Swordsmen of Gor (56 page)

I watched Saru, across the tables.

Pertinax, as suggested, had done his best to make her feel ashamed, inferior, and worthless.

Too, he had, it seemed, succeeded in this matter.

The last thing a typical slave feels in her bondage is shame. Typically, after a time, she finds she is freer in her bondage than she ever was as a free woman, freer not only in her movements, in the lightness and looseness of her garmenture, but freer emotionally and sexually. She finds herself owned, but liberated, in the collar. She must obey instantly and unquestioningly, but she delights to do so. She is thrilled and fulfilled to be owned. She knows that, in a sense, she is superior to all other women. She has been adjudged worthy of a collar. The collar, in itself, is a badge of her desirability and beauty. Her desirability and beauty are such that men will be contented with nothing less than owning her. Thus, rather than being ashamed of her bondage, the typical slave finds in it a source of reassurance and pride. Too, the slave finds herself fulfilled in her womanhood, responding emotionally and sexually to a dominant male who will have everything of her, and more, and what woman does not wish to have no choice but to yield all to such a man? Who would wish to relate to a lesser male? All women dream of masters. Some find them. Too, it might be noted that the female slave on Gor is a familiar and important part of Gorean society. Their identity and place are clearly defined and established. And who other than jealous, envious free women does not relish the sight of lovely slaves? Would you not like to buy one? Two powerful forces are thus conjoined to assure the perpetuation of female bondage on Gor, the society’s unqualified acceptance and approval of the institution, it is pleased with its female slaves, and will have them, and the effects on the slave. In bondage, she finds her fulfillment, a fulfillment society not only has no interest in denying to her, but supports and favors. It is no wonder so many slaves revel in their collars. They are as they wish to be, at last, and how they wish to be is not only accepted, but approved. Indeed, society not only approves of her bondage but it will marshal all its considerable resources and forces to guarantee that her bondage, whether she wishes it or not, will remain inflexible and inescapable, that the collar, so to speak, will remain securely locked on her lovely neck. In all these matters, she is choiceless, and she knows herself so. The chain is real, and, whether she is pleased or not, it is on her.

It is an independent question, of course, as to whether or not the slave is inferior, or worthless, and such.

There is obviously a sense in which the slave is inferior. She is, after all, a slave.

Chasms separate her from the free woman, and so on.

On the other hand, as we have suggested, far from feeling inferior, the slave is likely to feel, as a woman, far superior to her free sister. For example, to refer to a free woman as “slave beautiful” is a considerable compliment. It means she is beautiful enough to be a slave, beautiful enough to be of interest to men, beautiful enough to be publicly exhibited and sold, beautiful enough to be collared. Too, apart from considerations of economic or social advancement, and such, clearly men prefer slaves. Who would want a free woman if one could have a naked, vulnerable, defenseless, adoring slave at one’s feet? Few, if any, free women know the crawling, fetching of a whip in the teeth, the licking of confining slave bracelets, the writhing beneath a slave ring, the kisses of the slave, and such.

Similarly, although slaves are often castigated as being “worthless,” and such, even high slaves, who might sell for gold, it is quite obvious that slaves are not worthless, and not simply because they, as other goods, have a monetary value, nor simply because they are beautiful, as a fine animal is beautiful, nor simply because of the servile labors they will perform, cooking, sewing, cleaning, laundering, polishing boots, and such, but because of the manifold and profound delights which attend their ownership, delights with which masters are pleasantly cognizant. If slaves were truly worthless, they would not be fed, sheltered, guided, guarded, instructed, nurtured, prized, and such, to which attention and care they respond gratefully, as the animals they are. Who would not wish such a lovely beast at one’s slave ring? No, they are not worthless.

I was sorry that Pertinax had been so cruel to the girl, Saru.

It was no wonder she wished to avoid him.

To be sure, I sensed she could not help but soften and oil in his presence. I had little doubt that, even in his hatred of her, she would desire to kneel before him, her head bowed in a slave’s submission.

She was no longer a free woman.

Why could he not now accept her as what she was, a slave?

I regarded her.

She was a female.

She had been brought to Gor.

She had begun to learn Gor.

