Conspirators of Gor (48 page)

I, personally, saw little difference between Lord Grendel and another Kur. To the Kur, on the other hand, certain differences were apparently offensively obvious. For example, the paws and feet of Lord Grendel had but five digits, rather than the six found in the paws and feet of a normal Kur. There were other apparently subtle differences of appearance, as well, but these, or most of them, seemed negligible to me. Perhaps most interestingly, Lord Grendel could approximate human phonemes. One supposes, of course, that there might also be other differences, internal differences, of a sort less easy to detect, in physiology, and, perhaps, in sensibility, disposition, consciousness, and such. Lord Grendel, as I have mentioned before, claimed to be Kur. The newcomer accepted him as Kur. But the newcomer, of course, was blind.

I looked about myself.

The next races were with bipedalian tharlarion. Such races, given the beasts, are faster, rougher, and more dangerous. Such races are apparently difficult to anticipate and analyze, presumably from the unpredictability of the beasts, which are sometimes refractory, and sometimes wayward and aggressive. Sometimes a favorite will balk, and an unknown bound to victory. Some people will not bet on such races.

I could no longer see the two back-braceleted, neck-chained kajirae. As they had been in a blue-and-yellow livery, the colors of the Slavers, I supposed they might have been brought to the races to be offered. I supposed them such then that men might bid well on them. I suspected that if I were to be put up now, men might bid well on me, as well. Was I not different now than I had been, now that I was collared? Had I not been stalked by the Metal Worker? Had he not stood between me and a beast? To be sure, he had treated me with abruptness and authority in the market of Cestias, long ago, and had availed himself of my lips near Six Bridges, taking so presumptuous a liberty, when I was in no position to resist. He had given me a blanket in the wagon. But he had forced me to cook for him, the same night, and had put me to the indignity of all fours, as though I might have been a she-tarsk, and had fed me by hand. To be sure, I was grateful for the food. He had then had me lie beside him, “bound by his will,” reclined as the mere slave I was, and had had me speak, and speak. I had told him so much, and revealed so much of myself, baring myself, my past, my thoughts, my hopes, fears, and feelings before him, as only a slave might bare herself before a master, and then, when I was so open, so confessed, so exposed, so vulnerable, so helplessly exhibited, he had informed me that he had “stripped me.” And well then had I been stripped, stripping myself, before that man! How well he then knew me! What had I left to hide from him, but then it is all of a kajira that is owned. He had then put me on the girl chain. But as I lay there that night, in the dirt, shackled to the common chain, I was pleased, so pleased, that I had been able to speak. But, I wondered how it was that he, a master, should be interested, if indeed he had been, in the thoughts and feelings of a kajira. Surely we kajirae were only beasts to be worked and put to use, and to be whipped if we were not pleasing. But, I thought, perhaps he is the sort of master who would be satisfied with owning nothing less than all of a kajira. The kajira, of course, knows that it is all of her that is owned. That is clear in law. But how frightening it sometimes is for her to realize that that is true, that it is all of her that is owned.

I supposed the saddle beasts, the racers, were now being prepared for the final races, which would culminate the day.

Tor-tu-Gor was still bright, but there were long shadows, from the awnings, lying across the nearer track. Across the way, at the far track, male work slaves were scattering water on the track.

People were now beginning to return to the tiers.

I sat there on the tier, tunicked, my legs closely together, my hands braceleted behind me, my left ankle fastened to the tier ring. I picked out the slaves in the crowd, in their colored tunics. I saw one slave in a short tunic which was white, with broad, diagonal black stripes. Her master, I thought, must be an old-fashioned fellow, a traditionalist, or such. Such tunics, it seemed, were once quite common, indeed almost a universal uniform of kajirae, but, later, happily, a great deal of variety had been introduced into slave tunics, in color, cut, neckline, and such. Masters now had a great many options at their disposal when it came to clothing their properties, if they chose to clothe them. We girls, muchly concerned, like all women, with enhancing our appearance, with being attractive, even beautiful, muchly approved this state of affairs. And, of course, though the final word is the master’s, it is a rare master who is immune to the delights which a lovely slave might choose to present for his consideration. Surely he does not wish his girl to be out of fashion, which might cast discredit on his taste, or wallet, or both. And now we might compete in a hundred new ways with one another, almost like free women who compete by means of the many luxurious varieties of their own bright, colorful, beautifully draped garmentures. To be sure, there is no danger of mistaking the brief, slight, dramatically revealing tunic of a slave with the concealing robes and veils of a free woman. I noted, again, the slave in the white, black-striped tunic. It was not unattractive. She had good legs.

