Conspirators of Gor (42 page)

The Lady Bina had now left the room, crossing the threshold to her chamber.

It was at such times that it seemed to me that it was she, and not he, who was the pet. In any event, I had long been aware that in matters of moment, or times of crisis, there was but one voice and one will in the domicile, that of the beast.

I did not think the beast would kill me in the presence of the Lady Bina.

She was no longer present.

“Do not be afraid, Allison,” said the beast.

“I am afraid,” I said.

“Why?” he said.

“The roof,” I said, “what I saw.”

“I see,” he said.

“There was a killing,” I said, “on Clive.”

“I know,” he said.

I continued to brush him.

“From last night,” I said.

“From shortly before dawn,” he said.

“I will not speak what I saw,” I said.

“I know you will not,” he said.

I felt cold.

“I think the comb now,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You are trembling,” he said.

“I think Master was not on the roof last night,” I said.

“No,” he said. “On several nights I have departed the roof. One may move from roof to roof, occasionally descending to the street, then climbing to a roof anew.”

I thought of that agile, large form on the roofs, in the streets, moving about, lightly for its bulk, a shadow amongst shadows.

“Master has been about,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“There have been killings,” I said.

“They must stop,” he said.

“A larl, in the streets,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“What then?” I said.

“The Lady Bina is sleeping,” he said.

I could hear nothing, but I gathered that the beast had no difficulty in making this determination.

“I will now explain to you what you are to do,” said the beast.

“Master?” I said.

“You understand that you are a female slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. On Gor, I had no doubt of that.

“And how is a female slave to obey?” he asked.

“Instantly, unquestioningly,” I said, “and, to the best of her ability, with perfection.”

“If you obey with perfection,” he said, “you will not be hurt. If you do not obey with perfection, you will undoubtedly die a quick and most unpleasant death. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You will not wear your kerchief,” he said. “In that way, your head bare, you will not be confused with a free woman.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“As a collar girl, I know you are vain,” he said.

“I am a woman,” I said.

“Your hair,” he said, “is still quite short, but, over the months, it is not badly grown out. And some masters have their girls wear it that way, that the girl, and others, may understand that every aspect of their appearance is at the master’s discretion.”

I supposed such girls would beg, and perform desperately, that their hair might be permitted to grow “slave long.”

“I do not understand what is going on,” I said.

“Your hair is now attractive,” he said.

“How would Master know?” I asked.

“You are no longer permitted to wear the kerchief, unless given explicit permission,” he said.

I was silent.

“You are a pretty slave, Allison,” he said. “If you were also helpless in the furs, you might go for better than a silver tarsk.”

I was silent.

“Your helplessness would doubtless be assessed,” he said, “before you were brought to the block. Buyers are interested in such things. One wants not only a pretty girl, but a hot girl.”

“Oh?” I said.

“One uncontrollably hot, helplessly hot,” he said.

“I do not think I am ‘hot’,” I said.

“Coolness, inertness, and such, are acceptable in a free woman,” he said, “but not in a female slave.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I will now explain what you are to do,” he said.

“Why have I not been chained?” I asked.

“Because,” said he, “you are leaving, almost immediately.”

“Surely not, Master,” I said.

“But, yes,” he said.

“It is night,” I said. “It is after curfew.”

“You will go into the streets, alone,” he said, “and do precisely what I shall explain to you.”

“There are guardsmen,” I said.

“You must elude them,” he said.

“I do not know what is out there, in the darkness,” I said.

“If you obey properly,” he said, “I think you will learn.”

He then rubbed his heavy paw about my head, my neck, and shoulders, and drew me against his side, and then put me from him.

“Master?” I said.

“If all goes well,” said he, “you will not have to groom me after this.”

“As Master pleases,” I said.

“You do not do it all that well,” he said.

“I am sorry,” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you are curious as to why I have required that service from you so frequently of late.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You cannot smell it,” he said, “but my scent is now muchly upon you.”

“I know nothing of these things, Master,” I said. “Be merciful to me! I am only a poor slave, a thigh-marked girl, nothing, a beast, a property, only another poor, helpless kajira, fastened in her collar.”

“Be pleased you are collared,” he said. “It is that which I anticipate will save your life.”

“Keep me here until morning,” I said. “Chain me, chain me!”

“Here are your instructions,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen

I heard footsteps, and crouched down, small, in the doorway.

Shortly the guardsmen, with their lantern, had passed. There were not many guardsmen about, after curfew, but this was the second pair I had encountered, on the way to the market of Cestias.

“I will not speak what I saw,” I had said to the beast in the domicile.

“I know you will not,” he had said.

I had learned his scent was on me, and I was sure I might be followed, in the darkness, as easily as by a sleen. Too, I had little doubt that my slightest footfall might be marked by the hearing of the beast.

I feared he wanted me to proceed some distance from the shop of Epicrates, and then, when I was far enough away, away from the neighborhood of the shop, he might appear from the side, about a corner, or drop down beside me, from a roof, and, before I could cry out, bite through the back of my neck. I supposed, were I clever enough, I would have remained in the doorway of the shop of Epicrates, forcing him to kill me on the premises, or to refrain from doing so, for the proximity to his own domicile. Too, I thought of surrendering myself to the guardsmen, and accepting the consequences, whatever they might be, for violating the curfew.

“I know you will not,” he had said.

How could he know that, if he were not going to assure himself of it, with, say, a swift blow, a grasping paw on the throat, an embrace which might break a back?

