Witness of Gor (45 page)

"Prisoners?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "And thus is order kept in this place.”

"Is he human?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"What are you saying there?" asked the slurring voice, almost like that of a beast.

"Nothing, Master," she said.

"Nothing?" asked he.

"It is only the meaningless drivel of a slave," she averred.

"What have you said to her?" asked he.

"Only little things," she said. "She may desire to live.”

"Are you untying her ankles?" asked he.

"I bend to my task, Master," she said.

She knelt by my ankles bending forward. Her small fingers struggled with the knots. They would not be easy to undo. They had been jerked tight by a man.

"Wait," said he.

"Master?" she asked.

"Does she appear to you sensitive, extremely feminine, even high strung?”

I looked up at the slave, startled.

"Yes, Master," responded the slave, after a moment, thoughtfully.

"Are her ankles still tightly bound?" he asked.

"Alas, yes, Master," said the slave, frightened.

"Desist in your efforts to free her, for the moment," said he.

"Yes, Master," said the slave.

"You are a newcomer to our world, are you not?" it asked.

"Is she not of the Peasants?" called the free woman from her cage, angrily, suspended over the dark waters.

But none paid her attention.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"But you have learned to call men 'Master'?”

"Yes, Master," I said.

"This world is very different from yours, is it not?" he asked. "Yes, Master," I said.

"But you are learning to fit in, are you not?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" I said.

"And you belong in a world such as this, do you not?" he asked.

"I fear so, Master," I whispered. It made no sound. "Yes, Master," I said.

"And as what you are?”

"Yes, Master," I said. It was true.

"Your ankles are tightly tied, are they not?" he asked.

I moved them, a tiny bit. How helpless I was! How tight the cords were!

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Before her ankles are untied," he said, "let her look upon my face.”

"Yes, Master," said the slave at my ankles.

I half reared up, my hands bound behind me.

"Courage," whispered the slave rising to her feet. She went to the torch behind the beastlike figure and removed it from the holder. He approached me, his face in darkness. I moved back a little. I could feel the toils of the net beneath me. How terrifying to be a slave! How helpless we are! His face was now close to mine. The woman then brought the torch forward, so that it was, lifted, a little behind me, near the wall. In this fashion were the features of the pit master illuminated.

I screamed, and tried to scramble back, bound as I was. His hand, on a bound ankle, drew me forward, over the net, on the stones. I twisted and thrashed for a moment, and then, in misery, in disbelief, looking up, past the torch, toward the recesses of the ceiling, lay still. I felt his heavy, pawlike hand. It moved about. I shuddered. "She has smooth skin," he said. He then put a hand to my hair and, by my hair, drew me up, sitting, before him.

In my hair his hand was tight. I did not complain. A slave is not a free woman. She does not expect to be handled gently. I did not wish to be cuffed. I kept my eyes closed, desperately. He drew my head forward, closer to his. I could feel the heat of his breath on my face.

I sobbed. I gasped. Burning tears forced themselves from between my tightly pressed eyelids. "Open your eyes," it said. I could tell that it was not pleased. His hand was now cruelly tight in my hair. I was well held.

My ankles fought the cords on them. My hands were tied behind my back.

I could not press him away, or even try to do so. I could not leap up. I could not run. He tightened his grip yet more on my hair and, instantly, sobbing, I ceased to struggle. I held as still as I could. The least movement would have caused me excruciating agony.

"Courage!" whispered the female slave.

"Must a command be repeated?" he inquired.

"No, Master!" I whispered.

I then opened my eyes and now, for the first time, confirming the horror of my earlier, briefest glimpse, looked fully upon the features of the pit master.

It was in the power of this thing that I was!

A convulsive shudder overcame me.

I lost consciousness.

THIRTEEN I awakened, kicked.

"Awaken," said a voice, "weak-stomached slut.”

"I am awake, Master!" I wept.

"Oh!" I cried, again kicked.

I lay on the walkway, on the toils of the net on my stomach. I was still bound, as I had been.

"Kneel," said he.

"Master!" I begged.

But he did not qualify, or rescind, his order.

I struggled to comply. Twice I fell, groaning. I feared I might be beaten. Masters are seldom patient with us.

"Master!" I begged, again.

But he was silent.

Again I struggled to comply.

Then, sore, and gasping, I was successful!

A frightened slave girl now knelt before him, naked, and bound hand and foot.

It was I.

I dared not look again on that monstrous head, with its hideous features. The female slave, standing nearby with the torch, had said I need not look upon it, unless commanded to do so.

I kept my eyes down.

He was standing before me.

I could see his sandals.

I bent forward, from the waist, and, putting my head down, pressed my lips to his sandals, licking and kissing them.

And thus did I, a slave girl on an exotic world, seek to placate he who was to me in this place as master.

"Do the women of your world seek to placate thusly the men of their world?" he asked.

"Doubtless some, Master," I said.

"But it is done rarely?" he asked.

"I do not know, Master," I said.

"But it is not done rarely on this world," he said.

"No, Master," I said.

"And you are now of this world," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You lick and kiss well," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said. I loved to render such obeisance to men.