I pulled a little at the bracelets which held my hands confined behind my back. How different this is from my former world, I thought. Here one thinks nothing of lovely, collared, back-braceleted, briefly tunicked slaves moving about in a crowd. Such a striking contrast with the others about, those well robed, so fully clothed! But how taken for granted here such beauties are! It is no more than a cultural commonplace. But on my former world this sort of thing would attract a great deal of attention, say, the appearance in a crowd of a lovely young woman, barefoot or sandaled, half naked, briefly tunicked, her neck in a collar, clearly locked on her neck, her hands braceleted closely, helplessly, behind her, perhaps even on a leash.

“Oh!” I said, for a cloth had been, from behind, suddenly slipped over my head. It was looped twice about my head and knotted in the back. I was blindfolded! “Master?” I said.

There was laughter from about.

I felt my head pulled back by the hair, and I was then, head back, facing upward, toward the billowing, striped awning, which I could not see.

I felt harsh masculine lips crush my lips.

I could not move, for the hand in my hair.

I could not speak, for the pressure.

Too, I had not been given permission to speak.

Then I moaned, and squirmed, and fought, and feared, and involuntarily trembled, for I sensed my body might yield to him.

How could I help myself?

I was a slave!

I feared that, in a moment, I might, to the amusement of those about, press myself piteously against him.

Had he touched me, as one might touch a slave, so confidently, so certainly, and possessively, I feared I would have leaped to his touch, even spasmed.

Then the lips were gone, and I heard more laughter from those about.

I leaped to my feet, in consternation, in misery, unable to see, helpless, jerking against the bracelets.

“Kneel down, slut,” said an unpleasant masculine voice, and I instantly knelt, frightened, before the tier, putting my head to the cement.

“She is indeed a slut,” said another voice.

Had they detected the incipience of my response?

“Worse,” commented another, “a slave.”

“How helpless they are,” said another.

“She is a hot little beast,” said another.

“Ten tarsk-bits for her,” said another.

There was more laughter.

I heard, amongst the laughter, the peels of feminine mirth. I thought, angrily, put you in a tunic, and blindfold you, and subject you to such attentions, and see if you are any different!

A bit later, I felt myself drawn up, kneeling, and hands undid the blindfold. “Master,” I cried, “what was done to me!”

I was quickly, brutally cuffed.

My face stung. Tears sprang to my eyes.

“I do not recall,” said he in whose charge I was, “that you were given permission to speak.”

I looked at him, wildly, pathetically.

“You may speak,” he said.

With him were the Lady Bina, with her program, Astrinax, and the guard, Lykos.

“What was done to me!” I exclaimed, tearfully.

“You were put to lip rape,” he said. “You were not used under the tier, were you?” he asked.

“No, Master,” I said.

“It does not matter, anyway,” he said, “as you have had, as I understand it, your slave wine.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He held up, before me, a tarsk-bit. He handed it to the Lady Bina, who placed it in her pouch.

“I did not see who did it to me,” I said.

“No matter,” he said. “The tarsk-bit was paid.”

“The tarsk-bit?” I said.

“Look there,” he said, “and there,” pointing.

I followed his direction, and, in two places, I saw a slave on a tier, one below and well to my right, and another down, four tiers, to my left. They were blindfolded. I then saw another slave, looking down the tiers toward a vendor, which slave suddenly stiffened, fighting a blindfold wrapped about her face. I saw a large fellow hold her head back, and feast, at his pleasure, on her lips. She struggled, helplessly. I wondered if it were the same fellow who had pressed himself upon me.

“It is a jollity of the Vennan races, a game,” he said, “to harvest kisses from the lips of unattended kajirae.”

“So why was I unattended?” I asked.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“I am in your charge,” I said. “Why did you leave me? Why did you not stay, and protect me?”

“The tarsk-bit was paid,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

“You are not a free woman,” he said. “You are kajira. Surely, on the street, in the market, or elsewhere, you have received a sudden slap, or pinch, on the fundament, when unattended, even though you were in the tunic of a woman’s slave?”

