Witness of Gor (87 page)

And auctions are such tricky things. Could we be sure of overcoming all bids? Might there not be others who, for similar reasons, for similar grievances, might be as anxious as we to obtain her? And what if she misbehaved in the house of the slaver and was, say, cut to pieces, and never even came to the block? But more than these fears, I think, was the pleasure, the gratification, which would be felt in our house by our having been your actual ransomer. I think you can understand what an excellent and fitting thing this was. And so she came into our hands, deliciously, as a free woman. And what, then, was to be done with he? We had feared, you might recall, that she might find herself enslaved, but our fear, most particularly, most exactly, was that she would find herself enslaved by the will and act of another-and not by our will and act, not by the will and act of the house of William, in Harfax. But our fears proved groundless. She has now been enslaved by our own will and act, by the will and act of the house of William, in Harfax, and is now, specifically, my slave, I who am the fifth son, and least in that house. You understand the meaning of this, too, I am sure, that you are the slave of the least in the house. But do not fear.

You will be presented before the first in the house. An oath has been sworn to that effect.

Indeed, it is in accord with the provisions of that oath I am come to Treve, to fetch you to Harfax. It is to be mine, you see, in accord with the provisions of the oath, to throw you as my branded slave, naked and in chains, to the feet of he who is first in my house, William, my father.”

The slave's head was down.

"You will serve well in the house, I assure you," he said. "You will work long and hard, you will perform the lowliest and most servile tasks.”

She did not lift her head.

"You will be kept under the strictest of disciplines," he said.

She kept her head down.

"It will be amusing," he said, "to point you out to our guests, and delineate your history, as, too, you are serving at our meals. Indeed, afterwards, perhaps we will have you accompany our guests to their rooms, seeing to their needs and wants, attending upon them, bringing them fresh linen, bathing them, preparing their couch and, later, naturally, taking your place at its slave ring, a token of the hospitality of the house of William.”

She kept her head down.

"Yes," he cried, angrily, "you will serve well in that house! And, that it may be well recalled who you were, and what you did, you will be suitably named. Put your head to the tiles!”

She, kneeling, in the outer robe of concealment, in the hood, in the veil, thrust her head down to the tiles. Her small hands were then up, behind her, high, resting on her back, where the wrists were crossed, tied together.

"I name you 'Constanzia'!" he said, angrily.

The slave was now named 'Constanzia'.

At this point the clerk inscribed something on the set of papers which lay still on the table.

"You may straighten your back, but keep your head down, slave," said the angry Henry, of the house of William, in Harfax.

Instantly the slave, who was now "Constanzia," obeyed.

The clerk now folded the papers together, forming the long, narrow packet as before. He then tied the packet shut with the blue-and-yellow ribbon. He then walked across the scarlet circle, past the kneeling slave, and handed the papers to Henry, who took them, and put them within his robes, as he had his copy of the earlier papers, the court papers.

These later papers were undoubtedly the slave's slave papers. Somewhere, I had no doubt, there were similar papers on me. The notation on the papers which had been made by the clerk had undoubtedly been the slave's name, presumably with the effective date of the name, as such names may be changed, as the master wishes. Subsequent names may, of course, be added to the papers, with their effective dates. Different masters, for example, will often give different names to slaves. Blue and yellow are the colors of the caste, or subcaste, as the case may be, of the Slavers. Some, as noted earlier, regard the Slavers as a caste independent of the Merchants, some regard it as a subcaste of the Merchants. The colors of the merchant caste itself are white and yellow, or white and gold. Needless to say, caste members do not always wear the caste colors. For example, a scribe would normally wear his blue when working but not always when at leisure.

Goreans are fond of color and style in their raiment. They tend to be careful of their appearance and often delight in looking well. Not all slave papers are bound in blue and yellow, of course. I had seen copies in the pens which were in plain folders, in envelopes, and such. Indeed, some had been merely clipped together.

"I would now be left alone with the slave," said Henry.

"Our concern in this business is now done," said the clerk. "We have another matter to attend to, one which must shortly be discharged.”

"I will not be long," said Henry.

"I wish you well," said the clerk.

"I wish you well," said Henry.

The clerk then, followed by the two guards of the court, withdrew.

The pit master and I were well back in the shadows. I am sure the fellow realized our presence in the chamber, but it was not conspicuous. The two guards from the pits, who had come with us, were back by the main portal.

"I hate you!" Henry said to the slave.

She trembled, her head down, her hands bound behind her.

"Oh," he said, angrily, "it is not merely that you were once the hated Constanzia of Besnit? What matter such mild hatreds? We have you now in our collar. You are now under our whip.

Let the house be satisfied with what you now are, and what will be done with you. I hold a grudge against you far more profound than that attendant upon the fraud you wrought upon us, even that attendant upon the near ruin into which you brought our house. No, do not dare to lift your head, hated slave!”

The slave kept her head down.

"You do not understand, do you, hated, branded slut!" he cried.

She whimpered twice in misery.

"Ah," said he, "you have already been taught gag signals! Excellent!”

I did not understand his fury.

"Twice you have caused great injury to the house of William," he said, "once to the house as house, and once to the house through me, one of that house.”

He then, in fury, spurned the slave with his foot to the tiles. "Dare not to look upon me!" he cried.

She kept her eyes averted.

Even I was terrified by his wrath.

"Curse honor!" he suddenly cried, his fists clenched.

