"It seems your body moves as might that of a Kajira," said Verna.
"I am a Kajira," I whispered, "Mistress."
"You are not as other women," said Verna. "You are strong. You do not have their weaknesses."
I knelt before Verna. I extended my hands to her. "Have pity on me, Mistress." I wept.
Her eyes were hard.
I put down my head. "I am as other women," I said. "I am not strong." I swallowed. "I have the weaknesses of my sex," I said. "Indeed, I am perhaps more weak than any."
"Now you speak truly, El-in-or," said Verna. Her voice was not unkind. "Sometimes," said Verna, "it requires a man such as Rask of Treve to teach a women this weakness."
"I have been well taught," I whispered.
"I have fought this weakness in myself," said Verna.
"I will not fight it," I said. "I will yield to it."
"Rask of Treve," said Verna, smiling, "has given you no choice."
"That is true," I said. It was true. Rask of Treve, my Gorean master, had not seen fit to permit me choice in the matter of my helpless surrender. I put my head down.
"You have been conquered," said Verna.
"Yes," I said, "I have been conquered."
"I am leaving camp tonight," said Verna. I looked at her, startled.
She indicated a kneeling figure several yards away, bent over, facing the other direction. She wore crosses ankle rings, not permitting her to rise. Here wrists were braceleted behind her back. About her throat was a light, chain slave leash. Across the back of her dark hair I could see leather gag straps. "I am taking Talena with me," said Verna. "Rask of Treve has given her to me. I am taking her to the northern forests, as a slave."
"But she is the favorite of Rask of Treve," I whispered.
"No," said Verna.
"Will you not stay in the camp," I asked, "as the comrade of Rask of Treve?" She looked at me, and smiled. "No," she said. "My place is in the northern forests."
I did not speak.
"Is it pleasant," she asked, "to surrender to a man?"
I put my head down, shamed by joy.
"Ah," said Verna. Then she spoke to me softly. "Once," she said, "long ago, in the city of Ar, I saw a man, and in seeing him, for the only time in my life, I was afraid, for I feared he might do to me, if he wished, what Rask of Treve had done to you. I have never feared this of another man."
I looked at her.
"And so I hated him," she said, "and I resolved, someday, to see who would conquer."
"What is his name? I asked.
"Marlenus of Ar," she said.
I could not speak, so astonished I was.
She casually indicated the wretched girl bound to one side, beyond the bottom of the hillock. "This wench is bait," she said.
Verna turned away, and then she turned to face me. "Farewell, Slave," said she. I extended my hands to her, piteously.
"Should I see Rask of Treve," said Verna, "I will tell him that there is a chained girl, who, beneath the moons of Gor, begs him for his touch." "I wish you well, Mistress," I called. "I wish you well!"
Verna did not turn again, but went to the kneeling girl and unsnapped the crossed ankle rings, and put them in her pouch. She dragged the girl, wrists braceleted behind her back, to her feet, and led her away, between the tents. I could see the gag straps tight over the back of her hair as she was led away. I had little doubt that the magnificent Verna, leader of the panther girls, would bring her prize successfully to the northern forests.
I knelt alone then, chained, on the summit of the grassy hillock, beneath the vast, looming moons.
I became aware of a figure standing near me. I cried out, and reached for him. Rask of Treve did not bother to unchain me, but used me as I was, eager and moaning, beneath the moons of Gor.
Rask of Treve held my head in his two hands.
It was near dawn.
We lay on the summit of the grassy knoll, wrapped in his cloak. Sensing his permission, I again touched my lips, timidly to his. I was turned suddenly, helplessly, on my back, and again, clutching him, tears of pleasure in my eyes, yielded to the joy of him.
We were silent together.
There was a dew on the grass, and the cloak in which we lay wrapped was wet on the outside. The light of the beginning of the morning was tender, sparkling on the stalks of the grass, giving the hill of my domination a sweet, soft sheen. I still wore on my left ankle the heavy chain. Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, once of Earth, once rich, once spoiled, and cruel and selfish, now only a conquered Gorean slave girl, lay intimately, lovingly, in the arms of her absolute master.
I looked up into the eyes of Rask of Treve. He looked down upon me. "How is it that I care for you?" he asked. "I love you," I whispered. "I love you, Master."
"I despise you," he said.
I smiled at him, tears in my eyes.
"And yet," he said, "from the first time I saw you, in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, I could not forget you, but must have you as mine."
"I am yours," I whispered, "I am yours, Master. Utterly. Unconditionally yours. Your slave. Your helpless slave!"
"From the time I saw you," said he, "I knew that to me you could not be simply as other slaves."
I clutched him.
He looked down at me, troubled. He touched my head gently, moving back hair from the right side of my face. "Can it be," he asked, "that I, Rask of Treve, care for a mere slave?"
"I love you, Master," I cried, "I love you! I love you!"
He did not let me press my lips to his. He looked down upon me, smiling. "Were you curious," he asked, "why before I never let you serve the men, when the other girls did so."
I smiled up at him. "Yes," I said, "I am curious."
"I was saving you for myself," he said.
I laughed.
"I kept you as long as I could," he said, "but when you danced, then I knew I must have you."
I kissed him, and kissed him, weeping.
His hands were suddenly hard on my arms, and he forced me back. He grinned. "You danced your insolence," he said. "You danced your pride, your defiance, your contempt and scorn." He looked down at me.
I looked up at him. "I am not now insolent," I said, "Master." I smiled, tears in my eyes. "I am not now proud. I am not now defiant. I am not now contemptuous, nor scornful." I reached up, and he permitted me to kiss him, gently. I lay back. "I have been humbled, well humbled, Master," I smiled. "What are you now? he asked.
"Only your slave," I whispered, looking up at him, "only your humbled, helpless slave, Master." He laughed.
I smiled.
"I have heard," he said, "that there is an insolent female slave in camp, a proud, unconquered girl."
I shook my head. "No longer, Master," I said.
"Did she escape?" he asked.
"No, Master," I smiled, "she did not escape."
"Her name was El-in-or," he said.
"She did not escape," I said.
He smiled.
"No female slave escapes Rask of Treve," I said.
"That is true," he said, the beast. But it was true.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"That same El-in-or," I said.
"She did not escape?" he said.
"No." I said. I laughed to myself. I had indeed not escaped.
"Whose slave is El-in-or?" he asked.
"Rask of Treve's," I said.
"Does she love? he asked.
"Yes," I said, "she loves." I tried to lift myself, to touch his lips with mine, but he would not permit me. "She loves desperately and completely," I whispered. "Whom?" he asked.
I lay my head back, regarding him. I put my head to one side. "May I speak? I asked.
"Yes," he said, toying with his finger on my shoulder.
"But must I speak the truth?" I asked.
"Or you will be lashed, and put in the slave box," he said.
I was startled. Yet I knew, suddenly, that, if I lied, he would indeed whip me, and quite possibly place me again in the hated slave box. He was a Gorean master. I was at his mercy. I wondered if I could have felt so much his, so completely surrendered, if he had not possessed this complete power over my life and body. I belonged to him. But I did not want him to whip me, or put me in the slave box. I wanted only, desperately to please him. And I knew I must, for I was his slave. The absolute truth must be spoken to a Gorean master. It is forbidden to a girl to hide her feelings.