“Yes,” I said, angrily.

“Perhaps, even,” he said, “an occasional kiss.”

“Perhaps,” I said. It did not seem to me that he, or the Lady Bina, or the beast, needed to know about such things. Occasionally a fellow had taken me in his arms, suddenly, unexpectedly, held me to him, and kissed me. Such things were done almost as one might glance at a sunset, ruffle the fur of a pet sleen, or bestow a familiar slap on the flank of a kaiila. I was, after all, goods, a property girl, a collar girl, a vendible animal, a purchasable, perhaps lovely, thigh-branded beast, a female slave, a mere kajira. Once a ruffian, lounging against a wall, as I made my way to the market, summoned me to him. As he was a free person, I had to obey, of course. He put me before him, and said, “Clasp your hands behind your back.” I did so, of course. Much may be done with an unattended slave. Is she to disobey a free person? He then put his hand under my chin, lifted it a little, and said, “Slave lips.” He was very close to me. I complied, and waited, eyes closed, and then he took my head, and pressed my lips to the wall. “Kiss it, slut,” he said, “for three Ehn; then be about your business.” I remained thusly, my lips pressed against the wall, my hands clasped behind my back, for three Ehn. I counted the Ehn, for fear he might be behind me, watching. Some passers-by laughed. Doubtless I was not the first slave they had seen, so discomfited. I then, tears in my eyes, my fists clenched, then better aware of my slavery, left. Too, I was distraught. He had been cruel, but had I been found wanting? Was I so poor a slave, so unattractive a slave? Had my lips not been formed, at his command, as a slave’s lips, readied for attention? Had I not, eyes closed, waited, until I had been ignored or rejected, and my pursed lips put to a stone wall, against which I foolishly stood, my hands clasped behind my back, while strangers, some amused, passed by? How helpless, weak, and meaningless I felt! I had been neglected, ignored, and scorned, and not scorned as any slave is scorned, for she is a slave, but scorned even for the purposes of a slave! Is a woman fastened in a collar only to be fastened in a collar? Is its placement meaningless? Is that all she is to be left with, that there is a collar on her neck which she cannot remove? Was I such as to be put aside, dismissed, collared? Was I adjudged of no interest? Could I be so lacking? Was I so poor a slave? Was I not attractive, even beautiful, at least a little? My sense of my own worth, as a woman and a slave, was shaken. Was I so lacking? The young men I had known on my former world would have sought my kiss. Had I been interested in such things they would have been eager to pay for it! If I were truly of no interest to men why would I, and my sisters of the house, beauties all, have been brought to this world, for its girl markets, to be stripped, trained, caged, exhibited, and sold? I recalled a paga girl I had seen soliciting outside her master’s tavern. I had thrilled to her profound, vital, needful sensuousness. I felt a need to reassure myself, perhaps because I was a woman’s slave, and not a man’s slave. Of what value is a slave if she, in her collar, is not of interest to masters? I waited in the street for a time, and then chose a handsome, young Tarnster. Such, I was sure, would be interested in the lips of a slave. I trusted he would not strike me from him. I hurried before him, and knelt down, blocking his way, humbly, and seized his left leg, and pressed my head, lowered, against his leg, as I had seen the paga girl do. I then lifted my head and eyes to him, and said, as she had, “A slave would be kissed, Master.” “Very well,” he said, and lifted me up, and spent a few Ihn with me. “Is Master pleased?” I asked. “Very much,” he said, “which is your tavern?” “Ela, Master,” I cried, hurrying away, “I have only the tavern of my beauty.” I was much pleased, but, too, I was uneasy, for his touch had made me restless. I had suffered little in the way of slave fires, but I was a slave, and well aware of the deeper meanings of my collar. My most memorable experience along these lines, of course, was the interlude with the Metal Worker himself, in the vicinity of Six Bridges. After he had saved me from the girls of the house of Daphne, he had dealt with me at his leisure, and as he pleased, my hands incapacitated, unable to interfere, held over my head, balancing the laundry, my fingers, as he went about his inquiries, clawing into that large, soft bundle of sparkling sheets and linen which I dared not release lest it fall and be soiled, arousing me until, I fear, I had well shown myself, to his satisfaction, as he had apparently intended, slave.