Savages of Gor (36 page)

She continued to comb her hair. She turned her head to the side, slowly drawing the comb through it. "Do I detect," she asked, "that Master may not find a slave fully displeasing?"

"No," I said. "I do not find you fully displeasing."

"A slave is pleased," she said.

I smiled.

"Do you think I might be worth four hides?" she asked.

"Whether you are or not might easily be determined," I said.

"Of course, Master," she laughed. "I am a slave."

"You now look quite different from what you did when you were purchased," I told her.

"It is difficult to remain fresh and presentable," she said, "when run through brush at the side of a kaiila, a thong on one's throat."

I nodded.

"I trust," she said, "that I shall not be so served in this camp."

"You, and the others," I said, "will be treated precisely as we please, in all things."

"Yes, Master," she said, quickly. She stopped combing her hair.

"Continue to groom yourself, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What was your name among the Dust Legs?" I asked.

"Wasnapohdi," she said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Pimples," she said.

"You do not have any pimples," I said.

"Master may have noticed that my thighs are not marked," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I am not one of those girls from the towns, who has been branded," she said.

"Oh, do not fear," she laughed, "that we are not well understood as slaves. In the camps, and among the tribes our red masters keep women such as I in our collars, to remove one of which without permission is death."

I nodded.

"And, too," she said, "What could a white woman in the Barrens be but a slave?"

"True," I said.

"We are thus, in our way, well marked," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I was born Waniyanpi, in one of the Waniyanpi enclosures of the Kailiauk," she said, "the product of a forced mating, between parents unknown even to themselves, parents selected and matched by the red masters, parents who, even though they were Sames, were forced to perform the Ugly Act, hooded and under whips, on the day of Waniyanpi breeding."

"There is much here I do not understand," I said. "What are Waniyanpi? Who are the Kailiauk?"

"Many of the tribes permit small agricultural communities to exist within their domains," she said. "The individuals in these communities are bound to the soil and owned collectively by the tribes within whose lands they are permitted to live. They grow produce for their masters, such as wagmeza and wagmu, maize, or corn, and such things as pumpkins and squash. They are also to furnish labor when required and may be drawn upon, at the whim of their masters, for individual slaves. When one is taken from the enclosure one ceases to be Waniyanpi and becomes a common slave, an ordinary slave, one owned by an individual master. Usually daughters are taken, for the red masters find them pleasing as slaves, but sometimes, too, young men are taken. The word 'Waniyanpi' itself means literally 'tame cattle'. It is an expression applied to the collectively owned slaves in these tiny agricultural communities. The Kailiauk is. a tribe federated with the Kaiila. They speak closely related dialects."

"Do the parents come from within the same community?" I asked.

"No," she said. "For the day of breeding the men, hooded and in coffle, are marched between the small communities. On the day of breeding they are led to the selected women, already hooded, tied and awaiting them. The breeding takes place in the wagmeza fields, under the eyes of the masters."

"You spoke of an Ugly Act?" I said. I did not like the sound of that. It reminded me of a distant and sick world, the world of tittering, of embarrassment and dirty jokes. How much more honest are the whips and collars of Gor?

"The Sames," she said, "disapprove of all sexual relations between human beings, and particularly between those of different sexes, as being demeaning and dangerous."

"I can see where some might regard sexual relations between partners of opposite sexes as being demeaning for the woman," I said, "for in such relations she is often handled, owned and put in her place, but, on the other hand, if she belongs in her place, and it is her natural destiny to be owned and handled, it is not clear, ultimately, how this sort of thing can be demeaning for her. Rather, it seems it would be fully appropriate. Indeed, treating her in any other way, ultimately, would seem to be far more demeaning. But how can such relations be regarded as dangerous?"

"They are not regarded as being dangerous to health," she said, "but as being dangerous to the Teaching."

"What is the Teaching?" I asked.

"That men and women are the same," she said. "That is the central tenet of the Waniyanpi."

"Do they believe it?" I asked.

"They pretend to," she said. "I do not know if they really believe it or not."

"They believe men and women are the same," I marveled. "Except," she smiled, "that women are regarded as somewhat superior."

"Their beliefs then," I said, "seem not only to be obviously false but actually inconsistent."

"Before the Teaching one must surrender one's reason," she said. "To scrutinize it is a crime. To question it is blasphemy."

"It lies, I suppose," I said, "at the roots of Waniyanpi society."

"Yes," she said. "Without it Waniyanpi society would collapse."

"So?" I said.

"They do not take the disintegration of their society as lightly as you do," she smiled. "Too, you must understand the utility of such a view. It constitutes an excellent philosophy for slaves."

"I am not even sure of that," I said.

"It, at least," she said, "gives men an excuse not to be men."

"That seems true," I granted her.

"It helps them to remain Waniyanpi," she said. "They are thus less likely to attract the attention, or excite the anger, of their red masters."

"I understand," I said. "I think I also understand why, in such a society, the women are regarded as somewhat superior, as you put it."

"It is only that they are implicitly regarded as superior," be said. "Explicitly, of course, all subscribe to the thesis of sameness."

"But why are the women regarded, implicitly, as superior?" I asked.

"Because of the contempt felt for the men," she said, "who will not assert their natural rights. Also, if men refuse the mastery, someone must assume it."

"Yes," I said.

