Magicians of Gor (38 page)

woman.

“You are collared like a slave,” I said.

“I am a slave,” she said.

“Clasp your hands on the top of your head,” I said.

She trembled.

“Common kajira brand,” said a fellow.

“Yes,” I said.

“Please,” she said.

“You are branded like a slave,” I said.

“I am a slave!” she said, angrily.

I permitted the hem of her rather-too-long tunic to fall again into place. She

was left-thigh-branded, high on the thigh, a bit below the hip, like most girls.

I glanced to the four other girls kneeling to the side. They were apprehensive,

frightened.

“Are you the leader of these others?” I asked her.

“We are friends,” she said, evasively.

This was surely not impossible. Slaves girls have much in common, such as their

brands and collars, their typical garmentures, their entire condition and

status, the sorts of labors they must perform, and the problems of pleasing

masters. It is natural then, given such commonalties, and abused and despised by

free women, that they should often seek out one another’s company. It is not

unusual to see them together, for example, laundering at the stream side or long

basins, or sitting about a circle, mending and sewing, or polishing silver.

Sometimes they arrange their errands so that they may accompany one another.

Sometimes, too, in the abundance of free time enjoyed by most urban slaves, they

simply wander about, seeing the city, chatting, exchanging gossip, and such. To

be sure, it would be remiss not to remark also that, as one would expect, some

of the pettiest of jealousies, the most absurd of resentments, the vilest of

acrimonies and the most inveterate of hatreds can obtain among these beautiful,

vain, vital creatures, within the same house, where contests often rage,

sometimes subtly and sometimes not, for the favor of the master, on which

contests, needless to say, considerable shiftings in rank and hierarchy may

hinge. And there can be intense competitions, it might be mentioned, not only

for such treasures as the master’s (pg. 221) attentions and affections but for

articles as ordinary as combs and brushes and prizes which, whatever may be

their symbolic value, are often as small in themselves as a sweet or pastry. In

this case, however, I suspected this was no typical grouping of slaves, of the

normal sort, but a tiny covey of girls either with a natural enough suspicion in

an Ar where the men of the city, betrayed and defeated, helpless and confused,

were for most practical purposes, at least until recently, prostrate before the

might of Cos. If one is in effect a slave oneself it is hard to be a strong

master to one’s female. It is much easier to rationalize one’s weaknesses and

struggle to view them as virtues.

“Is she your leader?” I asked one of the girls kneeling to the side, one of

those in a tunic of the wool of the bounding hurt.

“Yes,” she said.

“No!” swiftly said another, one also in a tunic of the wool of the bounding

hurt. “Our masters are our leaders!”

“Leaders?” I asked.

“Owners!” she swiftly said.

“What are you?” I asked the first kneel girl, sternly.

“Properties!” she said. And she added quickly, seeing my eyes still upon her.

“And animals!”

“Yes!” said the girl beside her, she who had spoken second earlier.

“And what are you?” I asked the slave, Filomela.

“A slave,” she said, not turning around, standing facing away from me, her hands

clasped on her head.

“Turn about,” I said.

She obeyed.

“And?” I asked.

She was standing quite close to me, in the posture I had dictated.

“A property, and animal!” she said.

I looked upon her, savoring her. She looked away. I also observed, carefully,

her tension, the tonicity of her body.

“Straighten your body,” I said.

She did so.

The line of her breasts was lovely under her simple garment.

“You seem uneasy,” I said.

She did not respond.

One of the kneeling girls gasped.

It was not difficult to detect her discomfort, her uneasiness, attendant on the

proximity of a male. I looked over her, letting this closeness work upon her.

Others, too, now had moved in more closely about her.

(pg. 222) “You are a slave?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said, tensely.

“Perhaps now you sense in yourself slave feelings?” I said.

She cast a frightened, pathetic, shamed glance at the other girls, those

kneeling to one side.

“No!” she said. “No!”

“Spread your legs,” I said.

“Please!” she said.

“Keep your hands as they are,” I said.

“Ah,” I said, “you are a lying slave girl.”

She cried out in misery.

I stepped back from her.

“You may stand straight again,” I informed her.

Quickly she stood straight. She kept her hands on her head.

“And what of you others?” I asked, looking to the other four. “Perhaps you sense

in yourself slave feelings?’

They did not meet my eyes but clenched their knees closely together, as though

by this means to suppress and control their sensations. They hunched down, they

made themselves small. I did not think that there was one there who, in proper

hands, would not squirm well, yielding herself up in grateful joy to a master.

“You may put your hands down,” I informed Filomela, their leader.

“May I go now?” she said.

“You are charged,” I said, “with drinking from one of the higher levels of a

fountain.”

“That fountain there,” said a fellow, pointing back.

“Is it true?” I asked her.

She was silent.

“It is true,” said a fellow.

“Yes,” said another.

Assent to this was added, also, by others.

“Do you deny this?” I asked her.

She was silent.

“She is a slave,” said a man.

“Let her testimony be taken under torture,” said another.

The testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture in Gorean law courts.

“Let us find a rack,” said another.

The girl turned white. Perhaps when she was a free woman she had seen girls on

the rack, though, of course, they would have been mere slaves.

“I drank from the high bowl,” she said.

“Although you are a slave?” I said.

(pg. 223) “Yes,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I was thirsty,” she said.

“Speak truthfully,” I said.

“I was thirsty!” she said.

“Thirst may be quenched at the lower bowl as well,” I said.

She looked at me, angrily.

“Perhaps you forgot?” I said. “You were, after all, recently a free woman.”

She did not answer.

