by John Norman
Is that why they are so eager, so zealous, she asked herself. Had they had such a master, or dreamed of such a one?
He was one, she did not doubt, who would own the fullness of a female, one who would exact the fullness of her slavery from her.
She felt a sudden tremor in her loins. She had not meant to do that. It was nothing over which she had any control. It was reflexive. She repudiated it, embarrassed. It shocked her.
“Look up,” he said.
Ellen lifted her eyes, unwillingly, to his.
The other girls were then instantly silent.
She held her eyes to his for a brief moment, and then could do so no longer, and quickly, frightened, overcome, looked down, and away.
“Please do not make me look into your eyes, Master,” she said.
She hoped she would not be cuffed.
“You are very pretty,” he said.
She shrank back, frightened. “Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Who thanks me?” he asked, gently.
“Ellen, if pleases Master,” she said, “Ellen, the slave of Targo, dealer in slaves.”
“You are new to the collar, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.”
“What is your brand?”
“The common kef, Master,” she said.
“Show me,” said he.
Ellen turned so that he might read her brand.
“Well, Ellen,” said he, “who is the best and most beautiful slave on the shelf?”
“Masters will decide that,” she said, “not I, Master.”
“You are a clever little beauty,” he said. “You know you must share the same straw with them tonight.”
“It is true, surely, nonetheless, Master,” she said.
“True,” he said. “Do you know slave dance?” he asked.
“No, Master.”
“Are you trained?”
“Very little, Master.” That was another thing her master had seen to, that she would not be well trained. In this way, too, she would be of less worth as a slave.
“You are a barbarian,” he said.
“Yes, Master.” Presumably that had been clear from her accent.
“I once had a barbarian,” he said. “She thought she was going to be free, but she quickly learned to kiss the whip.”
“Master?”
“I lost her at dice, but won her back. I was going to breed her, but a subordinate wanted her, and so I gave her to him. I think she was afraid of me. As far as I know she is happy in her collar. He is now stationed near Venna, and she cooks and serves in his quarters.”
“Have you been sold much?” he asked.
“Only once, to my current master, Targo, dealer in slaves.”
“When were you first collared?” he asked.
“I was enslaved some weeks ago, but I was only collared some days ago.”
“You are going to be a good slave, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I will try to be a good slave, Master,” she said.
“Belly,” he said, gently, and held out his hand, palm downward.
Instantly Ellen bellied, and, hands to the sides, lowering her head, frightened, began to lick and kiss the back of his hand.
“You have clearly had some training,” he said.
“Very little, Master,” she said.
“On your world,” he said, “is there slavery?”
“Very little, Master, at least on the surface.”
“On the surface?”
“Yes, Master.”
“There are perhaps secret slaveries?”
“Yes, Master, I have little doubt that many women are held in bondage, though this is concealed from the world.”
“Were you free on your world?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Did you anticipate that you would one day be a slave on another world, publicly and legally, stripped on a public shelf, chained, affording small ministrations to the back of a man’s hand?”
“No, Master,” said Ellen, pressing her lips to the back of his hand, softly.
“Let me lick the palm of your hand, Master,” whispered Cotina.
“No, let me!” begged Zara, quickly.
“No, me!” cried Emris.
Ellen then realized that it was presumably no accident that he had extended the back of his hand to her, and not the open hand. That was doubtless deliberate, a way of keeping her at a distance, of precluding involvement with a pretty little slave, perhaps because of her youthfulness, or her collar immaturity.
She recalled how she had been taught in training to kiss the palm of a man’s hand, sometimes darting her tongue softly in and out of it, suggesting subtly, and begging for, her own penetration. More than once a guard then, in fury, had flung her from him and stormed away, to seize another slave. She had been in the iron belt. She had been left vaguely uneasy, vaguely unsatisfied, but, at that time, slave fires had not been lit in her belly. Another technique is to kneel before the man and take the palm of his right hand, if he is right handed, and press it to your face, firmly, as though you had been cuffed with it, and then to hold the hand, humbly, as in gratitude, similarly licking and kissing the palm.
