Players of Gor (23 page)

"Yes," cried Boots, "it is my active imagination, conjecturing what exposed beauty must lie perfectly concealed behind the impervious barrier of that heartless veil."

"And I am a free woman," said the girl to the crowd, "not even a slave." There was laughter. All that she wore now, in actuality, not in the context of the play, of course, in which she was, by convention, understood to be utterly naked, was her

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collar, concealed by a light scarf, and a circular adhesive patch on her left thigh, concealing her brand.

"Ah!" cried Boots.

"I had best not permit him more than the briefest of peeps," she said, to the audience, "lest he perhaps in rapture go out of his sense altogether."

Boots pounded his thighs.

"Imagine what it might be if he could truly see me," she said.

"Let me, dear lady," said Boots, "hold the veil. Though it be as light as noting itself, yet, by now, your arms, if only from their position, must grow weary."

"Thank you, kind sir," she said. "Do you have it now?"

"Of course," said Boots, as though astonished at her question.

"Of course," she said, lightly. "I just did not wish you to drop it."

"There is little danger of that," he said. "I mean, of course, I will exercise considerable caution in its handling."

He now held the cloth up between them.

"Have you given some thought to the matter of whether or not you will permit me the peep of which we spoke so intriguingly earlier?" he asked.

"Keep holding the veil up high," she said. "Perhaps I will consider giving some thought to the matter."

Suddenly, with a cry of apprehension, looking down the road, Boots snapped away the cloth and whipped it behind his back, seeming to stuff it in his belt, behind his back. "Oh!" she cried in horror, cringing and half crouching down, trying to cover herself as well as she could, in maidenly distress. "What have you done, sir? Explain yourself, instantly!"

"I fear brigand approach," he said, looking wildly down the road. "Do not look! They must not see the wondrous veil! Surely they would take it from me!"

"But I am naked!" she cried.

"Pretend to be a slave!" he advised.

"I," she gasped, in horror, "pretend to be a slave?"

"Yes!" he cried.

"But I know nothing," said the Brigella, in great innocence, to the audience, "of being a slave."

There was laughter.

"What you know nothing of," said the free woman to her, "is of being a free woman, meaningless slut."

The Brigella at one time or another had doubtless been a free woman. Accordingly she would presumably know a great deal

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about being a free woman. On the other hand she did not dare respond to the free woman, for she was now a slave.

"Would you rather be apprehended by the brigands?" inquired Boots of the Brigella. "They might be pleased to get their capture cords on a free woman."

"No!" she cried.

"Kneel down," he said, "quickly, with your head to the dirt!"

"Oh, oh!" she moaned, but complied.

"That way," he said, "they make you for a mere slave, perhaps not worth the time it might take to put you in a noose and the time it might take to transport you to a salves point, and me for a poor merchant, perhaps not worth robbing. Here they come. They are fierce looking fellows."

"Oh," she moaned, trembling, "oh, oh."

"Do not look up," he warned her.

"No," she said.

"No, what, Slave?" he said, sternly.

"No, Master!" she cried.

There was laughter. He now had her kneeling naked at his feet, addressing him as "Master". In the Gorean culture, of course, this sort of thing is very significant. Indeed, in some cities such things as kneeling before a man or addressing him as "Master" effects legal imbondment on the female, being interpreted as a gesture of submission.

There was now great laughter for, strolling across the stage, swinging censers, mumbling in what was doubtless supposed to resemble archaic Gorean, in the guise of Initiates, came Tarsk-Bit's Lecchio and Chino. In a moment they had passed.

"Those were not brigands," cried the girl, angrily, looking up. "They were Initiates!"

"I am sorry," said Boots, apologetically. "I mistook them for brigands."

She leaped to her feet, covering herself with her hands, as well as she could. "You may now give me the veil, sir," she said, angrily.

"But you have not yet given me my peep," protested Boots.

"Oh!" she cried angrily.

"Consider how you are standing," said Boots, "half turned away from me, half crouched down, and holding your legs as you are, and with your hands and arms placed as they are, such things seem scarcely fair to me. Surely you must understand that such things constitute obstacles uncongenial, at the least, to the achievement of a peep of the quality in question."

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"Oh! Oh!" she cried.

"It is a simple matter of bargaining in good faith," said Boots.

"Sleen!" she cried.

"Perhaps we could get a ruling on the matter from a praetor," suggested Boots.

"Sleen! Sleen!" she cried.

"I see that I must be on my way," said Boots.

"No!" she cried. "I must have that wondrous veil!"

"Not without my peep," said Boots.

"Very well, sir," she said. "How will you have your peep? What must I do?"

"Lie down upon your back," he said, "and lift your right knee, placing your hands at your sides, six inches from y our thighs, the palms of your hands facing upwards." He regarded her. "No," he said, "that is not quite it. Roll over, if you would. Better. Now lift your upper body from the dirt, supporting it on the palms of your hands, and look back over your shoulder. Not bad. But I am not sure that is exactly is. Kneel now, and straighten your body, putting your head back, clasping your hands behind the back of your head. Perhaps that is almost it."

"I hope so!" she cried.

"But not quite," he said.

"Oh!" she cried in frustration.

"Sometimes one must labor, and experiment, to find the proper peep," he informed her.

"Apparently," she said.

Boots, the, it seemed always just minimally short of success, continued dauntlessly to search for a suitable peep. In doing this, of course, the female was well, and lengthily, displayed for the audience.

