collarings and submissions- my Master's assignment

[sweetlarma]

Collaring of Vella

Tribesman Ch 24

"Assume the posture of female submission," I told her. She did so, kneeling back on her heels, her arms extended, wrists crossed, her head between them, down. She was weeping.
"Repeat after me," I told her. "I, once Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth---"
"I, once Miss Elizebeth Cardwell, of the planet Earth---" she said.
"---herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things---"
"---herewith submit myself, completely and totally, in all things---"she said.
"---to him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor---"
"---to him who is now known here as Hakim of Tor---" she said.
"---his girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases---"
"---his girl, his slave, an article of his property, his to do with as he pleases---" she said.
Hassan handed me the collar. It was inscribed 'I am the property of Hakim or Tor'. I showed it to the girl. She could not read Taharic script. I read it to her. I put it about her neck. I snapped it shut.
"I am yours, Master," I said to the girl.
She looked at me, tears in her eyes, her neck in my locked collar. "I am yours, Master," she said.
"Congratulations on your slave!" said Hassan. "She is lovely meat. Now I must attend to my own slave." He laughed, and left.
The girl sank to the straw, and looked up at me. Her eyes were soft with tears. She whispered. "I am yours now, Tarl," she said. "You own me. You truely own me."
"What is your name?" I asked.
"What ever Master wishes," she whispered.
"I will call you 'Vella'," I said.
"I am Vella," she said, her head down.

[sweetlarma]

Talena's submission to Tarl

Then, to my astonishment, the daughter of the Ubar Marlenus, daughter of the Ubar of Ar, knelt before me, a simple warrior of Ko-ro-ba, and lowered her head, lifting and extending her arms, wrists crossed. It was the submission of the captive female. Without raising her eyes from the ground, the daughter of the Ubar said in a clear, distinct voice: `I submit myself.' I was speechless for a moment, but then, remembering that harsh Gorean custom required me either to accept the submission or slay the captive, I took her wrists in my hands and said, `I accept your submission.'
Page 93-94 Tarnsman of GOR

[sweetlarma]

