"It was not meaningless to me,” she said.
"What is important,” he said, “are the legalities, the brand, the collar, such things. It is those things which are important. They are what make you wholly and perfectly a slave. A lashing is nothing. It is merely something which may be done to a slave, a mere hazard to which a slave is subject, particularly if she fails to be pleasing in some way."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"To be sure, a slave may have an emotional reaction to many things, a lashing, a cuffing, clothing, caging, food, errands, commands, almost anything."
"I had an emotional reaction to my beating,” she said.
"Oh?"
"I sensed then how much I was yours."
"You were no more or less my slave before or after the beating,” he said.
"My emotions seemed different,” she said.
"Such things are irrelevant to the realities involved,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"It does not matter what you feel or do not feel. It does not matter whether you are beaten or not, cuffed or not, clothed or not, chained or not, kept as a house slave or a field slave, kept as a pot girl or a pleasure slave, pampered or well ruled. You can be bought and sold, and done with as might please me."
"Yes, Master."
"Any master who owns you might be expected, at one time or another, to give you a lashing."
"Any master?"
"Certainly."
"I do not want to be sold,” she said.
"I am thinking of selling you,” he said.
"Why?"
"You are not a bad-looking slave,” he said. “I think I could get a good price for you."
"Please, no!” she wept.
"Do not fear,” he said. “Many slaves have had several masters. And I assure you, you will be zealous to please any master whose collar is put about your neck and snapped shut."
"But have we not been matched?” she asked.
Cabot looked at her, suddenly, angrily.
"How then were we matched?” she asked. “If you are the master to my slave, as I knew when first I looked upon you, must I not be similarly matched, to you, as the slave to your master?"
"It is true,” said Cabot, “that I find you, as would most men, of interest as a female, and a slave."
"Only that?” she said.
"I do not like being manipulated,” said Cabot, “even by vast, incomprehensible intelligences."
"And so you would reject me?"
"It would be a way of mocking them, of defying their will."
"What then will be done with me?"
"I might give you away,” said Cabot. “But I think I would sell you. I would be curious to see what you would bring, objectively, apart from my interest in you, amongst other women."
"You do have an interest in me!” she said.
"You are a comely piece of collar meat,” said Cabot. “What man would not?"
"Am I not special to you?"
"That is what I fear,” said Cabot, “and what angers me. I would that it were I, and not others, who had picked you out. I would rather I had collared you amongst the collapsing walls of a burning city, that I had bought you off a block in Ar! A thousand times better I had discovered you for myself, in an exposition cage in Venna, or as you were being marched naked down the gangplank of a corsair in Port Kar, having been taken as a prize with others on gleaming Thassa, or as you were being whip-herded, blistered and burned, neck-chained and belled, with a thousand others, on a great Tahari coffle!"
"You might never have found me,” she said.
"There are doubtless thousands who would be as special to me,” said Cabot.
She touched her collar. “It is true we are slaves,” she whispered.
Cabot made an angry noise, a fist was clenched.
"But what difference do such things make?” she asked. “What difference does it make, really, how I came into your collar?"
"It makes a difference,” he snarled.
"Could you not suppose you had found me in a hundred other places, in a hundred other situations?"
"But I did not find you so,” he said.
"But I am still the same!” she wept.
"You were put in my way by intelligences you cannot even conceive of,” he said.
"I rejoice,” she said.
"For purposes beyond your comprehension,” he snarled.
"I gather,” she said, “that as a free woman I was to be a temptation to you, one which would somehow bring about your downfall. But clearly that is over. I am no longer a free woman. I am a slave, and if I remain a temptation, it is certainly one which need not frustrate you; it is one which you can command to your feet, and enjoy at your leisure."
"I did not find you myself!” he said.
"What difference does that make?” she said. “Millions of women have throughout the history of Earth, and doubtless of Gor, been picked out for others, for marriages, companionships, and such. And doubtless millions of female slaves have been picked out for others, matched to others, to the best of the purchaser's ability, a slave who sings and recites, and plays the lyre, for a fellow who loves poetry and music, a skilled dancer for a fellow who is fond of dance, a brilliant, informed, educated slave, perhaps once of the scribes, who, now collared and without caste, would be a delightful little beast to have in a scribe's house, affording her master many pleasures, those of conversation and intellectual engagement, as well as those which she, inevitably subdued, will provide at his slave ring, moaning and thrashing in his arms."
"It is different,” said Cabot. “There are forces involved here which you do not understand, forces concerned even with worlds."
"What of my feelings!” she cried.
"They are unimportant,” said Cabot. “They are the feelings of a slave."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"You were picked for me, and put with me, you must understand,” he said, angrily, “in accordance not with my will, or yours, or ours, but in accordance with the will of others."
"What difference should it make?"
"Should it not make a difference?"
"No!” she cried.
"Perhaps it does,” he said, angrily.
"Surely their schemes were foiled,” said the brunette, “when we were removed from the Prison Moon. Perhaps I was once the tool of someone or something to demean or destroy you, or serve some purpose not known to me, I do not know, but I am no longer such. I am now only a female slave, though perhaps one still well matched, through no fault of her own, to your bracelets and chain. So, can you not now accept me as a gift, if nothing else, as a pretty pebble you might stoop to pick up, as a small silken animal you find at your feet, her neck on your leash?"
"I think, indeed,” said Cabot, “we were well matched, I as master to your slave, you as slave to my master."
"You can do with me as you wish,” she said, “for I am a slave. But if we were so well matched, I know you must find me pleasing."
"I think I will lash you,” he said.
"Please do not,” she said.
"I have had, and have, many slaves,” said Cabot, musingly.
"Keep me then amongst them,” she said. “Let me be the least of the slaves in your house. Set me the most disagreeable of tasks. I want you for myself alone, but I would rather share you with a hundred slaves more beautiful than myself, if I am beautiful, than be apart from you."
"One of my slaves, though I have not claimed her,” said Cabot, “was once, until disowned, the daughter of a Ubar."
"What is a Ubar?” she asked. “A king?"
"More powerful than a king,” said Cabot.
"Until disowned?"
"She shamed him, her father, the Ubar."
"How so?"
"Once, enslaved, she begged to be purchased, a slave's act, and so, once purchased and freed, she was disowned."
"I do not think I understand this,” she said.
"Conceive of it,” said Cabot, “first, the daughter of a Ubar a slave! Is that not shameful enough?"