She was lovely, collared and tunicked, and serving men.

I had little doubt she wished to be owned by Pertinax, but she was not owned by him. She belonged to another. I had little doubt she wished the hands of Pertinax on her slave’s body, and not as the timid, reluctant hands of a typical man of Earth, but commandingly, imperiously, and possessively, as the hands of a master on the body of a slave. But she was not his.

Courses followed courses.

Men grew more riotous, more drunk.

At one table, I noted, however, they seemed sober. Five sat there, partaking of food, though meagerly, but waving away slaves, who would ply them with wine or paga. There is some reason, I thought, which might explain such an anomaly.

Is it not difference which takes one’s attention, amongst snow sleen a darker fur, amongst the odor of penned verr, the suggestion, ever so slight, a whisper in the night, of the larl’s scent?

I might have called this to the attention of Lord Nishida but he had withdrawn from the tables. I suspected that he found the raucous boisterings of the evening less than agreeable to his refined taste. The typical Gorean male, particularly of what the high castes think of as the lower castes, tends to be direct, open, uninhibited, unrestrained, high-spirited, exuberant, and emotional. He is quick to take umbrage, quick to fight, quick to forgive, quick to forget.

It is said that in the kingdom of the blind the one-eyed man is king. So, too, it might be said that in the kingdom of the addled and staggering, he is king who is sober, swift, and purposeful.

I waved aside a slave, who approached me with paga.

Judging by the moons it was near the twentieth Ahn.

A slave fled past, to laughter, between the torches, into the night, her
ta-teera
gone, pursued by two unsteady brutes.

Another slave was between the tables, gasping, squirming.

I turned to Pertinax. “Perhaps it is time for your Jane to hasten to the hut,” I said.

He put down his goblet, looked about, briefly, and nodded.

His Jane, you see, was a personal slave, one privately owned. She was not a camp slave intended to be generally available, at least under certain conditions at certain times. Fellows are usually respectful of one another’s property rights, this as a matter of simple civility, if nothing else, but sometimes, when they are drunk enough, passion may encourage them to put their principles in the cabinet of tomorrow, so to speak. In any event, they may not stop to make inquiries, read collars, and so on. Indeed, they may be in no condition to read collars. Certainly I did not wish Pertinax to be challenged for her, nor feel he had to pull her from the arms of another, which might be rather like trying to take meat from a feeding sleen.

Pertinax stood up, not too solidly, and motioned to his Jane, who instantly surrendered her trencher of suls to another girl, and hurried to him, to kneel and put her head down, softly, her forehead to his sandals. I was pleased to note her alacrity and deference. I thought she now understood whose collar was on her neck. This she had well learned the preceding evening. This lesson a girl can learn in a single night, perhaps even within an Ahn or two of her purchase. I saw her draw back a little and kiss his feet, tenderly. Then she kissed them suddenly, more fervently. I smiled. The slave was aroused. I saw her tremble with desire. How far she was now from the Serisii, and the Street of Coins. A world lies between the naive thigh and the marked thigh, between the unencircled neck and the neck in its collar.

Pertinax spoke to the slave, and she sprang to her feet, her head lowered. He gestured that she should precede him. He, too, it seemed, would return to the hut. The girl was, after all, of slave interest.

I glanced to the five fellows who, unnoticed by most, it seemed, had remained at the table, not drinking.

One stood up, and looked about.

