Kajira of Gor (33 page)

She was about two inches taller than I. She stood then before me.

“You spoke to me,” she said. “Yes, kind lady,” I said.

“Where you come from,” she said, “do slaves not address free women as

‘Mistress’?”

“I am a free woman, too,” I said. “I am not a slave.”

“Naked, lying slave!” hissed the woman.

I beg you for kindness,” I said. “Even if I were a slave, which I am not, we

share the same sex. We are both women.”

“I am a woman,” she said. “You are an animal.”

“Take pity on me,” I said. “We have in common at least that we are females.”

“Do not dare to see me in terms of such a denominator,” she said. “It is not my

fault that I share a sex with she-sleen and she-tarsks, and, lower than either,

with she-slaves.”

“I am not a slave,” I said. “I am free. I am not collared. I am not branded!”

“If I owned you,” she snapped, “you would soon be collared and branded, and then

you would be sent to the stables or scullery, where you belongl”

Forgive me,” I said.

“Forgive you, what?” she said. in fury.

“Mistress!” I said.

“I know your type,” she said, in fury. “You are the sort for whom my companion

forsakes me! You are the sort he runs panting after in the taverns, the sort

whose bodies their masters sell for the price of a drinkl”

“No,” I said. “Nol”

“You are the sort of woman who likes men, aren’t you?” she said.

“No, Mistress,” I cried. “No! No!”

“Why aren’t you kneeling, Slut?” she asked.

“I’m chained,” I cried. “I can’t!”

“Kneel,” ordered the free woman, coldly.

“I can’t, Mistress!” I wept. I let myself hang from the shackles, my knees bent,

piteously.

“You should not have accosted a free woman,” she said. She then removed her

gloves and, with them, struck me across the face. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“You must also address her as ‘Mistress,’” she said. I was then struck again.

“You have denied your slavery,” she said. “You have dared to compare yourself

with me, insulting me by calling to my attention that we are both females. You

have denied that you arc of the category of the sensuous slut! You have denied,

lyingly, that you are eager to serve menl” She then struck me four times. “Do

you think I cannot see what you are?” she asked. “Do you think it is unclear to

anyone who looks upon you? Do you think I am stupid? Anyone could see that you

are a slavel It is obviousl” Then she lashed me across the face and mouth with

her gloves, several times. It did not really hurt so much, but it did sting,

and, of course, it was terribly humiliating. I began to cry. “And you did not

kneel!” she cried. She struck me twice again. I hung in the shackles, sobbing. I

was most afraid that she might call the Archon’s man. He might, if requested, I

feared, use a whip on me. She then, angrily, withdrew from the platform and

resumed her journey down the street.

“What was that all about?” asked the Archon’s man.

“I spoke to her, Master,” I said. I called him “Master” for he, like the young

men who had caught me at the edge of the Viktel Aria, had made it clear to me

that I was to address , whether I was free or not, with a slave’s respect.

“But she is a free woman,” he observed.

“Yes, Master,” I said. With a rustle of chain I again got my feet under me.

“It was foolish of you,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I sobbed.

“Your face is red,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

Later in the afternoon, after I bad been fed and watered, landing in the

shackles, I decided to once again essay the de.iplicrment of the legend on the

post. This time, having earned my lesson, I would not trouble a free woman in

the matter. I knew that I was pretty and I had little doubt, even bough I was

tired and my arms were now sore-, that, chained ~s I was, displayed as I was, my

attractions might be of interest to passing males. Men of Earth, I knew, would

often strive to please even a scantily clad woman, for example, one wearing a

sun suit or a bathing suit. I, for example, had had this experience on summer

weekends and at the beach.

“Sir, Masterl” I called to a man. He seemed a friendly enough looking fellow.

He approached me, climbing to the platform. “Yes?” he inquired.

“I am a free woman,” I said, “but nonetheless I will call you ‘Master.’”

“I hoped that this would flatter him.

“Whatever you wish,” he said.

“And you are surely a very handsome Master,” I said. He was, as a matter of

fact, very handsome. On the other hand, I was out to get my way. Men,

incidentally, will believe anything they are told.

“Why, thank you,” he said.

“There is a legend over my head,” I said.

“Yes, there is,” he agreed.

“Can you read it?” I wheedled.

“Why, yes,” he said. “I can.”

“Please, please,” I wheedled. “Please read it for little Lita.” I referred to

myself by this name. It was the name I had given to the two young men on the

road, and also, if only to be consistent, to the Archon’s man. On the other hand

I did not mind the name. I rather liked it. It excited me.

“It says,” said the man, “’Whip me, if I speak without permission.’

I turned white

He smiled.

“It does not really say that, does it?” I asked, frightened.

“No,” he said.

“Please tell me what it says,” I said.

“We shall assume, for purposes of this discussion, that you are a slave,” he

said.

“Very well, Master,” I said, puzzled.

“Do you believe that slaves should serve free persons,” he asked, “or that free

persons should serve slaves.”

“I believe it is the slaves who should serve the free persons,” I said, hastily,

“not the other way around.” I certainly did not want to have the flesh whipped

off my bones.

“And if I read that legend for you,” he said, “I would be serving you, wouldn’t

IT’

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“And you would not want that, would you?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then,” he said, “you do not want me to read the legend for you.”

“No, Master,” I said, miserably.

“Very well,” He said and, Chuckling, left.

I shook the chains in frustration. He seemed to be a very kind man.

If I had not tried to be so clever, if I had not tried to trick him, he probably

would have read the legend for me.

I watched him walking off.

He had not seemed eager, even desperate to please me, in spite of the fact that

I was naked. I then realized, with a strange feeling deep within me, something

akin to fear and excitement, that on this world it was the naked women, or

scantily clad women, women who would be slaves, or would be presumed to be

slaves, women such as I, who must serve and please the men. This was not Earth;

it was Gor.

