Slave Girl of Gor (73 page)

Thandar of Ti's men went to the portal of the tavern. One of them turned about. "Will it be necessary to leash you, Slave?" he asked.

"No, Master!" cried Sabina, and hurried to follow them. We watched them leave the tavern.

"It is time," said Clitus Vitellius, "for us to he on our way to the Curulean."

I reached out, timidly, to touch him. "Please, Master," I begged.

He looked at me, almost tenderly. I thought him sad. "Very well," he said.

He indicated that I should precede him to one of the alcoves.

I entered the alcove, and slipped away the street tunic. He closed the curtain behind us.

"Many times," I said, lightly, "I pleased the customers of Busebius in this very alcove."

He took me in his arms. It startled me, for he touched me gently.

"I shall miss you, Dina," he said.

"There are many girls," I said.

"Yes," he said, "there are many girls."

"You will soon forget me," I said.

He brushed my hair with his hand. "Your hair," he said, "will be too short, I wager, until the spring."

"Doubtless," I said, "it will lower my price."

He kissed me.

"Will you come to see me in the exhibition cages?" I asked. In most markets girls are displayed publicly in exhibition cages prior to their sale. This is almost always the case in the Curulean.

"No," he said.

"Oh," I said.

He kissed me, again, softly, tenderly.

"Keep me!" I begged suddenly.

"No," he said.

I tried not to cry.

"It is strange," he said, "I have faced wild sleen and the steel of fierce enemies. I am a warrior, and am high among warriors. Yet you, a mere girl, would conquer me with a smile and a tear."

"No, Master," I said.

"Surely you must understand," he said.

"A slave girl requires no explanation," I said. "It is hers only to obey."

"You see," he said, angrily. "You make me weak!"

"Then conquer me," I said.

"You are different from all the others!" he said, angrily.

"Yet I am only a slave," I said. "Treat me as such!"

"You should be tied at the slave ring and whipped," he said.

"Tie me at the ring," I said. "Whip me!"

"A warrior," he said, "must be hard and fierce."

"Be hard and fierce with me," I said.

"You want to be conquered and enslaved, don't you, you slut?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "I am a woman."

He sat up beside me; "How you must despise my weakness," he said.

"Yes," I said, angrily. "I despise your weakness."

He looked at me, in fury.

"I love you," I said.

He slapped aside my head, bringing blood to my mouth. "Lying slave," he said.

Then he seized me, and well vented his anger upon me. I was well used.

When he had finished with me, he said, "Get up. We must go to the Curulean."

I slipped the tunic on, and sashed it, and, one by one, by the five buttons, closed it. I wished he had torn it open and would march me through the streets as an exposed slave, that other girls might see the strength of the man who owned me.

We left the tavern and made our way to the Curulean, to a back entrance.

I looked at the stout iron door, behind which I would be sold.

"We must enter," he said to me.

"Do with me what you want," I said to him.

"I am," he said.

"Are you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

I looked up at him.

"I am a warrior," he said. "I cannot be weak."

"You are weak now," I said.

"No," he said.

"I despise your weakness," I said.

"How am I weak?" he asked.

"You do not want to sell me," I said. "Yet you are doing so."

"I do want to sell you," he said.

"Look at me," I said.

He regarded me.

"What do you see?" I asked.

"A slave girl," he said.

"What now," I asked, "do you truly want to do with me?"

"Sell you," he said.

"No," I said. "You want me in your compartments. You want me at your feet. You want me in your collar. You want not
 
to sell me, but to master me, to own me."

"I want many things from you," he said.

"Then command them, take them," I challenged. "Did you trace me to Ar, and follow me to Cos, to sell me?"

He looked angry.

"No," I said. "You wanted me slave, naked on your chain."

"Yes!" he said, angrily. "I wanted you a naked slave on my chain, mine!"

"Strip me!" I cried. "Chain me!"

"No," he said.

I subsided. "Sell me," I said wearily. "The decision is yours. I am slave."

He pounded on the iron door.

"I had thought Clitus Vitellius strong," I said. "I had thought him of the Warriors. I had thought he had the power to do as he wills with a woman. I see now he is too weak to do with a woman what truly he wants, what pleases him."

He struck again on the iron door.

"He is weak," I said. "A slave despises him."

"Do not make me angry," he said.

I looked away. I had nothing to fear from him.

I heard feet approaching the iron door, from the other side. A small, lateral panel in the door, about eye level, slid back. "Your business?" inquired a voice.

"The vending of a girl," said Clitus Vitellius.

The panel slid shut. A moment later the door swung open. "Enter, Master," said a man.

We entered and found a large room, floored with cement. A yellow circle, in outline, narrow-bordered, the border some six inches in width, the circle itself some ten feet in width, was painted on the cement. A man, at a small, four-legged table, sat to one side. "Remove her tunic and collar," he said. Clitus Vitellius did so. We did not speak.

"Kneel in the circle, Slave," said the man at the table. The fellow who had opened the door stood to one side. A coiled, rawhide rope, on a clip, hung from his belt. I went to the circle and knelt in its center, on the cement. The man with the rope entered the circle and loosed the rope from his belt. He tied it about my neck. The knot was at the side, under my left ear. He backed away, giving me some five feet of slack. .The remainder of the rope he held, in long, loose loops, in his right hand. I knew it would serve to whip me, if necessary.

I would be put through slave paces.

"Give me whatever you think she is worth," he said, "and send the coins to the compartments of Clitus Vitellius, in the Towers of Warriors."

"Yes, Master," said the man at the table.