forced submissions of the rence girls

Raiders ch 8

They set about their work.
I sat, alone, on the great chair of the oar-master. I put my head in my hands.
I was Ubar here, but I found the throne a bitter one. I would have exchanged it all for Tarl Cabot, the myth, and the dream, that had been taken from me.
When I raised my head from my hands I felt hard and cruel.
I was alone, but I had my arm, and its strength, and the Gorean blade.
Here, on this wooden land lost in the delta marshes, I was Ubar.
I knew now, as I had not before, what men were. I had in misery learned this in myself. And I now saw myself a fool for having espoused codes, for having set above myself ideals.
What could there be that could stand above the steel blade?
Was not honor a sham, loyalty and courage a deceit, an illusion of the ignorant, a dream of fools?
Was not the only wise man he who observed carefully and when he might took what he could?
The determinants of the wise man could not be such phantoms.
There was only gold, and power, and the bodies of women, and steel.
I was a strong man.
I was such that might make a place for himself in a city such as Port Kar.
"The raft is ready," said Thurnock, his body gleaming sweat, wiping a great forearm across his face.
"We found food and water," said Clitus, "and some weapons, and gold."
"Good," I said.
"There is much rence paper," said Thurnock. "Did you want us to put some on board?"
"No," I said. "I do not want rence paper."
"What of slaves?" asked Thurnock.
I looked to the prow of the first barge, where was bound the lithe, dark-haired beauty, she who had been so marvelously legged in the brief rence tunic. Then I looked to the second prow, and the third, where were tied the large girl, blond and gray-eyed, who had held marsh vine against my arm, and the shorter girl, dark-haired, who had carried a net over her left shoulder. These had danced their insolence, their contempt of me. They had spat upon me, when I had been bound helpless, and then whirled away laughing into the circle of the dance.
I laughed.
They had earned for themselves the chains and brands of slave girls.
Thurnock and Clitus regarded me.
"Bring the girls at second and third prow," I told them.
A grin broke across the face of Thurnock. "They are beauties," he said, shaking that great shaggy head of yellow hair, sheared at the base of his neck. "Beauties!"
He and Clitus went to fetch the slaves.
I myself turned and walked slowly down the gangway between the rowers’ benches, and then climbed the stairs to the foredec of the barge.
The girl, her back bound over the curved prow, facing forward, heard me, but could not see me. My head, as I stood on the foredeck, was about a foot below her fastened ankles. Her wrists, facing me, had been bound cruelly behind the prow.
"Who is it?" she asked.
I said nothing.
"Please," she begged. "Who is it?"
"Be silent," said I, "Slave."
A small cry of anguish escaped her.
With a movement of the Gorean blade I cut the fiber at her ankles.
Then, standing on the rail of the foredeck, my left had on the prow, I cut first the fiber binding her at the throat, and then that binding her at the waist. Then, resheathing my sword, I eased her, wrists bound, down the prow, until her feet at last stood on the rail, on which, beside her, I stood.
I turned her about.
She saw me, the black, swollen mouth, the eyes, and screamed helplessly.
"Yes," I said, "it is I."
Then, cruelly, I took her head in my hands and pressed my lips upon hers.
Never had I seen a woman so overcome with utter terror.
I laughed at her misery.
Then, contempuously, I removed my blade from the sheath. I put the point under her chin, lifting her head. Once, when I had been bound at the pole, she had pushed up my head, that she might better assess the features of a slave. "You are a beauty, aren’t you?" I commented.
Her eyes looked at me with terror.
I dropped the point to her throat, and she turned away her head, shutting her eyes. For a moment I let her feel the point in hte delicacy of her throat, then I dropped the
blade and slashed the binding fiber that fastened her wrists together about the prow.
She fell to the foredeck, on her hands and knees.
She struggled to her feet, half crouching, half mad with fear, and the pain of being bound at the prow.
With the point of my blade I pointed to the deck.
She shook her head, and turned, and ran to the rail, and held it, looking over.
A huge tharlarion, seeing the image on the water, half rose from the marsh, jaws clashingin, and then dropped back into the water. Two or three more tharlarion then churned there beneath her.
She threw back her head and screamed.
She turned to face me, shaking her head.
The tip of my blade still pointed inexorably to a place on the deck.
"Please!" she wept.
The blade did not move.
She came and stood before me, and then dropped ot her knees, resting back on her heels. She lowered her head and extended her arms, wrists crossed, the submission of the Gorean female. I did not immediately bind her, but walked about her, examining her as prize. I had not hitherto understood her as so beautiful, and desirable. At last, after I had well stisfied myself as to her quality, I took a bit of binding fiber that had fastened her ankles at the prow, and lashed her wrists together.
She raised her head and looked up at me, her eyes searching mine, pleading.
I spat down in her face, and she lowered her head, shoulders shaking, sobbing.
I turned away and descended the foredeck, and returned between the slaves to the steps below the tiller deck.
The girl followed me, unbidded.
Once I turned, and saw that she wiped, with the back of her right wrist, my spittal from her face. She lowered her bound hands and stood on the planking, head down.
I took again my chair, that of the oar-master, in this domain.
The large, blond, gray-eyed girl and the shorter girl, dark-haired, who had carried the net, knelt before the chair on the rowing deck.
My girl then knelt to one side, head down.
I surveyed the two girls, the blond one and the shorter one, and looked to Thurnock and Clitus.
"Do you like them?" I asked.
"Beauties!" said Thurnock. "Beauties!"
The girls trembled.
"Yes," said Clitus, "though they are rence girls, they would bring a high price."
"Please!" said the blond girl.
I looked at Thurnock and Clitus. "They are yours." I said.
"Ha!" cried Turnock. And then he seized up a length of binding fiber. "Submit!" she boomed at the large, blond girl and, terrified, almost leaping, she lowered her head, thrusting forward her hands, wrists crossed. In an instant, with peasant knots, Thurnock had lashed them together. Clitus bent easily to pick up a length of binding fiber. He looked at the shorter girl, who looked up at him with hate. "Submit," he said to her, quietly. Sullenly, she did so. Then, startled, she looked up at him, her wrists bound, having felt the strength of his hands. I smiled to myself. I had seen that look in the eyes of girls before. Clitus, I expected, would have little difficulty with his short rence girl.
"What will masters do with us?" asked the lithe girl, lifting her head.
"You will be taken as slave girls to Port Kar," I said.
"No, no!" cried the lithe girl.
The blond girl screamed, and the shorter girl, dark-haired, began to sob, putting her head to the deck.
"Is the raft fully ready?" I asked.
"It is," boomed Thurnock. "It is."
"We have tied it with the rence craft," said Clitus, "abeam of the starboard bow of this barge."
I picked up the long coil of binding fiber from which I had, earlier, cut three lengths, to bind Telima. I tied one eand about the throat of the lithe girl.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Midice," said she, "if it pleases master."
"It does not displease me," I said. "I am content to call you by that name."
I found it a rather beautiful name. It was pronounced in three syllables, the first accented.
Thurnock then took the same long length of binding
fiber, one end of which I had fastened about Midice’s neck, and, without cutting it, looped and knotted it about the neck of the large, blond, gray-eyed girl, handling the coil then to Clitus, who indicated that the short rence girl should take her place in the coffle.
"What is your name?" boomed Thurnock to the large girl, who flinched.
"Thura," she said, "--if it pleases Master."
"Thura!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "I am Thurnock!"
The girl did not seem much pleased by this coincidence.
"I am of the peasants," Thurnock told her.
She looked at him, rather in horror. "Only of the peasants?" she whispered.
"The Peasants," cried out Thurnock, his voice thundering over the marsh, "are the ox on which the Home Stone rests!"
"But I am of the Rencers!" she wailed.
The Rencers are often thought to be a haigher caste that the Peasants.
"No," boomed Thurnock. "You are only Slave!"
The large girl wailed with misery, pulling at her bound wrists.
Clitus had already fastened the short rence girl in the coffle, the binding fiber looped and knotted about her neck, the remainder of the coil fallen to the deck behind her.
