Prize of Gor (71 page)

Ellen knew little of slave dance, for her first master, called on Gor ‘Mirus’, had determined that she would be only slightly trained, that she might be sold as a substantially ignorant girl, trained perhaps only to the extent that she might prove satisfactory enough to be permitted to live, that she might thusly, to the amusement of Mirus, he enjoying his vengeance upon her, continue to be indefinitely subjected to the degradation of the lowest of bondages.

She was not, however, altogether ignorant of slave dance, or its general nature; indeed, how could anyone on Gor, unless it be a free woman, be totally ignorant of it? Although she had not herself been given such training, and apparently by design, she had occasionally seen girls dance in the training rooms. She had been thrilled to see them so dance, and had gasped, and breathed quickly, so startled she was at how beautiful those of her sex could be in the dance, and particularly in these dances, dances required of them by men, the dances of slaves. She had begged one of her instructrices to inquire of Mirus, her master, for she herself was seldom admitted to his presence, if she might not be so trained, but the response to her petition, though apparently it amused him that she should make it, was in the negative. He apparently wanted her, in her collar, to be little more than an ignorant woman of Earth, forced to serve in dismay and torment, in the crudest and lowest of bondages. Sometimes, fascinated, she spied secretly on the lessons but, when caught, was cruelly switched. Sometimes in her cell, unobserved, she had tried to move as she had seen one or another of the dancers move, but then she had desisted, frightened, sensing what it might be, to be seen so before men.

And so Ellen had never danced before men.

She feared to do so.

Yet if the fingers were snapped, or the hands clapped, or the gesture made, lifting the palms upward, she knew she must dance, dance as any slave, and as a slave must dance, for men. Any free man in such a camp, of course, might order her to dance, to pose, to writhe before him. There was a lot number on her left breast. The dancing circles were some ten or twelve feet in diameter, and sanded, and near the fires. There were several such circles in the camp, each with its flag on a wand at one edge of the circle, each flag being of a given shape, square, rectangular, forked, triangular, and so on, and color or mixture of colors. Each flag, too, had its letter or number. Thus each circle could be recognized by both its flag and its letter or number. An order then might be issued that slaves of such and such lot numbers, which numbers were inscribed on their bodies, on the left breast, given to them for the convenience of the camp, should go to, say, circle such-and-such, which was, say, “square and blue” or “triangular and yellow,” and so on. This was judicious as many slaves were illiterate, and are deliberately kept so. For example, Ellen is so kept. She would like to know how to read, but it is not permitted to her. She suspects she could better serve her masters if she learned to read, but the decision is theirs, not hers.

Perhaps it amuses them to have an illiterate barbarian slave, from a despised world, a world fit for little perhaps other than the harvesting of its women, to be bought as slave fruit to their markets. I do not know.

Too, why should a slave read? She is not, after all, a free woman. She does not have a Home Stone. She is merely a shapely beast, purchased for your service and pleasure. Would you teach a verr, or kaiila, to read?

In all ways, of course, whether literate or not, we are in the absolute power of our masters. I find that I relish that I have no choice but to submit to them, wholly. How else would I want to live? I rejoice to be at their mercy. It is my pleasure to obey and please. I belong to them. I am owned. In all ways is intensified my sense, and it is a welcome, delicious sense, of unimportance, dependence and helplessness, which, in turn, opens my sexuality to them, as a begging flower.

Forgive me for intruding the first-person voice into this narrative, which, on the whole, must deal objectively with the slave, Ellen, as the object, and property, she is. Would a verr or kaiila be permitted to write of herself in the first person? Sometimes, perhaps.

Speaking of illiteracy, however, it should be noted that illiteracy is not that uncommon on Gor. For example, many Goreans of low caste are illiterate. Indeed, many seem to regard reading as an accomplishment ill befitting decent, serious folks, an accomplishment more appropriate, at least, to the high castes than to theirs. Interestingly, too, many of the warriors, and that is a high caste, pride themselves on an inability to read, seeing that homely, and somewhat magical, skill, as one not for them, if not actually beneath them. And some who can read pretend to ignorance of the skill.

