I then well knew myself, though of Earth, a slave, a common slave.
I looked to the girl from Tabor.
“Perhaps someone from Tabor will buy you, and free you,” I said.
“You know little of Gor,” she said.
“He would not free you?” I asked.
“My left thigh bears the slave mark,” she said.
“Even so,” I said.
“Apparently you know little of Gor,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“I was once a free woman,” she said. “Men much enjoy keeping former free women as helpless slaves.”
“But,” I protested.
“I am marked,” she said.
“So?” I said.
“My own family would not free me,” she said. “They would see that I was sold elsewhere, in my shame and degradation.”
I regarded her.
“I am marked,” she said. “Are you not marked?”
“Yes,” I said, “I am marked.”
“Then understand it,” she said. “You are no longer what you were.”
I suddenly became aware that the bar was no longer sounding.
The short fellow had ascended to the height of the cement platform.
“Noble Masters, noble Masters, noble Masters,” he called, “approach, approach, gather about!”
Some twenty, or so, fellows were already clustered about the platform. Some others, from across the street, now approached.
“We have here for your consideration, and delectation, this lovely afternoon, seven beauties!”
There was laughter.
“The finest beads drawn from the finest of the slavers’ necklaces, each worthy of the central block of the Curulean, each fit for the Pleasure Garden of a Ubar,” said the auctioneer.
There was more laughter.
“Pot girls!” jibed a fellow.
“Have you not, several of you, examined these beauties earlier in the morning, and pondered your bids?”
“Yes,” said a fellow, “a copper tarsk for the lot!”
“You may ask,” said the auctioneer, “how is it that such goods, goods of such quality, could be offered here?”
“No other market would have them!” called a fellow.
“It is true, noble Masters, that our modest market, as the slave shelves, is noted for its bargains,” said the auctioneer, “but that is your good fortune and our pleasure, to serve you better. Would you not prefer to pay less for more? Would you not be pleased to obtain an exquisite pleasure slave, trim, responsive, and vital, for the price of a pot girl, a kettle-and-mat girl? Those who know how to buy know where to buy, and here is where to buy!”
“Begin!” called a man.
“Slaves,” called the auctioneer, “come to the bars, smile, press against them, reach out to the noble masters. Good. Can you not see, noble Masters, how ready they are, how they hope to be well purchased?”
I, the girl from Tabor, and the kneeling blonde, shaking with sobs, the former Lady Persinna, of the Merchants, remained at the back of the cell.
I saw the slaver’s man looking at us, from the level of the street. I shuddered. The girl from Tabor saw him, too. She then hurried to the bars, to join the other slaves. I saw her straighten her body, and lift her chin. She was beautiful.
“You may plead, needful beauties, to be purchased,” the auctioneer informed the girls.
“Buy me, Master,” they called to the men.
I saw the dark blonde extending both her hands through the bars, and call out, piteously, to a handsome fellow in the front row, “Buy me, Master!” He smiled. “I am prettier, Master!” called out one of the brunettes. “No, I, I, buy me, Master!” called out the dark blonde. I supposed it was pleasant to be a man, to whom women would beg to belong. I wondered what it would be, to be owned by him. One of my cellmates, I supposed, might learn. Perhaps I would learn! Other girls at the bars seemed to present themselves to one fellow or another. Most, I assumed, would fail to be purchased by the particular master of their choice. They would be purchased by whoever bid the most for them.
It is so with slaves.
It would be so with me.
“Enough!” called the auctioneer, suddenly, sharply. “Be silent. Go back in the cell, away from the bars! Huddle there, together, in the back, away from the bars. As you can, crowd together, and try to hide! Crowd together! Do not speak!”
Frightened, the girls did as they were told. All of us now were together, standing, except for the former Lady Persinna, who still knelt, perhaps unable to rise, toward the back of the cell, away from the bars.
We could not be seen so well now, for the bars, and the distance.
I supposed there was an order to the sales.
The slaver’s man entered the cell, took one of the brunettes by the wrist, and drew her from the cell, through the short passage, and led her to the block, where she stood, small, seeming isolated, much alone, though the auctioneer was near, on the red carpet.
The slaver’s man, he stripped to the waist, did not bother to close the gate, but none of us essayed the portal. We huddled together, at the back of the cell. One obeys the masters. Too, it would be unutterably foolish, insanity, to try to flee. We were tunicked, sheeted, and marked. What would one do? Where would one go? Where would one run? There is no escape for the Gorean slave girl, and I now well knew myself such.
“A choice item,” the auctioneer was saying. He extolled her, the brunette, as he turned her about. Shortly, he removed the sheet which she had clutched about her, continuing to exhibit her. Shortly thereafter he gracefully removed the wrap-around tunic, again turning her about.
She is merchandise, I thought.
It is said that only a fool buys a woman clothed.
He then put her to all fours on the red carpet.
“See her, noble Masters,” said the auctioneer. “Would you not like her crawling to your feet, begging not to be whipped?”
He then began to solicit bids.
The dark blonde was next taken by the wrist and drawn to the block. The fellow she had tried to interest did not bid on her. A fat fellow purchased her. I saw her hold forth her wrists and slave bracelets were clapped on them. She then followed her new master. She looked over her shoulder at the fellow she had hoped would buy her, but he did not notice her. His attention was again on the block. I did not feel sorry for her, as she had been unpleasant to me earlier, in the cell.
The girl from Tabor was next brought to the block, and, as the others, exhibited. At one point, she put her hands behind the back of her head, and bent backward. This well exhibited her figure, which was lovely. Bids increased. She would be, doubtless, a good buy. How dare she so display herself, I thought. But, if she were not sold, I thought, she would be whipped. Slavers are seldom lenient with their goods. They are not out to coddle them, but to make coin on them. What if I were not sold? I did not wish to be bound, and whipped. To my right, the Lady Persinna, still kneeling, head down, was weeping, her head again in her hands. I, too, suddenly felt like crying. I looked about, wildly, at the open gate, then through the bars, to the street outside, to the men, intent upon the object for sale. I considered running. Then I moved back, even further. I felt the cement wall of the back of the cage against my back. I would remain where I was. Somehow, the gate open, I felt a thousand times more helpless than before.
I did not see to whom the girl from Tabor went.
The auctioneer, in his introduction of the item which was the girl from Tabor, had mentioned her origin on Tabor, and inquired if there might be any from Tabor present. Apparently there were none. The auctioneer then remarked that her slavery then would doubtless be far easier. Laughter had greeted this remark. I liked the girl from Tabor. She had spoken well to me, earlier in the cell, despite the fact that I was a “barbarian,” and, too, we were both, so to speak, far from home.
The slaver’s man again entered the cell, and looked about. I was terrified that it would be my wrist which he would seize, in his large, manacle-like hand. But he took another brunette.