As has been suggested it is expected, at least by some masters, that the slave is to be grateful for her beatings. She has, after all, received the master’s attention. Similarly, she should rejoice that she has been improved.
But Ellen did not doubt but what the warrior was pleased to have her before him, as she was, even though she was licking and kissing merely the back of his hand. After all, she was prostrate before him, a slave, naked, in a posture of abject submission.
“I have seen the shelf of Targo last week,” he said. “The lot today is better than the lot then.”
“Thank you, Master!” said several of the girls on the shelf, elated.
What occurred to Ellen, instantly, of course, and this frightened her, was that there must have been a considerable turnover in the interim. To be sure, Targo would have to make sales or go out of business.
“Do you want to be sold?” he asked.
“No, Master!” said Ellen, who feared her sale.
“Then you want to remain here, in a weight collar, on the shelf?” he said.
“No, Master!” said Ellen.
He laughed, and drew back his hand, turned about, and disappeared into the crowd.
“You let him go,” said Cotina, angrily.
“You are stupid, Ellen,” said Emris.
“You are clever in your virgin ways,” said Zara.
“I am not a virgin,” said Ellen.
“Pretending not to want to be bought, pretending to be so naive!” said Zara.
“Wily little she-urt!” said Jasmine.
“When will such a man come to the shelf again?” asked Cichek.
“You let him get away,” said Lydia.
“I did nothing!” said Ellen. “He did not want me!”
“Did you not see him caressing your pretty little flanks with his eyes?” said Zara.
“I do not want to be chained with her,” said Jasmine.
“He looked upon all of you, beautiful Mistresses!” said Ellen.
“Do you think you are better than we?” demanded Emris.
“No, Mistresses!” said Ellen.
“Hereafter,” said Cotina, “if you do not want a buyer, give him, as you can, to us.”
“Selfish she-urt!” snapped Lydia.
“We will tear you apart in the straw,” said Cichek.
Ellen moaned.
“Targo!” whispered Cotina.
And through the crowd, from the right, came Targo, followed by Barzak, who had a figure with him, closely behind him, which he was pulling through the crowd by means of a tightly coiled, muchly shortened leash, his hand gripping it not six inches from the lock at its captive’s neck, the figure of a naked, hooded, back-braceleted woman.
That must be, Ellen supposed, Barzak’s “Jill.”
“Targo
does not seem pleased,” warned Zara.
“Perhaps the new she-urt cost him too much,” said Jasmine.
“Remember,” said Cotina to Ellen. “You will be less than she, barbarian.”
“Yes, Mistress,” said Ellen.
“Buy me, Master!” called out Cotina, as though to anyone.
The other girls, too, Targo approaching, began to appeal to the crowd, uttering the attraction call of the common girl for sale.
Such a change, thought Ellen, wrought by the imminence of the masters, formerly inert female merchandise, suddenly, in fear of the whip, become luscious, active flesh goods, attempting to allure buyers, attempting to entice customers for their master.
How I despise them, the slaves, thought Ellen. How lowly, how meaningless they are!
But quickly, she, too, went to her knees and spread them widely. Ellen lifted her hands to the crowd, not daring to meet anyone’s eyes, and hoping no one noticed her. “Buy me, Master!” she called. “Buy me, Master!”
Barzak conducted his new charge into the building.
Is she not to be for sale, wondered Ellen. Why is she not to be for sale? I am for sale. Then she almost fainted with shock, for she understood what she had said, that she was for sale.
Oh, Mirus of Ar, she thought, bitterly. What you have done to me!
Targo she saw, to her dismay, was standing before her. She did not meet his eyes but continued to appeal to the crowd.
“Smile,” said he, not pleasantly. “Catch their eye. Tongue movements! Helpless movements of your knees and thighs! Pretend you are a hot little urt. Wriggle! Squirm!”
