John Norman - Mariners of Gor

“I see,” I said.

“And then,” she said, “the auctioneer touched me, unexpectedly, and I leaped with a cry of misery, in piteous response, which delighted the men. I could not help myself! ‘Pleasure slave,’ I heard call. ‘To the taverns with her!’ I put my head in my hands, and bent over, and sobbed. I could not help myself. Then I was apparently sold, for I was conducted from the platform.”

“What did you go for?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said. “But I gather it was for less than a silver tarsk.”

“You were purchased for a paga slut,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I was interested in this information not simply because it pertained to the slave, but because it seemed not untypical of certain mysteries commonly obtaining in the case of barbarian slaves. Many things seemed obscure about such barbarians, or reasonably so, for example, the location of their first acquisition, apparently a far world, the means by which they were brought to Gor, where they were initially housed on our world, why they seemed to be distributed about, almost tracelessly, and such. As nearly as I could determine they were derived from several places on the far world, and brought by different ships, or by some method of conveyance, at different times, to many different locations on Gor. Subtleties or secrecies seemed to be involved. In any event, I knew little of these matters, and, if others knew, they were apparently less than communicative.

“I have never had a private master,” she said to me.

“I have never owned a slave,” I said.

“Master must have seen me many times in the paga tavern,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She put down her head, shyly.

“Did he find me of slave interest?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“If he found me of slave interest,” she said, “why was it that he never snapped his fingers, summoning me to his table, why did he not bind me, and thrust me before him to an alcove?”

“I did not want you thusly,” I said, “a girl for a coin, to be relinquished after some Ehn or an Ahn, or so, to be ceded in her turn to another, to be surrendered at the closing of a tavern’s portal. I wanted you whole, and mine, indisputably, legally, in every way. I did not want to rent you for the price of a drink. I wanted more. I wanted all. I wanted everything. I wanted to own you, completely, every strand of hair, every bit of you.”

“You sensed something in me?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I noticed your eyes upon me,” she said, “as one would look upon a slave one would own.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

She lifted her head.

“Surely you noted me putting myself before you often enough,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. How tormenting had been that flash of thigh, that whisk of a camisk as she turned, the flash of the bells tied about her left ankle.

“In my cage,” she said, “I hoped you would bid on me.”

“I am a poor man,” I said, “a low Scribe, one who labors in the registry. I could not afford you.”

“I thought that you might understand me, as others could not,” she said.

“Do not expect to be too much understood,” I said, “as you are a slave.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Surely she knew that her feelings, her thoughts, her hopes, her desires, her dreams, and such, were meaningless, and of no consequence, as she was a slave.

“I saw you look upon me,” she said, “as a master looks upon a slave, and I trembled, and shivered, and wondered, and I feared, and hoped, that you would be my master.”

I did not respond.

“I may be from Earth,” she said, “but I have learned here, as I suspected on Earth, that women are slaves, and that I am a woman, and a slave. I want to be what I am, a slave. I will try to serve you well, and please you so.”

To the side Callias and Alcinoe were asleep, in one another’s arms.

“It was with joy,” said the slave, “that I, my presence unknown to you, heard you speak of ineluctable, mysterious matchings, and sensings.”

“I did not know you were there,” I said, annoyed.

“I understand,” she said. “I only want to say to you that I, too, in the tavern, on different nights, looking upon you, felt such things.”

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Has Master?”

“Yes,” I said.

She looked at me. “It is strange,” she said. “I have come from far away, to find my master.”

“Strange, too,” I said, “that I should so find my slave, in one come from so far a world.”

“Do you think you might care for me, eventually, a little, Master?” she asked.

“I will buy a whip in the morning,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

It was hard to take my eyes from her. How beautiful she was, kneeling before me, in the light of the lamp.

“I am marked,” she said, “as Master determined, the common kef . I am thus well identified as a slave.”

“So?” I said.

“And,” she said, “I think that Master may like me, forgive me, Master, as I could not help overhearing words which gave me such hopes, and surely he knows my antecedents and origins, my affinities, as he will have it, if he is correct, with the Caste of Scribes, so lofty a caste, and my former station and position, as a student in a university, and thus, in a sense, my prestige, dignity, and such.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“So,” she said, “it will not be necessary to put me in a collar. I am above a collar.”

“You were collared in The Sea Sleen ,” I said.

“I was a paga girl,” she said. “They did not know my specialness. I am now the slave of a Scribe, and the Scribes is a high caste.”

“Look to the side,” I said. “Do you see that slave, she, Alcinoe?” I asked.

“Certainly,” she said.

“Well,” I said, “she was once a free woman in imperial Ar, a high lady, a woman of importance and power, of wealth and station. What is on her neck?”

“A collar,” said the slave.

“What sort of collar?” I asked.

“A slave collar,” she said.

“Precisely,” I said.

“But she is Gorean,” said the slave.

“And you are a barbarian,” I said, “a thousand times less.”

The slave touched her throat, lightly, tentatively, apprehensively.

“Master will collar me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow you will wear a collar, a slave collar, and it will be locked on your neck.”

“I will not be able to remove it?”

“No,” I said.

Relief, to my surprise, flooded her features.

“Thank you, Master,” she said. “That is what I want. I want your collar on my neck, and I want it there, locked, as on the neck of any other slave, for I am only another slave. No more! That is what I am, and want to be. How happy you make me! I am grateful! I will try to be worthy of wearing your collar. Thank you, Master. I will love my collar.”

I then lay back on the comforters, which I had spread on the floor.

“Master?” she said.

“Please me,” I said.

She crawled to my side. “I will try, Master,” she whispered.

“Wine, Master?” had said my slave.

“Wine, Master?” had said the slave of my friend, Callias.

“Yes,” I had said.

“Yes,” had said Callias.

As noted, the slaves had served the wine well.

I thought the supper was nicely prepared.

Too, as noted, the ka-la-na was excellent.

This morning we had all ventured to the high piers, bid farewell to Captain Nakamura, and watched that unusual ship, the River Dragon , unusual, at least for Brundisium, take its leave.

We watched it, until it could no longer be seen from the high pier.