It seemed, somehow, so very real, and fulfilling to me. In such a humble act I acknowledged, and honored, not only the maleness of a given individual, of a given master, but, in a sense, all maleness, and the might of the mastery, and expressed, lovingly, in joy and tenderness, my femaleness. There is something profoundly symbolic in this simple act. I find it very moving. To be sure, it can be performed under many quite different circumstances and conditions. Sometimes one performs it in timidity, or even terror. Sometimes one may perform it as a way of pleading, even, for one's life.

And this thing to which I now addressed these attentions, I knew, might not even be human. It seemed to me, in effect, a monster. But it seemed to me, still, this way of rendering obeisance, to be a way of expressing even to it, even to what was perhaps some sort of monster, that I was a slave, and desired to be pleasing. I was, after all, subject to its domination, as I would have been to an individual master, one who had, say, bought me off a block.

He bent down and lifted me up, and then sat me back, my back against the retaining wall, separating the well-like enclosure from the walkway.

"Can you untie her ankles?" he asked the female slave.

"I do not think so," she whispered. She had struggled futilely with the knots. They were, it seemed, beyond her strength.

The shape then bent down and, with its great hands, undid the knots. He did this easily.

I was then lifted to my feet. I stood unsteadily.

"We will show her the pool," said the creature.

I did not look at him. I kept my eyes away from his visage.

"Yes, Master," said the slave with the torch.

The three of us stood then near the wall. I was still unsteady. The walkway went all about the well-like enclosure. I could see other passages opening from it, here and there.

"Beat her!" called the free woman from the cage.

The pit master regarded her. The slave with the torch lifted it higher.

"She told me she was a free woman!" said the free woman.

"Did you tell her that?" asked the creature.

"No!" I said, frightened. "I did not tell her that!”

"Do you think you are a free woman?" he asked.

"No, Master!" I said.

"What are you?”

"A slave, Master!" I cried.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said, "only a slave, only that!”

"Did you let her believe you to be a free woman?" asked the creature.

"Yes, Master," I moaned.

"See!" cried the free woman.

"You should have informed her instantly that you were only a slave," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"She told me she was of the Peasants!" said the free woman.

"No!" I cried. "I never said that!”

"You permitted her to believe it?" asked the pit master.

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"You should not have done that," he said.

"I am new to your world, Master!" I said.

"You must learn our ways more quickly," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You must be punished," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"And was she never even of the Peasants?" asked the free woman.

"No," said the pit master. "She has always been casteless.”

"She was not even once of the lowest of castes?" inquired the free woman, puzzled.

"She has always been casteless, completely," said the pit master.

I could sense that this puzzled the free woman.

"As an animal?" asked the free woman.

"Yes," said the pit master.

I thought of the women of my world. Certainly the vast majority of us did not have caste.

How natural then that we should be put in collars! And even if we had caste our castes would doubtless not be respected by these men. They would simply take them from us, making us their slaves. There had been two girls from India, beauties both, in my training group.

Certainly they had not found themselves regarded any differently, or treated any differently, from the rest of us, whether from Germany, or Japan, or the United States, or elsewhere. Their caste had been taken from them. They, too, as we, were now only slaves.

They learned to lick and kiss the whip as quickly, as delicately, as the rest of us. And, indeed, the vast majority of female slaves on this world would surely be native to this world, and would, thus, presumably, have once had caste. But, in being enslaved, they were stripped of their caste. In the end, it seemed, there were no castes, only men, and women.

"She is a barbarian?" asked the woman.

"Yes," said the pit master. He spoke to her, I supposed, because she was free.

"I knew that!" she said. "I could tell from her accent, which is terrible.”

"She speaks well," said the pit master.

I undoubtedly did have an accent. On the other hand, I gathered that I spoke the language quite well, considering my limited time on this world. One might mention that the language, as far as I can tell, is spoken with a great variety of accents. For example, the men in the pens spoke quite differently from those I had encountered on the surface of the tower. Too, there seemed to be class differences even in given areas. I had heard my accent spoken of, incidentally, as a "slave accent," of which there were apparently several. On the other hand, the free woman had apparently not taken it as such. Perhaps if she had seen me in a slave tunic, kneeling before her, she might have done so. I supposed it would be impossible for me to ever completely eradicate the "slave accent" from my speech. I had not, for example, learned the language as a child. Too, there were certain words, and combinations of words, in this language I found it impossible to pronounce like a native speaker. Too, if I grew excited, or confused, I would surely betray myself by some slip. Too, some utterance in my native tongue might escape me in dreaming. And there were numerous other ways, too, physical and otherwise, in which my origins might be betrayed, such as a vaccination mark and two tiny fillings. The latter, for example, would surely be discovered when a possible buyer checked the condition of my teeth.

Too, I would be ignorant of thousands of things which would be common knowledge to natives of this world. Too, I would never have an opportunity to learn many of these things, secret sayings and such, for it is forbidden to teach them to slaves. The important thing, of course, is not the accent, or what one knows, but what one is. Even the most informed and sophisticated woman of this world, you see, once she is enslaved, becomes instantly, doubtless to her horror, no more than a property, an animal, that which must serve, that which may be done with as the master pleases.