She was incredibly beautiful. The men cried out with pleasure, some of them slapping their thighs.

"Disgusting!" cried the free woman.

I myself considered bidding on the Brigella. She was incredibly, marvelously beautiful.

"Disgusting!" cried the free woman.

"It is you who are disgusting," said one of the men to the free woman.

"I?" she cried.

"Yes, you," he said.

The free woman did not respond to him. She stiffened in her

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robes, her small hands clenched in her blue gloves. How antibiological,, petty, and self-serving were her value judgments.

"Look," cried Boots to the Brigella, in his guise of a merchant. "Someone is coming!"

"You will not fool me twice, you scoundrel, you cad!" she replied from her knees.

"I think it is a woman," said Boots.

"What?" she cried, turning about, half rising, and then collapsed back in confusion, in misery, to her knees. She looked up at Boots, wildly. "It is Lady Tipa, my rival, from the village," she said. "She cannot be allowed to see me like this. What, oh, what, shall I do? Where can I hide?"

"Quickly," cried Boots, "here, beneath my robes!"

Swiftly, on her knees, wildly, knowing not what else to do, the girl had scrambled to Boots. IN a moment she was concealed beneath his robes, on her knees, only her calves and feet thrust out from beneath their hem.

"I see, sir," said the newcomer, who was understood to be the free woman, the Lady Tipa, but was presumably Boots's Bina, usually the companion and confidant of the Brigella, "that you well know how to pout a slave through her paces."

"Why, thank you, noble lady," said Boots.

"I did not get a good look at her as I approached," said the Bina. "Is she pretty?"

"Some might think her passable," said Boots, "but compared to yourself her beauty is doubtless no more than that of a she-urt compared to that of the preferred slave of a Ubar."

The Brigella churned with rage beneath Boots's robes. She dared not emerge, of course.

"What is wrong with your slave?" asked the Bina.

"She burns with desire," said Boots.

"How weak slaves are," said the Bina.

"Yes," said Boots.

"I am looking for a girl from m y village," said the Bina. "I was told, by two fellows, peddle4s, I think, whom I take to be of the merchants, that she may have come this way."

"Could you describe her?" asked Boots.

"Her name is Phoebe," said the Bina, "and were she not veiled it would be easier to describe her to you, as she is frightfully homely."

The girl under Boots's robes shook with fury.

"Still," said the newcomer, "you might have been able, nonetheless, to recognize her. She is too short, too wide in the hips and has thick ankles."

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At this there was more churning beneath Boots's robes.

"Surely there is something wrong with your slave," said the Bina.

"No, no," Boots assured her.

"What is she doing under there?" asked the Bina.

"She begged me piteously to be permitted to give me the kiss of a slave that I, in my weakness, at last yielded to her entreaties."

There was much furious stirring then beneath the robes.

"How kind you are, sir," said the Bina.

"Thank you," said Boots.

There was a muffled cry, as of rage and protest, from beneath the robes.

"Did she say something?" asked the Bina.

"Only that she begs to be permitted to begin," said Boots.

The robes shook with fury.

"Surely there is something wrong with her," said the Bina.

"It is only that she is suffering whit need," said Boots.

"Though she is naught be a meaningless slave," said the Bina, "she is yet, like myself, a female. Please be kind to her, sir. Let her please you."

"How understanding you are," marveled Boots. "You may begin," he said to the concealed girl.

The robes shook violently, negatively.

"What is wrong?" asked the Bina.

"She is shy," said Boots.

"The slave need not be shy on my account," said the Bina. "Let her begin."

"Begin," said Boots.

The robes again shook violently.

"Begin," he said.

Again there seemed a great commotion beneath his robes.

Boots then, with the flat of his hand, with some force, cuffed the girl concealed under his robes. Instantly she knelt quietly. "Lazy girl, naughty girl," chided Boots. The tops of her toes, as she knelt, beat up and down in helpless frustration. "I see that I shall have to draw you forth and beat you," she said.

"Look!" cried the Bina. "She begins!"

"Oh, she does, doesn't she?" said Boots. "Oh, yes!"

"What a slave she is!" cried the Bina. "How exciting! How exciting!"

"To be sure," agreed Boots. "Ah! Yes! Ohhh! To be sure! Eee! Yes! Quite! Oh! Yes! Oh! Oh! To be sure! Eee! Yes! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Ohhh, yes, yes, yes." Boots then wiped his brow with his sleeve.

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"Has she gone?" called out the Brigella, after a time, her voice muffled from beneath his robes.

"Yes," said Boots.

The Brigella, as the Lady Phoebe, extricated herself, on her knees, from the robes of Boots Tarsk-Bit. She turned about, still on her knees. "Tipa!" she cried in horror.

"I thought you had gone," said Boots

"Phoebe!" cried the Lady Tipa.

"Tipa," moaned Phoebe, in misery.

"Phoebe!" cried the Lady Tipa, in delight.

"Tipa!" pleaded Phoebe.

"Phoebe on her knees, as naked as a slave, on a public road, crawling out of a man's robes!" laughed the Bina, pointing derisively at her. "How shameful, how outrageous, how marvelous, how delicious, how glorious!"

"Please, Tipa," pleaded Phoebe.

"You are the sort of girl who should have been whipped and collared at puberty!" said the Bina.

The free woman in the audience stiffened at these words. These words seemed to have some special meaning for her. She shook her head and clenched her small fists in the blue gloves.

"You have always been a slave," said the Bina.