John Norman - Mariners of Gor

“As hiring space on a passenger wagon?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” she said.

This account seemed strange to me, but I supposed she had no reason to lie to me. I had spent several years in the household of my teacher, who would accept no pay, because, for our caste, knowledge is priceless. One day he had said to me, “You may leave now,” and I knew then that I was of the Scribes.

“Are there many students at these places?” I asked.

“Sometimes thousands,” she said.

“There are so many,” I asked, “who hunger so for knowledge, and so avidly seek it?”

“Not at all,” she said. “By far the greatest number have little or no interest in learning whatsoever.”

“Why then are they there?” I asked. “What are they doing there?”

“It is expected of them,” she said. “It is something to be done.”

“Why?” I asked.

“One supposes there are many reasons,” she said. “If one does not perform certain actions, enact certain rituals, spend time in certain places, and obtain legal evidence that one has done so, one may be culturally disadvantaged.”

“And what do these actions, these rituals, or such, have to do with learning?”

“In most cases,” she said, “very little, if anything.”

“Might they not just as well do other things for the same amount of time,” I asked, “jump up and down, or sing songs, or such?”

“I had not thought about it,” she said, “but one supposes so.”

“It is a cultural thing?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Is there not some sort of monstrous mistake, or deceit, or fraud, involved in all this?” I asked.

“It is a way of doing things,” she said.

“Is this not a misunderstanding of learning, a disparagement of learning, an insult to learning, a cheapening of learning, a prostitution of learning?” I asked.

“Some care,” she said.

“Even there?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“You were interested in far worlds,” I said, “ancient worlds, ancient to your former world, their culture, their languages, their way of life, their beliefs.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I approve of that,” I said.

“I am pleased,” she said.

“Who is pleased?” I asked.

“A slave is pleased,” she said.

“Perhaps, someday, you will speak to me, at length, of such things.”

“Surely Master is not interested in my interests, my feelings, my mind?” she said.

“In that question,” I said, “I detect the pathology of your world.”

“Master?”

“A Gorean,” I said, “wants all of a slave, and owns all of a slave.”

She looked at me, startled.

“All of her is in his collar,” I said.

“A slave is pleased,” she said, “that a master would lock his collar on the whole of her.”

“Few men would want less,” I said.

“I did not gather that,” she said, “from the alcove.”

“You did not have a private master,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said.

“As a student, a graduate student, or such, on Earth,” I said, “I would suppose you did not anticipate that you would one day be on Gor, kneeling naked before a man, his slave.”

“No, Master,” she said, “but in secret moments I dreamed of such things.”

“Did you know of Gor?” I asked.

“I thought it only in books,” she said.

“What do you think now?” I asked.

“I have felt the thongs of a Gorean master on my limbs,” she said, “I have been collared, I have served on the floor of a Gorean tavern, I have striven in the alcove to be found pleasing by my master’s customers, I am no longer of the opinion that Gor exists only in books.”

“You are very pretty,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“Of your fellow female graduate students,” I said, “I wonder if you were the only one found worthy to be put in a Gorean collar.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “I do not know.”

“So,” I said, “you were a student, a graduate student?”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Spread your knees more widely,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You obey promptly,” I observed.

“I hope to please my master,” she said.

“What do you think of dancing naked?” I asked.

“I would have to obey my master,” she said.

“But what do you think of it?” I asked.

“I would hope to please my master,” she said.

“Do you know how to play the kalika?” I asked.

“No, Master.”

“You do not know slave dance, I take it,” I said.

“No,” she said.

“You may be taught such things,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Slave dance,” I said, “is very attractive in a woman.”

“I doubt that I could be so beautiful,” she said.

“One does not expect every woman to bring a hundred pieces of gold as a dancer,” I said.

“No, Master,” she said.

“I have seen many dancers, even public dancers, brothel dancers, street dancers, tavern dancers, who were not as beautiful as you.”

“I do not know how to dance,” she said.

“Perhaps, with the encouragement of the lash, you could learn,” I said.

“The slave who desires to please her master,” she said, “does not require the encouragement of the lash.”

“You would do your best?” I said.

“Certainly, Master,” she said.

“Would you like to dance- as a slave ?” I asked.

“On Earth,” she said, “I dreamed of such things.”

“Speak,” I said.

“I thought of myself, frequently enough, as a property, as owned, as a girl who must unquestioningly, fearfully, obey masters, who might dance for their pleasure, about campfires in lonely places, on streets in shabby districts, to a master’s flute, on the decks of galleys, to the clapping of hands, on the floor of taverns, to music, silks swirling, bangles clashing, to shouts, to hands reaching for me, to the clash of goblets and the spilling of drink, to the cries of aroused men, pleased to look upon me as I would then be, a vulnerable, helpless slave, desperate to be found pleasing.”

“And did you dream of yourself helpless in the chains, or arms, of a master?”

“Yes, Master,” she said, putting down her head.

“Where were you sold?” I asked.

“In Market of Semris,” she said.

“In what pen, or slave house, were you first marked?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said. “I, with other slaves-”

“Barbarians?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “-were transported naked and collared in a closed slave wagon, with blue and yellow silk, our ankles chained to a central bar, it run the length of the wagon bed. We traveled for days. At night, in camps, we were chained in the open, to trees or the wagon wheels. One or another of us were hooded and removed from the bar in one place or another. We were, I take it, distributed amongst various markets. Only three were left in the wagon when the hood was buckled about my head and I was lifted from the wagon. I felt the dust of a road beneath my feet. My hands were braceleted before me, and I was tethered by the bracelets to the stirrup of some large, four-footed beast, which I later learned was a kaiila. After some weary hours on the dusty road I was brought to a sales barn, where my tether was freed of the stirrup, and I was unhooded and debraceleted. Shortly thereafter, I was fed, watered, and rested. Later I was processed, washed, brushed, combed, and such, preparing me for my sale.”

“Which was in Market of Semris,” I said.

“That is my understanding,” she said.

“Did you enjoy your sale?” I asked.

“I was terrified,” she said. “I found myself turned about, and positioned, delicately, expertly, by the auctioneer’s whip, exhibited as merchandise, displayed, as a slave, while men cried out, and called bids on me.”