"What is your name?" he asked the girl.
She looked up at him, shyly. "Ula," she said, "--if it pleases master."
She lowered her head.
I turned to the woman and the child I had freed earlier, and had made to stand to one side.
Telima, haltered, bound hand and foot at the bottom of the stairs to the tiller deck, addresed herself to me. "As I recall," she said, "you are going to take us all to Port Kar, to be sold as slaves."
"Be silent," I told her.
"If not," she said, "I expect you will have the barges sunk in the marsh, that we may all be fed to tharlarion."
I looked upon her in irritation.
She smiled at me.
"That," she said, "is what one would do who is of Port Kar."
"Be silent!" I said
"Very well," said she, "my Ubar."
I turned again to the woman, and the child. "When we have gone," I said, "free your people. Tell Ho-hak that I have taken some of his women. It is little enough for what was done to me."
"A Ubar," pointed out Telima, "need give no accounting, no explanation."
I seized her by the arms, lifting her up and holding her before me.
She did not seem frightened.
"This time," she asked, "will you perhaps throw me up the stairs?"
"The mouth of rence girls," commented Clitus, "are said to be as large as the delta itself."
"It is true," said Telima.
I lowered her to her knees again.
I turned to the woman and the child. "I am also going to free the slaves at the benches," I said.
"Such slaves are dangerous men," said the woman, looking at them with fear.
"All men are dangerous," I said.
I took the key to the shackles of the barge slaves. I tossed it to one of the men. "When we have left, and not before," I told him, "free yourself, and your fellows, on all the barges."
Numbly he held the key, not believing that it was in his hand, staring down at it. "Yes," he said.
The slaves, as one man, stared at me.
"The Rencers," I said, "will doubtless help you live in the marsh, should you wish it. If not, they will guide you to freedom, away from Port Kar."
None of the slaves spoke.
I turned to leave.
"My Ubar," I heard.
I turned to look at Telima.
"Am I your slave?" she asked.
"I told you on the island," I said, "that you are not."
"Why then will you not unbind me?" she asked.
Angrily I went to her and slipped the Gorean blade between her throat and the halter, cutting it, freeing her from its tether. I then slashed away the fiber that had confined her wrists and ankles. She stood up in the brief rence tunic, and stretched.
She maddened me in the doing of it.
Then she yawned and shook her head, and rubbed her wrists.
"I am not a man," she said, "but I expect that a man would find Midice a not unpleasing wench."
Midice, bound, leading the coffle, lifted her head.
"But," said Telima, "is not Telima much better than Midice?"
Midice, to my surprise, shook with anger and, bound, tethered, turned to face Telima. I gathered that she had regarded herself as the beauty of the rence islands.
"I was first prow," said Midice to Telima.
"Had I been taken," said Telima, "doubtless I would have been first prow."
"No!" shouted Midice.
"But I did not permit myself to be netted like a little fool," said Telima.
Midice was speachless with fury.
"When I found you," I reminded Telima, "you were lying on your stomach, bound hand and foot."
Midice threw back her head and laughed.
"Nonetheless," said Telima, "I am surely, in all respects, superior to Midice."
Midice lifted her bound wrists to Telima. "Look!" she cried. "It is Midice whom he had made his slave! Not you! That shows you who is most beautiful!"
Telima looked at Midice in irritation.
"You are too fat," I said to Telima.
Midice laughed.
"When I was your Mistress," she reminded me, "you did not find me too fat."
"I do now," I said.
"I learned long ago," said Telima, loftily, "never to believe anything a man says."
Telima was now walking about the three girls. "Yes," she was saying, "not a bad catch." She stopped in front of Midice, who led the coffle. Midice stood very straight, disdainfully, under her inspection. The Telima, to Midice’s horror, felt her arm, and slapped her side and leg. "This one is a little skinny," said Telima.
"Master!" cried Midice, to me.
"Open your mouth, Slave," ordered Telima.
In tears, Midice did so, and Telima examined her, casually, turning her head this way and that.
"Master!" protested Midice, to me.
"A slave," I informed her, "will take whatever abuse a free person chooses to inflict upon them."
Telima stepped back, regarding Midice.
"Yes, Midice," she said, "all things considered, I think you will make an excellent slave."
Midice wept, pulling at the binding fiber on her wrists.
"Let us be off," I said.
I turned to go. Already, Thurnock and Clitus, in loading the raft, had placed on it my helmet, and shield, and the great bow, with its arrows.
"Wait," said Telima.
To my amazement she slipped out of her rence cloth tunic and took a place behind the third girl in the coffle, the shorter rence girl, Ula.
She shook her hair back over her shoulders.
"I am fourth girl," she said.
"No," I said, "you are not."
She looked at me with irritation. "You are going to Port Kar, are you not?" she asked.
"Yes,’’ I said.
"That is interesting," she said, "I, too, am going to Port Kar."
"No, you are not," I said.
"Add me to the coffle," she said, "I am fourth girl."
"No," I said, "you are not."
Again she regarded me with irritation. "Very well," she said. And then, angrily, loftily, she walked to the deck before me and then, movment by movement, to my fury, knelt before me, back on her heels, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, as though for binding.
"You are a fool!" I told her.
She lifted her head, and smiled. "You may simply leave me here if you wish," she said.
"It is not in the codes," I said.
"I thought," said she, "you no longer kept the codes."
"Perhaps I should slay you!" I hissed.
"One of Port Kar might do such." she said.
"Or," I said, "take you and show you well the meaning of a collar!"
"Yes," she smiled, "or that."
"I do not want you!" I said.
"Then slay me," she said.
I seized her by the arms, lifting her up. "I should take you,’’ I said, " and break your spirit!"
"Yes," she said, "I expect you could do that, if you wished."
I threw her down, away from me.
She looked up at me, angrily, tears in her eyes. "I am fourth girl," she hissed.
"Go to the coffle," said I, "Slave."
"Yes," said she, "--Master."
She stood there proudly, straightly, behind the short rence girl, Ula, and, wrists bound, and tethered by the neck, was added to the salve coffle, as fourth girl.
I looked upon my former Mistress, nude, bound in my coffle.
I found myself not displeased to own her. There were sweet vengeances which were mine to exact, and hers to pay. I had not asked for her as slave. But she had, for some unaccountable reason, submitted herself. All my former hatreds of her began to rear within me, the wrongs which she had done me, and the degradation and humiliation to which she had submitted me. I would see that she abided well by her decison of submission. I was angry only that I myself had not stripped her and beaten her, and made her a miserable slave as soon as we had come to the barges.
She did seem particularly disturbed at the plight in which she found herself.
"Why do you not leave her here?" demanded Midice.
"Be silent, Slave," said Telima, to her.
"You, too, are a Slave!" cried Midice. Then, Midice looked at me. She drew a deep breath, there were tears in her eyes. "Leave her here," she begged. "I -- I will serve you better."
Thurnock gave a great laugh. The large, blond girl, Thura, gray-eyed, and the shorter rence girl, Ula, gasped.
"We shall see," remarked Telima.
"What do you want her for?" asked Midice, of me.
"You are stupid, aren’t you?" asked Telima, of the girl.
Midice cried out with rage. "I," she cried, "--I will serve him better!"
Telima shrugged. "We shall see," she said.
"We will need one," said Clitus, "to cook, and clean, and run errands."
Telima cast him a dark look.
"Yes," I said, "that is true."
"Telima," said Telima, "is not a serving slave."
"Kettle Girl," I said.
She sniffed.
"I would say," laughed Thurnock, grinning, "kettle and mat!" He had one tooth missing on the upper right.
I held Telima by the chin, regarding her. "Yes," I said, "doubtless both kettle and mat."
"As Master wishes," said the girl, smiling.
"I think I will call you --" I said, "-- Pretty Slave."
She did not seem, to my amazement, much distressed nor displeased.
"Beautiful Slave would be mor appropriate," she said.
"You are a strange woman," said I, "Telima."
She shrugged.
"Do you think your life with me will be easy?" I asked.
She looked at me, frankly. "No," she said, " I do not."
"I thought you would never wish to go again to Port Kar," I said.
"I would follow you," she said, "--even to Port Kar."
I did not understand this.
"Fear me," I said
She looked up at me but did not seem afraid.
"I am of Port Kar," I told her.
She looked at me. "Are we not both," she asked, "of Port Kar?"
I remembered her cruelties, her treatment of me. "yes," I said, "I suppose we are."
"Then, Master," said she, "let us go to our city."