To return to our proper narrative:

The lot numbers of slaves would be called out, and then, too, the circles to which they must report. Ellen knew her number, of course, as she had been told. Too, those who, as Ellen, might be unfamiliar with the location of the circles, for the camp was quite large, had simply to follow their caller, one of several torch-bearing heralds leading the way to the particular circle. She would, accordingly, be intent to listen carefully to the numbers, and follow any caller who had enunciated her number, which was “117.”

She could recognize, incidentally, several of the signs of the Gorean alphabet but knew only two or three of their names and sounds. Goreans had not been free with that information. One letter of the Gorean alphabet which Ellen did know was the fourth letter of the 28-letter Gorean alphabet, which was ‘delka’. She had seen that letter in Ar, scrawled on a wall, and also on an ostrakon in the holding of Portus Canio. And she knew at least one number, that which was inscribed in grease on her left breast, “117.”

But Ellen had no expectation of being called forth to dance in any of the circles, as she was not a dancer.

“Can you dance?” she had been asked by the scribe.

“No, Master,” she had answered, as truthfully as she knew how.

So she did not expect to be called, when the calling began, later in the evening. Goreans, she knew, whereas they might be interested in her in many respects, as she had abundant evidence to attest, were not likely to be interested in her in that respect. They were connoisseurs in slave dance, hard to please, and quite particular in such matters. She would be in such matters the rankest of amateurs.

Still she was vulnerable, and any man, as we have noted, could pose her, or dance her, or such, for his pleasure, in a circle, in a tent, or elsewhere.

She shuddered.

But I shall not be called upon to dance, she told herself, for I have informed the scribe that I cannot dance. Thus I will be safe. Thus I have nothing to fear. How terrified I would be, if called upon to dance. For I know nothing of it. I would fear to dance. I cannot dance. But I am not a dancer. That they know, and so I am safe.

Then Ellen thought again of the free woman in her slippers, and veils, and cumbersome Robes of Concealment.

She really did not think that she had returned safely to Brundisium. That seemed very unlikely. She had seen strong, somber men nearby, watching her, perhaps studying her. At his sash one of them had had a narrow, coiled rope of black braided leather. Slave strikes are seldom made at random. Perhaps they even knew her from Brundisium. There had been the overturned stool, the spilled wine, the warnings of the men who had been about.

The poor woman, thought Ellen, returning to the ka-la-na vat. What a terrible misfortune for her! How unfortunate! And then Ellen smiled, and laughed to herself. How perfect, she thought. Let her wear a collar! Let her be a naked slave! Let her grovel and fear free women!

Yes, thought Ellen, and let her dance before masters, as a naked slave, and be lashed if not pleasing!

I am pleased that I am not a dancer, thought Ellen. I am pleased that I need not fear being called upon to dance.

Ellen hummed the strains of a joyful Gorean slave song to herself, in which the slave bedecks herself and eagerly awaits the arrival of her master.

Suddenly she heard a fierce movement in the air, behind her, an unexpected but unmistakable swift hiss, and, almost at the same time, below the small of the back, she felt a stinging stripe, the swift, sharp blow of a supple switch, a yard in length.

“Are you dallying, slave girl?” laughed a young voice.

“No, Master!” cried Ellen, tears bursting from her eyes. It was one of the lads used about the camp for the supervision, control and management of the serving slaves. Fully grown women are not unoften put under the management of such. In the Gorean theory, as slaves are animals, they may be managed by any free person, or, indeed, any designated slave. Sometimes they are put under the supervision of a boy or girl who is no more than a child. And, of course, the least bit of resistance, recalcitrance or such may invoke severe discipline, even death. Behind the children, and the lads, you see, stand men.

Ellen hurried on to the vat. Her fundament stung from the stripe. She was humiliated, particularly as the blow had been struck not by a man but by a lad. To be sure, the lad, who must have been fifteen or sixteen, had doubtless, by now, enjoyed slaves such as she. Although the blow stung, and was humiliating, Ellen was not displeased with it. It did remind her that she was a slave, and that such things might be done to her, and that she was under discipline. She wiped her eyes with the back of her right wrist. He had not been angry with her. He had merely hurried her on about her duties. She was now, she realized, somewhat to her surprise, rather pleased that she had been struck. The pain, in its way, now, was warm and pleasant, and its lingering resonance reminded her that she was subject to discipline, to complete and categorical domination, which, as a female, as she now knew, she craved.

