Renegades of Gor (24 page)

“She is passionate,” said Phoebe.

“She had probably been given little choice,” I said.

“Nonetheless,” said Phoebe, “she is passionate.”

“Her destiny is doubtless to be the collar,” I said.

“So, too, I would were mine,” said Phoebe, boldly.

(pg.159) “You are already a captive and servant, a full servant,” I said.

“I would go beyond that,” she said, “to my ultimate meaningfulness, that of the

slave.”

“Eat,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I considered, again, the women from the Crooked Tarn. They had knelt well, their

knees spread as those of slaves. Liadne had done well with them. I had wanted

them to learn, of course, not only discipline, but something of the arts of

pleasing men. Liadne, herself, was not an experienced slave, for, I recalled,

she had been startled to find herself utilized, with her ankles chained, but she

would still, presumably, be worlds of sensuousness beyond the simple free women

in her charge. What could she have shown them in three days? Something, I

supposed. Perhaps little more than how to make slave lips and do a little

squirming, naked. That might be enough, however, for my purposes. The Cosians in

the front trenches, and behind the earthworks and hurdles, who would have borne

the brunt of sorties in the past, and had doubtless contributed more than their

share to the assaults, would not, I thought, be averse to finding a woman among

them, particularly one naked and on a chain.

“She is quiet now,” said Phoebe.

“He is probably letting her subside,” I said.

“What is that?” she asked, suddenly, lifting her head.

“War trumpets,” I said. I rose up and went outside the tent. She followed.

Others, too, about, from others of the small tents, had emerged.

From Ar’s Station came the sounds of trumpets, far off. “It is a night assault,”

I said.

We looked toward the city.

We could see lights there. These were probably bundles of sticks set afire by

defenders, and thrown, suspended on chains, over the walls, to illuminate them.

“There must be many women left in Ar’s Station,” she said.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“How they must be afraid,” she said, “hearing such alarms.”

(pg.160) “Perhaps,” I said.

“There are many encampments of slavers, and slavers’ men, and cages, and slave

wagons about,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

The women of a city are, of course, among its prize loot. The women of Ar’s

Station, even the youngest and most beautiful, might now be pale, and drawn and

scrawny, but water, and slave gruel, forced down their throats if necessary,

could bring back their color, and fatten them for the block. Females, of course,

make superb acquisitions, and gifts.

We listened for a time to the distant trumpets, watched the small spots of light

in the distance.

Those about us, one after another, returned to their tents. It was only another

attack, far off.

“Men are dying there,” I said, looking toward Ar’s Station.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Go into the tent,” I said.

We reentered the tent and finished our meal, in silence.

“Do not try to enter the city,” she said.

“Your thigh would probably look well, roped to a post, awaiting the branding

iron,” I said.

“Master?” she asked.

“Do not move when the iron presses into you,” I said.

“Am I to be enslaved?” she asked.

“My remarks are general,” I said.

“You are planning on leaving me!” she said.

“I do not know if I will see you again or not,” I said.

“Do not try to enter the city!” she said.

“Come here,” I said. “On your knees.”

She approached me, as commanded. She then knelt there, slimly, beside me.

“Clasp your hands behind the back of your neck,” I said, ‘and do not interfere.”

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Kneel up, off your heels,” I said.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“This garment you are wearing,” I said, “what is, in effect, a chatka, I am

shortening and transforming into two slave strips.” I drew the long strip before

the cord in front back over the cord so that it would no longer hang midway, or

about midway, between her knees and ankles but was now (pg.161) about eighteen

inches long. The garment then lopped below her body. I then cut the garment a

bit behind and below the cord in front. I then moved her about and treated the

garment similarly in the back, drawing the strip back over the cord so that it

was now only about eighteen inches long, and then cutting it off a bit below and

behind the cord. She now wore two slave strips, each about eighteen inches long,

one over the cord in front, one over it in back.

“Face me,” I said.

She obeyed.

“What have you done?” she asked.

“Exactly what you think I have done,” I said.

“You have removed nether shielding from me!” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Restore it,” she said. “Quickly! There is enough left of the cloth! Please!”

She gasped.

I had thrown the remaining portion of the cloth into the fire.

She watched it burn, in dismay.

“Do you feel vulnerable?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“In such ways may one increase the passion of a female,” I said.

She shuddered.

“You are aware, of course,” I said, “that these pieces of cloth might be pulled

away, easily.”

“Yes!” she said.

“Keep your hands clasped behind the back of your neck,” I said.

“Now what are you doing?” she cried.

“In the future,” I said, “the cord will be tied in this fashion, or in some

equivalent fashion.”

She moaned, looking down.

I had refastened it in a simple bowknot, a sort of knot which on Gor, in certain

contexts, as in the present context, is spoken of as a slave knot. It is called

that, I think, because it is sometimes prescribed by masters for the fastening

of slave garments. Its advantage, of course, is that it may be easily undone, by

anyone. It is fastened at the left side of the girl’s waist, where it is handy

for a right-handed male, facing (pg.162) her. “Now,” I said, “it is possible not

only to remove the pieces of cloth singly, but, if one wishes, one may easily,

with a casual tug, remove the cord and, with it, both cloths together,

simultaneously, expeditiously.”

“Stripping me!” she said.

“Keep your hands clasped behind the back of your neck,” I said. “yes.”

She looked at me, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Do you object to your new garmenture?” I asked.

“Surely I am entitled to object!” she said.