[sweetlarma]

capture of Tarna

Tribesman ch 25

Tarna, in her quarters, spun to face me. She was startled. She had not known I was there. I had touched the ring. A moment later, she turning, saw me, standing in the room.
"You!" she cried.
Her eyes were wild. She was distraught. She wore the mannish garb of the Tahari, save that she did not wear the wind veil nor the kafflyeh and agal. Her face and head, proud and beautiful, were bare. Her hair was wild, long, loose behind her, behind the thrown back hood of the burnoose. The garments she wore were torn and stained. The left trouser leg had been slashed. There were long scimitar slashes at the left sleeve, which hung in tatters. I did not think she had been wounded. There was dirt at the left side of her face.
"You have come to take me!" she cried. She carried a scimitar.
"Your war is lost," I told her. "It is done."
She looked upon me in fury. For an instant there were tears in her eyes, bright and hot. I saw that she was a woman. Then again she was Tarna.
"Never!" she cried.
"It is true," I told her.
"No!" she cried.
We could bear men fighting in the distance, somewhere in the corridors beyond.
"The kasbah has fallen," I told her. "Ibn Saran is dead. Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars and Suleiman, high Pasha of the Aretai, are already within the walls."
"I know," she said, miserably. "I know."
"You were relieved of your command," I told her. "You were no longer of use. Even those men who once served you fight now, decimated, for their lives." I regarded her. "The kasbah has fallen," I said.
She looked at me.
"You are alone," I said. "It is over."
"I know," she said. Then she lifted her head, angrily, proudly, "How did you know where to find me?" she asked.
"I am not unfamiliar with the quarters of Tarna," I said.
"Of course," she said. She smiled. "And now you have come to take me," she laughed.
"Yes," I told her.
"Doubtless for he who brings me in, his rope on my neck, before the noble Pashas Haroun and Suleiman, there will be a high reward," she said.
"I would suppose that would be the case," I said.
"Fool!" she said. "Sleen! I am Tarna!" She lifted the scimitar. "I am more than a match for any man!" she cried.
I met her charge. She was not unskillful. I fended her blows. I did not lay the weight of my own steel on hers, that I not tire her arm. I let her strike, and slash, and feint and thrust. Twice she drew back suddenly in fear, almost a wince, or reflex, realizing she had exposed herself to my blade, but I had not struck her.
"You are not a match for a warrior," I told her. It was true. I had crossed steel with hundreds of men, in practice and in the fierce games of war, who could have finished her, swiftly and with ease, had they chosen to do so.
In fury, again, she attacked.
Again I met her attack, toying with the beauty.
She wept, striking wildly. I was within her guard, the blade at her belly.
She stepped back. Again she fought. This time I moved toward her, letting her feel the weight of the steel, the weight of a man's arm. Suddenly she found herself backed against a pillar. Her guard was down. She could scarcely lift her arm. My blade was at her breast. I stepped back. She stumbled from the pillar, wild. Again she lifted the scimitar; again she tried to attack. I met her blade, high, forcing it down; she slipped to one knee, looking up, trying to keep the blade away; she wept; she had no leverage, her strength was gone; I thrust her back, and she fell on her back before me on the tiles; my left boot, heavy, was on her right wrist; the small band opened and the scimitar slipped to the tiles; the point of the blade was at her throat.
"Stand up," I told her.
I broke her scimitar at the hilt and flung it to a corner of the room.
She stood in the center of the room. "Put your rope on my neck," she said. "You have taken me, Warrior."
I walked about her, examining her. She stood, angrily, inspected.
With the blade of my scimitar I brushed back the slashed, left leg of her trousers. She had an excellent leg within.
"Please," she said.
"Remove your boots," I told her. In fury, she removed them. She then stood, barefoot, on the tiles in the center of the room.
"You will lead me barefoot before the Pashas?" she asked. "Is your vengeance not sweet enough, that you will so degrade me?"
"Are you not my prisoner?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Then I will do with you as I please," I told her.
"Oh, no!" she wept.
In a moment I told her to kneel. She knelt on the tiles, her head down, her head in her bands. She was stripped completely by my scimitar.
"What have we here?'' asked Hassan, entering the room. To my interest he had changed his garments. He no longer wore the white of the high Pasha of the Kavars but simpler garments, those which might have befitted Hassan, the outlaw of the Tahari.
"Lift your head Beauty," said I, gently putting the point of the scimitar beneath her chin, lifting it.
She looked at Hassan, incredibly beautiful, her cheeks stained with tears.
"This is Tarna," I said.
"So beautiful?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"The capture is yours," said Hassan. "Put a rope on her neck.
Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, and Suleiman, high Pasha of the Aretai, are eager to see her."
I smiled. From within my sash I found a length of prisoner rope. It was coarse rope.
"Doubtless," said Hassan, "Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, and Suleiman, high Pasha of the Aretai, will pay a high reward to the man who brings Tarna before them."
"Doubtless," I said.
"I have heard them crying out for her," said Hassan.
I knotted the rope about the beauty's neck. She was mine.
Hassan looked down upon the stripped, tethered beauty.
"I do not want to die," she suddenly cried. "I do not want to die!"
She put her head down, in her hands. She wept.
"The punishment for breaking a well," said Hassan, "is not light."
Tarna, shuddering, wept, her head to the floor, my rope on her neck.
"Come, Female," I said. I jerked her head up, by the rope. "We must go to see the Pashas."
"Is there no escape?" she wept.
"There is no escape for you," I said. "You have been taken."
"Yes," she said, numbly, "I have been taken."
"Are you thinking, Hassan," I asked, "what I am? That there might be one hope for her life?"
"Perhaps," grinned Hassan.
"What?" cried Tama. "What!"
"No," I said. "It is too horrifying."
"What!" she cried.
"Forget it," I said.
"Forget it," agreed Hassan. "You would never approve. You are too proud, too noble and fine."
I jerked on the rope, as though to draw Tarna to her feet, in order to lead her to the presence of the Pashas.
"What!" she cried.
"Better torture and impalement on the walls of the kasbah at Nine Wells," said Hassan.
"What?" wept Tarna.
"It is too horrifying, too terrible, too utterly degrading, too sensual," I said.
"What?" wept the tethered beauty. "Oh, what?"
"On the lower levels," said Hassan, "I understand that slave girls are kept."
"Yes," said Tarna "for the pleasures of my men."
"You no longer have men," I reminded her.
"I see!" cried Tarna. "I might be slipped among them!"
"It is a chance," admitted Hassan.
"But I am not branded!" wept Tarna.
"That can be arranged," said Hassan.
She looked at him with horror. "But then," she said, "I would truly be a slave."
"I knew you would not approve," said Hassan.
I jerked at the rope on the beauty's neck. Her chin was pulled up. The knot was under her jaw on the right, turning her head to the left. "No," she said. "No!"
We looked at her.
"Make Me a slave," she whispered. "Please! Please!"
"There will be much risk," said Hassan. "If Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars, should hear of this, he might skin me alive."
"Please!" wept Tama.


