He knew about the suit!
“You enjoyed taunting the fellows with that,” he said.
I did not respond.
“And then,” he said, “when they were lured in, when they were encouraged, when they thought themselves welcomed, turning the freezing blast of a cold stare upon them, feigning surprise, indignation, and innocence. How useful was that little suit in your trivial, pretentious girl games.”
“Let me go,” I said.
“Surely you are aware of what I might do with you now, if I pleased,” he said.
“Yes,” I said, frightened. I wondered what it might be, to be put to the purposes of such a man, no boy, but a man.
“There are examination positions,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“You will learn them,” he said, “and assume them instantly upon command.”
“I am afraid,” I said. “Please free me. I will make no trouble. I will say nothing. I will not go to the police.”
“Do you think we do not have arrangements with the police?” he said.
“On the street,” he said, “it may be as simple as stopping and lowering your head, while being scrutinized, and assessed.”
“Assessed?” I said.
“But at the party,” he said, “the look of the men was quite different, was it not?”
“Yes,” I said, shuddering. “But I was half-naked, and I had to behave in certain ways, I had to be obedient, subservient. I was being punished, and so, too, were Eve and Jane!”
“Did it not excite you to be so clad, to act so, to be so looked upon?” he asked.
“‘Excite me’?” I asked.
“Sexually,” he said.
“How dare you!” I said.
“I see it did,” he said.
Bound, tears of shame welled in my eyes.
“How do you think you were looked upon?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
“You were half-naked and there were collars on your necks, locked collars,” he said.
“So?” I said.
“How do you think you were looked upon?” he said.
“I do not know,” I said.
“Speak,” he said, not pleasantly.
“As slaves!” I said.
“You, and your sisters, are shallow, petty, vain, spoiled, mercenary, meaningless, little bitches,” he said. “You are worthless.”
“No,” I said. “No!”
“What,” he asked, “if you should meet not the men of your world, boys, half-men, subdued men, furtive glancers, guilty, shamed, crippled men, men trained to betray their nature, taught to suppress their manhood, but other men, natural men, quiet, unpretentious, powerful, confident, self-assured men, men who look upon women as delights, as delicious creations of nature to be fittingly brought within the ambit of one’s power, to be owned and mastered.”
“Could there be such men?” I asked. I was terrified because I, and my sisters, in our meaninglessness, were worthy to be to such men no more than slaves. But better I thought to be the abject slave of such a man than the pampered darling of a rich weakling, of the sort to which our background and the nature of our lives directed us. Owned by such a man one would strive to please him. One would hope, trembling, to be found pleasing
“There are such men,” he said, “even on Earth.”
“Surely not!” I said.
“There is nothing wrong with the men of Earth,” he said. “They are the same as those of which I speak. It is a cultural matter. It is possible that in a thousand years the men of Earth will come to understand what has been done to them, and they will find themselves.”
“Are my resources, my wealth, truly gone?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Then I cannot use them to purchase my release, my freedom,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Doubtless they are worth far more than I would sell for,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said.
“But my value,” I said, “is not negligible.”
“I gather,” said he, “you are curious to know what you might sell for.”
“Yes!” I said.
I turned my head to him, with difficulty. He was smiling. I did not realize, at the time, that I had acknowledged myself the sort of woman on whom a price might be set.
“It is hard to say,” he said. “We speculated that you might go from somewhere in the neighborhood of forty to sixty.”
“So that is what a beautiful woman, one as beautiful as I, would bring on the Arab slave market,” I said, “forty to sixty thousand dollars.”
“I do not understand,” he said.
“You intend to sell me in the Middle East,” I said, “to some sheik, some rich merchant.”
“No,” he said.
“To be held captive in some remote desert palace?”
“That seems unlikely,” he said.
“He would buy me for a wife,” I said.
“Scarcely,” he said.
“Surely not for less,” I said. “Surely not for a mere concubine!”
“No,” he said.
“Then?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said.
“No, no!” I said.
He was silent for a bit. I sensed the van making a turn.
“I am a free woman!” I said.
“Free women,” he said, “regard themselves as priceless. You did not.”
“What then,” I asked, “do you think I am?”
“That should be clear,” he said.
I struggled in the bonds.
“You will not be sent to the Middle East,” he said.
“Where then?” I said.
“Gor,” he said.
“Do not tease me,” I said. “Be kind! Be merciful! Do not sport with a stripped, helpless captive!”
“Gor,” he said.
“That is fiction,” I said. “It is only in books, only in stories, only in stories!”
“Gor,” he said.
“I told you in the house,” I wept. “There is no such place! There is no such place!”
Then the van had stopped, I had no idea where.
Then I was aware of a hand in my hair, which pulled my head up and back, and, from the side, from my left, a soft, folded bit of white cloth, some six inches square. This square of cloth was damp, with some chemical. It was placed over my nose and mouth, and held in place, closely. I struggled for a moment, and then lost consciousness.
“You look well in chains,” he said.
I was well illuminated in the light of the torch.
“Please give me clothing!” I begged.
“Clothing is not necessary,” he said, “as you are a slave.”
“I am not a slave!” I said.
He pointed to his feet.
I crawled to him, the chains on my wrists and ankles dragging on the large, flat stones, and, head down, frightened, pressed my lips to his feet.
“See?” he said.
“Yes,” I whispered, “-Master.”
He then exited, bending down, and the small iron gate closed behind him. A moment later I heard a key turning in the lock, and was in darkness.
I realized I was on Gor.
Chapter Six
In the small room, with the panel bolted on the outside, where we were commonly housed when not serving in the large outer room, the Gorean girl, well collared, had accosted me, demanding that I, a mere barbarian, should kneel before her. I had refused. She, with her beauty, her marked thigh, her encircled neck, was no more than I!
“How then did they recognize you as a slave?” she had asked.
“I have no idea,” I had said, though, in truth, I had an idea of such matters.
“You must have been assessed,” she had said.
“Doubtless,” I had said.
Suddenly the door had been unbolted from the outside, and Tela, first girl, entered. All of us in the small room immediately went to our knees, and put our heads to the floor, the palms of our hands on the floor beside our heads.
“I am frightened,” said Tela. “Something is wrong.”
We dared not change position, as we had not received permission to do so.
“Be as you would,” said Tela.
We looked up.
Usually Tela’s switch dangled from her wrist.
It was not there now.
She was clearly frightened, and her alarm spread to the rest of us, not now serving. I was the only barbarian in the room. We feared Tela, for she was first girl, our switch mistress. I had never seen Tela frightened before, except before the masters. There were two of us in the outer room, who would be, as far as I knew, serving.