty, but I was grateful for even so simple a provender. I was hungry. I felt starved. Perhaps the brand had made me hungry. Furtively, I looked at the man over the edge of the copper bowl. He seemed so strong, so mighty. The ceremonial taking of food from the hand of the man, as. it had been done this evening in the camp, would prove to be somewhat unusual, though it would be reasonably common to be handfed, when it amused him, or thrown scraps of food. Among many men, it might be mentioned, however, the monthly anniversary of a girl's acquisition as a slave would be marked by this, and similar ceremonies. A slave girl is a delight to a man; she is extremely prized and precious; that the day of her acquisition should be celebrated each month with special ceremonies and rites is not surprising. These numerous anniversaries are deliciously celebrated, as they may be with a girl who is only a slave, and seldom forgotten; should such an anniversary be forgotten, should it be such that it is commonly celebrated, the girl redoubles her efforts to please, fearing she is to be soon sold.
I put down the bowl of gruel.
A switch was put in the hands of Eta. She stood over me. I put down my head. She did not strike me. I looked up at her. I realized then that she was first girl in the camp, and that I must obey her, that she had been empowered to set me tasks and duties. Suddenly I feared her. Before I had looked down upon her. Now I trembled. It was she who held the switch over me. Before I had generally obeyed her only when men were present. I had preferred to leave her the work. Now I realized I must, without question, take slave instructions from her and discharge swiftly and well whatever menial duties she might place upon me. I met her eyes. Though I was a delicate girl of Earth, beautiful and sensitive, even one who wrote poetry, I had little doubt she would use the switch, and richly, upon me, did I not work well. I put down my head. I determined to work well. In this camp I, though of Earth, was inferior to her. She could command me. She held the switch. I would obey. She was first girl.
Eta took me to one side and, together, we cleaned the copper bowls in the stream, wiping them dry. We tidied the camp.
Men called. Eta hurried to bring them wine and paga. I helped her carry the beverages, and goblets, back to the fire. She began to serve them. I stood back. How beautiful she seemed, those lovely legs in the brief rag, the beauty of her, the firelight on her face, and hair, serving the men; how perfect it seemed to me then, so perfect and natural, that she, so beautiful, served as she did. How grotesque it would have been, had the men served her, or had they all, she, too, served themselves. It was the order of nature, unperverted, which I observed, as she moved about, among those mighty men.
"Kajira!" called a man. I trembled with horror., He had summoned me. I fled to him and knelt before him. Roughly he turned me about and, with a slender strap, tied my hands together behind my back. He then pointed to the meat, and gave me a shove. I fell on my belly, then turned on my side, wildly, to look at him. He pointed to the meat, laughing. How could I, bound, serve him? My captor beckoned to me. I regained my feet with difficulty, with an awkwardness that made the men laugh, and went to my captor, kneeling before him. He cut a small piece of meat and put it between my teeth. It was roast tabuk. He gestured back to the other man with the knife. I went to the other man and knelt before him, the bit of meat clenched between my teeth. The man, sitting cross-legged by the fire, indicated I should approach him, and put the meat in his mouth. Reddening with shame, I did so. I extended my head to him delicately and he, with his mouth, took the meat from between my teeth. The men struck their left shoulders with pleasure. Man after man I so served. I had carried meat before in my mouth, not permitted to touch it, but then I had not been bound, then I had not knelt, then they had not taken it from me in their mouths. I was now serving them, and it was their intention, to their amusement, as only a slave girl would serve men. I was being taught, as they laughed and spoke of me, what I was. The only man I did not so serve was he who cut the meat for me to carry, my captor. He did not cut me a piece of meat to convey in that humble manner to his own mouth. He, of all, I most wished to so serve. I wanted to dare to touch my lips, my mouth, to his, when he took his meat. But he did not have me serve him in this fashion. I wanted to throw my small, naked, bound body into his arms. He frowned. I shrank back. He indicated I should lie upon my belly before him. I did so. He cut small pieces of meat and threw them to me. Lying on my belly, hands tied behind me, I fed. Tears fell into the grass, as I caught at the meat. I had little doubt I was a slave. The men began to talk. One of the men, at a word from my captor, untied me, and I crept to Eta, outside the circle of firelight, and hid in her arms. Later the men began to tell stories, and then to sing. They called for more wine and paga and Eta, and I, too, now, hastened to serve them. We, two, moved among them. I, too, now served them in the firelight. I would pour the paga, which I carried, into a goblet, kiss it, as was expected, and give it to the man. "Paga!" called my captor. I almost fainted. I went to him and, shaking, poured paga into his goblet; I was terrified that I might spill it; it was not only that I feared, should I spill th
e beverage, that I might be beaten for my clumsiness; it was even more than I wished to appear graceful and beautiful before him; but I shook, and was awkward; the paga sloshed in the goblet but, as my heart almost stood still, it did not spill; he looked at me; I was a clumsy girl, and a poor slave; I felt so small and unworthy before him; I was not only a girl, small and weak before these mighty men; I was not even a good slave. Trembling, I extended the goblet to him. He did not take it. I shrank back, confused. I did not know what to do. I realized then that I had, in my confusion and distress, forgotten to place my lips upon the goblet in subservience. I quickly pressed my lips to the goblet, kissing it. Then, suddenly, as I was to hand it to him, I boldly, again, lifted the goblet's side to my lips. Holding it in both hands, I kissed it again, lovingly, delicately, fully, lingeringly, my eyes closed. I had never kissed a boy on Earth with the helplessness and passion that I bestowed upon the mere goblet of my Gorean captor. I belonged to him. I was his. I loved him! I felt the metal of the cup beneath my full, pressing lips. I opened my eyes. I proffered, tears in my eyes, the cup of paga to my captor. It was as though, with the cup, I was giving myself to him. Yet I knew I needed not give myself to him, for I was his, and a slave girl; he could take me whenever he wished me. He took the cup from my hands, and dismissed me.
