She touched her collar, almost inadvertently.
"Yes,” smiled Cabot, “more than one fugitive slave has been betrayed by so small a thing."
Cabot turned away from the girl, and began to gather up accouterments. He took up the unstrung bow, and a quiver of arrows, formed from part of one of the blankets which had been purchased by Grendel.
"Lord Grendel,” said the girl, “left many arrows."
"True,” said Cabot. “He took some, but many he left. He has greater confidence in his ax, I fear."
"Surely he left them for Master,” she said.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot. “But it is inconvenient, and can be dangerous, to be overburdened. It is not as though I had a pack kaiila at hand."
"Master has a girl at hand,” she said.
"True,” he said.
"I have never seen a kaiila, Master,” she said, “but I understand I am worth far less than one, let alone the great tarn of which I have been told, but, too, have not seen."
"It is true that slaves commonly sell for less than a kaiila,” he said, “and, too, usually, for the price of a tarn one might purchase twenty or more slaves, even of great beauty."
"Even as beautiful as I?” she asked.
"Vain little beast,” he chided.
"Master?” she persisted.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"I see,” she said.
"Perhaps you now better understand what you are, and your value,” said Cabot.
"Yes,” she said. “I am an animal, one animal amongst other animals, and not the most valuable."
Cabot wondered if he truly understood that. Probably not, he thought. Not in her belly.
To be sure, she had made progress, considerable progress. He remembered her helplessness, her squirming, her gasping, her thrashing about, her begging.
Surely she had begun to sense what it might be, to be a man's slave.
"But more valuable than some,” he said, “usually more valuable than verr or tarsk."
"I see,” she said.
"And animals such as you are special,” he said. “They appeal to men."
"That was clear,” she said, “from the pleasure cylinder."
"And,” he said, “some men would give a dozen tarns to bring a particular woman, say, one who had not treated them well, into their chains."
"I would fear to be she,” she said.
"Do not be upset,” he said. “Masters occasionally grow fond of an animal."
"But she is still an animal."
"Certainly,” said Cabot.
"And should that slip her mind?” she asked.
"The lash will correct such lapses,” he said.
"Then she is truly an animal,” she said, “not only legally, societally, and culturally, but even in the eyes of her master."
"Of course,” he said.
"Good,” she said.
That response interested Cabot.
The girl was perhaps on the edge of bondage. Perhaps she had begun to sense the stirring, the begging, of her secret slave, the need of a woman to be such, her master's beast, his animal, on his chain, licking and kissing, hoping to please.
It is apparently pleasant to own a slave.
Many are the wonders of the collar, many the marvels consequent upon its affixing.
"So many?” she said.
"What?” said Cabot.
"Twenty?” she said. “As many as twenty, for only one tarn?"
"Much depends on the market,” he said.
"As beautiful as I?” she asked.
"You are quite vain,” he said.
To be sure, this is not unusual with a beautiful woman, and it is certainly not unusual with a beautiful slave, who is probably well aware of the most likely reason a collar has been put on her.
"Master?” she persisted.
"Perhaps more beautiful,” he said.
"But I am beautiful, surely,” she said.
"You will do,” he said.
"I was publicly chained in the pleasure cylinder,” she said, “and I was not unaware of the approbatory glances of masters. They roved me well, and lengthily."
"So?” he said.
"And they are, as you may recall,” she said, “slavers, professionals in the assessment of slaves."
"It is true, as I have said,” he said, “that you would do. Vended off a platform at night, under torches, well displayed, your blemishes somewhat concealed, you might bring a handful of copper."
"I am extremely beautiful,” she said.
"Do you think you were the most beautiful woman in the pleasure cylinder?” he asked. He recalled that she had thought herself amongst the most beautiful women she had ever seen on Earth. To be sure, at that time she was unfamiliar with a particular form of merchandise, Gorean kajirae.
Her eyes filled with tears. “No,” she said.
"But more beautiful than some?” he said.
"Yes,” she said, “yes!"
"When on my chain,” she said, “I heard Master Peisistratus, assessing my lineaments and features, quite candidly as men will do, and which at the time was easily done, as I wore only a chain, commend me to another, ranking me above several of his girls."
"That is high praise,” said Cabot. Certainly the girls of the pleasure cylinder had been carefully selected, chosen with the pleasure of his crews in mind.
"So I am beautiful, am I not?” she said.
"Yes,” said Cabot, “you are beautiful."
"Quite beautiful!” she said.
"Yes,” he said, “quite beautiful."
"And though I am not free,” she said, “might not master find me of interest, if only as a slave."
"Perhaps,” he said.
He found this amusing, for most slaves were once free women, and, usually, only the most beautiful of free women were collared. Accordingly, almost all slaves would be likely to be more beautiful than most free women, a fact not lost on free women. Too, interestingly, women became more beautiful in bondage, this going well beyond the garmenting, dieting, training, and exercising of the slave, but having more to do with the life of a slave, and its fulfillments.
"I would beg to serve Master,” she said.
"There is little time,” he said.
"I know,” she said.
Amongst Goreans, though one may use a slave as carelessly, as thoughtlessly, and indifferently as one might take a drink of water, as one might take a belt to her flanks, as one might, the need on one, cuff her to her knees, it is common to take one's time with her, often a morning or an afternoon, or an evening, sometimes a day. The lengthy and patient exploitation of a slave is one of the pleasures of the mastery. She is no stranger to his favorite viands, which she, most likely nude, for masters, at such times, often keep their slaves so, will prepare under his supervision, nor to the wines which she will measure and serve, her loveliness similarly exposed for his delectation, as much as the goblet, the serving surface, and such, nor to the furs at the foot of his couch, upon which, helplessly chained, she will be forced, again and again, mercilessly, at his pleasure, she willing or not, as an object, an animal, to endure prolonged lengthy, shameful, degrading ecstasies, ecstasies beyond the comprehension of the free woman, those of the mastered slave.
"Master could use a pack beast,” she said.
He regarded her.
"Surely,” she said.
"It is true,” he said.
"Let Lita be your pack beast,” she said.
"It can be a capital offense for a slave to touch a weapon,” said Cabot.
"Do not slaves sometimes arm their masters?” she asked.
"Sometimes,” he said.
"And do they not sometimes struggle beneath the weight of their masters’ shields?” she asked.
"Sometimes,” he said. “How would you know these things?"
"In teaching me Gorean,” she said, “the girls in the pleasure cylinder told me much of Gor."
"When they were not using their switches on you,” he said.