"It would be nice,” he said, “had you a scarlet halter, earrings, bangles and bracelets, necklaces, a belt of coins, a scarlet skirt, one of Turian drape, such things, but you do not, and so you must do without, and do the best you can."
"The slave!” they heard.
"They want to see you,” said Cabot.
"The Earth slut!” they heard. “Let us see barbarian collar-meat! Let us see the shapely she-tarsk! Five tarsk-bits for the slut! Six, if she is pleasing! Put her on her back! Kneel her, give her to us!"
"You will dance,” Cabot informed her.
Cecily then sprang up, and, in tears, ran to the fire, and stood before the men. “I cannot dance, Masters!” she wept.
Cabot followed her to the fire, and sat down, cross-legged, in his place.
He was pleased to see that Corinna and Peisistratus had rejoined the group. Peisistratus had not kept her long. Perhaps Corinna had only herself to blame, as her veil work had driven her master mad with instant need. Doubtless, after the feast, as he had regained his composure, she would serve him again, for perhaps one or two Ahn, or more, perhaps until the forest, in its softness, and dampness, was ready to awaken.
The tabor joined the flute, and then, suddenly, too, the kalika.
"Dance!” cried men.
And then, in tears, terrified, as she could, Cecily, a naked Earth-girl slave, danced before masters, Gorean men, men who knew what to do with women, and would have uncompromisingly what they wished from them.
It was true the Earth girl was not skilled in slave dance, but it takes years to master its subtleties.
But she was young, and beautiful, and stripped, and collared, and in the firelight.
The darkness doubtless covered many flaws, but then she was not really dancing, in any event, as dancers might think of dance.
She was naked in the firelight, and moving, in such a way she hoped might be found acceptable.
"Whip her!” called a fellow.
"Please, no, Masters!” she cried.
"She has felt it!” laughed a fellow.
"Only this afternoon,” said another.
"Whip her, again,” laughed a man.
"No, Masters!” wept the slave. “Please, no! I am trying to please you!"
"You are not a bad-looking piece of collar meat, you shapely slut,” said a man. “Make us want you!"
"'Want me'?” she said, aghast.
"She is stupid,” said a man.
"She is from Earth,” said another.
"What do you think slave dance is about?” asked another.
"Show them you are worth owning!” called Cabot, laughing.
"Here, before me!” laughed a fellow. “Here! Show me your belly! Beg with it!"
"Let it jerk in need!” said a fellow.
"Surely you have experienced slave spasms!” said another.
"Rotate your belly, slowly!” called another.
"You are a slave,” called Cabot. “Writhe! Let your body beg to be caressed!"
"Here!” called a fellow.
"Here!” called another.
She moved, as bidden, terrified, trying to please, about the circle.
She was then before Cabot.
She tried then to obey the others, but before her master.
Suddenly, reflexively, beyond her control, unexpectedly, her hips jerked, and she cried out with misery.
She then fled about the circle, frightened, trying to writhe before others.
There was much laughter.
"Let me dance!” cried out another girl, leaping to her feet, and Cecily fled to Cabot's side, and lay down, small, and frightened, trembling, beside him.
"Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.
"You are not a dancer,” said Cabot. “You gave us what we wanted, to see you in the firelight, naked, a slave, in the music. Do not mind the men. They were pleased. All were pleased."
"Was my master pleased?” she asked.
"He was pleased,” said Cabot.
"I am not to be whipped?” she asked.
"No,” said Cabot, “but if, in six months, you do not do better, I will put the lash to you."
"Do not whip me,” she said. “Please do not whip me."
"Slaves are not free women,” said Cabot. “They are subject to the whip. To be sure, much of this is in your control. The more pleasing you are, the less likely you will be whipped. If you are displeasing in some way, you must, as a slave, expect to be whipped. Too, a slave may be occasionally whipped, if only to remind her that she is a slave."
"My hips, once, when I was before you, moved suddenly, strangely, Master,” she said. “I could not help it. I did not do that on purpose, as with my other movements, my deliberate, intended movements of hips and belly. It just happened. I could not control it."
"Do not concern yourself,” said Cabot.
"I do not understand it,” she said
"It was a simple slave spasm,” said Cabot.
"May I speak, Master?"
"Certainly,” he said. “As before you unwisely left the compound, months ago,” he said, “I now, again, accord you a general permission to speak, but this privilege must be used with discretion."
"Yes, Master,” she said. “But I must always speak as what I am, a slave."
"Certainly,” said Cabot, “for you are a slave."
"And that permission may be instantly revoked, at any time, at your least discretion."
"Yes,” said Cabot, “and then you would have to ask specifically for permission to speak."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"What did you wish to say?” asked Cabot.
"I feel so strange,” she said. “I lie beside you, helpless. I am frightened. My whole body seems alive. If you were to touch me, I would cry out, and sob, and squirm in the dirt beside you! My belly is hot, and begs! Please touch me, Master! Give me the surcease my body pleads for! I am your slave! I knew I was your slave from the first moment I saw you, in that cruel container, in that terrible place."
"The Prison Moon,” said Cabot.
"I have tried to fight my bondage,” she said. “But I have failed! It is what I am, a slave, and yours! Touch me, my master! I beg it! When first I saw you I knew you were my master! Did you not, as well, know I was your slave?"
"It was no accident,” said Cabot, “that we found ourselves together there."
"I do not understand,” she said.
"Perhaps I will one day explain it to you,” said Cabot. “But this is neither the time nor place. I will tell you, however, that our conjoint presence in that small receptacle was no accident. We were matched."
"Matched?"
"Yes, by a vast intelligence, one beyond our grasp."
"How matched?” she asked. “As lovers?"
"As beasts entrapped by the will of others, placed together for their purposes, not ours."
"Beasts?"
"Biologically paired,” he said.
"As lovers, Master?"
"Of a sort,” he said.
"It is a complementarity, is it not?” she asked.
"Yes,” he said.
"Long ago,” she said, “I read of something like this, in an Asian philosophy, a harmony, a rightness, a propriety, a balance and reciprocity, a way of the world. It was spoken of as yin and yang."
"I gather there are many such complementarities,” said Cabot.
"One,” she said, “is man and woman, and there is another, which I fear is the same."
"What is that?” asked Cabot.
"Master and slave,” she said.
"Interesting,” said Cabot.
"I know nothing of such things,” she said. “But I do know I am your slave."
"That is clear,” said Cabot. “My collar is locked about your pretty little neck."
"I was your slave when first I looked upon you,” she said, “long before you closed that device upon me."
"Perhaps, in a sense,” he said.
"And you whipped me,” she said.
"That is meaningless,” he said.