"I am hungry,” said the brunette.
Cabot let her feed first.
Let her think, thought he, she is still a free woman. She can learn later she is kajira. Besides, we may soon be eaten. Yet, thought he, I do not think we are to be eaten, certainly not yet, for we have not yet been eaten, and, too, if we were to be eaten, would we not be fattened, or such, not given this gruel, these pellets, and water?
Cabot noticed that she had left him less than half of the food.
He said nothing about this.
It is perhaps an inadvertence, he thought.
Such things should not happen with a slave, of course. She will feed after the master or under the supervision of the master. In any event, the master would be the first to partake of the food, be it only with so little as a finger lifted to his tongue.
She took, in English, to abusing the quiet interlocutor in his attendance, treating him shortly, and with contempt.
She referred to him as “Caliban,” which is apparently a reference to the literature of one of the Englands. From the reaction of Cabot one gathers the reference was not complimentary, nor was it intended to be so.
"He cannot understand me,” she said.
"Much can be gathered from expressions,” said Cabot, “the tone of one's voice, the attitude of one's body, such things."
"He is stupid, a beast,” she said.
"He is much like a Kur,” said Cabot, “and many Kurii are of high intelligence."
"He is a Kur,” she said.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"They are stupid beasts,” she said.
"I would show him more respect,” said Cabot.
"Why?"
"He might take you off your chain and eat you,” said Cabot, “or eat you on your chain."
"Oh,” she said.
"Perhaps you should think of him less as Caliban,” said Cabot, “and more as Grendel."
The translator is of little help here, but one gathers this was a reference accessible to the brunette. One takes it from the context that a Grendel might be less patient, or more menacing, or more dangerous, than a Caliban, whatever such things might be.
Also, interestingly, as clarified later, Cabot conjectured that an entity spoken of as “Grendel” had once existed on the Earth, and might have been Kur. Similarly, it was his speculation that certain other entities alleged to exist on Earth, particularly in remote mountainous or forested areas, might have been Kurii. We make no judgment on this matter, but it is true that occasionally Kurii were abandoned or marooned on Earth, usually for insubordination, or as a consequence of mutiny, or such.
"Why does he put the food by you first,” she asked, “where I cannot reach it?"
"I do not know,” said Cabot.
"He is a weakling,” she said.
"I do not think so,” said Cabot. “Let us continue with your lessons in Gorean."
"Is it male?” she asked.
"I think so,” he said.
"I despise males,” she said, “—present company excepted, of course."
"You need not except the present company,” he said.
"Very well,” she said.
Cabot thought she would look well on her belly, licking and kissing a man's feet, hoping to be found pleasing.
He supposed that she had had little experience of a certain sort of males, namely, men.
He considered the interlocutor. He was sure he was male, but was perhaps a nondominant, a male who was forbidden to express his maleness, who does not practice it, who has not fulfilled it, such things.
He wondered if many of the males of Earth were nondominants.
Little wonder then, he thought, that so many of the women of Earth languish, deprived, in sexuality's polar wastes, that so many suffer seemingly inexplicable chronic ailments, that so many are mired in boredom or depression, that so many are twisted in neurosis, that so many are frustrated, miserable, petty, irritable, and nasty, that so many are unfulfilled and tragically unhappy.
Send the better ones, he thought, to a Gorean slave block.
Consider the former Miss Pym, he thought.
She would much profit from a slave collar and a taste of the lash.
"What are you thinking about?” she asked.
"Let us continue with your lessons,” he said.
"Very well,” she said.
* * * *
"I think,” said Cabot, to the interlocutor, “you do not need the translator."
The interlocutor did not respond, but turned, and left.
"Of course it needs a translator,” said the brunette.
"I am not sure of that,” said Cabot.
"It is a Kur,” she said.
"It is much like one,” said Cabot.
"Kur,” she said.
"The eyes,” said Cabot, “seem different."
"I do not know that much about Kurii,” she said. Certainly they do not look human."
"You are right,” said Cabot.
She sniffed. “When next he comes, use the translator,” she said, “and demand more and better food, richer food, and more of it, and something other than water to drink, and demand proper clothing for me."
"What would you consider proper clothing?” he asked.
"I do not understand,” she said. “Why are you smiling?"
He had perhaps in mind a slave strip, or a slave rag, or perhaps a nice tunic, or part of one, and, doubtless, a close-fitting, suitable collar.
"Something appropriate,” she said, “indeed, a wardrobe, casual wear, street wear, sports wear, perhaps even evening wear, such things, a wardrobe of high quality, one compatible with my social position. Why are you smiling?"
"You are learning Gorean,” he said. “Why do you not insist on these demands yourself."
"My Gorean is not yet that good,” she said.
"I am afraid our friend,” said Cabot, “does not always turn his translator on."
"I am afraid,” she said, “he has little authority."
"I think you are right,” said Cabot.
"But he could surely nonetheless convey my demands, our demands, to his superiors,” she said.
"Doubtless,” said Cabot.
"Speak to him,” she said.
"If you wish,” he said.
The next day Cabot brought the wishes of his stall mate to the attention of the interlocutor, making quite certain, in a civil and polite manner, of course, but not in an obsequious manner, that he understood that these were the insistencies, or demands, of the brunette, and he was acting as a mere intermediary.
Cabot, you see, was well aware that he and his lovely stall mate were in no position to make demands.
He was grateful that to this point, at least, they had their lives.
The brunette did not follow the conversation well, given the current status of her Gorean.
At one point the interlocutor turned to the brunette and looked at her, as though for the first time, and looked at her rather intently. The brunette, disconcerted, drew back on the chain, and covered herself, as well as she could.
"She is pretty, is she not?” inquired the interlocutor.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"I know one that is much prettier,” said the interlocutor.
"Oh?” said Cabot.
"They are so smooth,” said the interlocutor.
"Yes,” agreed Cabot. Too, that smoothness felt well within one's arms, warm, soft, alive, squirming, vulnerable.
"There are others, some others,” said the interlocutor, “some with the men."
"There are men here?” asked Cabot.
"Some,” said the interlocutor, “and not those in the pens, but the allies, those who have the small ships."
"Confederates of your people?” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said the interlocutor, looking at him, closely, “of my people."
He looked back at the brunette, who regarded him, angrily.
"She is kajira, is she not?” asked the interlocutor.