"Is this—Gor?” she asked.
"I do not know,” he said.
"I demand to be returned to Earth!” she said.
"If they wanted you on Earth,” he said, “they would have left you there."
"Perhaps I am being held for ransom?” she said.
"They could have kept you on Earth for that, were it their purpose,” he said.
"I want to go back to Earth,” she said.
"Earth is behind you,” he said.
"Behind me?"
"Yes."
"—Forever?"
"Yes."
"Then I am now—of Gor?” she said.
"Yes,” he said, and then added, thoughtfully, “or elsewhere."
"But what is to become of me—on Gor?” she asked. “What could I do on Gor? What could I be on Gor?"
Cabot smiled.
"I do not care for that smile,” she said.
How easy it would be, thought Cabot, to simply cuff her, and position her, and begin her training!
He thought it might be pleasant to train her, the haughty little bitch, the supercilious, smug slut.
"Do they speak English on Gor?” she asked.
"No,” he said.
"But you speak English."
"I am from England,” he said, “Bristol."
"I am from Mayfair,” she said.
"Do you wish to live?” he asked.
"Certainly,” she said, uneasily.
"Gorean,” he said, “from the name of the world, is the most commonly spoken language on Gor. At least that is so in those areas with which I am most familiar, and certainly it is so in the high cities."
"High cities?"
"Ar,” said he, “Turia, Ko-ro-ba, Thentis, Treve, Venna, and such."
"Those are cities?"
"Yes,” he said. “Most are tower cities, but less so Turia and Venna."
"What are tower cities?"
"The name is presumably because of the architecture of the primary defensive structures, keeps, usually reached by means of unrailed, narrow bridges."
"Why did you ask if I wished to live?” she asked,
"Because,” said he, “if you do wish to live, it will be in your interest to learn to speak Gorean, as quickly and as fluently as you can."
"I see,” she said.
"Even if this is not Gor,” he said, “and I am not sure it is, if there are humans here, humans who have speech, it is probably the language they would speak. Too, if there are translators here, translation devices, many would presumably be devised to deal with Gorean."
"And if I do not care to learn some unusual, strange, and barbarous language?” she asked.
"Gorean,” he said, “is a complex, subtle, beautiful language, with a large and sophisticated lexicon."
"Even so,” she said, irritably.
"Then, I suppose,” said Cabot, “you will be destroyed."
She moved, and the chain dangling from the heavy collar made a tiny sound, against the collar ring.
"You speak Gorean?"
"Yes,” he said.
"Teach me,” she said, “teach me Gorean."
"You must learn,” he said, “five hundred words a day."
"So many?"
"I do not know how much time we have."
"Very well,” she said. “Begin."
"You are prepared to say your first words in Gorean?"
"Yes."
"Very well,” he said. “Say ‘La kajira'."
"La kajira,” she repeated.
"Excellent,” he said.
"I am good at languages,” she said.
"Excellent,” he said.
"La kajira,” she said. “What a lovely sound."
"Yes,” he said, “the word ‘kajira’ is a lovely word, with a beautiful sound."
"I like it,” she said.
"You are, incidentally,” he said, “kajira."
She laughed. “I'm happy,” she said, “that such a lovely word applies to me."
"It does,” he assured her. “It applies to you in fact, and with great aptness."
"Does it mean ‘beautiful'?” she asked.
"Not exactly,” he said, “but it often suggests female beauty."
"Good,” she said.
See her straighten that beautiful body, thought Cabot. Men have bred such as she for generations, for their collars.
"It means ‘a beauty’ then,” she smiled.
"Not exactly,” he said, “but many kajirae, that is the plural, are beautiful."
"And I am beautiful,” she said.
"You will do,” he said.
"So, I am kajira,” she said. “Lovely! What does it mean?"
"You will learn later,” he said.
"I suppose,” she said, “that we may have to spend some time together."
"Perhaps,” he said. “I do not know."
"We have not been properly introduced,” she said.
"Did we not do that in the container?” he asked.
"There was no third party,” she said, “at least no appropriate third party."
"There was little help for that,” he said. “There still isn't."
"No matter,” she said. “We must make do, somehow. I am Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym, of Mayfair, London."
He smiled.
She no longer had a name. Masters had not yet given her one.
"And you are,” she said, “Mr. Tarl Cabot, of Bristol."
"Once so,” he said.
"Once so?"
"Yes,” he said. “But, too, I have been known as Tarl of Bristol, and Bosk, captain, of Port Kar."
"Considering how we have been so inexplicably and lamentably thrown together,” she said, “I think we may as well dispense with certain formalities. I shall refer to you, if I may, as Mr. Cabot."
"And how would you have me refer to you?” he asked.
"Miss Pym will do,” she said.
Cabot thought she might make a better Tula, or Tuka, or Lita. Those are common slave names on Gor.
"Miss Pym,” he said, “seems somewhat inappropriate, perhaps a bit prim, perhaps even pompous, does it not, for someone in your current circumstances, one who is kneeling in straw, one whose entire ensemble consists of a collar and chain?"
"Very well,” she said. “I shall call you Tarl, as though we were better acquainted, and even of the same social class. I shall concede such things. And you may call me ‘Virginia.’”
"I will call you ‘Cecily,'” he said.
"I prefer ‘Virginia,'” she said, coldly.
"I will call you ‘Cecily,'” he said.
"Why?” she asked.
"Because I wish to do so,” he said.
"I do not care for ‘Cecily,'” she said. “I never have. In my view, it is too ordinary a name, too common a name. It is a name less fitting for me than for a shopgirl. It is insufficiently refined."
Whether a name is ordinary or not seems to depend on time and place. For example, ‘Cecily’ might have been an ordinary name in one of the Englands, hers, at the time, at least in her opinion, but it might have been far less common in, say, another of the Englands. Too, in her own England, at one time, it might have counted as indisputably aristocratic, enough so even for her to have found it acceptable. And once again, who knows, it may again, if it is not already there, ascend the stairs of specialness and regard. Fashion seems to exercise its whimsical rule in such matters. Too, a name which is regarded by one person as ordinary may, by another person, be regarded as quite unordinary. Consider a name such as ‘Jane'. That name, as I understand it, surely a beautiful name, is commonly regarded on Earth as an ordinary name. On Gor, on the other hand, it is an unordinary name. It is not unknown, for example, for that name to be given to Gorean slave girls, and not simply because of its convenient brevity and beauty, properties suitable for a slave name, but also because, on Gor, it has an attractive exotic flavor, suggesting foreign places and goods. Earth feminine names, in general, are commonly regarded on Gor as slave names. This is not surprising as Earth females are regarded as slave stock, suitable for the collars of Gorean masters.