Beasts of Gor (38 page)

“I will be sufficiently pleasing,” she said, earnestly. “What do you think will be done with me?” she asked.

“Imnak now has Poalu,” I said.

“He does not need me any longer,” she said.

“No,” I said, “nor Thimble, though you are both pretty things to have in the tent.”

“What will he do with us?” she asked.

“It is my guess,” I said, “that both Thimble and yourself will be traded south next spring for tea and sugar.”

“Traded! For tea and sugar!” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Audrey Brewster sold for tea and sugar!” she said.

“Thistle, the slave,” I said.

“But I am she,” she said.

“Be pleased that panther girls are not selling you for arrow points and a handful of candy,” I said.

“Who are panther girls?” she asked.

“Strong women, huntresses who frequent the northern forests,” I said. “They enjoy selling feminine women like yourself.”

“Oh,” she said.

“You are a slave,” I said. “Do you think you would like to be a woman’s slave?”

“No,” she said, shuddering. She kissed me. “I am a man’s slave,” she said.

“It is true,” I said.

“Are panther girls truly so strong?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said. “Once captured and conquered, collared and silked, their thigh burned by the iron, thrown to a man’s feet. they are as quick to kiss and lick as any woman. Indeed, they make superb slaves. They bring high prices in the markets. They are only girls desperate to fight their femininity. When they are no longer permitted to do this they have no choice but to become marvelous women and slaves. A conquered panther girl is one of the most abject and delicious, and joyful, of slaves.”

“I see, Master” she said.

“How would I be taken south?” she asked.

“Afoot, your neck tied to a sled,” I said.

“I do not want to remain a slave of red hunters indefinitely,” she said. “I think I would like to be taken south.”

“What you like is of no interest.” I said.

“I know,” she said.

“If I were to be taken south,” she said, “would I be sold there?”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“Publicly?” she asked.

“Presumably,” I said.

“Naked?” she asked.

“You might wear chains,” I said. “I do not know.”

“Only a fool buys a woman clothed,” she said.

“That is a Gorean saying,” I said.

“Imnak taught it to me,” she laughed.

“Surely you see the sense of it?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, “if I were a man I would buy a woman only if she were naked. I would want to see what I was getting, completely.”

“Precisely,” I said.

“I would even want to try her out,” she said, boldly.

“That is done in certain sorts of sales,” I said, “such as purple booth sales in the courtyard of a slaver’s house.”

“If there were a handsome buyer, I would try hard to please him,” she said.

“You would try hard to please any potential buyer,” I said, “or your owner, the slaver, would express his dissatisfaction to you.”

“I see,” she said.

A slaver normally expresses his dissatisfaction to his girls with a whip.

“But what of large sales, public sales?” she asked.

“Even in most private sales,” I said, “the prospective buyer is not permitted to use the girl, fully.”

“Fully?”

“He might be permitted to feel her a bit.” I said. “A great deal can be told by simply getting your hands on a girl,” I said. “What does her arm feel like above the elbow? How does she turn when you take her by the shoulders and face her away from you? What of the delights of her thigh, the sweetness behind her knees, the turn of her calves? You lift a foot. Does she have a high instep. A girl with a high instep is often a fine dancer. You turn her again to face you. The eyes are very important. Much can be learned there of her intelligence. You kiss her breasts softly, you brush her lips with yours. You study her eyes, her expressions. Then, unexpectedly perhaps, or perhaps first warning her, you touch her. Again attend to the eyes. You continue to touch her. You watch the eyes. Then she screams for mercy, writhing in her chains or in the grasp of the slaver, his hand in her hair. You then know about all you can, without putting her through slave paces or forcing her to perform on the furs.”

“Then slavers seldom permit their girls to be fully used?” she asked.

“Not for free,” I said. “A common arrangement, however, is to charge a prospective buyer, if he wishes it. a rent fee, which fee may then be, should he want the girl, applied to her purchase price.”

