"Beast!” she exclaimed.
"You would probably bring a good price in a market."
"A market!"
"A slave market, of course."
"Never!” she cried. “Never!"
He saw that she was sexually stimulated, muchly aroused. Clearly, and not only in her dreams, she had often thought herself a slave, and had perhaps foolishly suffered and struggled against her body and its needs, her heart and its needs, against the primitive depth and helpless wholeness of her slave needs.
Doubtless often, in her dreams and otherwise, she had stood upon the slave block, in sawdust, in the light of torches and lamps, exhibited, and had been auctioned to the highest bidder. Doubtless, often, she had been led from the market, back-braceleted, and leashed, perhaps hooded, led as might be any other newly purchased animal, to her new home. Doubtless, too, she had often knelt before masters, or kissed their feet, in gratitude and love, in reverence or supplication. Perhaps she had sometimes been bound to an overhead whipping ring and had been switched, or lashed, for some miniscule fault or shortcoming. Perhaps, often, she had striven in chains, desperately, fearfully, to give her master inordinate pleasures.
"I wonder if you have had your slave wine, or some similar substance, something with the same consequences or effects,” he said.
"What is slave wine?” she asked.
"Never mind,” said he.
Slaves, as domestic animals, are normally bred only as the masters please.
"Are you a virgin?” he asked.
"That is my business!” she snapped.
"A determination might be made,” he said.
"Yes,” she said, angrily. “I am a virgin!"
Strange that she, a virgin, he thought, should be so soon on the verge of begging for sex. Already thought Cabot she feels the warmth of slave fires in her belly. He did not think it would take long before she became their piteous, begging prisoner.
Perhaps it is the chain, he thought, the chain, binding fiber, such things, which hasten such things, which bring a female so rapidly, so pathetically, so needfully, so openly and honestly, to her knees.
"What are we to do now?” she asked, uneasily.
"We shall continue with your lessons in Gorean,” he said.
She put down her head, her small hands on the chain dangling from her collar. “Very well,” she said.
"But,” said he, “we will try to do a thousand words a day."
"I think I cannot do so much,” she said.
"We will do the best we can,” he said.
"Why so many?"
"I do not know how much time we have,” he said.
"No,” she said. “This has to do with something you saw, something you saw outside the stable."
"Perhaps,” he said.
"What was it?” she asked.
"Doubtless in time you will learn,” he said.
"I want to live,” she said.
"We will do the best we can,” he said.
"La kajira!” she said.
"Excellent,” he said.
"You see,” she said. “I remembered!"
"Excellent,” he said.
"Those are my first words in Gorean!” she said.
"And appropriately so,” he said.
"Why?"
"It does not matter now,” he said.
"They mean I am a beautiful female!” she said.
"Something like that,” he said, “or usually."
"I did not forget them,” she said.
"Good,” he said.
Chapter, the Fourth:
THE INTERLOCUTOR
"What are you?” asked Cabot.
"The result of an experiment,” he said.
I think I have made clear the difficulties of replicating in a human tongue the phonemes of Kur, as we shall refer to the language of this particular habitat, one, actually, of several in the worlds, and, correspondingly, naturally, the difficulty of reproducing in Kur the phonemes of typical human languages. These difficulties index almost entirely to anatomical dissimilarities. To be sure, it is somewhat easier for a Kur to utter noises which, allowing for considerable distortions, or, shall we say, accent, better approximate human phonemes than the reverse. It is possible, of course, for a Kur to recognize certain sounds in, say, Gorean, and for a human to recognize certain sounds in Kur. I think I mentioned, for example, that the blonde pet from the container could recognize her name in Kur, certain commands, and such. It is one thing, naturally, to recognize a sound and another to replicate it. Consequently, most communication between humans and Kurii is accomplished by means of translators. This note is largely to remind any reader unfamiliar with Kur that in the interests of intelligibility we must either devise names for individual Kurii, or have recourse to descriptions, or such. It would be difficult or impossible to replicate the actual phonemes. The reader is familiar with this already in the case of Zarendargar. Accordingly, various Kurii will be herein referred to in terms hopefully intelligible to, or at least pronounceable by, readers unfamiliar with Kur. I think we have no practical alternative to this procedure, and, accordingly, we beg the reader's indulgence with respect to this liberty, accompanied as it must be by its concomitant distortions.
"You are not Kur,” said Cabot.
"I am Kur,” he said.
Cabot's interlocutor surely wore Kur harness, though he was not armed, not even with the small throwing ax, or night ax, commonly used in approaching isolated sentries, and such.
"No,” said Cabot.
This conversation was at the time being conducted by means of the interlocutor's translator, clipped to the harness. The device may then be carried or not, as one desires, and, when carried, does not impede movement. This particular model was disklike, and with a diameter of less than two hort. It would fit easily into the palm of even a human.
"Why do you say that?” inquired the interlocutor.
"I think,” said Cabot, “you could speak Gorean."
"I am not to blame for my defects,” he said.
You see the interlocutor's voice was somewhat other than that of the Kur, though surely Kurlike.
But that had been part of the experiment.
The first time the brunette had seen the interlocutor she had screamed and scrambled back, to the end of her chain, as close as she could to the rear wall of the stall.
Cabot had stood, to greet him, lifting his hand, and saying, “Tal."
The interlocutor had then, in its shambling way, put down the bowl of food and the bota of water. Later he had brought a wastes bucket. Neither time did he speak, either verbally or through the translator.
"It is hideous!” had said the brunette, when their keeper, or keeper's helper, had departed.
"It is different, surely,” had said Cabot.
"It is the sort of thing that brought us here,” said the brunette.
"Similar,” said Cabot, “not the same, not exactly the same."
"Animals! Beasts!” said the brunette.
"They are Kurii,” said Cabot. “One would be spoken of as a Kur."
"It is one of them,” she said. “Can you not see that?"
"I am not sure,” said Cabot.
"It is very much like one,” said Cabot.
"The same!” she exclaimed.
"Much the same,” agreed Cabot.
When the next day he came again with food and water, and to replace the wastes bucket with a cleaner vessel, the brunette crouched down in the straw, but did not scream.
The interlocutor had brought food, and water.
Naturally she wished to eat and drink.
Interestingly he had put the bowl of food and the bota beyond her reach.
Cabot wondered if the Kurii who had been on the Prison Moon had informed him of the brunette's words in the hallway, those words which had in no more than a moment changed her into marketable goods.