"In several respects,” said Cabot, “it seems you were insufficiently respectful."
"Yes, Master."
"Are you aware of the penalties for showing insufficient respect?"
"No, Master,” she said, “but I fear them."
"A slave,” said Cabot, “may speak the names of free persons in certain fashions, and in certain situations, obviously, such as ‘My master is Tarl Cabot', ‘I am the slave of Tarl Cabot', ‘Mistress Publia desires that you would call upon her', ‘Master Gordon desires your opinion on the breeding of a young female slave', ‘Master Clearchus has repaired the kaiila saddle', ‘It is expected that Master Turik's new coffle will arrive in the city tomorrow, by the tenth Ahn', and so on. But the slave does not address the master, or other free persons, by their own names, unless having permission to do so."
"Yes, Master."
"And that permission is rarely, if ever, granted."
"Yes, Master."
"Did your master give you that permission?"
"No, Master."
"And he will not do so."
"Yes, Master."
"The names of free persons are not to be soiled in such ways, by appearing on the lips of slaves."
"No, Master. Forgive me, Master."
"Your faults,” said Cabot, “are numerous and heinous."
"Yes, Master."
"Perhaps you think you are a free woman?"
"No, Master, I do not think I am a free woman!"
"What are you, then?"
"A slave, Master, a slave!"
"Anything else?"
"No, Master, only that! Nothing else. Only that!"
"And most seriously,” said Cabot, “and as you have acknowledged, you did something preposterously foolish, something incomprehensibly stupid, the seriousness of which I doubt you understood, something the gravity of which you, unfamiliar with your collar, no more than an ignorant, naive slut, fresh from Earth, newly under the whip, could perhaps not even have begun to comprehend, something foredoomed to failure, impossible of success, something fraught with inevitable and profound peril, something of which an informed, knowledgeable girl, aware of her collar, and its meaning, and the realities of her world, would not even dare to think."
"I was angry,” she said. “I was foolish. I made a terrible mistake. I did not know any better. I fled."
"What could you have accomplished, other than perhaps to fall into the power of another master?"
"Nothing, Master,” she said.
"Perhaps you thought you might escape,” said Cabot.
"I did not even think,” she whispered.
"There was no escape for you,” said Cabot.
"No, Master,” she said.
"I gather you now know that,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “I know that now. I am branded and collared, and am a slave. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to go. Even were I to escape one master I would fall to another. I am slave, and must remain so. This world will have it so."
"And so would Gor,” said Cabot.
"Gor?” she said.
"It is a world more beautiful than you can imagine,” said Cabot.
"And on that world would I, too, be a slave?"
"More securely and perfectly, and more helplessly, than you could conceive,” said Cabot. “On Gor they know what to do with Earth women."
"As on Earth they do not?"
"Yes,” said Cabot, “as on Earth they do not."
"Will you take me to Gor?"
"Perhaps,” said Cabot. “Certainly there are better markets for selling you on Gor."
"Selling me?"
"Yes,” said Cabot. “You are a slave."
"Please do not sell me, Master!” she cried, lifting her head.
But then, as she lifted her head, her eyes suddenly widened, and she flung a small hand before her mouth, and screamed, shrinking back.
Cabot turned, in an unhurried fashion, and picked up the ax, and rose to his feet, to face Flavion.
"My dear Flavion,” he said.
"Lord Flavion,” said Flavion.
Flavion carried a Kur ax. It was of solid metal, and of a piece. A human could not easily lift such a tool, let alone put it to practical use.
"I have been waiting for you,” said Cabot.
"You were a fool to not face the gate, and to leave it open,” said Flavion.
"How better to lure you within?” asked Cabot.
The slave, at a gesture from Cabot, scrambled, on all fours, to the side.
"You positioned the slave, that you might be warned,” said Flavion. The slave, it may be recalled, had faced the gate. But in her misery, distracted, sobbing, her head down, scarcely daring to raise her eyes from the dirt, she had not immediately detected the presence of the Kur.
"No,” said Cabot, “your left foot drags in the dirt. This scratching, this slow scuffling sound, which you so vainly tried to conceal, is as readily detected as the stroke of a broom, the dragging of a rake."
"The sleen let me pass,” said Flavion.
"Of course,” said Cabot. “You were once of this camp, and so you would be admitted, as before."
"You counted on that?"
"Certainly,” said Cabot.
"I could have killed it,” said Flavion, lifting the ax a bit.
"How easily he handles that tool,” thought Cabot.
"That is possible,” said Cabot, “if you knew it was about, were expecting an attack, and such."
"But I came through, without difficulty."
"As I wished,” said Cabot.
"I think you are mad,” said Flavion.