I recalled that those of the dark caste, the caste of Assassins, were often sober fellows, often denying themselves much of what most prized as giving meaning to life. Theirs was a narrow, dark life. Few held slaves. Some, before the hunt, would use a woman, briefly, ruthlessly, unfeelingly, leaving her shuddering, crumpled, and broken, sobbing, at their feet, before honing the selected blade, one of six, before painting the dagger on their forehead, that crowds might part uneasily before them, that taverns might fall silent, that children might flee, that men might bolt their doors. For whom is the dagger painted? Seldom did those of the dark caste drink ka-la-na or paga. The eye must be sharp, the senses acute, the hand steady. The hunt must be cold, passionless, rational, deliberate, relentless. Seldom did they recreate themselves with the bodies of slaves. Muchly they stayed to themselves. Each seemed to dwell in the cave of his own intent, as though in a cell, a cell in a large, dark, walled household, from whose gates he might emerge, a grayness at dawn, an enigma at noon, a darkness in the darkness of the night. I thought them less than human, more than human, perhaps, best, other than human. I wondered if they had feelings. Even the venomous ost had feelings. Were they beasts? But beasts had feelings. It was said they were immune, like knives, to compassion. Surely there was no place for such things in the gloom and solemnity of their pursuits. Might one not more profitably implore a stone for mercy? In their dark, narrow world what light was there? Did they live with hate, or even without hate, as in a winter without even cold? Did they know pleasure? I did not know. They lived for the kill. Perhaps they took pleasure in that. I did not know. They were of the dark caste, of the Assassins. I recalled one I had met, long ago, on the height of the Central Cylinder in Ar, Pa-Kur, master of the Assassins. He had leapt from the height of the Cylinder and the body, it seemed, had been lost amongst the crowds below. It had, in any event, never been recovered. Doubtless it had been torn to pieces by the crowd. He was gone. Gor was safer without him. Men had feared even his shadow.

A second one of the fellows had now stood up.

They did not wear the Assassin’s black. I did not think the dagger was borne on their foreheads. They were unhelmeted. Had the dagger been in evidence men, even drunk, would have drawn away from them, regarded them, clutched at their weapons, however clumsily.

My fears were doubtless groundless.

Perhaps they had been assigned the third watch.

That must be it.

Commonly, the slave heels the master, usually behind him on his left, as his sword arm is usually the right arm. In this way her presence is not obtrusive, and is unlikely to either distract or encumber him. Also, in this way, he is usually between the slave and other males, possible danger, and such, that she, unarmed and half naked, may be shielded. This also tends to protect her from free women. Too, of course, the position is one of subordination, and is thus fitting for a slave, and domestic animal. For example, a domestic sleen is also likely to heel the master, and also on the left. A free woman, of course, either walks next to a free male, or, in some cities, precedes him, as a mark of her status. This practice also, of course, tends to distinguish her from the slave, a distinction which is of enormous importance in Gorean society. The free woman is a person; the slave is an animal.

Pertinax, however, would have his Jane precede him. I think she well understood that. Masters sometimes like walking behind their briefly tunicked slaves, for the pleasure this affords them. Sometimes the slave’s hands are bound before her body, and fastened closely to her belly by a loop of binding fiber. When the slave precedes the master, of course, she is well aware of the effect that she may be having on him, and she, from her point of view, cannot read his expressions, be certain of his closeness, or of what he will do. This can make her uneasy.

“Do not look back,” said Pertinax.

“Yes, Master,” said Jane.

If she disobeyed, I did not doubt but what Pertinax would use the switch or whip on her.

If the slave disobeys, of course, she has only herself to blame for the consequences of any such disobedience. As a result, the slave seldom disobeys, and is seldom switched or whipped.

All five fellows were now on their feet.

They had not been drinking.

“Wait,” I said to Pertinax.

I then caught the eye of Cecily, and summoned her. She gave her bota of paga to another slave, and hurried to me, where she knelt before me, put her head down, kissed my feet, and then knelt up, looking at me, waiting to see what would be required of her.

The five fellows were now filing from the feasting area. One of them paused at the edge of the torches, and looked back. Our eyes met. He then, with the others, disappeared into the darkness.

“Master?” asked Cecily.

“Pertinax,” I said, “returns to the hut. Accompany him.”

“Surely Master returns, as well?” she said, puzzled.

“No,” I said.

“What is wrong?” said Pertinax.

“I am frightened,” said Cecily, suddenly.

I loosened the sword in my sheath.

The Pani had largely placed their long swords in racks near the edge of the feasting area, but none who bore them had surrendered the companion sword. That blade is to remain at hand. A similar practice I would learn often obtains in houses and barracks amongst the Pani, a practice in which the long sword is often set to one side, stored or racked, in a hall or vestibule, but the companion sword is kept at one’s side, even near the sleeping mats and blocks. To be sure, if danger is felt to be imminent, both weapons are likely to be kept in the vicinity of the warrior.