I was startled by this outburst, and looked up, more closely than before, less unobtrusively, less furtively. His back was to me. I had not heard this voice much before, if I had heard it before, only a few times, and then it had been in calmness, even in humor, sometimes in peremptory command, not as it was now, shaken with rage, almost hoarse with fury. But I thought that I recognized it. Before it had been only a whisper about my mind. Now I was certain. Also, it then became clear to me that the slave, far more familiar with the voice than I, if it was indeed the voice which I thought, must have surely wondered or speculated, or suspected, or entertained hopes, about the identity of its owner long before I. But she could not have been certain of the matter, for the voice was now unnatural with rage, and there might be many similar voices. She had not been permitted to look upon his features. That had been denied to her. She could not then be absolutely certain as to the matter. Indeed, even I had not looked directly upon him.

"What injury you have done to me!" he cried. "It is because of you that I have lost the most exquisite, beautiful, and desirable slave in all the world, the woman I love! Yes, here in this retreat of tarns, I found my love slave. But I must conduct my business! I must ransom the slut, Constanzia of Besnit! I must sign the letters of credit to the state of Treve to redeem her, rather than use them to negotiate for she who is to me beyond compare, who is to me above all others.

Curse honor! Were it not for honor I would forget you. I would let you be dragged to any kennel, on any man's chain. Were it not for honor I would remain secretly, at the risk of my very life, in this city, to seek her, to somehow come into possession of her! Were it not for honor I would find my love, and fly with her! Kneel, head down!”

The slave struggled again to her knees.

"We must leave," he said. "The clerk has further business this afternoon.”

He then walked a little about the slave, considering her. He crouched down behind her, and put his hand on her ankle. She tried, in fear, to draw it a little away, but he held it. "Do you fear a man's touch on you?" he asked. "You will grow used to it, my dear. Your ankle is not bad.

It is trim, like hers. It will doubtless take a shackle well." He then moved his hand a bit inside her outer robe, perhaps to the interior of her thigh. She jerked, putting her head back, and then, swiftly, lowered it again. "You will grow used to it," he said.

Then he stood up. "Your body may prove to be, as rumored, not without interest," he said. "But you will never compare to her.

You are too unlike her. At best you would be as a moon to her sun. To her you will always be, in my mind, as nothing.”

He then walked further about her.

"Would you like to speak?" he asked.

She whimpered once, desperately. Then, after a time, she again whimpered once, even more desperately. Then, in a moment, she began to try to speak, making tiny little futile noises, muffled in the gag.

"But you see," he said, "you may not speak. Were you not informed? Do you not understand that your words, no matter how piteous, will be of no avail? The matter is now concluded. You are branded, branded, you perfidious, dishonest, corrupt, fraudulent slut-yes, at last, after all this time, branded, at last branded!-superb!-it is now done!-the slave mark is now on you, in you!it has been burned deeply into your very body with the fiery iron-understand that, slut!-and you are now, too, in your rightful neckwear, no necklace, my dear, but the collar of a slave-and it is locked on you-and you cannot remove it-and it is my collar!-it is my collar that you wear, slut! You are now owned! I own you! You are now kajira!

Kajira! And my dear, my sweet little thing, you are my kajira!”

"Ah, you would speak? But were you not informed? Your words are not of interest to those of the house of William. Why should we listen to the begging, pleading prattle of a slave? We choose not to do so. Perhaps later you will be permitted to speak, and you will be lashed if we are not pleased with your words." He then walked about her, until, again, he was rather before her, she a little to his left. "Keep your head down," he warned her.

The slave, kneeling before him, head down, pulled at the binding fiber.

"Do you truly think you can free yourself?" he asked.

She ceased her efforts, putting her head down even further. She whimpered twice.

"You might be interested in knowing," said he, "my former lofty, rich lady, that your rival, the one I prefer a thousand times to you, is one amongst the lowliest of slaves, and one, it seems, amongst the most despised of slaves, one clad when most often I saw her only in a collar and rags, and never in more than a simple tunic. Her name, not that it matters, is 'Tuta'.”

The slave began to tremble, uncontrollably.

"What is wrong?" he asked, puzzled.

The slave seemed in much agitation. How she pulled at the binding fiber, so desperately, yet so futilely. She made tiny noises, they muffled in the gag.

I myself had drawn back on my knees. What I had feared, what I had hoped, had come true!

He regarded the slave, puzzled, she kneeling, head down, before him.

"I do not understand," he said.

She whimpered piteously, desperately.

"What is wrong with you?" he asked. "Doubtless she wishes to plead," he mused. "It will do her no good." He looked down upon her. "Do not expect the least of kindnesses or considerations in our house, new slave.”

She squirmed.

"Perhaps she wishes to raise her head," he speculated.

She whimpered once, desperately.

"So soon she desires to exert the wiles of a slave!" he said, angrily.

She whimpered, in misery.

"Ah, yes," he said, "I have heard rumors to the effect that the Lady Constanzia of Besnit might have slave curves concealed beneath her robes. Would one not have guessed? And how appropriate! And how fortunate for her! Perhaps if she grovels well she may be lashed less frequently! Perhaps she desires to now exhibit them, that they might win for her some lenience? Do you think I am so easily put off, so easily swayed, dear little thing, that I might be seduced from my resolution by the luscious contours of a begging slave? But do not fear, for I have every intention of putting them frequently and well to my pleasure. But they will never compare with those of my love! To her gold, no matter how luscious and exciting might prove to be the curves of your perfidious, despicable body, you can never be more than a meaningless tarskbit of shaved copper!”

The body of the slave shook, trembling with emotion.

"See," he said, scornfully. "How quickly she learns! She is clever, no doubt! Oh, yes, she is highly intelligent, but now her intelligence will have a different object, not that of seeking wealth and power, but that of pleasing a master! Scarcely has she been branded and the collar put on her than she hopes to sway me with the pathetic artifices, the piteous beggings, of a trembling slave, but her cunning will avail her naught!”