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"It is here," said Hassan. He moved back the heavy iron door and we entered the room. I looked about, at the chains and devices. Tarna shrank back. She could not run, for my hand was on her arm. She seemed faint. I steadied her. It was dark in the room, except for a small tharlarion-oil lamp on a chain in one corner, and a brazier, glowing, near the branding rack. Hassan stirred the coals in the brazier. In a large kasbah irons are kept always hot. The slaves know this.
I ripped the bit of cloth away from her hips and threw her against the rack. I swung shut the two heavy bands and with the two twist handles, tightened them on her thigh. She turned; trying to pound at the metal that held her. I took her wrists and pulled them forward, to the two posts, some six inches apart, part of the branding rack, putting them in the snap bracelets, which dangled there, one from each post. These are simple mechanisms. It is quite easy to open and shut them, and it may be done with a snap of the finger, one for each bracelet. As the bracelets are situated, some inches apart, of course, and as the snap is on each bracelet itself, at the wrist, the girl herself cannot get her finger, of either hand, on the mechanism. Others may open them easily; she, on the other hand, is perfectly held. I took again the twist handles. I turned them extremely tightly. "Oh, oh," she cried. She pulled futilely at the snap bracelets. Then I again turned the twist handles. "Please!" she cried. "Be quiet," I told her. She bit her lip. I tightened the handles more and put in the locking device, that they might not slip back. Her thigh was absolutely immobile.
"I see you like a left-thigh-branded girl," said Hassan.
The girl can writhe in the rack or squirm, or scream, but the held thigh will not move. It is held for the kiss of the iron.
With a heavy glove, Hassan pulled an iron from the brazier. "What do you think of this brand?" he asked.
It was the Taharic slave mark.
"It is beautiful," I said. "But let us assure ourselves that this will be a common slave, one fit to sell north."
"A good idea," said Hassan. He returned the one iron to the brazier and reached for another. It glowed red. It was a fine iron, clean and precise. At its tip, bright red, was the common Kajira slave mark of Gor. Tarna looked upon it with horror.
"It is not yet hot enough, my pretty," said Hassan. He returned it to the brazier.
We heard shouting, as though from far away. Hassan looked at me. "I shall investigate," I said. I left the room and ascended to the third level. The noise was coming from the level above, the second. A soldier was stumbling by. "What is going on?" I asked. "On the level above?"
"They are searching for Tarna," he laughed. He then stumbled away.
I saw two slave girls led past me, on wrist chains, in the grip of another soldier.
I returned to the fourth level. I returned to the room where Hassan waited.
"They are searching for Tarna," I said.
"On what level are they?" asked Hassan.
"The second," I said.
"Ah," said Hassan, "then we have plenty of time." In a few Ehn he removed the iron from the coals, and examined it. He then again replaced it. Shortly thereafter, however, for it must have been almost ready, he drew it-forth again. It glowed white.
"You may scream and cry out, my pretty," said Hassan, not unkindly.
She struggled in the bracelets, she watched the iron. Then she screamed. For five long Ihn Hassan held the iron, pressing it in. I saw it sink in her thigh, smoking and hissing. Then he, cleanly, withdrew it. Tarna was marked.
She sobbed, wildly. We did not rebuke her. I freed her thigh of the rack. She fell on her knees at the posts, sobbing. I freed her wrists of the snap bracelets. I lifted her, sobbing, in my arms.
I, Hassan, leading, carried Tarna to an empty cell on the fourth level. Hassan pushed back the door, tying it open. There was dim light in the cell from the hall outside. I put Tarna, still sobbing, on the dank straw at the back wall of the cell.
"I'm a slave girl," she whispered. "I am a slave girl."
We found the chain and collar, and I fastened it about the girl's neck, locking it.
We looked at her.
She was chained to the wall.
"I am a slave girl," she whispered to us, disbelievingly, through her tears.
We heard sounds, from the level above.
"They are searching the third level, that above us," said Hassan. "They will soon be here."
"I am a slave girl," she said.
"If it is discovered that you were Tarna," said Hassan, "it will not go easy with you."
She looked at him, numbly, comprehending his import Tarna had been spoken of in the past tense. No longer was she Tarna.
Tarna was gone. Tarna no longer existed. In her place now, there was only a girl slave, nameless as a kaiila or verr.
"If it is discovered that you were Tarna," said Hassan, sternly, "it will not go easy with you. No longer would you be entitled to certain forms of torture, suitable for free persons, culminating in your honorable impalement. Your death would surely be one of the deaths of a slave girl, who has not been pleasing."
"What can I do?" she wept. "What can I do?"
"You are a slave," said Hassan, cruelly. "Please us."
And in that foul cell, on the stinking straw, in the feeble light of the lamp outside, the once proud Tarna, now only a nameless slave girl, chained by masters, struggled to please us. We were not easy with her. We were harsh, and hard, and cruel. Often she wept and despaired of her ability to please us, but she was cuffed and kicked and set again about her duties.
At last Hassan and I rose to our feet.
"The slave hopes that she has pleased her masters," whispered the girl.
Hassan looked at me. "She has much to learn," he said, "but I think, in time, she may be satisfactory."
I nodded, concurring in his judgment. We then stepped outside. We were encountered in the hall by a soldier, with a lifted lamp. "I search for Tarna," he said.
"Tarna is not here," I said. "In the cell there is only a female slave."
The soldier looked into the cell, and lifted the lamp. The girl lay on the straw, curled up, the collar and chain leading to her throat. She shielded her eyes from the lamp. It was not bright, but, in the dimness of the cell, it hurt her eyes.
She was beautifully curled on the straw. She lifted her head, shielding her eyes.
"Master?" she asked.
"What is your name, Girl?" asked the soldier.
"Whatever master wishes," she said.
He held the lamp up, examining her beauty. With a sinuous movement, with a rustle of chain, she sat upright, her back straight. She extended her right leg, looking at him over her right shoulder; her toes were pointed; her leg was flexed, revealing to its best, delicious advantage, the curve of her calf.
I felt like raping her,
"What is the name of your master?" asked the soldier.
"I do not know," she said. "I belonged to Tarna. Now I hear from soldiers that Tarna has fallen, I do not know who will be my master."
She looked at him. "You seem strong," she said.
She, sitting, as she was, thrust forward her breasts, accentuating the line of her beauty.
"very *friendly* person," he laughed.
She put her head down, chastened.
He laughed. "Be as you were before," he said. She obeyed. "More so," said he. She obeyed.
"I search for Tarna," he said.
"Do not search for her," begged the girl. "Stay with me."
"You are dirty," he said. "And you stink."
"Bring slave perfume," she said to him. "Rub it on my body."
He turned from the door. She fled to the length of her chain, kneeling, her hands outstretched to him. "The fourth level is deep," she said. "I am in a cell to myself. Many men do not even know I am here. The kasbah has fallen and only two soldiers have entered my cell. Stay with me!"
"I must search for Tarna," said the man.
"When you have finished your search," said the girl, arms outstretched, "return to me."
"I will," said the soldier. He laughed brutally.
"Thank you," she cried, "beloved Master!"
He turned to go.
"Beloved Master," she whispered. She knelt. She put her head down. "If I were a bold free woman," she said, "and not a bond girl, I would ask that you bring with you on your return a bottle of wine for your pleasure, that you would enjoy me more."
"Little she-sleen!" he laughed. He entered the cell and, putting down his lamp, kicked and cuffed the girl, until she rolled in the straw, tangled in the chain, covering her head, her body half covered with straw, at the wall. He then again took up the lamp, and went to the door. "I shall return," he said, " and when I do, I shall bring wine."
She rolled to a sitting position. "Thank you, Master!" she cried. "And I will bring slave perfume, too," he said, "to souse you with, You stinking little very *friendly* person of a slave."
"Thank you, Master!" she cried.
Laughing he left the cell, to continue his search for Tarna.
"Let us go upstairs," said Hassan. "Doubtless there are those who wonder as to the whereabouts of Haroun, high Pasha of the Kavars."
"Doubtless," I said.
I looked into the girl's cell. "You are an excellent actress," I said.
She looked at me, puzzled.
"The soldier," I said, "I wager he will return."
She broke a bit of straw between her fingers. "I hope so," she said.
I looked at her. "You want him to return?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. Her head had lifted, in the chain and collar.
"Why?" I asked.
"Did he not seem strong to your?'' she asked. "Did you not see the ease, the audacity, the authority with which he handled me?"
"Yes," I said.
"I want to be had by him," she said. "I want him to have me."
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "I want to serve him as a female slave."
Hassan stood behind me. "I wish you well, Girl," he said. "I, too, wish you well, Slave Girl," I said.
"A slave girl gives you her gratitude," she said. As we turned and left, she said, "I wish you well, Masters."

