“Why are you not on the bridge?” laughed the first.
“You looked well, paralyzed, unable to move, cowering on your belly,” said the second.
“She is a barbarian,” said the first.
“I will enjoy this,” said the second.
“I mean you no harm,” I said. “Please! Please let me pass. I must do as I am told.”
“So, too, must we,” laughed the first.
“You were warned,” said the second.
They then, improvised switches at the ready, stepped forward. They lifted their arms, eager, grinning, but then, to my amazement, they stopped, and turned white.
“First obeisance position,” said a voice behind me, sharply, a male voice, “switches in your teeth.”
The two laundry slaves swiftly went to first obeisance position, kneeling, head to the ground, palms of their hands on the ground, the switches crosswise in their teeth.
Both were discomfited, frightened, in the presence of a man, presumably a free man.
“You, you with the laundry,” said the voice. “Remain standing, where you are, and do not turn around.”
I think the man then withdrew a few feet behind me.
Then he said to the two laundry slaves, “Get on all fours, and approach me, the switch in your teeth, both of you.”
I watched them, frightened, crawl past me. The first one cast me a look of terror, of misery.
In the house I had been trained to crawl thusly to a man, humbly, the switch held crosswise between my teeth. It is one way in which a slave may bear the whip or switch to her master.
She does not know how, or if, it will be used.
She will soon learn.
I did not turn around.
“Now turn about, and belly,” said the voice.
Then I sensed that the slaves had been put to their bellies, their heads toward me.
I then heard some small, frightened sounds, as though limbs had been jerked about, behind backs, and then tiny noises, as though wrists had been thonged together, and not gently.
I then heard two small cries, accompanying a ripping of cloth.
“Now,” said the voice, “let us see about these switches.”
“Mercy, Master!” said the first of the two laundry slaves.
“Were you given permission to speak?” he asked.
“No, Master, forgive me, Master!” said the girl.
A moment later I heard the switch being applied to the two slaves, a blow for one, and then a blow for the other, and so on.
There was much sobbing.
“Knees,” said the voice.
“Henceforth,” said the voice, “you are not to bother this slave, or any other, as they are about their work. If you do, you will be placed on a slave ship for Torvaldsland or Schendi. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master,” they said.
Then they cried out with pain, as though they might be being dragged at a man’s hip, in leading position.
“Move,” he said, and I saw the two slaves pass me, on the right, tied together, closely, head to head, by the hair, their tunics torn to the waist, their hands thonged tightly behind them, their backs and the back of their thighs richly striped from the blows of a switch.
“Stop!” he called.
Instantly they stopped.
“Tell your Mistress,” said the voice, “that this district is open, and will not be defended, or contested. It, and its pricings, are not to be managed, or controlled. If the Lady Daphne does not find these arrangements acceptable, her house will be burned to the ground.”
“Yes, Master!” they said.
“Now, go,” said the voice.
The two bound, chastised slaves then, awkwardly, as they could, uncomfortably, half stumbling, fled down the street.
“Do not turn around,” said the voice behind me.
I remained still, looking ahead, frightened, balancing the laundry, holding it in place with my two hands.
“A slave thanks Master,” I said. “A slave is grateful.”
I trusted he would not now, himself, take the laundry and cast it to the gutter. Would that not be a rich Gorean joke, at the expense of a helpless slave, a joke worth recounting in the taverns?
“You are Allison, the barbarian slut of the Lady Bina, are you not?” asked the voice.
“I am Allison,” I said, “girl of the Lady Bina, who resides in the house of the pottery merchant, Epicrates.”
“The barbarian slut,” he said.
“I am barbarian,” I said, “Master.”
“A barbarian slut,” he said.
“If Master pleases,” I said.
I sensed I was being regarded, from behind, as a slave may be regarded.
“How is it that Master knows a girl’s name, and that of her Mistress?” I asked.
“Hold still,” he said.
I stiffened, angrily.
I felt his hands at the side of my body, and then at the sides of my waist, and then at my hips, and then a bit down, at the sides of my thighs.
Had I been on Earth, and free, I would doubtless have spun about, and struck him. But I was on Gor, and a slave.
“Not bad, for a barbarian,” he said.
“I assure Master,” I said, “that many of us are quite as good as his native Gorean girls.”
Certainly we were all of the same species, and all in our collars.
“I am told we sell well,” I said, angrily.
“For copper tarsks,” he said.
My fingers dug into the laundry, angrily.
Did he know of the Metellan district, or the house of Menon?
“Do not turn around,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“Straighten your body, girl,” he said.
“Is Master pleased with what he sees?” I asked.
“I have seen worse,” he said.
“A slave is pleased, if Master is pleased,” I said, acidly.
I was sure now whose was the voice whose face I could not see.
It was he from the Sul Market, he whom I loathed.
I had seen him about, from time to time.
“It seems Master follows a slave,” I said. “Perhaps Master will make an offer for her.”
“You are a vain slut,” he said. “What makes you think anyone would want you?”
“I am lovely,” I said.
“That is all you are,” he said.
“At least that is something,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said.
“How did you know my name, and that of my Mistress?” I asked.
“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“Are you any good in the furs?” he asked.
“Perhaps Master would care to try me, and see,” I said.
“You are boldly spoken,” he said.
I shrugged.
“Perhaps I will try you,” he said, “and see.”
“I am owned by another,” I said, quickly.
“But a woman,” he said.
“She might hire men,” I said.
“If she could hire men,” he said, “you would not be doing laundry.”
“Surely a barbarian slut could be of no interest to Master,” I said.
“Barbarians look well,” he said, “naked, collared, chained, licking and kissing at one’s feet, bringing the whip to a fellow in their teeth, and such.”
“I have laundry to deliver,” I said.
“Remain where you are,” he said.
“There is another, of course,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“Oh?” I said.
“What do you know of it?” he asked.
“Very little,” I said. “It is the pet of Lady Bina.”
“Do not be naive,” he said.
“Master?” I asked.
“Do you know what form of life it is?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“It is Kur,” he said.
So he knew that word.
“I know little of such things,” I said.
“What,” he asked, “is it doing on Gor, and what, too, is the Lady Bina doing on Gor?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“You are stupid,” he said.
“I find Master hateful,” I said.
“You would look well at my feet,” he said.
“I have laundry to deliver,” I said.
“Do not move,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.