Ellen shrieked with misery and collapsed, sobbing, to the shelf.
“Ten copper tarsks were too much for you,” said Targo. “Ten copper tarsk-bits would be too much for you!”
Ellen’s body, lying on the shelf, was wracked with sobs.
“You are begging for the leather, slave girl,” said Targo.
“No, Master,” she sobbed. “Please do not have me whipped, please, no, Master!” She was terrified. She had felt the whip. She did not wish to feel it again. “Please, no, Master!” she begged. “I will do anything, Master!”
“My patience is not inexhaustible,” said Targo. “You will do better tomorrow, flesh-trash.”
“Forgive me, Master,” wept Ellen. “Yes, Master.”
“Behold, kind sir,” said Targo, turning to a fellow nearby, “the loveliness of Cotina, the sweetness of her thighs, her well-turned ankles, and note Lydia, a beauty who might have been from the north, the only one so fair, with blond hair and blue eyes, on the shelf, and see delicious, cuddly Jasmine. She is from the valley of the Vosk, and you know what they are like, particularly the ones from Victoria, only a stone’s throw from Jasmine’s native village. That is Emris and Cichek who beg you to buy them. Zara, so slim and shapely, pleads for your collar. These are prize slaves, sought by the Curulean, but withheld, due to my popular propensities, for the district of Metellus, and our beloved Kettle Market. Any one of these is worth a Ubar’s medallion, a thousand golden tarn disks, but I am a destitute man, who, due to personal exigencies am in sudden dire need of ready cash. I am prepared to let any of these unparalleled beauties go for as little as a dozen silver tarsks!”
“Shelf girls!” snorted a man, turning away.
“Have that one stand, to be examined,” said a man.
“Cotina, stand, examination position!” snapped Targo.
Cotina stood, her legs widely spread, her head back, her hands clasped behind the back of her neck. It is hard for a woman to move from this position and she must be concerned with her balance. The subtle adjustments and tenseness required to maintain her balance keep her even more helplessly in place, and these adjustments and this tenseness will also be expressed in her posture, providing body-language cues bespeaking obedience and servitude. Too, obviously this posture bares her vulnerably, and her hands cannot interfere with the examination. The position of the arms, the hands clasped behind the back of the neck, or, sometimes, behind the back of the head, lifts the bosom, exhibiting it beautifully.
The fellow came to the surface of the shelf, climbing directly onto it, whereas Targo hurried about, to the side, went up by the steps, and joined him near Cotina.
“Is she barbarian?” asked the man.
“Certainly not,” said Targo, offended.
“Open your mouth,” said the fellow to Cotina, who presumably obeyed. Ellen kept her eyes away.
“Wider!”
“You do not think I would handle barbarians, do you?” asked Targo.
“Yes?” said Targo, for another fellow had clambered to the surface of the shelf.
“Is this one truly blond?” asked the new fellow, presumably of Lydia.
“Certainly,” said Targo.
There was a sudden, sharp little cry from Lydia, as, Ellen supposed, some hair was drawn from her head to ascertain the veracity of Targo’s asseveration.
“I am going to put this one through slave paces,” said the man who was near Lydia.
He then began to issue a set of rapid commands to Lydia, almost as quickly as the trainers in the house had accustomed Ellen to respond. Lydia complied as well as she could, chained, and on cement. Slave paces are much more easily performed on a smooth surface, or on furs at the foot of a master’s couch, such places. Sometimes they are performed on a rug, say, a Tahari rug, before the master who, seated, observes, or perhaps in the center of such a rug, for the interest of the master’s encircling guests. In such cases, often the paces are not called, but performed silently, save perhaps for small gasps and moans, by the slave.
“Oh!” suddenly cried Cotina.
“Yes, she is vital,” said Targo. “Hold position,” he warned Cotina.
“Master!” wept Cotina.
“Hold position,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she sobbed. “Ah! Oh! Please, no! Oh, do not, I beg you! Oh! Ohhhhh!”