[sweetlarma]

The women of Kassau are forced into the bondmaid circle

Marauders ch 3

He then drew with the handle of his ax a circle, some twenty feet in diameter, in the dirt floor of the circle.
It was a bond-maid circle.
"Females," he cried, gesturing with the great ax toward the wall opposite the doors, "swiftly! To the wall! Stand with your backs against it!"
Terrified, weeping, the men groaning, the females fled to the wall. I saw, standing there, terrified, their backs against it, the blond girl in the scarlet vest and skirt, her hair in the snood of scarlet yarn, tied with filaments of golden wire; and the large statuesque girl, in black velvet, with the silver straps over her breasts, and tied about her waist, with the purse. Ivar Forkbeard, in the light of the burning wall of the temple, quickly examined the line of women. From some he took jewelery, bracelets, necklaces and rings. From others her took purses, hanging at their belts. He tore away the purse from the large blonde girl, and the silver straps, too, which had decorated the black velvet of her gown. She shrank back against the wall. She was large breasted. The men of Torvaldsland are fond of such women. The jewellery and coins which he took he hurled into a golden sacrificial bowl, which one of his men carried at his side. As he went down the line, he freed certain women of the wall, telling them to swiftly return to their place, and lie beneath the ax. Gratefully, they fled to their former places.
This left nineteen girls at the wall. I admired the taste of Forkbeard. They were beauties. My choices would have been the same.
Among them, of course, were the slender blond girl in the red vest and skirt, and the larger one, now in black velvet, torn, stripped of its silver straps, its brooches, the purse.
He ripped the snood of scarlet yarn from the slender blond girls hair. Her hair, now loose, fell behind her to the small of her back. He then tore away the ribbons and comb of bone and leather that had so intricately held the hair of the larger blond girl, she in black velvet. Her hair was even longer than that of the more slender girl.
The nineteen girls regarded him, terrified, eyes wide, their faces lit in the left side by the flames of the burning wall.
"Go to the bond-maid circle," said Ivar Forkbeard, indicating the circle he had drawn in the dirt.
The women cried out in misery. To enter the circle, if one is a female, is, by the laws of Torvaldsland, to declare oneself a bond-maid. A woman, of course, need not to enter the circle of her own free will. She may, for example, be thrown
p. 44

[sweetlarma]

a force collaring from Karjia

He stepped back for a moment to regard her, braced helplessly, leaning forward, against the wall, his naked, barefoot captive. Then he brushed her hair forward, in front of her shoulders. The hair color, I noted, was very similar to mine. She, on the other hand, had long, beautiful hair. She had not been shorn.
He then took a collar from one of his men. It was not an ornate or expensive collar. It was a common collar, one such as any slave might wear.
I do not think she realized clearly, positioned as she was, what he was going to do. Perhaps she expected merely to be leashed. Then, suddenly, she wore a slave collar.
She stumbled suddenly at the wall, almost striking it, and then had her feet under her.
"No!” she screamed. “No!"
She spun about, facing Hassan, who had now withdrawn a few feet.
"No!” she screamed, crouching there. “No! No!” She tore and jerked at the collar, frenziedly. She even tried, irrationally, to thrust it up, over her head, but it stuck, of course, tightly, far back, under her chin.

[sweetlarma]