Late that night the men went to their furs and tentings. Eta and I put away the extra food; we cleaned the goblets and cleared the side of the fire of litter and debris. She gave me a thin blanket of coarse cloth; it was rep-cloth; I might huddle in it at night. "Eta!" called a man. She went to him. She slipped within his bit of tenting, onto his furs. I saw her pull away the rag she wore and I saw him, in the moonlight, enclose her in his arms. I was suddenly frightened. The bit of blanket about my shoulders I went to the cliff wall and looked upward at the sheer cliff above me. It shone in the moonlight. I scratched it with my fingernails. I went to the wall of thorn brush, a small, forlorn, white figure in the night, clutching the bit of rep-cloth blanket about me. The thorn-brush wall was some eight feet high, some ten feet thick. I extended my hand. Miserably I drew it back, bloody. I went back to where Eta had given me the rep-cloth blanket, and lay down on the hard ground. I shuddered, knowing that, as she had been summoned to the tenting of one of the men, so I, too, might be as helplessly summoned. The major duty of a slave girl, I suspected, was not to cook, or sew, or launder, but to give men lengthy, profound and exquisite pleasures, such as only a beautiful female could give a man, to be to him whatever he might wish, and to give to him all that he might command, and, to the extent of her beauty, ingenuity and imagination, a thousand times more.
I began to sweat. I was frightened of the totality and completeness of being a slave girl. I am a girl of Earth, I cried to myself. I am not a slave! I do not want to be a slave! I am a girl of Earth!
"Kajira," I heard.
Terrified, clutching the bit of rep-cloth blanket about my shoulders, I rose to my knees, then to a crouch. My captor stood before his tenting. I could see the furs within. Too, within, a small lamp burned.
I did not wish him to have to speak twice, for fear I might be beaten.
Holding the blanket about me, I went to him. He proffered me a cup and I, with one hand, holding the blanket about me with the other, drank its contents. It was a foul brew, but I downed it. I did not know at the time, but it was slave wine. Men seldom breed upon their slave girls. Female slaves, when bred, are commonly hooded and crossed with a male slave, similarly hooded, the breeding conducted under the supervision of their respective owners; a girl is seldom bred with a slave from her own house; personal relationships between male and female slaves are usually frowned upon; sometimes, however, as a discipline even a high female slave is sometimes thrown to a chain of work slaves for their pleasure. The effect of the slave wine endures several cycles, or moons; it may be counteracted by another drink, a smooth, sweet beverage, which frees the girl's body for the act of the male slave, or, in unusual cases, should she be freed, to the act of the lover; slave girls, incidentally, are almost never freed on Gor; they are too delicious and desirable to free; only a fool, it is commonly said, would free one.
My captor took the cup from me, when I had downed its contents. He threw it aside into the grass. He had not taken his eyes from me. I felt his hands at my shoulders. He parted the blanket, and then, lifting it from me, dropped it to my ankles.
He looked at me. I stood but inches from him. Then he took me by the left arm and thrust me within the low opening to his tenting. One could not stand upright within the tenting, for its ceiling was low. I half knelt, half crouched, on the furs within. There was little comparison between their depth and luxury, and my pitiful rep-cloth blanket. The tenting was striped on the inside; the small lamp was ornate; on the outside, interestingly, the tenting was a dull brown; among brush and trees it would be easy not to notice it, even if it were pitched but a few yards away. He slipped within the tenting, and crouched beside me. He unslung his gear, his sword belt, with weapon and scabbard, and the dagger belt, and, wrapping them in soft leather, put them to one side. He looked at me. I looked down. I felt very small with him. He held the lamp that I might, turning, examine the brand on my thigh; he held my leg with one hand, the thigh, turning it so that I might more clearly see the mark. His hand on my thigh frightened me. It was so strong. I looked at the brand. It was very meticulous, and clean, and deep, and lovely and delicate; it was incredibly feminine; it was as though my femininity had been literally stamped upon my body; it was as though I had been certified a certain sort of thing, which thereafter, no matter what I wished, or what I might be told, I could never deny; never had I felt so soft, so feminine; I wore, burned in my flesh, one of the most beautiful of brands; I wore, incised in my thigh, resembling a small, beautiful rose, the dina, the slave flower. I looked into the eyes of my captor. Never had I felt so weak, so vulnerable, so soft, so helpless, so feminine. There were tears in my eyes. I knew I belonged to the brute, as a slave girl. I saw him put the lamp to one side. I lifted my lips to his. I felt his arms close about me.