Ellen covered her head with her hands, and lost consciousness.
It was later that night, when the market was mostly deserted, and several of the torches had burned out, that Ellen awakened, to a sound of chain. She felt a tug at her ankle, through the shackle. Barzak was unlocking the padlock that held her shackle chain to the ring. “Stand up,” he said to her, “and get behind Lydia, holding your left wrist with your right hand, behind your back.” Ellen went to stand behind Lydia, who was standing behind Zara. Both girls were grasping their left wrist with their right hand behind their back. Zara’s ankle chain had been lifted and padlocked to the large ring dangling from her collar. On the other hand, Lydia’s ankle chain had been padlocked into the shackle ring of Zara. In a moment, Ellen’s ankle chain had been padlocked into the shackle ring of Lydia. Shortly thereafter, Cichek and Emris had been freed of the shelf ring, and Cichek was standing behind Ellen, her hands behind her, as ordered, and her ankle chain had been padlocked into the Ellen’s shackle ring. Emris took her place behind Cichek, standing as the others, and her ankle chain was padlocked into Cichek’s shackle ring. “You will move with the left foot first,” said Barzak, who did not know if Ellen was familiar with shackled-ankle coffle procedure.”
“Yes, Master,” said Ellen. “May I speak, Master?”
“No.”
“Be careful on the steps,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
There were only one or two men left in the market. Almost all of the goods were gone, taken away to be stored safely somewhere. Across the way a man, presumably drunk, lay near one of the stalls, its shelves now bared, its covering gone, as well.
Ellen, between Lydia and Cichek, descended the shelf steps and, in a moment, entered the building. It was dark, and there was an unmistakable smell of urine.
“The steps are to the left,” said Barzak. “You may hold out your hands. Do not fall. At the foot of the steps be again as you were.”
They would keep their hands in that fashion until they were secured for the nig
ht.
The steps were of cement, and narrow, steep and dark.
After moving a few feet down the dark hall, they came to an opened, heavy door, and through this Zara, leading, made her way.
The room, which was large, was lit by a small lamp in a niche on the wall. The room had one occupant, doubtless the woman brought back by Barzak and Targo. She now wore a weight collar, as the others, and this collar, by its ring, was padlocked to a ring anchored in the stone floor. She could not lift her head more than two or three inches from the floor. The hood and leash were gone. She was still stripped. Her body was delicate. Her features were exquisite.
The floor was strewn with straw. It was damp to Ellen’s bare feet.
“Surely we are not to be neck-ringed tonight, Master,” said Zara.
“And you will not be fed either,” said Barzak. “You should understand that, for you were one of the two who precipitated that scene with the Cosians. Do you not understand that we might have been fined, or imprisoned, or killed, or our entire stock confiscated. Do you think the Cosians do not have that power?”
“Forgive me, Master,” said Zara, but he had forced her to her knees, and then to her side, her right hand still grasping her left wrist behind her, so bound by the master’s will, at one of the rings anchored in the floor. He removed the padlock holding her ankle chain to her collar ring and then used it to padlock her collar ring to the floor ring. He then removed the ankle chain from her shackle, and put the chain with its padlock to one side. He then removed Lydia’s ankle chain from Zara’s shackle ring. In a moment Lydia then, too, her ankle chain removed, was neck-ringed to a floor ring by one of its padlocks, the chain put, too, to one side. Ellen was next, and then Cichek and Emris. All were then neck-ringed to a floor ring, and freed of their ankle chains. They retained, of course, the shackles with the shackle rings on their left ankles, as the shackles had been closed about their ankles, hammered shut. The weight collars they wore, too, with the dangling rings, by means of which they were fastened to the floor rings, could not be removed either, except by tools. Barzak, who was brawny, had managed this, she supposed. There was a small anvil in one corner of the room. A girl could be knelt there.
“Your hands are freed,” said Barzak, and the girls gratefully released their grips on their left wrists, held behind their back.