Tarl and Talena

We then turned to face Talena.She shrank down a little, in her chains.
“You will never get away with this,” she whispered.
“I have already gotten away with it,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You belong to me,” I said. “You are now my slave.”
She looked at me with fury.
“Hail Talena,” I said, “Ubara of Ar.”
“Yes!” she said.
“No,” I said.
“No?” she said.
“No,” I said. “Do you not know you are mocked, slave?”
“It is a technicality!” she said.
“Not at all,” I said. “You are my slave, in full legality.”
She looked at me, in fury.
“Your slavery is complete,” I said, “by all the laws of Ar, and Gor. Your papers, and certified copies thereof, will be filed and stored in a hundred places.”
“You will never get me out of the city!” she said.
“That can be arranged in time,” I said, “when I come for you.”
“When you come for me?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow I will have your whereabouts conveyed to Seremides by courier.”
“I do not understand!” she cried.
“He will not know that you have been enslaved,” I said. “He will think only that you were foolish enough to leave the Central Cylinder without guards and perhaps fell in with brigands and were robbed. Surely you can invent some plausible story.”
“He will rescue me!” she said.
“You will then resume your role as Ubara of Ar,” I said. “Things will seem much the same, but they will be, of course, quite different. You are now, you see, my slave.”
“You are mad!” she said.
“And you will not know when I will come for you.”
She looked at me, frightened.
“And I will come for you,” I said. “I promise you that.”
“No!” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I will come to claim my slave.”
“I will be in the Central Cylinder!” she said. “I will be surrounded by guards!”
“You will know that one day I will come for you,” I said.
“Why will you not keep me now?” she asked.
“My work in Ar is not yet finished,” I said.
“Your work in Ar?”
“Cos must be cast out of Ar,” I said.
“Seremides will hunt you down! I will see to it!” she said.
“The downfall of Seremides,” I said, “had already been arranged.”
Marcus looked at me, puzzled.
I nodded to him. “Myron will accomplish it,” I said.
“I do not understand,” he said.“You will see,” I said.
“Kaissia?” he asked.
“Of a sort,” I said.
“Guardsmen will turn Ar upside down for you!” she said.
“There is one place I do not think it is likely that they will look,” I said.
“What place?” she said.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” I said.
She jerked at the bracelets, angrily.
That place, of course, would be within their own ranks.
“Cos can never be cast out of Ar!” she said. “Cos is too strong! Cos is invincible!” she said.
“Ar was thought to be invincible,” I said, “once.”
“Ar will wear continue to wear the yoke of Cos!” she said.
“Do not be too sure of that,” I said, “and, too, as you are a slave, it is you who may find herself in a yoke.”
“I am not a slave!” she said.
“Amusing!” I said.
“Recall the papers!” she said. “I shall buy my freedom.”
“You have nothing,” I said.
“Seremides can arrange for their recall,” she said.
“You would let him know that you are a slave?” I asked.
She blanched. Then she said, “Yes, if necessary!”
“But it does not matter,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You are not for sale,” I said.
“Sleen!” she wept.
“She is going to be here until sometime tomorrow,” I said to Marcus. “Accordingly, I will now feed and water her.”
“Feed and water me?” she said, angrily.
“Yes,” I said. “By tomorrow, at noon, I am sure you will be grateful to me for having done so.”
“You are kind,” she said, acidly.
“On the whole,” I said, “if a slave is pleasing, and is striving to serve with perfection, I believe in treating her with kindness.”
“I hate you!” she cried.
I went to the table and picked up the tray of dainties. “The wine is gone,” I said to Marcus. I had poured it out on her, to rouse her. “Would you fill the decanter with water, from the back?”
“Yes,” he said.I, then, in a moment, crouched beside Talena.
“Do not touch me!” she said.
“You are not interested in offering me your favors, to buy your freedom?” I asked.
She looked at me, suddenly, sharply.
I regarded her.
“Perhaps,” she said, coyly.
I put the tray of dainties on the floor to my left. The makings of the gag I had prepared for her were a bit behind her, to her left.
She inched forward, toward me, on her knees. She put her head forward, toward me, her lips pursed, her eyes closed.
I did not touch my lips to hers.
She opened her eyes.
“I had once thought,” I said, “that Marlenus had acted precipitately in disowning you, but I see now that he, though your father, understood you far better than I. He recognized that his daughter was a slave.”
She drew back in her bonds, in fury.
“You look well as a slave,” I said. “It is what you are.”
“I hate you!” she cried.
“And as for your favors,” I said, “do not concern yourselves with them. They are mine to command, as I please.”
She shook with rage.
“She belongs in a collar,” said Marcus.
“You have been watching?” I said.”
“Yes,” he said. He had the wine decanter with him, now filled with water.
“And eventually I will have her in one,” I said. “And then it will be clear to all the world, and not just to us, that she is a slave.”
“You are both sleen!” she wept.
“Open your mouth,” I said. “Eat.”
She looked at me.
“Yes,” I said, “you will be fed as what you are, a slave.”
I then put one of the tidbits into her mouth, and, in a moment, angrily, she had finished it. It is not unusual for a slave’s first food from a new master to be received in a hand feeding. It may also be done, from time to time, of course, with all, or a portion, of a given snack, or meal. This sort of thing expresses symbolically, and teaches her also, on a very deep level, that she is dependent upon him for her food, that it is from his hand, so to speak, that she receives it.
“Although this doubtless does not compare with the provender of the Central Cylinder,” I said, “which is reputed the best this side of the palace at Telnus, it is such that you should not come to expect it as a slave.”
She finished another tidbit.
“We do not have any slave gruel on hand,” I said.
She shuddered.
“That is enough,” I said. “We must be concerned with your figure. You are a little overweight, I think. In a paga tavern or brothel, you would have to be trimmed down a little.”
“Do not speak so of me,” she said.
“Surely you would wish to look well, curled on the furs, at a man’s feet in a lamplit alcove.”
“I”, she said, “in an alcove?”
“Certainly,” I said.
“Never!” she said.
“I wonder how you would perform,” I said.
“I would not “perform,”” she said.
“Oh, yes, you would,” I assured her.
She looked at me.
“There are whips, and chains, there,” I said.
She turned white.
“Yes,” I said.
“And for whom would I be expected to perform?” she asked.
“For any man,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“And to the best of your abilities,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
“Perhaps, someday, Tolnar, or Venlisius, might be interested in trying you out, to see if you were satisfactory.”
She looked at me.
“If you were not,” I said, “they would doubtless have you severely punished, or slain.”
“I do not understand them,” she said. “To uphold the law they have jeopardized their careers, they have entered into exile?”
“There are such men,” I said.
“I do not understand them,” she said.
“That,” I said, “is because you do not understand honor.”
“Honor,” she said, “is for fools.”
“I am not surprised that one should hold that view, who is a traitress.”
She tossed her head, in impatience.
“You betrayed your Home Stone,” I said.
“It is only a piece of rock,” she said.
“I am sorry that I do not have time now for your training,” I said.
“My training?” she asked.
“Your slave training,” I said.
She stared at me, disbelievingly.
“But it can wait,” I said.
“You amuse me,” she said,“you who come from a world of weaklings! You are too weak to train a slave.”
“Do you remember our last meeting,” I asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“It took place in the house of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“You were not then on your knees,” I said.
“No,” she said, squirming a little.
“But you were in a slave collar.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“At that time I did not realize how right it was on you,” I said.
She looked away, angrily.
“As it is on any woman,” I said.
She pulled a bit at the bracelets, angrily.
“I could not then rise from my chair,” I said. “I had been cut in the north by the blade of a sword, treated with a poison from the laboratory of Sullius Maximus, once one of the five Ubars of Port Kar.”
She did not speak.
“Perhaps you remember how you ridiculed me, how you mocked and scorned me.”
“I am now naked, and on my knees before you,” she said. “Perhaps that will satisfy you.”
“That is only the beginning of my satisfaction,” I said.
“Do not pretend to be strong,” she said. “I know you are weak, and from a world of weaklings. You come from a world where women may destroy you in a thousand ways, and you are forbidden to so much as touch them.”
I looked at her.“I hold you in contempt,” she said, "as I did then.”
“Did you think I would walk again?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“Perhaps that explains the license you felt, to abuse me,” I speculated.
“No,” she said. “That you were confined to a chair was amusing, but I knew that you would free me, that I could do whatever I pleased to you, whatever I wished, with impunity. I despise you.”
“I do not think it would be so amusing to you,” I said, “if it were you in whom the poison had worked, paralyzing you, making it impossible for you to rise from the chair.”
She didn’t answer.
