Mariners of Gor (45 page)

“It seems,” I said, “that you might enjoy being a pleasure slave.”

“Better that than a tower slave, a laundress, a loom slave, a cooking slave,” she said.

“You are a lascivious little beast?” I said.

“The pleasure slave in her master’s arms,” she said, “is the happiest, the most joyful, the truest of women.”

“Or writhing in his bonds, his thongs, his chains,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

A woman’s helplessness, as is well known, is sexually stimulatory, sometimes almost unendurably so.

“It is my hope that my master will be kind to me,” she said.

“He may,” I said, “if he wishes, for amusement, bring you patiently to the brink of a yearned-for relief, one for which you are pathetically, beggingly desperate, and then abandon you, leaving you alone to thrash in helpless frustration.”

“Surely not!” she said.

“You are a slave,” I said.

“Master!” she protested.

“Perhaps you might beg prettily,” I said.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she said. “Piteously, desperately!”

“He might be kind,” I said. “Who knows?”

“I will try to be a good slave,” she said.

“Do not think,” I said, “because you are a pleasure slave, you will escape the common duties of slaves, cleaning, dusting, scrubbing, running errands, bargaining in the market, entertaining, cooking, sewing, laundering, polishing, perhaps spinning and weaving, such things.”

“I was the Lady Flavia of Ar,” she said.

“No matter,” I said.

“No matter?” she said.

“No,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“Who sees?” I asked.

“Alcinoë sees,” she said, “Master.”

“And at the end of the day,” I said, “you may expect to be chained at your master’s slave ring.”

“Surely I would be permitted on his couch,” she said.

“Such honor,” I said, “for a slave?”

“Master?”

“Do you think you would be a free companion?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“Expect to be chained to his slave ring, on the floor, at the foot of his couch.”

“Chained?” she said.

“As any other animal,” I said.

“Master?”

“By the neck or the left ankle,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

“If you are fortunate,” I said, “you might be permitted a mat and blanket.”

“So little?” she said.

“To be sure,” I said, “you might have to earn them.”

“Earn them?” she said. “How?”

“How do you think?” I asked.

“I see,” she said.

“It is yours to serve and please your master.”

“I would hope to do so,” she said.

“Do you think you can kneel and belly, and crawl, and lick and kiss, and beg, and thrash and writhe?” I asked.

“A slave must obey,” she said.

“A slave such as you,” I said, “will not be able to help herself.”

“Master?”

“She will beg to do so,” I said.

“It is my hope that I will not be displeasing to my master,” she said.

“You will heat, sweat, and mottle like fire, and juice like a fountain.”

“I already sense such feelings in me,” she said.

“You will be conquered, wholly,” I said.

“I want that!” she whispered.

“It does not matter, one way or the other,” I said.

“I understand,” she said.

“You are willing, then, to be the most contemptible, the most hated and scorned by free women, the lowest, and most degraded of slaves, the pleasure slave?”

“Yes,” she said, “more than anything. That is the slavery that is right for me!”

“For the former Lady Flavia of Ar?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “That is the slavery she wants, the slavery fitting for her, the slavery her collar begs for!”

I regarded her form and face.

“Have no fear,” I said, “that is the form of slavery which will be imposed on you.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Interestingly, almost every girl from the barbarian lands brought to the markets of Gor was brought as a pleasure slave.

I supposed, of course, as earlier suggested, that they were selected with care, that they were culled from the most delectable of slave stock. Not every girl from the barbarian lands, I supposed, would be worthy of being fitted with a slave collar in the pens of Gor; not every girl from the barbarian lands would be deemed fit to grace a Gorean slave block.

I wondered if, standing naked on the block, exhibited to buyers, hearing the bids on them, they realized their specialness.
 

“The pleasure slave,” I said, “is the fullest and most helpless of slaves. As a pleasure slave you will be the meaningless possession, the toy, the plaything, the convenience, of your master. Your life will be one of obedience and passion. There is a wholeness of life in this. Even the simplest of servile tasks will carry an aura of sensuality about them, as they are performed for the master, by she who is his pleasure slave. She will live in radiance, within an erotic ambiance, and in anticipation of the caress of her master. You will experience a sexuality a thousand times beyond the comprehension of a free woman. You will belong to your master with a servitude and intimacy beyond that of other slaves. You will be a helpless animal with which he may amuse himself and on which he may slake his lusts. You will know his chains and ropes, his thongs and bracelets, his gags and blindfolds. You will be his, completely. You will be wholly helpless. You will be totally at his mercy.”

“I understand,” she said.

“Do you still think you might like to be a pleasure slave?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

I had little doubt that the slave before me, on her knees, would be offered from any block, in any city, town, or village, as a pleasure slave.

It was difficult to conceive of her as anything else.

“But surely,” she said, “much depends on the master.”

“Nothing depends on the master,” I said.

“Master?” she said.

“The slave,” I said, “is to strive to please any master, to the best of her ability.”

“But perhaps,” she smiled, “a girl might hope that some master would have her in mind now.”

“You may hope that,” I said.

“I think,” she said, “that some master may have me in mind now.”

“Not to my knowledge,” I said.

“No?” she said, startled.

“No,” I said.
 

“But then,” she cried out in dismay, almost daring to rise from her knees, “I might go to anyone!”