The tiniest sound, the scuttling of an urt, the fluttering of a vart, come over the walls from the countryside, almost made me scream with fear.

I could not escape from the city at night, for the closure of the gates. Might I not hide by a gate, and then run when it was opened?

Could I traverse a hundred paces before being pulled down by boys?

I feared to inform on the beast, for it might escape, and seek me out. Too, oddly, I did not want to inform on him. I had agreed that I would not speak of what I had seen. Why had I done that?

I knew what I was to do, elude guardsmen, and go to the market of Cestias, near the praetor’s platform near the coin stalls.

But what then?

The market would be deserted at this hour, and ill-lit, if lit at all. Certainly the goods, the currencies, and such, would be withdrawn and locked away.

There were few in the streets, and they were furtive, indeed. And I suspected this had less to do with the curfew, than with the fear of what might be loose in the streets, moving in the darkness.

The beast, I was sure, might have most of the city at its disposal, moving from roof to roof, traversing the darkness, saving perhaps the towers and bridges.

Why was I obeying the beast?

Why was I moving, as I could, toward the market of Cestias? Would it not have been better to flee anywhere else? Why would he want me there, rather than somewhere else? Was it in the market, near the praetor’s platform that he wished to apprehend me?

Was I proceeding blindly, foolishly, toward a predesignated place of execution? But why there, rather than a hundred other places?

What might be special about that place?

Indeed, why did he not simply kill me in the domicile, bloodlessly, strangling me, breaking a neck, and then carrying me to some other part of the city, far from the shop of Epicrates, to be discovered in the morning?

But, I recalled, from Antiope, that slaves, or, at least, it seemed so, had not been set upon. To be sure, perhaps no other slave had seen paws, and arms and fur, matted thickly with dried blood.

I knew little of the Lady Bina, nor of the beast, nor of the world, or worlds, from which they had come.

I was sure, if the Lady Bina were not, that it was Kur.

Why was I obeying the beast?

Was I moving to my death?

But, if so, why had he given me the instructions he had? Would that not have been meaningless, and excessive, or might it have been calculated, to assuage my anxieties, to put me off my guard? He had informed me that I would not be hurt, unless I disobeyed. But that was hard to believe. Were the streets themselves not a danger? Who knew what might lurk around the next turn? Might one not be slain by a guardsman’s spear, a frightened guardsman striking at a movement in the darkness, the source of which was unknown?

I felt the soft brush of hair on my head, for I wore no kerchief now. That had seemed important to the beast. I touched my collar. That, too, it seemed, might have some significance, that my neck was so encircled, that I was thus identified as no more than kajira.

I was terrified of the beast, but, oddly, I was not at all sure he wished me ill. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done so, a number of times, conveniently, and with impunity. He had treated me, surely usually, with solicitude, even kindness. He had disciplined me only once, and that lesson needed not be repeated. The former Allison Ashton-Baker was an intelligent slave, and she learned quickly, very quickly. My bondage in the domicile had been a light one. He seemed, in many ways, despite his size and appearance, more sensitive, more rational, more human than the Lady Bina. Surely I could never have supposed he would have given me ten Ehn, in a public place, to demonstrate that I might be of interest to men, and, failing that, be sold to butchers for sleen feed. I wondered if the Lady Bina would have done so. Certainly I would not have liked to make trial of the matter. I suspected she might have done so, if I had failed to satisfy her curiosity in the matter, and not because she was thoughtless or cruel, but, rather, simply, because she was concerned with the matter. If one object proved unsatisfactory, it could be discarded and replaced with another, one more satisfactory. I wondered sometimes if she were fully aware, other than intellectually, casually, or abstractly, that other human beings existed, had feelings, and such. Doubtless she understood such things, but perhaps did not see them as having much, if any, importance. Interestingly then, she who appeared most human might seem in some ways less human, and that which appeared least human might seem in some ways more human. But what is “human”?

I recalled that I had been told his “scent” was on me. What significance might that have, if any?

Certainly I was unaware of the scent, at least on my own body, or of any significance which it might have.

My bondage in the domicile of the Lady Bina and the beast was, as noted, a light bondage, but, too, I found it dissatisfying. On this world my slavery, and its appropriateness, had been brought home to me. I had seen hundreds of Gorean men about, as I had scarcely on my world understood such men could exist, so large, strong, and powerful, so naturally self-satisfied, so unassumingly proud, and arrogant, possessive, aggressive men, unconfused and unconflicted, so clear-eyed, easy-moving, and large-handed, so innocently and unquestioningly virile, before whom my slightness and softness, so different from them, seemed theirs, an appropriate prize and acquisition of their desire and might. In the very sight of such men I felt it natural that I should kneel and bow my head, hoping that I might be noticed, might be found acceptable, might be found such that they might deign to snap their fingers and indicate that I might follow them, hoping to be eventually awarded their collar. As a woman, or a sort of woman, I felt weak before such men. I did not desire pain but was prepared to accept it if they imposed it on me. It was to male dominance that I thrilled. How natural and whole, and right, and happy, and grateful, I felt in such a relationship. One supposes this harkens back to remote antiquities in which certain acquired females, as opposed to others, responded to male dominance, surrendered to thongs and masters, and, generation by generation, were preferentially bred. And so it is not so strange that in women, or many women, one might find the readinesses and hopes of slaves. Let each ask herself what she desires to be, what she is. Celebrate the free woman, but take in your arms the slave.