I did not seriously consider the possibility, of course, that she might have

forgotten the matter. Too, slaves are not permitted to forget such things. It is

up to them to remember them. Too, obviously one could claim to have forgotten

the most elementary duties, tokens of respect, and such. Accordingly,

forgetfulness does not excuse the commission of such acts. A slave seldom

forgets them more than once. The whip is an excellent mnemonic device. I did, of

course, wish to accord her the recourse of pretending to forgetfulness, if she

cared to take advantage of it. It might serve to mitigate the wrath of the men

about, at least somewhat. After all, she did not seem to realize that her life

was in danger.

She threw a look at the other girls.

“You did not forget then,” I said. “And you must have known that free men were

about. Your act then was intended as some sort of provocation, or insult, or

insolency or challenge?”

“She knew herself observed,” said a fellow, “and then with intent, and

deliberation, drank from the third level.”

“My master would permit it!” she cried.

“That is probably true,” laughed a fellow, contemptuously.

“Kneel, errant slave,” I said.

She knelt, in terror.

I looked down at her, and pointed the first two fingers of my right hand to the

ground, and then opened them. “You do not know the meaning of that sign?” I

asked.

“No,” she said, trembling.

“Her master is indeed weak,” said a fellow.

I supposed her master must be a low-drive male.

“Spread your knees, widely,” said another.

Frightened, the girl complied.

“Take her in hand,” I said.

A fellow on either side of her then held her, each by a lifted wrist.

I looked at the other girls.

They, too, at my glance, knelt with their knees spread, widely.

(pg. 224) “See!” said the one in silk. “My master has silked me!” He has put me

in silk, as the slave I am! Do not hurt me! I am only a silked slave! That is

all I have been given to wear. He is a man, a man!” The first girl in line, one

of the three clad in the wool of the bounding hurt, did not dare to meet my eyes

but drew the hem of her tunic up and back, higher on her legs, that more of her

beauty might be bared. She, too, did not wish to face the wrath of masters. The

other two in the wool of the bounding hurt quickly followed her example. They

then all adjusted their tunics further in one way or another, one pulling down a

bit on the “V” at her neck, the others pushing up the sleeves of their tunics to

reveal more of their gracefully curved upper arms.

“Slaves!” chided the girl before me. She saw herself losing her grip upon them.

“And what are you?’ I inquired.

“A slave!” she said.

I regarded her.

“—Master,” she added.

“It is a serious thing you are charged with,” I said.

She looked at me, angrily.

“You have drunk,” I said, “from the wrong level of a fountain.”

“What difference does it make,” she asked, “what bowl of a fountain I drank

from? It is a small thing!”

Anger coursed through the men present.

“It is not a small thing,” I said. “Such things are symbols of rank and

hierarchy, of difference and distance. They like at the foundation of a natural

society, one in accord with the aristocracy of nature, a society in which there

are places for both heroes and slaves. They speak of ordered arrangements. All

are not the same. All are not leveled, nor must they pretend to be. Such a flat,

crushed world, without difference and meaning, lies to the ruled and makes liars

of the rulers. It imposes fraud upon one and hypocrisy upon the other. In an

unnatural world, the same, as all cannot be the best, there is no alternative,

if all are to be the same, then to reduce the best to the level of the worst, at

least in pretense. Do you not think the intelligent, the strong, the aggressive,

even the evil, will rule, under whatever forms are convenient? The larl, as a

larl, must survey verr, or sleen will tend them, pretending to be themselves

verr.”

She looked up at me.

“You did not truly think it a small thing,” I said, “otherwise you would not

have done it.”

She struggled a little, but could not, of course, free herself from the grip of

the men. then, under my stern gaze, she again (pg. 225) spread her knees, so

that they were again in the position, precisely, in which I had instructed her

to have them.

“You challenged the men of Ar,” I said. “But you did not expect the challenge to

be accepted. You expected them to yield to their defeat, perhaps pretending not

to notice it.”

She struggled again a bit, and was then again as she was before.

“But it has been noticed,” I said.

“I saw girls drinking from the high bowls last month!” she said.

“That was last month,” I said.

“You cannot punish me!” she cried. “You are not my masters!”

“Any free person can punish an errant slave girl,” I said. “Surely you do not

think that her behavior fails to be subject to supervision and correction as

soon as she is out of her master’s sight?”

“Take me to my master!” she begged. “Let him punish me, if he wishes to do so!”

“We will attend to the matter,” I said.

“No!” she wept.

I looked at the others. “And you, too,” I suggested, “are errant slaves.”

“No, Master!” they wept. “No, Master!”

“You cannot seriously intend to punish me!” said Filomela. “I was a free woman!”

“That is where most slaves come from,” I said. I turned to the other slaves.

“Were you not all once free women?” I asked.

“Yes, Master!” they said.

“But I was of high caste!” said Filomela.

“What was your caste?” I asked.

“The Builders!” she said.

“But you are not now of the Builders, or of any other caste, are you?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“What are you?”

“A slave,” she said.

“Accordingly,” I said, “you may be punished as what you are, a slave.”

Suddenly she laughed, in hysterical relief.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“It is a joke!” she said. “It is a game you are playing, to turn about and trick

these fools, to humiliate these defeated, bedraggled beasts!”

(pg. 226) “I do not understand,” I said.

“You, and your fellow, are of Cos,” she said. “I see it on your armbands! It is

your business to pacify the men of Ar, to keep them down, to suppress them, to

keep them helpless, futile, confused, domesticated, tamed, subdued! Surely you

have your orders to that effect. You can succeed in this, Ar is defeated. She is

helpless. She is crushed. The entire might of Cos backs your authority! Grind