In the festival camp there were many forms of merchandise, other than the flesh loot, such as she, of Cosian conquests, merchandise such as produce, meat, leather and metal work, cloth, cabinetry, artifacts, tools, weapons, remedies, wagons, carts, precious stones, and such. Too, there were animals to be vended, other than human females, such as verr, bosk and tharlarion. Ellen had even seen, or partly seen, for the crates were muchly closed, gigantic, furred animals of a sort she did not recognize. She did not know if they were bipedalian or quadrupedalian. She had seen wild eyes in a gap between stout slats, heard snarling, glimpsed a white, curved fang. Perhaps they were bears, or tigers, or, in any event, things like them, perhaps larger and fiercer.

She conjectured that there were better than ten or twelve thousand men in the camp.

She dipped her vessel into the ka-la-na, and returned to her work. Someone, she remembered, had called for wine. She would return to that place, though she supposed that, by now, another slave would have served him. It would not do, not to return. She looked at the red-figured vessel she carried, the red image on it bright, fresh and exciting against the smooth, glazed, curved, black background. It reminded her of similar vessels she had seen long ago in museums, from ancient Greece, and she did not doubt but what the techniques and style of that and similar vessels might own to antecedents of her former world, that they might, in substance, nature and style, be traced back to the work of ancient terrestrial craftsmen. She found the vessel precious and beautiful, but here, of course, such things were thought little of; they were familiar, cheap and common. They were used for the serving of common ka-la-na; they might be handled even by slaves. The figures on the vessel, two on one side, two on the other, were similar, rather as in a repeated design. On each side the same scene was depicted, that of a nude female, presumably a slave, kneeling before a man, presumably her master, in whose hand there was a whip. The female had her hands, the wrists chained, lifted to the man, as though in supplication. He was looking down upon her, presumably considering some plea, perhaps for forgiveness, perhaps for mercy. It was up to him, clearly, to decide what to do with her. Ellen held the vessel against her, to steady it, it feeling cool against her skin. A bit of wine ran over her hip.

She heard a beastlike roar and howl, some two hundred yards away. She supposed that that frightful sound emanated from one of the heavily planked crates. She doubted that men would wish to purchase such things.

Why should such things be brought here, she wondered.

She then hurried back to where the man had called for wine.

****

Earlier in the day, after having been at the pool, and having been fed and watered, she, and those who had been in her ankle coffle, were conducted to an exhibition cage, one of more than perhaps fifty or sixty. While they stood outside the cage, roped together by the ankle, lot numbers were inscribed, with a grease pencil, or marker, on their left breasts. The left breast is used in such matters as most men are right-handed. Records were kept, regarding the lot numbers and names. Those girls who did not have names were given names, for clerical purposes, which might or might not be kept on them after a sale. Some of the names were lovely. All were suitable for female slaves. The matter was supervised by a scribe, with a clipboard, to which were attached several sheets of paper.

“Name?” he had asked her.

“I have been called ‘Ellen’, Master,” she had said.

“117,” he had said. “Ellen.”

Something was then inscribed by one of the guards on her left breast, she feeling the firm, wide, smooth pressing of the greaselike point on her body. It was, doubtless, the number 117. She, as noted, had not been taught to read. On Gor she was illiterate. Doubtless Mirus had found that amusing. Many slave girls, too, as mentioned, are illiterate. And those brought from Earth are most commonly kept that way. They are, after all, barbarians. But, too, as has been noted, illiteracy is not that uncommon on Gor, particularly amongst the lower castes.

Within the cage, most near the exterior bars, were ten upright metal poles, which helped to support the roof of the cage. These were placed in such a way that a slave, if fastened to one, would, first, be kept near enough to the exterior bars to be easily viewed, and, second, would be just beyond the reach of any who might who might wish to touch them, by putting their hands through the bars.