“Oh, Ladyl” I called. “Please, Lady!”

The slave, alone, in the brief, sleeveless red tunic, with sides split to the

waist, turned, to see whom I might be addressing.

“Lady!” I called to her.

“I am not a lady,” she said. “I am a slave.”

“Please,” I said. “Can you read the legend posted over my head?”

“Cannot you read?” she asked.

“No,” I said. I looked at her. She was nicely curved, with brown hair and eyes.

She wore a close-fitting steel collar.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I cannot either. I was never taught.” She hen sped on

her way.

“What is going on?” asked the Archon’s man.

“Nothing, Master,” I said.

“If you delay slaves in their errands, and they are late,” he said, “they might

be whipped.”

“I am sorry, Master,” I said.

“Why did you delay her?” he asked.

“I wanted her to read the sign posted over my head,” I said.

“Why didn’t you ask me?” he asked.

“I was afraid,” I said. “You did not read it to me. I thought then perhaps you

did not want me to know what it said.”

“And, without determining whether that was true or not,” he said, “you

nonetheless sought, perhaps thereby circumventing my will, to determine its

contents?”

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Forgive me, Masterl”

“You should be whipped,” he said. He unclipped the coiled slave whip from his

belt.

“I am a free woman!” I told him.

“You have a slave’s body,” he said.

“Even so, I am a free woman,” I said.

“Perhaps you are a free woman,” he said. “It is hard to imagine a slave being so

stupid.”

“Do not whip me,” I begged.

I saw him recoiling the blades of the whip. I viewed this action with

unspeakable relief.

He then thrust it before my face. “Lick it, and kiss it,” he said.

“Please,” I begged.

“You will do so now,” he said, “or after you have been beaten with it.”

I then reached my head forward and, delicately, licked and kissed the whip. He

then replaced the stern, supple disciplinary device on his belt.

“Master,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why did you not tell me what the sign said?” I asked.

“I showed it to you,” he said. “It did not occur to me that you could not read.”

“But I cannot,” I said. “Please tell me what it says!”

“Not now, pretty Lita,” he said. “Not now.” He then walked away. I stomped with

my right foot. I shook the chains, angrily. Tears came to my eyes. I was being

frustrated, as though I might be a slave.

The afternoon wore on.

My body and arms began to ache miserably.

From time to time one man or another in the crowd would pause to gaze on me. I

usually looked away from them but, even so, it seemed I could sometimes sense

their eyes on me, roving me with impunity. I chained as I was, was exposed to

their gaze as any stripped slave.

Sometimes they would come up to the platform, to examine me more closely. The

Archon’s man, however, would not permit them to touch my body or test my slave

reflexes. Similarly, I was not required to respond to certain sorts of commands,

for example, to make “slave lips,” pursing my lips for kissing, or to writhe

slowly before my viewers. It was still regarded as a theoretical possibility, I

gathered, that I might be free. “She is not for sale,” the Archon’s man told one

fellow. “Too bad,” had said the fellow. “Not now,” had added the Archon’s man.

“Perhaps later,” said the fellow.

“Perhaps,” had agreed the Archon’s man.

It was late in the afternoon when, suddenly, my body stiffened in terror. I put

my head down, swiftly, trembling. I wanted to hide but, Of Course, I was held

perfectly where I was, exposed, helpless in the-shackles.

He must not have seen me! He must not have seen mel

I turned away a little, in the chains, as though merely to change my position.

My heart was pounding in terror.

He, of all people!

Surely he had not noticed me. Surely he had not seen me. He must not have seen

me!

“Let the cbttrl be stripped,” I had said, imperiously, “and a sign be put about

his neck, proclaiming him a fraud. Then let him be marched naked, before the

spears of guards, through the great gate of Corcyrus, not to be permitted to

return before the second passage hand!”

But I could not run now. I, helpless, naked, chained in place, was being

publicly displayed.

A Corcyran merchant had brought charges against him, a matter having to do with

a bowl, purportedly silver, but only plated, and one bearing a forged mark,

misrepresenting it as the work of the silversmiths of Ar.

Surely he must now have passed by.

Further inquiries had been made and it was found that he had among his goods a

set of false weights.

He must now have gone. He mustl

Too, it had been discovered that he had sold slave hair to the public,

representing it as that of free women.

I was safe. He must have gone by now.

How pleased I was to have sentenced him to his humiliation, pronouncing the

judgment of the Tatrix against himl How pleased I was to have seen him dragged

by guards from my august presence.

How splendid, too, to have men serving one, obeying one, in this fashion! He had

been an itinerant peddler, an obsequious, cringing, ugly, small, vile man with a

twisted body. Surely he was one of the most detestable human beings I had ever

seen.

I stiffened, again, in terror. Someone had joined me on the cement platform. I

kept my head down. Then, as had happened two or three times before, I felt a

thumb under my T., chin. My head was pushed up.

I found myself looking into the eyes of the peddler,

18
   
The Leash

Speusippus of Turia. Speusippus stepped back and regarded me. I kept my head up,

looking at him.

He glanced up at the sign over my head. He could doubtless read it.

“Sheila,” said he, whispering in my ear. “You are Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrusl”

“No,” I whispered. “Nol”

“The office of the Archon will doubtless be pleased to ]cam identity of its

lovely prisoner,” he said.

“They will not believe it,” I said.

“They wid conduct inquiries,” he said, “with rather clear sequences, I think,

for yourself.”

‘Do not tell them, I beg you,” I said. “They will take me k to Argentum for

impalementl” le smiled.

“Please, do not tell them, Speusippus,” I begged.

“Sir?” he asked.

“Please, do not tell them, Sir,” I begged.