How strange they find it that men should prefer the helpless female slave, lovely, obedient, needful, desperate to please, to themselves!
How could such a thing be?
But it seems that it might be.
Do the free men not attend the auctions, do they not scout the exposition cages, do they not saunter to the gates, to witness the arriving coffles, to see the former free women of another city being marched naked to local markets, do they not want a shapely collar slut trembling at their slave ring, do they not frequent the paga taverns, and surely not always for conversation or kaissa. How detestable, think the free women, are slaves! How horrifying to want to be owned, to want to belong to a man, wholly, and desire to love and serve him, forever, abjectly, and unquestioningly, to the best of one’s ability! And how terrible men are that they should unaccountably prefer a cringing collar beauty, perhaps shackled, desperate to please them wholly, and as a female, to one of their own kind, forward, noble, splendid, proud, and free. What is so special about their terrified, groveling rival, licking and kissing at her master’s feet, with her marked thigh, and band-encircled throat? What could she, a slave, an animal, possibly have, or offer, that might begin to compete with the accorded favor of a free woman, standing on her dignity, and jealous of her rights? Why then, given such clear options, between the noble and the worthy, and the despicable and the meaningless, will men seek the despicable and the meaningless, the slave? Why then will they seek so zealously to leash and bracelet her, the slave, to rope her, hand and foot, to kneel her, to collar her? Why will they bid so zealously, and recklessly, to purchase her? Why do they fight to possess such things? Why are they willing to kill for them?
I cried out in sudden sharp pain. I knew the stroke. It was across my right shoulder. I had felt it often enough when I had displeased the instructresses, or made some error in diction, serving, position, or such. It was the result of a blow not from some child’s makeshift implement, a plaything, a pretended disciplinary device, but from an actual device of the sort his diversion mimicked, a supple, nicely crafted leather switch, an instrument designed to improve the discipline and service of a female slave. We most fear the whip but it is not pleasant, either, I assure you, to feel the corrective blow of the switch.
We will do much to please our masters!
“Sluts!” I heard, a woman’s angry voice. “Sluts! Sluts!”
I heard the sound of more blows, cries of pain.
“Wriggle to that!” screamed the woman. “Jump to the pleasure of that, you filthy sluts!”
“Please forgive us, Mistress!” cried a member of the coffle. But this plea, I gathered, did no more than earn its source another two or three blows.
I had been informed by the instructresses that free women were to be feared. If accosted by one, particularly if accosted unpleasantly, it is wise not only to kneel, as before a man, to ascertain his interests, intentions, or wishes, perhaps he wishes directions, or such, but to put one’s head to her feet, to, in effect, assume first obeisance position. In no way, either by word, tone of voice, act, expression, or attitude is one to show the least disrespect. The slightest suggestion of such a thing may result in severe and prolonged punishment. The woman is free, while one is a slave.
“She-tarsks!” cried the woman. “She-tarsks! She-tarsks!”
I heard the sound of more blows, cries of pain.
“Oh!” I wept, struck as well.
“Let them alone,” said a man.
“There are better things to do with little vulos than beat them,” said a fellow.
“Yes,” cried the woman. “You would know about that!”
“Mercy, Mistress!” begged one of the slaves. “Oh!” she cried, struck.
I was silent. I sensed the figure pass me.
Some fellow off to my right began to sing a little song about “Tastas.”
“Be silent!” screamed the woman.
“Demetrius will be home soon,” said a fellow, reassuringly.
I and one or two others were then struck again. I bent over, as I could, for the chain, cringing.
“Move the chain,” said someone to the side. “Move the chain.”
There was laughter.
“Give me back the switch!” screamed the woman. “Give me back the switch!”
“Move the chain!” a fellow urged, again.
“Step!” said one of the guards, and, gratefully, we moved forward.
“Give me the switch!” demanded the woman, now behind us.
We hurried forward, as we could.
I remembered a remark from one of the instructresses. I had not been more than two days in the house. “Be beautiful, and desirable,” she had said. “It is the men who will protect you.”
“Please the men,” said another. “It is the men to whom you will belong.”
“They will protect you from the women,” said another.
“If you are pleasing,” added another.
I was frightened from what I had heard of free women. I resolved to be pleasing to the men, as pleasing as I could be, and I understood what that meant, to be as pleasing as one could, and as a slave.
Soon the coffle was stopped, and, apparently, one individual was removed from it. We then continued on our way
I shortly became aware that another was removed from the coffle. We were apparently being delivered to different addresses. Some of the girls might have been purchased within the house. Usually a girl is sold in-house when the price offered seems clearly superior to what might be expected from vending her off an open block. Too, such a sale requires few arrangements, and little time. Sometimes, too, the capture and enslavement of a woman has been arranged by an enemy or admirer, and, in such a case, it is usually that particular woman that is wanted. She may have been paid for in advance, the price having been earlier negotiated and agreed upon. There is little difficulty in delivering such women through the streets, as they are hooded. Rich men, to whom money is of less interest than what it might purchase, sometimes buy in-house, putting out three or four times what a girl might bring in the open market. But most on the coffle, I supposed, and perhaps all, were being delivered to local markets, some possibly owned by the house itself.
As girls were removed from the coffle, their chaining, with the bracelets and coffle collars, was hung about the neck and shoulders of others. In the vicinity of the Tenth Ahn, as I guessed, I was alone, several loops of chaining, and such, slung about me or wrapped about my body. This was not pleasant, but, too, it was not much of a burden, as the chain was light, being girl chain. We were quite helpless in such bonds, but a man, it seemed, or some men, might have been able to pull apart such links. This is a way in which a woman may begin to understand that she is not a man. The sexes are quite different, and on Gor such picayune details have their role in helping to make the distinction clear. One is suitably master; one is suitably slave.
I was stopped by a hand on my shoulder.
I was also aware that the chaining which I was carrying was being unlooped, and unwound, from my body.
I gathered I was at my destination, wherever it might be. I did not inquire, of course. I did not wish to be struck. I had not been given permission to speak.
There had been two guards with the coffle.
One or both must now carry the chaining and such back to the house.
In the beginning, hooded, I did not know the number of beads on the small necklace. Counting their removal, and adding myself, there had been six.
I felt the coffle collar removed.
I stood there.
Now I was only hooded, and back-braceleted.
I felt a man’s hand on my left arm. “There are steps here, kajira,” he said. He then guided me, carefully, and assisted me up some five or six steps, onto a circular platform, cement, it seemed, but covered with a carpet, or heavy cloth, and then to the left. I heard a gate open, I would see later it was one of bars, and was conducted through it. Within he removed his hand from my arm, and I stood still. I stood on cement. The bracelets were removed.