Clitus Vitellius turned about and left the Curulean.

I knelt alone in the yellow circle on the cement.

I felt the rope on my throat pull taut. I sensed the swinging loops of leather near me.

The man rose from behind the table and came to the circle. He looked down at me. "Well now, little beauty," he said, "let us see what you can do."

"Yes, Master," I said.

28

What Occurred At The Curulean

The first time that one is sold it is the hardest. Yet it is, I suppose, never easy. The hardest part is perhaps not knowing who it is, among those many faces in the darkness, who will buy you. You are illuminated, exhibited, forced to perform. At your side is the auctioneer with his whip. You perform, and perform well. Do not think you would not. You feel the wood of the block with your feet, and the sawdust upon it. The block itself is smooth. Many girls have been sold here before. You are not special, you are only another slave, a bit more or less pleasing than others. You feel the sawdust with your feet. On Gor, animals are commonly sold on blocks which are strewn with sawdust. The slave girl is an animal. You lift your head under the torchlight. You hear the first bid. it is hard not to tremble. You have been bid upon. From the voice you try to guess the nature of the master. Then there is another bid. You smile, you turn, you walk, you lift your arms, you kneel, you lie upon your back at the auctioneer's feet, your knee lifted, your arms over your head as though braceleted, you roll to your stomach, you look up at him, over your shoulder; you respond to him, instantly, setting forth for the view of the buyers subtle and provocative positions and attitudes, displaying yourself as you must, fully, and as a slave. You are sweating. Sawdust clings to your body. It clings in your hair. If you falter, or are in the least displeasing, the auctioneer's whip will sharply instruct you in your error. At last, breathing heavily, you stand there, naked. Perhaps you have been struck.

The last bid is taken. It is accepted. The auctioneer's fist closes. You have been sold.

Many girls dream of being sold in the Curulean. Its great block is perhaps the most famous in Ar. It is also the largest. It is semi-circular and some forty feet in width. It is painted for the most part in blue and yellow, the colors of the slavers, and ornately carved, with many intricate patterns and projections. It is perhaps fifteen feet high. An interesting feature of the block is that about it, on the semi-circular side facing the crowd, tall and serene, carved in white-painted wood, evenly spaced, are the figures of nine slave girls. They represent, supposedly, the first nine girls taken, thousands of years ago, by the men of a small village, called Ar. In the carving it may be seen that the throats of the girls are encircled by ropelike collars, presumably woven of some vegetable substance. It is said that at that time the men of Ar were not familiar with the working of iron. It is also said the girls were forced to breed mighty sons for their captors.

"You, Slave!" said the man.

"Yes, Master!" I said, looking up in the collar, with its two chains, one on each side, which fastened me to the girl on my left and right.

We were in the tunnel leading to the block. Another tunnel left the block.

"Are you familiar with the choreography of your display?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said. I had been well rehearsed. Little occurs by accident on the block of the Curulean.

He then went to the next girl, she on my right, farther down the tunnel toward the pens. He addressed to her the same question. She, too, wore a collar, with two chains. It fastened her, on her left, to me, and, on her right, to another girl. "Yes, Master!" she assured him. He then went to the next girl in the line, farthest from the block. Each collar opens, and the chains may be attached or removed. This provides great flexibility. There were one hundred and twenty girls in the line. It would take some five or six Ahn to sell us, if the bidding was brisk. On a slow night it could take as much as eight Ahn, the sales extending into the early morning hours. Some girls sell quickly, and others slowly. When it takes longer to sell a girl it usually means that she is less interesting to the buyers, and that the bids are slow, or that she, an unusual beauty, is being more elaborately displayed, with the object in mind of intensifying and driving up the eventual bids.

"Yes, Master!" said the girl some two girls below me on the chain, responding to the question of the slaver's man. We would all be ready. We would all do our best, or, be punished terribly.

I looked to the girl on my left, and to the one on my right. How beautiful they were. We had all had Gorean slave cosmetics applied to us. Let the men beware. We had all been exposed in the exhibition cages earlier, stark, save for perfume. It was at that time that the buyers had had their opportunity to view us objectively. It was their responsibility now, in the bidding, to be on their guard.

I sensed a tremor, sudden, subtle, in the chain. I leaned forward, looking down the line. The whisper was sped rapidly down the chain. "The bidding has begun," said the whisper.

"I'm frightened," said a girl.

"All Ar bids at the Curulean," said another.

I could hear nothing. But I knew the first girl had now ascended the block.

I sat back on the long wooden bench. It was some eight inches in width. It was set against the side of the tunnel. It ran almost the length of the tunnel. I pulled the wide bands of green silk about me, more closely. They would resemble, initially, a gown, but they were not truly a gown. They would be unlooped and lifted away, bit by bit, beginning about the head and the feet, gradually, cunningly, revealing me. Toward the end I would be spun almost free of them and then, in the end I would be ordered, exposed save for the final silk, concealing my breasts and thighs, to lie supine at the auctioneer's feet. He would then stand over me, the two bands extending from me, ribbonlike, in his grasp, taking more bids. When the crowd, fierce in its impatience, demanded it, he would, shrugging, roll me free of them, in two turns, I finishing, lying on my back again, knee lifted, hands over and behind my head, the backs of my hands on the block, the palms exposed, like the rest of me, helplessly. I would lie there, a resigned slave girl, awaiting her rape-taming. Presumably the bids then would much increase. I was to follow the commands of the auctioneer from that point. Presumably he would order me to my feet and, sensing the crowd, playing it with skill, put me through what slave paces seemed suitable.