Prize of Gor (83 page)

“You will later be fed and watered, and permitted to relieve yourselves,” said the keeper.

“Yes, Master, thank you, Master,” said 115.

The keeper then turned away, and, later, returned with another chain. That chain would occupy the next lane. And, similarly, from time to time, he, or others, brought new chains to various lanes in the ready area.

Ellen lifted her wrist, and looked at the manacle upon it. She could not slip it, of course. She lay down between 116 and 118, and stretched her body, in almost feline luxury. How good to be out of the cage! She looked up at the sky.

Then, for a moment, she was angry with men.

“They put me in a cage, a cage!” she thought. “By what right did they put me in a cage? By what right was I caged? By what right do these Gorean beasts arrogate to themselves the right to cage women, or women such as I?” And then she felt how stupid was her question. It was an Earth question, a question from another world, a distant, superficial, polluted, noisy, unnatural, artificial world, a question from another
ethos
, one not one with nature, but one at war with nature; it was not a biological question, not a natural question, not a Gorean question. “Obviously they have every right to do so,” she said to herself. “They have the right of masters, the obvious right of masters, to do with us, their slaves, as they please. Have you not yet learned the nature of this world, and what you are on this world? What a silly little vulo you are! What a stupid little pudding you are!”

Later, rising to a half-reclining, half-sitting position, she brought her legs together, to one side, with smooth, swift, sinuous grace. “Oh,” she thought, suddenly, “you did that without thinking. You, indeed, are now a slave girl. How shameless you are, you branded little tart!” And she smiled to herself, pleased.

She could hear the sounds of the crowd, it seemed far off, like distant surf, vague cries, calls, shouts, crashings, rumblings, responses.

“They are selling women,” she thought. “And I, too, am to be sold. I cannot prevent this. None of us can prevent this. We are helpless, absolutely helpless. But that is fitting for us, that we should be absolutely helpless, for we are slaves.”

There was the sound of a gong, which signified that another sale had been concluded.

“How strange it suddenly seems to me,” thought Ellen, “that I, an Earth woman, should be here, on this world, with these others, waiting to be sold.” But then, upon reflection, in the context of her abduction, the smoothness, care and efficiency with which it was conducted, and given the predations of slavers upon Earth, and their access to techniques and vehicles capable of at least interplanetary spacefaring, and the market for such as she on this world, then, in this larger context, her situation did not seem so untoward or inexplicable at all. Its hue of strangeness was no more than an illusion, a distortion, perceived through a prism of ignorance. To a native glass beads may appear strange. And she had no doubt but what had happened to her had happened to a great many of her former world. She suspected that her status, her condition, her situation, her fate, her fortune, her experiences and such, those of an Earth woman brought to Gor as a slave, were not unique to her. Doubtless they were shared by many of her former world.

From time to time, the gong sounded.

Then she said to herself, “In any event, you are now no longer an Earth woman, but only a Gorean slave girl. That is what you are now, and all you are now!”

She wondered if lovely Dara, who had danced yesterday evening in the ba-ta circle, who had taken the bracelet from her in the area of preparation, who had been lashed by the exterior whip master, who had had the low number 51, had been sold. She thought it likely, as Dara had had such a low number. On the other hand, they might save her for the last night. It was up to the masters. Ellen envied Dara her low number.

Somewhat later Ellen’s lane was fed. A slave girl with a bucket of thickened slave gruel went down the line and those in the lane were permitted, one after the other, to reach into the bucket with their free hand, and were permitted to keep what they could hold in one hand. A second girl, carrying a large, flat, wicker tray, brought wedges of bread, cut from flat, rounded loaves, and gave one to each slave. Ellen had learned in the coffle, days ago, that it was not wise to ask for more.

The sales proceeded.

Ellen was thirsty, but she supposed that water would be provided later. Certainly that was among the bits of information which had been secured by 115.