“That seems sound business” she said.

“I think so,” I said. “Why should a slaver give away the use of his properties?” I asked. “After all that is how he makes his living, buying and selling, and leasing and renting women.”

“Of course,” she said. “But there are the purple booth sales,” she said.

‘Those are usually for a well-fixed clientele, known to the slaver,” I said. “They are known to him as serious, bonafide buyers. If they do not buy one girl, they will probably buy another.”

“Oh,” she said.

“But what of large, public sales?” she pressed.

“In which, say, an auction block would be used?” I asked.

She shuddered. “Yes,” she said.

“Such sales are common on Gor,” I said.

“Common?” she gasped.

“Certainly,” I said. “Many women are auctioned from the block in a given year in a given city,” I said. “Do you remember the large blue and yellow pavilion near the platforms where Imnak bought you?”

“Yes” she said.

“Women were being auctioned there,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “I was not,” she said.

“You were not regarded as being sufficiently interesting at that time to be put on the block,” I said. “The platforms were good enough for your sort.”

“But I am beautiful,” she said.

“On Gor,” I said, “beautiful women are plentiful, and cheap.”

“Am I more interesting now, Master?” she wheedled.

“Yes,” I said, “You are perhaps worthy now to grace the block—”

‘Thank you, Master,” she said.

“—in a minor sale in a small city,” I added.

“Oh, Master!” she laughed.

“I jest,” I said, “but, too, I am serious. You will grow in
 
slavery and beauty. Who knows what a woman’s potential is for love?”

She looked at me.

“You have far to go, my lovely little tart.” I said. “But in the end I think you might be worthy of the central block, at the Curulean in Ar.”

She kissed me, frightened. “What a fearful thing it is to be a slave girl, and what a wonderful thing,” she said.

I said nothing.

“How does one know, on the block,” she asked, suddenly, “if a girl is any good?”

“A certification of a girl’s heat, in certain cities,” I said, “is sometimes furnished, with the slaver’s guarantee, among the documents of sale. Her degree of heat, in such a situation would also be listed of course, among her other properties, on her sales sheet, posted in the vicinity of the exhibition cages, available twenty Ahn before her sale. It would also be proclaimed, of course, in such a situation, along with her weight and collar size, and such things, from the block, during her sale.”

“Is that sort of thing done in many cities?” she asked.

“In very few,” I said, “and for a very good reason.”

“Out of respect for the girls?” she asked.

“Of course not.” I said. “It is rather done in few cities because of the possibility of fraud on the part of the buyer. He might use the girl for a month and then claim a refund in virtue of the guarantee. Slavers prefer for their sales to be final. Too, other problems exist For example, a free woman who, before her sale, is cold may become, after her sale, knowing herself then as a vended slave, helpless and torrid in the arms of a master. Similarly a girl who is only average, generally, so to speak, may, at the very glance of a given master, one who is special to her for no reason that is clear, become so weak and paga hot that she can scarcely stand.”

“Generally, then,” she said, “the buyer would not know, from the block information, whether the girl would be any good or not?”

“He will certainly know if he, personally, finds her attractive. Too, even a frigid woman, in the arms of a Gorean master, can be made to sweat and cry.”

“Frigidity is not permitted to the slave girl?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “The master will not accept it”

“Poor girl,” she laughed.

“Frigidity is a neurotic luxury,” I told her. “It is allowed only to free women, probably because no one cares that much about them. Indeed, frigidity is one of the titles and permissions implicated in the lofty status of a free woman. For many it is, in effect, their proudest possession. It distinguishes them from the lowly slave girl. It proves to themselves and others that they are free. Should they be enslaved, of course, it is, for better or for worse, taken from them, like their property and their clothing.”

“Not all free women are frigid,” she said.