"There are always masters," she said, "whether one pretends it is not so, or not."

"In the hands of women," I said, "the mastery becomes an empty mockery."

"Mockery has no choice but to assert itself," she said, "when reality is foresworn"

I was silent

"The Waniyanpi communities are sources of great amusement to the red masters," she said.

I thought of what is sometimes spoken of by the red savages as the Memory.

"I understand," I said.

The red savages doubtless found their vengeance a sweet and fitting one. How almost incomprehensibly cruel it was, how horrifying, how brilliant and insidious.

"The Teachings of the Waniyanpi," I said, "were doubtless originally imposed on them by their red masters."

"Perhaps," she said. "I do not know. They may have been invented by the Waniyanpi themselves, to excuse to themselves their cowardice, their weakness and impotence."

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"If one is not strong it is natural to make a virtue of weakness."

"I suppose so," I said. I then speculated that I had perhaps judged the red savages too harshly. The Waniyanpi, it then seemed likely, may have betrayed themselves, and their children. In time, of course, such teachings, absurd though they might be, would come to be taken for granted. In time they would come to be sanctioned by tradition, one of humanity's most prized substitutes for thought.

"You, yourself," I said, "Do not seem much infected by the lunacy of the Waniyanpi."

"No," she said. "I am not. I have had red masters. From them I have learned new truths. Too, I was taken from the community at an early age."

"How old were you?" I asked.

"I was taken from the enclosure when I was eight years old," she said, "taken home by a Kaiila warrior as a pretty little white slave for his ten-year-old son. I learned early to please and placate men."

"What happened?" I asked.

"There is little more to tell," she said. "For seven years I was the slave of my young master. He was kind to me, and protected me, muchly, from the other children. Although I was only his slave, I think he liked me. He did not put me in a leg stretcher until I was fifteen." She was then silent. "I have combed my hair," she said.

"Come here," I said, "and, kneel here." She rose from the water, it dripping from her body, and came and knelt on the grass, on the bank of the small stream, where I had indicated. I took the comb from her and laid it to the side. I then took the brush and, kneeling behind her, began to brush out her hair. It is not unusual for Gorean masters to comb and groom slaves, or ornament them personally, much as they might any animal that they owned.

"We were gathering berries," she said. "Then I saw him, suddenly, almost angrily, cutting a stick, and notching it with his knife. Too, he had thongs. I was afraid, for I had seen other white slaves put in such devices. He turned to face me. His voice seemed loud, and full, and husky. "Take off your dress," be said, "and lie down, and throw your legs widely apart." I began to cry, but I obeyed him, and quickly, for I was his slave. I felt my ankles lashed tightly to the stick, the stick behind them. I had not realized that he had grown so strong. Then he rose to his feet and looked down at me. I was helpless. He laughed with pleasure, a man's laugh, who sees a woman tied before him. I was crying. He crouched down beside me. Then, suddenly, scarcely before I understood what I was doing, I opened my arms to him, overcome suddenly by the stirrings of my womanhood. He embraced me. I began to sob again, but this time with joy. The first time it was finished almost before we realized it. But he did not leave me. For hours we remained among the tiny fruit, talking and kissing, and caressing. Later, near dusk, he freed me, that I might gather berries for him, and feed them to him. Later I lay on my belly before him and kissed his feet. That night we returned to the village. That others in the village might understand what had happened, he did not permit me to ride behind him, on his kaiila. He tied my bands behind my back and marched me at his stirrup, a thong on my neck tied to the pommel of his saddle. Two children had left the camp that morning. What returned to it that night were a master and his claimed white slave. I was very proud. I was very happy."

"What then happened?' I asked. I stopped brushing her hair.

"I loved my master," she said, "and I think that he, too, cared for me."

"Yes?" I said.

"That it seemed he had grown fond of me brought ridicule on him from his comrades," she said. "To this sort of thing, as you might not know, red savages, in their tribal groups, are extremely sensitive. To allay these charges he, in his anger, would berate me publicly, and even beat me in the presence of others. At last, to put an end to the matter, and perhaps fearing these charges might be true, be sold me to an older man, one from another village. After that I had many masters, and now I have yet another."

I then began again to brush her hair. "Was it the lad who gave you the name Pimples?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "I was given the name at puberty and, for some reason, it was never changed. Red masters commonly give such names to their white slaves, trivial names that seem fitting for slaves. My first year as the slave of my young master I was not even given a name. I was referred to only as Wicincala, or 'Girl.' I was later called 'Wihinpaspa', which means lodge-pin or tent-pin, probably because I was little and thin. Then later, as I have mentioned, I was called 'Pimples', 'Wasnapohdi', which name, partly because of habit, and partly because it amused my masters, was kept on me."

"You are neither little nor thin," I said, "and, as I have earlier remarked, you do not have pimples."

"Perhaps I might bring four hides," she laughed.

"It is not impossible," I said. "Do you think your first master would recognize you now?" I asked.

"I do not know," she said. "I would suppose so."

"Do you remember him?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "It is difficult to forget the first man who tied you."

"Do you love him?' I asked. I laid the brush aside.

"I do not know," she said. "It was long ago. He sold me."

"Oh," she said, her hands now thonged behind her back. She tensed.

"Did your red masters teach you well what it is to be a slave?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I tightened the knots on her wrists.

"Do you think your lot will be easier with us?" I asked.