"Should you raise that weapon against me,” said Cabot, “you have repudiated the amnesty."
"You are a fool,” said Flavion, “to rely on the amnesty for your security. Do you truly think I would fear to violate it, here, far from the habitats, here, in the forest?"
"My intention,” said Cabot, “is not to rely on the amnesty for my security, but rather that matters be so arranged that I may see it explicitly repudiated."
"None will know,” said Flavion, “or none who matter,” he added, glancing to the slave, crouched fearfully to the side.
"Run!” cried Cabot to the slave, and pointed to the opened gate.
With a cry of misery she sprang to her feet and ran toward the gate.
Flavion intercepted her, seizing one arm by which she was swung about, and hurled yards away, tumbling over and over in the dirt.
Doubtless Cabot wished that the slave might have reached the safety of the forest, a desiderated outcome, where she might, a fleet, collared human female, have managed to elude a lame Kur, but he was not surprised when she failed to do so.
He had, of course, gathered some intelligence from her attempt. The Kur, despite his lameness, had moved with great agility. This was noted by Cabot, and gave him a better idea of what he might expect from such a foe.
"Ah, dear Flavion,” said Cabot, “you are quicker than I might have supposed."
"Lord Flavion,” said Flavion.
Cabot shrugged, and watched while Flavion went to the gate, swung it shut, and secured it shut. It would take some moments to undo that latching.
Flavion then stood before the gate, his back to it, and regarded Cabot.
"You are a fool to have come here alone,” said Flavion. The slave, of course, did not count.
"I did not think you would care to resume your games amongst the habitats,” said Cabot.
"If necessary, I would have,” said Flavion. “I owe you much."
"Was it you who threw a knife, in a feast?” asked Cabot.
"That would not have been enough for me,” said Flavion. “That cast was flung to a wall by a drunken rowdy, to test the balance of a throwing blade, offered to him by another rowdy, another drunken ruffian, for a coin, both killer humans. I feared only it might strike you."
"I appreciate your solicitude,” said Cabot.
Killer humans, successful in the arena, were awarded coins, with which they might purchase women, commonly penned naked within their view, prizes awaiting the victorious. This is not that unusual on Gor, either, I am told, that a successful arena fighter, say, may be awarded a lovely slave. On Gor, however, as I understand it, she is not purchased but bestowed, rather as might be a wreath, or a piece of gold. The killer humans, then, had this additional difference, or advantage, that they might, out of a pool of women, buy she who might most please them. The female, of course, had no choice as to who might purchase them, no more than other slaves. They could, of course, through the bars, attempt to interest one male more than another, hoping that he might then spend his coins accordingly. Gorean slaves, exhibited on slave shelves, often behave similarly, eager to be purchased by a particular master, perhaps a handsome fellow whose eye they hope to catch. And their owners, the merchants, might upon occasion indicate a particular fellow in the crowd, who looks well robed and affluent, to be accosted with posings, assurances of pleasure, the customary “Buy me, Master,” solicitation, and such. To be sure, the master's choice might not be the slave's choice, but she does not wish to feel his whip either. The women of the killer humans, it might be noted, were not expended in the arena, nor trained in any form of combat or weaponry. They existed merely to encourage greater diligence and zest in the males, that they might have an additional motivation for success in the arena. They were commonly taught to go to all fours before males, to be neck-roped, and such. They were subject, like cattle, to the will of the male. It maybe recalled that Cestiphon, the leader of his group of killer humans, had four such women. The killer humans, now, of course, the males, were no longer arena animals matched for the sport of Kurii. They were now, the males, free men, dangerous, formidable, and armed. No longer pitted against one another in blood sport they had become comrades in arms. Many would in time seek their fortunes on Gor. The women, of course, as suggested earlier, were to be much improved by the refinements of civilization, cleanliness, grooming, brands, collars and such. The filth, neck-ropes, and sticks of their savage condition had now been well superseded. For example, a collar and chain is a considerable improvement over a neck-rope, which might be chewed through. In time Cabot did not doubt but what many of the women of the killer humans, who were very lovely, would be indistinguishable on a slaver's necklace from their hitherto more-civilized sisters. After the loosing of the killer humans in the revolution coins would be of less import as the women might then, man against man, or group against group, be fought for openly. The number of women on a fellow's rope, or a group's rope, would then become a mark of prestige, rather as the number of kaiila in one's herd, or in one's tribe's herds, would become a mark of wealth and status amongst the warriors of the Red Savages. To be sure, they might also keep white women, in their beaded collars, identifying their masters, as slaves. Coins, of course, were not now unknown, either, amongst the killer humans. Many a slain Kur's pouch had been rifled for such goods.