"What is wrong?" whispered Gloria.
"Nothing!" I whispered. "Nothing! Nothing!"
"They are bringing food," said a girl.
"It smells good," said little Tutina.
"Yes, yes," I said.
I sat on the long, low wooden platform, in the annex to the sales barn, in the exposition area, naked, my feet tucked back, near my left thigh, my ankles crossed, my left hand on my left ankle, my right hand supporting most of my weight, the chain on my neck dropping down to the wood, to my right, then lifting, running back over my thighs, then keeping its rendezvous with its ring, behind me and to my left. On my left breast, on its upper portion, inscribed there with a grease pencil, in Gorean, was a number. I had been told it was "89," and that it was my lot number.
After we had eaten this morning, thought I, so excited, had scarcely touched food, we were knelt in a line, facing one of the small doors.
I had strained to hear the smallest scraps of conversation among our keepers. I had learned that this place was an appurtenance of the house of Teibar, who was a well-known slaver in Market of Semris. He owned this complex and dealt also in the sales of livestock, in particular those of tarsks. This particular complex was, it seemed, on of the best-known areas in Market of Semris for the sales of tarsks. Indeed, in the very area where I now was, the platforms cleared away and pens put forth, projected sales lots of tarsks were commonly displayed, often prize lots, to be bid upon later in the sales barn itself. To be sure, the platforms made it obvious that this area, too, could, and did, serve another purpose, as well, the vending of yet another form of livestock, the female slave. To be sure, most of his sales, those of women, apparently took place at another facility, one more precisely adapted to their display and merchandising. How like Teibar I had thought, to deal in both tarsks and women. I had smiled. He well knew how to keep us in our place, did he not? And what a rich joke, I had thought, this was doubtless supposed to be, that I would find myself here, his "modern woman," in a place where really, more appropriately, and usually, not women, but tarks, were sold! It was this place, I had surmised, thinking I had penetrated his joke, where he had planned to reclaim me. I suddenly finding myself again in his power, that of the house of Teibar, and in a very complex of his, "where women such as I might be bought and sold." Surely he had planned this coup, this joyful, lovely trick, his master" s jest, so rich and delicious, even from the time of the library on Earth, even from the time the conical, stiff, rubberized mask had been placed over my nose and mouth. We were kneeling, facing on of the small doors.
"Heads to the dirt!" called a man.
Swiftly we assumed a common form of slave obeisance, kneeling, the palms of our hands on the ground, our heads to the ground. Many masters, though it tends to be rather associated, usually, with given cities, require this position of their girls, usually when they first enter his presence, or find themselves, as in a room, which he has entered, in his prison. She is then, usually, when given permission, permitted to lift her head, but is to remain kneeling before him, beautifully, in a standard position, her knees closed if she is a house slave or tower slave, her knees open, if she was the sort of slave I was, whatever sort of slave that was supposed to be. It is almost universal, as far as I know, that a slave kneels in one fashion or another, when entering her master" s presence, or if she should find herself in his presence. She also commonly kneels when spoken to by any free person. This is simply a matter of respect. To be sure, she can be slain, if she does not do so. The kneeling position, of course, which is usually required to break, is commonly an initial position. For example, after its deferential assumption, she may be dismissed from it, to other duties, such as cleaning, shopping or cooking.
I began to tremble, violently. I could not lift my head and look, of course. At the end of our line I sensed men.
"I think you will find these a good lot," someone said. That pleased me. I wanted our lot, or our group, to be a good one, and I wanted, if possible, to be the best in it! I wanted that, if only for Teibar. But I heard no response to the man" s remark.
"Lift your head," I heard a man say to someone, at the end of the line. It had to be Ila.
"Excellent," said someone. Ila, I conjectured, was now being scrutinized. She was doubtless kneeling very beautifully.
"What do you think, Teibar?" I heard.
I again almost fainted that Teibar, my master, he who had come to reclaim me, was near.
Then I feared, terribly, that he might more desire Ila than me. A wave of sudden terrible hatred swept over me. I wanted suddenly to leap up, screaming, and run at her, like a raging cat, to scratch out her eyes, to tear every last strand of that long, silky blond hair out of her head! Then I was frightened. I remained exactly in place. I did not move. I could be terribly punished, perhaps even tortured and killed, if I, a mere property, seriously injured, or diminished the value of, another property. Short of such things, though, we could do much what we wanted to one another, and Ila was larger and stronger than I! I felt helpless.
But there had been no response to the man" s question.
I reassured myself that it was not Ila he had wanted. He could have had her at the house of our training, or bought her there, and for a discount, if he had wanted! He hadn" t! to be sure, she was a larger woman than I, and meatier. Did that make her better? I did not know. Perhaps she was more beautiful! I did not know. I did know that I was beautiful, and even if I were not as beautiful as she, I was desperately needful, willing and loving. Surely such things should count for something! Too, it seemed, undeniably, that he had found me desirable. I thought and hoped, that perhaps I might be special to him, somehow, in some way, more so than others, as he was to me, he who was the loved, dreaded master of my heart.
"Stand," said a man to Ila. She stood. Something then, it seemed, was done to her. "Kneel," she was told. She knelt.
I kept my head down, kneeling. I trembled. I awaited the approach of my master. "Look up," had said the man, then, and then "Stand," and then, after a moment, "Kneel," to one of the women, after another, approaching me, done the line. "Look up," he said to the woman next to me, Gloria. She was a large girl, with swirling red hair. To be sure, before the men, she could be, like Ila, only another female slave.
"Stand," was said to Gloria. She stood. Something was done to her. "Kneel," she was told. She knelt.
I kept my head down. They were then before me! I trembled. I awaited the command to lift my head, to view my master, to greet him with joy, to prove to him that I was no longer a hated "modern woman," no longer a spoiled, pampered woman of a sick, antibiological world, that I was now only his, a female slave, vulnerable and exposed in the fullness of her womanhood, belonging to him, totally, fully on his own terms, on his own world.
"This, Teibar," said a man, "is the last of the lot."
I had been saved for last. My master had saved me for last!
"Look up," said a man.
"What is wrong with her?" asked a man.
"What is wrong with you?" asked another.
"Speak," said another.
I looked wildly, sick, from one face to another. I was shaking. I tried, wildly, irrationally, to shut from my mind what I saw. I tried, in my mind, to change what I saw. I tried, wildly, irrationally, to force myself to see another, among those faces, one who must be there.
"Where is Teibar?" I asked.
"I am Teibar," said one of the men.
I began to shake, uncontrollably.
"Stand," said a man.
But I was so weak I could not stand.
One of the men went behind me and lifted me up, by the arms, holding me. I almost lost consciousness.