“Turn about,” I said.

She obeyed. “Oh!” she said.

“You may again face me,” I said.

She turned about, again, quickly, on her knees. She looked in dismay at the

strip of cloth which I had taken from the back of the cord, as it now flared,

and then turned black and crumbled, in the fire.

“Do you still feel that you are entitled to object?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “No!”

“And why not?” I asked.

“I am your captive, and servant, your full servant!” she said.

I removed my hand from the strip of cloth tucked behind the cord, at her belly.

“Keep your hands behind your neck,” I said.

“Why are you doing this?” she moaned.

“You still have more to wear than most women in this camp,” I said.

She choked back a sob.

“Tomorrow morning,” I said, “your neck will be in a coffle collar.”

She looked at me, wildly.

“You will be on a chain, with other free women. You will be in the keeping of my

friend, and agent, Ephialtes, as sutler. He will take care of you, or sell you,

or whatever, as seems appropriate. It was my intention that you be put in slave

strips in order that your sense of vulnerability, and your passion, suitably,

might be increased. Too, in this fashion, I am, to some extent, preparing you

for the terrors and exposures of the coffle. I have removed one slave strip as a

punishment, and a sign of my power over you. To be sure, this will even (pg.163)

further increase your sense of vulnerability, and your passion. Too, it may also

better prepare you for what you might experience on the coffle, the scrutiny and

attentions of men, for example. The other women, incidentally, will be stripped,

totally, and their heads have been shaved. As you will, at least for a time,

have a slave strip, and your hair, you will be regarded as the ‘first’ of the

free women. All of you, however, will be subject to Liadne, a slave. She will be

first girl over you. She has whip rights, and so on, over you, and behind her is

the power of men.”

“I understand,” she said.

“She has also been given a slave tunic,” I said.

“How often,” smiled Phoebe, “did I, as a free woman, feel repulsion and horror

at even the sight of such scanty, revealing garments, in which slaves were put.

Not I would be grateful for so much.

I smiled. The tunic, in its way, put Liadne a thousand times above her charges.

“But she is a slave, is she not?” asked Phoebe.

“Yes,” I said. Thus Liadne, tunic or not, was infinitely far beneath her.

Indeed, they were not even comparable. They were not even on the same scale. One

was a person, the other was an animal.

“I would that I were as she,” she said.

“Perhaps, someday, you will be,” I said.

“My arms are weary,” she said. “May I lower them?”

“No,” I said.

“May I confess something to you?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“When in Cos, and elsewhere, as a free woman,” she said, “I saw slaves in slave

tunics I told you that I felt horror and repulsion.”

“Yes?” I said.

“But even more,” she said, “I wanted myself to be put in such a tunic, and be

similarly subject to men!”

“I understand,” I said.

“As I am a free woman,” she said, “I am shamed, keenly, to wear what I now wear,

but, if I were a slave, I do not think I would be shamed. I think, rather, I

would be grateful, for I might as easily have been accorded nothing. Similarly,

I do not really think I would object, if I were a (pg.164) slave, and not a free

woman, to being naked on a chain. I think, rather, I would feel grateful and

very proud, that men had found me attractive enough, and exciting enough, to put

me there.”

“There are many aspects to slavery,” I said.

“I think I am aware of aspects, from the point of view of my female

fulfillments, that you, as a man, may not fully understand,” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said. “I do know that woman make excellent slaves.”

“Have you never wondered why?” she asked.

“Perhaps because they are slaves,” I said.

“Yes!” she said.

“Such as you?”

“Yes!”

“Yet even so,” I said, “I suspect that there are senses of slavery, and aspects

of slavery, that one can never fully fathom or anticipate until the experience

is real for one.”

“Doubtless,” she said, shuddering.

I regarded her. She was lovely, kneeling before me, in the slave strip and cord,

her hands clasped behind the back of her neck.

“May I lower my arms now?”

“No,” I said.

“You are training me, aren’t you?” she said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Do you know why I had you kneel as you are?” I asked.

“That you might busy yourself with my garmenture, without interference,” she

said.

“Are you modest?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I am a free woman.”

“But when you first presented yourself before me, at the inn,” I said, “you had

bared your breasts.”

“I think I have pretty breasts,” she said.

“You do,” I said.

“I bared them,” she said, “because I did not wish to risk rejection.”

“So that is the sort of woman you are,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

(pg.165) “So not,” I said, “how you could possibly object if you must display

them again, and as I see fit, even as a slave?”

she put down her head.

“You may lower your arms,” I said.

She lowered her arms, and knelt back, on her heels.

“Knees spread,” I said.

She complied.

“The slave strips looks well, fallen between your thighs,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Your thighs are pretty,” I said.

She blushed.

“Yes,” I said, “and your belly and breasts, and the rest of you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Yes, you are remarkably lovely,” I said. “Yes, I think you would make a lovely

slave.”

She trembled.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I do not know anything of being a slave,” she said, “should it be done to me! I

know nothing of pleasing men! I do not even know the drapings of tunics, the

tying of slave girdles!”

“Should you become a slave,” I said, “submit yourself to your sisters in

bondage, not as one who was recently a free woman but as one who is now the

lowest and most ignorant of slaves, the humblest of tyros and novices. Watch

them. Learn from them. Serve them. Bring them small treats which you might earn.

Beg them to help you, to teach you their ways, their arts and secrets. Even such

small things as the use of the tongue can make a great difference in whether you

survive or not.”

She trembled.