“Doubtless such toxins still exist,” I mused, “and might be procured. Perhaps one could be entered into your fair body, with so small a wound as a pin prick.
“No!” she cried, in alarm.
“But anything may be done to a slave,” I said.
“Please, no!” she said.
“But then,” I said, “I think I would rather have your lovely legs free, that you might hurry to and fro, serving me, or be able to dance before me, for my pleasure.”
“Dance!” she wept. “For your pleasure!”
“Of course,” I said.
She regarded me, aghast.
“Such practices are surely not unusual among slaves,” I said, “such things a dancing before their masters.”
“I suppose not,” she said.
"For they are owned,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
I was silent.
“What are you thinking of?” she demanded.
“I was thinking,” I said, “that a special chair might be constructed, a holding chair, a prison chair, so to speak, into which you might be inserted, it then locked shut about you for, say, a few months. More simply, you might be simply chained in a chair for some months. This would give you, I would think, something of the sense of one afflicted with such difficulties. Then again, of course, you might consider how amusing you might find it.”
“Do not even speak so!” she said.
“I would speculate,” I said, “that after only a few Ahn in such a predicament you would be eager to be freed, that you would soon beg piteously to be permitted to dance, to run and fetch, to serve, such things.”
“You can walk now,” she murmured.
Much the same effect, of course, can be achieved in many ways, for example, by close chains, by the slave box, by cramped kennels, tiny cages, and such. These devices are excellent for improving the behavior of slaves.She put her head down. I saw that she was frightened, that she was no longer certain of me.
“I received the antidote in Torvaldsland,” I said, “brought to me from far-off Tyros, and, interestingly, as a matter of honor.”
She lifted her head.
“Do you understand honor?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“How, then, can you speak of it?” she asked.
“Once or twice I glimpsed it,” I said.
“And what is it like?” she asked.
“It is like a sun, in the morning,” I said, “rising over dark mountains.”
“Fool!” she cried.
I was silent.
“Weakling!” she said.
I was silent.
“You are a weakling!” she said.
“Perhaps not so much now as I once was,” I said.
“Free me!” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Before,” she said, “you freed me!”
“I am wiser now,” I said.
“Cos can never be driven from Ar!” she said.
“The might of Cos on the continent,” I said, “as opposed to her naval power is largely dependent on mercenaries.”
“So?” she asked.
“Mercenaries, on the whole,” I said, “saving some companies with unusual allegiance to particular leaders, such as those of Pietro Vacchi and Dietrich of Tarnsburg, are seldon trustworthy, and are almost never more trustworthy then their pay.”
“It matters not,” she said. “Their pay is assured.”
“Is it?” I asked.
“Ten companies could hold Ar,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I am not sure of it.”
“Is it truly your intention to call my whereabouts to the attention of Seremides?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“He will rescue me,” she said.
“No,” I said. “In a sense he, or Myron, or others, will merely be keeping you for me, rather like your being boarded at some commercial slave kennels.”
“What a beast you are,” she said.
“Indeed,” I said, “they will be saving me your upkeep.”
“I shall be restored to the honors of the Ubara!” she said.
“No,” I said. “You are now a slave. A slave cannot be Ubara. You can do no more now than pretend to be the Ubara. In a sense you will be an impostor. And let us hope that no one detects your deception, for, as you know, the penalties for a slave masquerading as a free woman are quite severe.”
She looked at me, in fury.
“To be sure,” I said, “few, at least at present, are likely to suspect your bondage. Most, seeing you participate in state ceremonies, holding court, opening games, and such, will think you are truly the Ubara. Only a few will know that you are my slave girl. Among these few, of course, will be yourself, and myself.”
“It interests me,” she said, “that you will not try to smuggle me now out of the city.”
“You are only a slave girl,” I said. “You are not that important.”
“I see,” she said.
“It would be rather pointless to take you now, and I do not find it convenient to do so.”
“I see,” she said.
“Other projects, you must understand, are of much higher priority.”
“Naturally,” she said.
“You can wait to be collected.”
“Of course!” she said.
“Besides,” I said, “it amuses me to think of you in the Central Cylinder.”
“Oh?” she asked, angrily.
“Waiting for me to come for you,” I said.
“Absurd!” she said.
“Particularly as you grow ever more apprehensive, and more frantic, sensing Ar slipping away from you, and your power collapsing about your ears.”
“You are mad!” she said.
“But now I must water you,” I said. I lifted up the decanter of water. “There is a good deal of water here,” I said, “But I want you to drink it, as you will not have another drink until sometime tomorrow. Put your head back.”
I set the opening of the bottle to her mouth, but scarcely had she dampened her lips than she drew back her head.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“This water has been drawn for days,” she said. “Surely it is not fresh!”
“Drink it,” I said. “All of it.”
She looked at me.
“Your head can be held back by the hair,” I said, “and your nostrils can be pinched shut.”
“That will not be necessary,” she said.
I then gave her of the water.
“Please,” she protested.
But I did not see fit to permit her to dally in the downing of it.
I then set the decanter to the side, empty.
“That is a nicely rounded slave belly,” said Marcus.
I patted it twice. It sounded not unlike a filled wineskin. Too it bulged out, and reacted not dissimilarly.
She drew back.“If you were to be sold in a Tahari market,” I told her, “you might find yourself forced to drink a large amount of water, like this, shortly before your sale.”
She crept back, on her knees, apprehensively, putting a little more distance between us.
“Do not fear,” I said. “I have no intention at present of testing you for vitality.”
I then picked up the makings of the gag which were to her left, the wadding and the binding.
She eyed them, apprehensively.
“This is not the first time you have been a slave,” I said. “Once, I knew, you were owned by Rask of Treve.”
She looked up at me.
“Did you serve him well?” I asked.
“He put me often in slave silk, and jewelry, to show me off,” she said, “as it amused him, he, of Treve, to have the daughter of Marlenus of Ar for a slave, but he did not make much use of me. Indeed, I served him, by his will, almost entirely in domestic labors, keeping his tent, and such. This he seemed to feel was appropriate, such demeaning, servile labors, for the daughter of Marlenus of Ar. But, too, I do not think he much cared for me. Then, when he got his hands on a meaningless little blond chit, a true slave in ever hort of her body, named El-in-or, he gave me away, to a panther girl named Verna, to be taken to the northern forests. I served panther girls, too, as domestic slave, and was later sold, at the coast, where I came into the collar of Samos, of Port Kar.”
“It is difficult to believe that Rask of Treve did not put you to slave use,” I said.
“He did, of course,” she said.
“And how were you?” I asked.
“He told guests that I was superb,” she said.
“And were you?” I asked.
“I had better have been,” she said.
“True,” I said. I had twice met Rask of Treve, both times in Port Kar. He was the sort of fellow whom women strove to serve unquestioningly to the best of their abilities.
“Surely you learned much of the arts of the slave in his tent,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I was more of a prize, or a political prisoner. I was more like a free woman in slave silk than a slave, in his camp.”
“Then, in effect,” I said, “aside from having worn the collar and such, you have never experienced what one might call a full slavery?”
“Like a common slave slut?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“No!” she said, angrily.
“That would seem to have been an oversight on the part of Rask of Treve,” I said.
“Perhaps,” she said, angrily.
“perhaps other masters can remedy that oversight,” I said.
“I am the Ubara of Ar!” she said.
“No,” I said. “You are a slave girl.”
I then gagged her.
I then stood up, and looked down at her. “Tomorrow,” I said, “guardsmen will come to free you of your bonds, and return you to the Central Cylinder. You must not forget, of course, even in the Central Cylinder, that you are my slave girl. Too, you must remember that I will come for you. When will it be? You will not know. Will you fear to enter a room alone, or a corridor unescorted, for fear someone may be there, waiting? Will you fear dark places, or shadows? Will you fear high bridges, and roofs, and promenades, because you fear that loop of a tarnsman tightening on your body, dragging you into the sky, his capture? Will you fear even your own chambers, perhaps even to open the portals of your own wardrobe, for fear someone might be waiting? Will you fear to remove your clothing, for fear someone, somehow, somewhere, might see? Will you fear to enter the bath, for fear you might be surprised there? Will you fear to sleep, I wonder, knowing that someone might come to you in the night, that you might waken suddenly to the gag, and helplessness?”
I looked down at her. There were tears in her eyes, over the gag. She looked well in bonds. She was a pretty slave.
“Let us go,” I said to Marcus.
We then left the room.
---Magicians of Gor, pages 475-484