“Yes,” I said, and then turned about, and left her.

This conversation took place on the last day of the fifth passage hand.

On the next day, the first day of the sixth month, the cry, “Land, ho!” was called from the foremast, by Leros.

Chapter Twenty-One

I Fear Disorder;

The Signal;

Slaves are Returned to their Mats

I stood at the rail, with many others.

Off the port bow one could see islands, far off, a part of what we would later learn was an extended archipelago, which extended for better than two thousand pasangs, only a relatively small portion of which was inhabited.

That we continued north, along these coasts, much displeased the men. Pani had interposed themselves between the great water casks and angry men with clubs and poles who wished to shatter the casks, that one must put ashore for fresh water.

I think there were few on board who did not voice their disgruntlement, if only privately, in their quarters, or about their work, when with agreeable confreres. Not since the mutiny had there been such seething ugliness beneath the veil of duty and discipline. When officers drew near, men grew silent.

Some of the minor officers had ordered floggings.

This seemed to me unwise.

“Please, noble lord,” said Tyrtaios to Lord Nishida, nearby, “anchor, put forth the galleys. We have been long at sea. Meat and flour are short. There are many armsmen amongst us. They are not mariners, they are soldiers. They want to feel ground beneath their feet. Replenish the great casks with fresher water. Perhaps there is fruit on land. Perhaps there are forests. Might there not be hunting within them?”

“Such remarks,” said Lord Nishida, “are best borne in private.”

Tyrtaios was a clever man. I thought it no accident that he had addressed Lord Nishida within the hearing of others.

“Please ponder their worth, noble lord,” said Tyrtaios.

“I have not seen the signal,” said Lord Nishida. “It may not be safe to seek the shore. We are still days from the holding of Lord Temmu.”

“It is well,” said Tyrtaios, “that weapons were taken in. Else I would fear war.”

Men glanced at one another.

“Not all weapons were recovered,” said Lord Nishida.

“What shall we do?” inquired Tyrtaios.

“We shall await the signal,” said Lord Nishida.

“May I implore Lord Okimoto,” inquired Tyrtaios, “that he, as senior, may rule otherwise?”

“Certainly,” said Lord Nishida.

Whereas Tyrtaios, as of the dismissal of Seremides, was no longer of the retinue of Lord Nishida, but of that of Lord Okimoto, at the latter’s request, and was well aware that Lord Okimoto was of subtly higher station than Lord Nishida, he was also well aware, as were most of us, that Lord Okimoto, from the lofty pedestal of his seniority, commonly refrained from involving himself in the day-to-day activities and management of the great ship.

Tyrtaios then excused himself, and withdrew.

I glanced to the side.

The slave, Alcinoë, edged more closely to me. It was as though she did not know I was there. Her small hands were on the high rail, at her shoulders. She was looking forward. How lovely were her hands. Her long dark hair was back about her head, moved by the breeze. She wore a light, white, sleeveless tunic, slave short. She had exciting arms and legs. The metal collar encircled her neck. The rep-cloth of the tunic left few of her charms to the imagination. I was pleased that the brand had been put to her. Women such as she belonged to men. Let there be no mistake about it. Let them then be so imprinted, so designated. It was, appropriately, the common
kajira
mark. How right that was for her. How splendid that the former Lady Flavia of Ar should bear in her thigh, now that of a slave, the most common of Gorean slave marks, the tiny, tasteful, cursive
kef
, as did many thousands of others. The familiarity of this brand, of course, is no reproach, nor any indication of inferior merit. It is a very beautiful mark, enhancing a slave’s beauty, and, as such, it is likely to mark not only the least of slaves but the highest of slaves, not only a pot girl or a kettle-and-mat girl but the pampered pets chained to the side of a Ubar’s throne. Still, I was pleased that it was the common mark which had been put on her. That seemed appropriate. Too, it was one of my favorite brands. She wore the ship’s collar, with the sturdy lock at the back of the neck. She had her head up, looking out, across the water. Surely she knew, the tart, that the collar increases the attractiveness of a woman a hundred fold. Is that not known even by free women? To be sure, the matter is not purely aesthetic, though that aspect is indisputable, but is also a matter of its meaning, that she whose neck it encircles is the most desirable of females, the female who is goods, slave goods. I found her incredibly beautiful, desirable, and exciting. I felt like seizing her, tearing away the tunic, throwing her to the deck, and putting her fiercely, impetuously, imperiously, to my pleasure. I looked to the side, with a studied lack of concern.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Looking,” she said. “The land is there!” She pointed, at a tiny line against the horizon.

“Are you not standing rather close?” I asked.

She looked up. “Does Master fear the closeness of a lowly slave?” she asked.

“Perhaps you should be behind me, to my left,” I said.

“Master does not own me,” she said.

“That is my good fortune,” I said. “If I owned you, you would learn your collar a thousand times better than you know it now.”

“Perhaps then,” she said, “it is my good fortune that Master does not own me.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

Then, suddenly, she knelt beside me, sobbing, her head down to my feet.

“Own me, own me, Master,” she begged.

“Who would want you?” I asked.

“I have seen many men look at me,” she said. “Many men would want me!”

“Then let them buy you,” I said.

“I want to belong to Master,” she said. “Even from Ar, when I was the freest of the free, I wanted to belong to you!”