"How was she?" asked a paga attendant, pausing in his work, buffing goblets.
"I will not demand a refund," I told him.
"Do you think she will work out?" he asked. "Pembe was curious."
"Probably," I said. "It is hard to know about those things. It is my guess that she will prove satisfactory."
"Is her slavery close to the surface?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "Doubtless it will soon become fully manifest."
"Does she have slave fire?" he asked.
I remembered her sobbing in my arms, kissing and licking, and begging for my least touch.
"Yes," I said.
"That is good," he said. "Perhaps there is hope for the wench. I grow weary of carrying bodies to the harbor."
I went to the place, near the rear wall, where I had left the blond-haired barbarian. She had fallen asleep, slumped, blindfolded, there. She had, of course, released her ankles.
I touched her gently, and she, with a little moan of anguish, awakened. She realized then, suddenly, she had dropped off to sleep. Suddenly, fearfully, she assumed the kneeling position in which I had placed her, head down, gripping her ankles.
"No," I told her, softly.
I then took her gently in my arms. How small and light she was. I do not think she weighed more than one hundred and ten pounds.
"I am leaving by the back way," I told the paga attendant.
"As you wish," he said.
Outside I waited for a few moments, to see if the door, behind me, should be moved ajar. I examined, too, the dust of the alley, to see if it moved, or otherwise stirred, as it might have, if a foot had passed. I looked about, at the roofs about. The door did not move. The dust did not stir. The tops of the buildings, as nearly as I could determine, seemed clear.
I looked at the girl in my arms. She was again asleep. For a moment I felt moved to tenderness toward her. Her life, in the past few weeks, had not been easy. She had been a pawn in the cruel games of worlds. Too, it is sometimes traumatic for a proud, free woman of Earth to discover that she has suddenly become an owned slave. I would let the girl sleep. I carried her through the streets of Schendi. I did not take a direct route to my room.
14
A Girl Becomes More Beautiful; I Must Take My Leave Of Sasi
Sasi opened the door.
"Master," she said.
"Prepare a chain for the new girl," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I do not think Sasi was too pleased when I carried the blond slave over the threshold and placed her on the straw by the slave ring. Gorean slaves, incidentally, are commonly carried over the threshold when they first enter a master's house or place of residence. This is reminiscent of a bridal custom on Earth, of course. That custom, an ancient one, makes tacitly clear the bride's ownership by the male, and has clear implications of capture and bondage. It is natural that the bride desires this ceremony, and will plead for it. The oafish male, commonly, does not even understand what is going on. He should, of course, take her directly to the bed, and throw her upon it, his.
Women wish to be the slaves of their men. What woman would want a man who is not strong enough to be her master?
Not all Gorean slaves, of course, are carried over a threshold. Some are leashed and enter on their hands and knees. Some, perhaps bound and collared, are thrust through. The common denominator of these customs, of course, is that the slave must understand that force, either explicitly or implicitly, is involved, and that she will enter the stronghold of the master, and as a slave, whether she wills to do so or not.
"Is that not the girl from the Palms of Schendi?" asked Sasi. The blond girl. exhausted, was still asleep.
"Yes," I said.
Sasi fastened a short chain to the slave ring, locking it, with its own lock, on the ring. She then, with a key, the same key which would open the chain lock, opened the chain's ankle ring.
"What do you want her for?" asked Sasi. She handed me the opened ankle ring.
"She interests me, at least for the moment," I told her. I shut the ankle ring then on the blond's left ankle. She was secured. Sasi rose and put the key on a hook to one side of the room. Near it, on another hook, there hung a slave whip. From one of the overhead beams, near the side of the room, there was a whipping ring, to which a slave could be tethered, which could be lowered. It was a furnished room. Slaves, it must be understood, are not that uncommon on Gor.
I covered the blond with one of our blankets. The poor thing was exhausted.
"You did not carry me across the threshold," said Sasi.
"You were bound in a blanket, and on my shoulder," I said, "when I entered this room."
"I mean before," she said.
"No," I said, "I did not. I did, however, if you will remember, when first I used you, order you to my blankets."
"I have never forgotten," she said. She shuddered with pleasure, remembering the moment. "I was simply ordered to your blankets," she said.
A similar sort of thing is done sometimes when a master brings home a new girl to a house which is completely empty, if necessary, by prearrangement, and new to her, and orders her to enter alone. "Warm wine," he tells her. "Light the lamp of love. Spread furs. Crawl naked into them, and await me."
"Yes, Master," she says.
She then enters the house, obeying. Not a shackle or a cord is on her body. But few women could be more slave than she, entering fearfully the strange, empty house, and preparing herself for her master's pleasure.
"It is difficult to convey to a man," she said, "the feelings of a woman at such a time."
"They are the feelings of a slave," I said.
"So simply put!" she said. "Yes," she said, "they are the feelings of a slave. But I wonder if a man, ever, will truly understand what a woman's collar can mean to her… I wonder if he, ever, truly, will be able to fathom the nature and depth of the emotions of the woman who kneels at his feet."
"Surely free women, too, have emotions," I said.
"I was free," she said. "I did not know what it was to feel until I became a slave. I was free. There was no need to feel, or be aware. But this has changed since I became a slave. I must now be sensitive to the feelings of others. I have never been so aware of other human beings as now. And I cannot always have my way, and I must yield to male domination. I can be commanded, and I must obey, and be pleasing. This answers to something very deep in me, Master."
"Of course," I said, "to the slave in you."
"Yes," she said, "to the woman, and slave, in me."
"They are the same," I said.
"Yes," she said.
"It is hard to be a man," I said, "until one stands in a relation to a woman. And, I suppose, it is hard to be a woman until one stands in a relation to a man."
"What relation," she asked, "Master?"
"That of the natural order of nature," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I looked at her. "I cannot know well the nature of your feelings," I said, "but I know, and well, that women are deep as well as beautiful."
"We are so different from you," she said. "I fear you will never understand us."
"It is doubtless easier to put you on your knees and push the whip to your teeth than it is to understand you," I said.
"The man who truly understands us," she laughed, "is the first to put us on our knees and make us kiss the whip."
'Take off my sandals," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. She looked up. "Never until I was a slave," she said, "did I feel so helpless, alive and vulnerable."
I said nothing.
"I must untie your sandals," she said. "I must crawl to you, if you wish. I must do anything you want. I am happy."
"Attend to your work," I told her.