"It takes great courage," I told her.
There were tears in her eyes.
"But, as yet," I said, "it is largely only an intellectual recognition on your part. It is not yet internalized, not yet a part of the totality of your being and responses."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Nonetheless, the intellectual recognition, abstract and superficial as it is, is a useful first step in the transformation of your consciousness, and the freeing of your deepest self, with her profundities of emotions and needs."
"My deepest self is feminine," she said.
"Yes," I said, "it is only your present consciousness which has been to some extent masculinized and, to a larger extent, neuterized. Beneath the patterns, the trainings, the roles, lies the woman. It is she whom we must seek. It is she whom we must free."
"I am afraid to be feminine," she said.
"You will be punished for femininity on this world," I told her, "only by free women."
"Free!" she laughed, miserably.
"They think themselves free," I said.
"Could I dare to be a woman on this world?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her.
"But what if I wish to crawl to a handsome man, and beg to obey him?" she asked.
"On this world," I told her, "you may do so."
"But would he not then, as a gentleman, scandalized, lift me hastily to my feet, embarrassed, implicitly belittling me, and encouraging me to the pursuit of masculine virtues?"
"Would you fear that?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Is that why you would hesitate to crawl to a man?" I asked.
"Of course," she said.
"On this world, as a slave," I said, "you need have no fear."
"What would he do on this world?" she asked.
"Perhaps instruct you in the proper way to crawl to his feet," I said.
"Oh," she said.
"If you did not do so beautifully enough," I said, "he might whip you."
"Whip me?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She looked at me.
"Gorean men are not easy to please, Slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Masculinity and femininity are complementary properties," I told her. "If a man wishes a woman to be more feminine, he must be more masculine. If a woman wishes a man to be more masculine, she must be more feminine."
"I am thinking of the far world from which I came, Master," she said. "I think there may be a fearful corollary to what you have said. Perhaps if a man fears a woman he will want her to be more like a man, and if a woman fears a man she will want him to be more like a woman."
"Perhaps," I said. "It may depend on the individuals. I would not know."
"I am more beautiful now," she said. "I saw it in the mirror."
"Yes," I said.
"I still do not understand, clearly," she said, "how it could be."
"You were taught," I said, "that you were owned, and that you were subject, totally, to the male will."
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"You had begun to learn just a little then, you see," I said, "that you, a lovely woman, were truly under male domination."
"And that made me more beautiful?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"How?" she asked.
"By releasing, in response, more of your femininity," I said.
She looked up at me, frightened.
"It is a natural thing," I said. "As a woman becomes more feminine, she becomes more beautiful."
"I am afraid to be feminine, and beautiful," she said.
"As well you might be, on this world, as a slave," I said, "knowing what it will mean for you, how it will excite the lust of masters and make men mad to own you."
"No," she said. "That is not it. It is rather that I fear that self. I fear it might be truly me."
"Have you never wondered," I asked, "what it might be like, men with whips standing near you, to dance naked in the firelight, your feet striking in the sand, before warriors?"
"Yes," she said. "I have wondered about that."
"You see," I said, "that self you fear is truly you."
"Give me a choice," she begged.
"You will be given no choice," I told her. "Your femininity will be forced to grow, nurtured, if necessary, by the whip."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Yes, what?" I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Master!" she protested, but I lifted the dark blanket and threw it over her head, so that she was completely covered. She could not then speak, or rise up, for the blanket was over her.
I got to my feet. From the sea bag I drew forth the notes for fortunes, made out to Shaba, to be drawn on various of the banks of Schendi, and the false ring, that which he was supposed to carry to the Sardar in place of the true ring. For the notes I, as a putative agent of Kurii, was to receive the true ring, the Tahari ring, which I would then return to Port Kar, that Samos might arrange for its delivery to the Sardar. I did not think I would kill Shaba. If he should actually dare to deliver the false ring to the Sardar he would doubtless there fall into the power of the Priest-Kings. They would then deal with him as they saw fit. If he did not choose to deliver the false ring to the Sardar I might then, at a later date, hunt him down, to kill him. My first priority was surely to return the Tahari ring4o Samos as swiftly and safely as possible.
It was now near the eighteenth Ahn.
"Master," said Sasi. "I fear your eyes."
"I must leave now," I told her.
"I fear your eyes," she said, "how you look at me. Will you return to us?"
"I will try," I told her.
"I see by your eyes," she said, "that you fear you will not return to us."
"It is a hard business on which I embark," I told her. "In the sea bag," I said, "are various things. The key to your collar is there, for example. Too, there are coins. They should, in the event that I do not return, or do not soon return, keep you and the barbarian alive for a long time."
"Yes, Master," she said. Then she looked at me, wonderingly. "You would let me put my hand on the key to my own collar?" she asked.
"Schendi may not be an easy place in which to survive," I told her. "You may find it convenient, in some circumstances, to remove your collar."
"Are you freeing me? she asked. It did not even occur to Sasi that anyone might consider freeing the blond-haired barbarian. She, so luscious, and becoming so beautiful, could obviously, on a world such as Gor, be only slave meat.
I looked at Sasi. Swiftly she knelt. "Forgive me, my Master," she said. "Please do not slay me."
"No," I said. "But Schendi may not be an easy place in which to survive. You may find it convenient, in some circumstances, to remove your collar."
"I am branded," she said. "I would fear to masquerade as a free woman."
"I would not advise that," I said. "You might be fed to tharlarion. But, still, it might be better for you not to be recognized as the girl of Tarl of Teletus."
"Who are you, truly, Master?" she asked.
"Look to the beam above your head, and behind you," I said. "What dangles there, which might be conveniently lowered?"
"A whipping ring," she said.
"What hangs on the wall behind you, to your left?" I asked.
"A slave whip," she said.
"Do you again request to know my true identity?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said.
"You are an agile, clever slave, Sasi," I said, "as quick-witted as you are curvacious. You have lived as a she-urt on the wharves of Port Kar. I have little fear for you." I glanced at the barbarian, beneath the blanket.
"Do not fear, Master," said Sasi. "I will teach her to hide, and eat garbage and be pleasing to paga attendants."
"I must go now," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"In time," I said, "if I do not return, you will both presumably be caught and put up for public auction."
"Yes, Master," she said. I turned to leave.
"Must you leave this moment?" she asked. I turned about, and looked at her.