She was grateful to 115, for her boldness, however deferentially it had been proffered, and the welcome intelligence she had managed to obtain. She herself, less confidant, would have been reluctant to inquire. She would not have wanted to be lashed. But there was something for being first on the chain, of course. That did, in effect, make one a likely spokesman or representative of one’s fellows. Too, she was undeniably beautiful. Beautiful slaves often, it seemed, were accorded preferential treatment. This did not, of course, increase their popularity with their sisters in bondage. To be sure, some masters, perhaps aware of the latent dangers of such tendencies to laxness make it a practice to be particularly severe with beautiful slaves, and then the beauties are kept in so fierce and orderly a discipline that it requires great courage for them to do so much as lift their eyes to those of their master.

But I suppose that I am as beautiful as she, thought Ellen.

And, of course, from time to time, one lane or another was emptied, as its occupants were conducted forward, or perhaps, one should say, “herded forward,” as that phrasing seems more accurate. Certainly the men who fetched them, the sales attendants, seemed more like rude herdsmen than solicitous merchants. They carried sticks, and it was not without jabbings, pokings and blows, and impatient expostulations, that they sped their linked, disconcerted, intimidated charges, those lovely, chained she-animals, forward, presumably to a final staging area prior to their sale.

Ellen was then angry with Selius Arconious. She recalled how he had looked upon her, when she had knelt in the silken enclosure, when she had lifted her wrists, and had had them tied, and had then been drawn by them, tethered, to her feet, to be led to the sales area.

“He looked upon me as an animal,” she thought. “In his eyes I was no more than a tethered beast!” Then she recalled, angrily, that that was all she was, in truth, a beast, an animal, a domestic animal, a small, sleek, exquisite, curvaceous domestic animal, who might be bought and sold. “I hate him!” she thought. “I hate him!”

Ellen was furious.

“He might have been looking upon any slave,” she thought. “How pathetic and miserable to be a slave! How glorious it would be to be free, so that I might tantalize and taunt him, that I might make him suffer, that I might make him miserable, that I might punish and torment him, if only with the glimpse of an ankle, with all the cleverness and all the power, and all the impunity, of the secure, protected free woman! But I am a slave! Such things are denied me! I cannot behave in such ways. I cannot do such things! Men have decided to own me, and will do so!”

“I hate him! I hate him!” she thought.

“Put him from your mind,” she thought, “a nothing, a lowly tarnster! You had twenty-one bids on you. You should obtain a well-fixed master. You might have sandals. You might be given a silken tunic. How pleased I am that he cannot afford me! I hate him! I hate him!”

The gong then rang again.

Ellen wondered if Louise and Renata had been sold. She had not seen them in the cages, or at the stakes, or in the lanes. That was not surprising, as there were, obviously, a great many slaves in the camp.

This was not a typical market, Ellen realized. It was not merely that it was a festival camp, for it was not that unusual to sell women on holidays, and at times of celebration, sometimes with special advertising on the public boards, and such; it had to do, rather, with the sales being conducted not by a private house, but by a state, in this case the state of Cos, the amount of merchandise being offered and the relatively brief duration of the sale, some three days, it seemed. That was not a long time in which to dispose of so considerable an amount of stock, something in the vicinity of a thousand women.

Perhaps that explained something of the urgency, the impatience, of the attendants.

To be sure, after the days of the sales, there might be some women left over. A thousand women, or so, was a great many to dispose of in three days, even if several were vended in lots.

The lane next to Ellen’s had now been emptied, and, a little later, another chain of women was introduced into it.

The lanes, it seemed, were not going in any obvious order, at least in any order obvious to the occupants of the lanes. Lanes on both sides of Ellen’s lane, nearer or farther away, had been emptied and refilled, some more than once.

“We are special,” the girl before Ellen, 116, said. This message was apparently being relayed from the girl before her, 115, who seemed pleased about the matter. So Ellen turned to the girl behind her, and transmitted the message. Ellen, too, was somewhat pleased. Apparently her lane was being held for later in the sales.

It was not difficult, upon occasion, however, to anticipate which lane would move next for a wastes bucket was passed down the lane, that the slaves might relieve themselves. This reduces the possibilities of accidents on the block, brought about perhaps by consternation or terror. Even so most blocks, in the gentle, circular depression toward their center, worn by the passing of so many small, bared feet, are furnished with sawdust. Following the passing along of the wastes vessel, over which the slaves must squat and relieve themselves in order, a girl brings a bucket and dipper with water. The slaves must then drink liberally from the large dipper, draining it, for this freshens their appearance and pleasantly rounds the belly. That liquid, of course, will not have time to pass through their body before their sale.

