I sat down and began to draw on my shoes and stockings. "That is it," I said. "There is a Gorean flavor to the accent."
She put down her head. "I have not been permitted for years to speak my native language," she said. "We girls," she said, her voice soft, the fingers of her right hand touching the narrow, close-fitting metal loop at her throat, "must learn the language of our masters."
"Of course," I said. I stood up. "I am ready," I said. "Show me the exit."
"Please," she said. "Will you not put on this garment?" She held up the necktie which I had left on the floor.
"I scarcely think I need a necktie," I smiled.
"It has been so long since I have seen a man of Earth in such a garment," she said, "please."
"Very well," I said.
She came close to me and lifted the tie.
I looked down into her eyes. I lifted up the collar of my shirt. "Would you like to tie it?" I asked. I did not think I would mind having her arms intimately about my neck, even if but briefly, or having her so close to me, performing this simple, homely task.
"I do not know how to tie it, Jason," she said.
"Very well," I said. I took the tie, and, in a moment, had tied it. I then turned down and smoothed the collar of my shirt. I adjusted the tie as well as I could, not having a mirror.
"How handsome you look," she said.
This pleased me.
"Your thigh," I said, suddenly. "It is not marked." Her left thigh did not bear the brand. I must have noticed this before but, somehow, it had not registered with me. The Ta-Teera, as it had been torn, did not conceal the branding area on her leg.
"No," she said. "No," she then said, angrily, "I am not branded on the right thigh either." I had, almost without thinking, moved in such a way as to ascertain this. Most girls wear their brands on the left thigh, where they may be conveniently caressed by a right-handed master. Some girls, on the other hand, are right-thigh branded. Some, too, though very few, are branded on the lower left abdomen.
"Are you disappointed?" she asked.
"No," I said. "No!"
"Do you want Darlene branded?" she asked.
"No," I said, "of course not!" I was surprised that she had spoken of herself as she did, using her name. This is not uncommon, of course, among Gorean female slaves. I reminded myself that she was a female slave, and had doubtless been long on Gor, doubtless well accomodating herself to the harsh realities of her collar. How marvelous, I thought, that some beautiful women are slaves. How I then, for an instant, envied the brutes of Gor, who could own such a woman as stood before me.
"Would you prefer to have me branded, Jason?" she asked, angrily.
"No," I cried. "Of course not!" But what man would not prefer to have a beautiful woman branded? I realized she had not referred to herself, this time, by her own name. It was almost as if she had caught herself.
She looked at me, angrily.
"I was only surprised," I said, chagrined, embarrassed, "that you were not branded. The female slaves I have seen hitherto on Gor have been branded."
"Well, I am not," she said.
"I can see that," I said.
"Do you speak to me as a Gorean brute?" she asked. She, with her small hands, tried to pull together the rent fabric at her thighs.
"No," I said, quickly. "I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I am very sorry."
"Perhaps I am marked on the lower left abdomen." she said. "That is sometimes done. Would you care to look?"
"No," I said. "Of course not!"
Angrily she tore open the Ta-Teera at her lower left abdomen. She held the cloth apart. "Is there a mark there?" she asked.
"No," I said. "No!"
I wanted to take her by the arm and thrust my right hand through that rent in the garment, and, half lifting her, forcing her back to the wall, holding her against it, make her cry out piteously to be had, after which to put her to its foot and rape her as a slave.
"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very sorry!"
She looked at me.
"Please forgive me," I said. "I am very, very sorry."
"I forgive you," she said. "I should not have become angry." She looked up at me. "Can you forgive me, Jason?"
"There is nothing to forgive," I said.
"It is only that I am so sensitive," she said, "that my beauty, if I am beautiful, is so blatantly exposed to the vision of masters."
"I understand," I said. "And you are, indeed, beautiful."
"Thank you, Jason," she said. "You are very kind."
"You are beautiful," I said, " quite beautiful."
"I suppose that it is not hard to tell that, if it is true," she said, "when one is clad as a Gorean slave girl."
"No," I smiled. "It is not"
"What brutes they are, to clothe us for their pleasure," she said.
"At least," I pointed out, "you have been permitted clothing."
"Yes," she smiled. It was true that often, in slave pens, and in the houses of slavers, women were kept nude, save for their collars. This effects a saving in the laundering of slave tunics. Too, it is sometimes thought to have a useful disciplinary effect on the girls. They learn that even a rag is not something they can take for granted, but must, so to speak, be earned. Too, it might be mentioned, some masters commonly keep their girls nude in their own compartments. Most, however, permit the girl some garment, usually a brief, sleeveless, one-piece slave tunic. This helps the master to control himself, should he wish to do so. Too, it is enjoyable, at a snap of his fingers, to have the girl remove it, or, indeed, if he wishes, to tear if from her at his whim.
"In the Ta-Teera though," she said. bitterly, "it is sometimes like being more naked than naked."
"I understand," I said, softly. It presented her as a displayed slave.
She was silent.
"Yet doubtless," I said, "it affords your modesty more comfort than might a mere collar"
"Yes," she smiled, "a bit more than might a collar alone."
How I then again envied the Gorean brutes who might order such a woman, at so little as a snap of their fingers, to strip to her collar.
"I was not branded," she said, "because the masters thought a brand would mar my beauty."
"I understand," I said. Actually, however, though I was not prepared to argue, I found this quite surprising. From What I had seen a brand made a woman at least a hundred times more beautiful and exciting. The brand's marvelousness, of course, is not simply a function of its aesthetic enhancement of the woman's beauty, adding beauty to her beauty, raising her almost geometrically to a new dimension of loveliness, but was doubtless as much or more a function of its meaning; it marked the loveliness into which it was burned as that of the most desirable of women, a female slave.
"I do not need the jacket," I said.
"Please, for me, Jason," she wheedled.
She was so pretty!
"Very well," I said. I drew on the jacket.
"Now, the coat," she said.
"I certainly do not need the coat," I said.
"Oh, please, please, Jason," she wheedled.
"Very well," I said. I drew on the coat.
"How marvelous you look," she said. "How long it has been since I looked upon a handsome man of my world, so smartly attired."
"I feel like a fool." I said. "These garments are so incongruous on this world. Too, they seem clumsy and out of place, almost rude and barbaric, compared to the lines and simplicity of Gorean garments."
"No, no," she said. "They are perfect!"
"If you say so," I smiled.
"You have been very kind to me," she said, "to let me see you dressed in this fashion, as a man of my old and dear world. You have pleased me very much. What lovely memories do you recall for me!"
"It is nothing," I said. Indeed, it was such a little thing to do for the girl, and she seemed so appreciative. I gathered it meant much for her. "Perhaps now," I said, "you should show me the secret exit, that I may attempt to escape from this place."