With a moan of rapture, eyes closed, I was pressed back into the furs.
I felt my legs being thrust apart.
"I love you," I whispered, helpless in his arms, "-Master."
4
La Kajira
I awakened at his feet in the Gorean dawn. I put my hands on his calves and ankles, as though holding them, yet so softly that he would not know himself held. I delicately put my lips to his calves, feeling the hair beneath my lips, and kissed him. I kissed his ankles and feet, softly, so that he would not know himself kissed, gently, that he might not be awakened, that he might not be angered by the boldness of the slave girl at his feet. Then I lay beside him, joyously happy. I saw the long, horizontal peak of the striped tenting above me, extending on either side from the leather cord that served as its roof tree. The striped sides of the tenting moved slightly in the early morning shiftings of the breeze. The dawn was a soft gray. Outside the tenting I could see dew glistening on the grass. I heard birds, calling to one another. I lay deep in the furs. I rolled to my stomach, my breasts pendant, to look upon the man who owned me. Much in the night had he overwhelmed me. On the interior of my left thigh, reddish brown, dried now, lay a streak of blood, my virgin blood, which never again would I be able to shed. He, as m a primitive rite, I being only a slave, had forced me to taste it. He had taken it on his finger and thrust it roughly in my mouth, smearing it across my lips and tongue and teeth, making me take into my own body the consequences of his victory, my ravishing, my deflowering, and then, as he held my head in his hands, forcing me to look into his eyes, swallow. I would never forget the taste, nor the calm way he looked upon me, as a master. Then, though my body was still sore from his first assault upon me, again he pleasured himself, like a lion, in my vulnerable, raw softness; I was shown no consideration, for I was a slave. I clutched him, loving him. Much service did he get from his girl that night. How excited and obedi
ent I had been, even sore, knowing full well that I would be swiftly and cruelly punished were I not completely pleasing to him. How happy I was, so subservient to him, so much at his mercy. A girl who has not been owned perhaps cannot grasp the feelings of one who is owned, truly owned; but perhaps such a girl, even if only dimly, can sense the joy of the slave girl. I would not have believed it, had I not experienced it.
Gently I lowered my head to the brute and kissed him, softly that I might not awaken my master.
I lay back in the furs, near him, at his feet, in the Gorean dawn.
Once during the night had he laughed, softly, richly, holding me helplessly, cruelly, to him, looking down into my eyes, deeply pleased with his ownership of me. How grateful, and elated, held, I had been!
My master was pleased with his girl!
I listened to the birds outside, in the glistening velvet of the soft dawn.
How far from Earth, with its pollutions, its crowdings, its hypocrisy, seemed this world. I lightly, with my fingertips, touched my brand. I winced. I would not much touch it, for a few days, for I wished its delicacy to heal perfectly. I wanted the brand to be perfect. No girl is so without vanity that she does not want her brand to be perfect. Even lipstick and eye shadow, which a girl may wash off and reapply, a girl wishes to be perfect; how much more so then the brand, which is always worn! The girl wishes a brand of which she can be proud. A good brand adds to a girl's sense of confidence, of comfort and security. Often, a girl's raiment is limited to brand and collar. Accordingly the brand is of considerable importance to her. Also, it is no secret on Gor that a small and beautiful brand, well-placed, considerably enhances a girl's beauty. I tried to resent the brand, but I could not do so. It was too beautiful, and now, too, it was too much a part of me. I kissed my fingertips and, gently, pressed them to the petals of the slave flower which my master, yesterday evening, with a hot iron, against my will, had caused to blossom upon my thigh. I lay there in the fresh dawn. On Earth it then seemed to me that I had been a true slave; and that, on this world, though I wore a brand, I was for the first time in my life truly free. On Earth invisible chains had kept me cruelly apart from myself and my feelings; conditionings and derisions had put walls between me and my heart and emotions; I had been tight, the miserable victim of bonds of my own acceptance; now, for the first time in my life, though I might wear chains, in my heart, my feelings and emotions, I was truly free, truly liberated; I lay there, happy.
John Norman - Counter Earth11 Page 9