Ellen’s attention was drawn to a slave in the lane to her left. That slave, like the others, was linked by the left wrist to the others in her group. She, however, was red-eyed, apparently from crying. Also, on her back and elsewhere about her body there was a plenitude of stripes, which must have pained her sorely. The slave went to all fours, looking about herself, wildly. Some of the women in Ellen’s lane were conversing softly, which was permitted. “Slave girl,” whispered the slave fiercely, she in the lane to Ellen’s left, rather at her side, as the lanes were organized.

“Yes, slave girl?” said Ellen, irritably.

The woman looked at Ellen angrily.

“May we speak?” she whispered, looking about herself, presumably fearful of the presence of attendants.

“Yes,” said Ellen.

“They have beaten me!” she whispered.

“Perhaps you were displeasing,” said Ellen.

“You do not understand,” said the woman. “They have taken my clothes!”

“None of us are clothed,” said Ellen, puzzled.

“You do not understand, stupid slave girl,” said the woman. “I am the Lady Melanie of Brundisium! I am a free woman! A terrible mistake has been made! They seized me, yesterday evening! They have chained me! They think I am a slave!”

“You are pretty enough to be a slave,” said Ellen.

“I am Melanie, of Brundisium! The Lady Melanie of Brundisium! How can I convince them of this? How can I correct this terrible misunderstanding!”

“Explain the matter to the masters,” suggested Ellen.

“I tried! They beat me!” wept the woman.

“Cosians?” asked Ellen.

“Yes!”

“They do as they wish,” said Ellen. “One does not question the spears of Cos.”

“Tell me what I am to do! Tell me how to free myself!”

“Do I not know you?” asked Ellen.

The woman looked at Ellen, closely. “The slave girl!” she said.

“I know you,” said Ellen. “I can tell your voice! You are the free woman by the campfire, in the Robes of Concealment, with the necklace, and the jewels on your robes. You had me pour wine for you! You made me kneel before you!”

“Yes, slut!” said the woman.

“When you are sold, perhaps your master will give you a tunic,” said Ellen, “— if you beg prettily enough.”

“Insolent slave!” said the woman. “I shall order you beaten!”

“Not unless you have the talmit, or the switch, or unless you are first girl,” said Ellen, angrily.

“Slave, slave!” hissed the woman.

Ellen moved a bit forward, and to the side, and the woman tried to turn quickly away, but she had not detected Ellen’s intent quickly enough, and Ellen had a glimpse of what she had suspected.

“You are branded,” said Ellen, delightedly.

“No!” said the woman.

“I think you are,” said Ellen. “Show me!”

The woman, angrily, turned a little, to the side.

“Yes,” said Ellen, “you are branded.”

“The beasts held me down! I could not move! They marked me!”

“A nicely done brand,” said Ellen.

“Do you think so?” asked the woman.

“Yes,” said Ellen. “It is the common kef.”

“It is meaningless!” cried the woman.

“I do not think you will find it so,” said Ellen.

“I am not a slave!” said the woman.

“You have been marked,” said Ellen. “You will be sold. Then you will doubtless find yourself in a collar, your master’s collar. Whether or not you will be permitted clothing, a tunic, a rag, a slave strip, will be up to your master.”

“I am the Lady Melanie of Brundisium!” she protested.

“I am not sure you have a name,” said Ellen. “Did a scribe give you a name?”

“Of course not!” she said.

“What did the scribe put on your records?”

“‘Melanie’,” she said.

“Then you have been given a name, ‘Melanie’,” said Ellen. “Your master may change it, if he does not like it. But it is a pretty name. Perhaps he will permit you to keep it.”

“It is my name!” she said.

“No,” said Ellen, “not in the sense you think. In the sense you have in mind, you have no name, no more than a tarsk. Your name, if it is seen fit to give you a name, will be whatever masters wish.”