“Of course not,” I said, “but there is actually a scale, so to speak, in such matters. But just as some free women are insufficiently inert, or cold, to qualify, strictly, as frigid, perhaps to their chagrin, so none of them, I think, are sufficiently ignited to qualify in the ranges of “slave-girl hot.” so to speak. A free woman’s sexuality may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of inertness, or coolness; a slave girl’s sexuality, on the other hand, may generally be thought of in terms of degrees of responsive passion, or heat. Some slave girls are hotter than others, of course, just as some free women are less cold than others, whether this pleases them or not. Whereas the free woman normally maintains a plateau of frigidity, however, the slave girl will usually increase in degrees of heat, this a function of her master, his strength, her training, and such. The slave girl grows in passion; the free woman languishes in her frigidity, congratulating herself on the starvation of her needs.”

“Do free women know what they are missing?” she asked.

“I think, on some level, they do,” I said. “Else the resentment and hatred they bear the slave girl would be inexplicable.”

“I see,” she said.

“Beware the free woman,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“On the block, of course,” I said, “the girl is under the control of the auctioneer, who functions as her master while she is being sold. He will often exhibit her skillfully. A good auctioneer is very valuable to a slaver’s house. He will guide her with his voice, and touches, or strokes, of his whip. He may put her through slave paces on the block, forcing her to assume postures and attitudes. If she is a dancer, she may be forced to dance. She may be, if he sees fit, publicly caressed on the block.”

“Before the buyers!” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “It does not matter. She is a slave.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “She is only a slave.”

“It is not unusual,” I said, “to even send a girl aroused onto the block, that the nature of her movements may make clear her needs to the audience.”

“And should such a girl be caressed?” she asked.

“She might enter orgasm on the very block,” I said. “Sometimes it is necessary to whip such a woman from the feet of the auctioneer. At the very least she will beg to serve a master within the very Ahn, either a buyer or one of the slaver’s men, to achieve closure on the arousal which has been inflicted upon her.”

“How cruel Goreans are!” she said.

“Is this more cruel than making clear the color of her hair and eyes?” I asked. “The Goreans are buying the whole girl.”

She looked down.

“Do not fear,” I said. “Normally there is no time for a lengthy sale. One must take a few bids and then thrust the wench from the block, to make room for the next girl. A sale often takes no more time than one or two Ehn. Sometimes four hundred girls or more must be sold from a single block in a given night.”

“One might be exhibited and sold before one scarcely knew what was occurring,” she said.

“I suppose so,” I said. “I am not a woman.”

“But I am,” she said.

“It is thus likely to be your problem and not mine,” I told her.

“How you tease one who is only a slave,” she said.

“One does what one pleases with them,” I told her.

“Of course,” she said. “We are only slaves.”

“Master,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Is there no cure for a free woman’s frigidity?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Total enslavement?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She said nothing.

“Every woman has a need to submit herself to a master,” I said. “When she finds herself at the feet of her master her body will no longer permit her to be frigid. There is no longer any reason. She is now where nature places her, at his feet and in his power. She kisses his feet and, weeping, feeling the heat and oils between her lovely legs, cannot wait to be thrown to the furs.”

She did not speak.

“But I do not speak here merely of the simplicities and negativities of a cure,” I said. “I speak rather of the beginning of a career, a helpless, flowering biography of service, love and passion.”

“You speak of a woman being made a slave girl,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I wonder if I will be pleasing to a master,” she said.

“Any slave girl,” I said, “with the proper management, and master, can become a wonder of sexuality and love.”

“I think I will love being a slave girl,” she said.

I shrugged. What did it matter, what her feelings were? She was a slave.

“No wonder the free women hate us so,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “You are everything that they desire to be and are not.”

She bit her lip. She looked at me. “Are free women permitted to watch us being sold?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Why not? They are free.”

She looked at me, miserably.

“Ah, yes,” I said. “I see. It would be quite humiliating, one woman, a slave, being sold, while another woman, a free woman, observes.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Let us hope that the free woman is not one of powerful family,” I said, “who has had the other captured, and put upon the block.”