Her discomfiture amused the human, Peisistratus. “She is kajira?” he inquired of Cabot.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"Why is she not in position?” inquired Peisistratus.
"She does not know she is kajira,” said Cabot.
"Position her,” said Peisistratus.
"She is still learning the language,” said Cabot. Among Goreans when one speaks of “the language,” it is always Gorean, as though no others existed.
"She is not speechless?” asked Peisistratus.
"No,” said Cabot.
"She is a barbarian,” he said.
"Yes,” said Cabot. Goreans often think of those who do not speak their language as barbarians. Indeed, that is the usual definition of a barbarian in Gorean, “one who does not speak the language."
"Earth?"
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"I have gathered fruit on Earth,” said Peisistratus.
"You are a slaver?” said Cabot.
"Yes,” he said. “What is her language?"
"English,” said Cabot.
Peisistratus turned to the brunette.
He spoke to her in English.
"Girl!” he said.
"I beg your pardon,” she said, startled.
"Slut!” he snapped.
"Sir!” she protested.
"Are you a female?"
"I do not understand,” she said.
"Are you a female?” he inquired, again, patiently.
"Obviously!” she said.
"And how should a female be before men?” he asked.
"I do not understand you,” she said, frightened.
"Are you kajira?” he asked, harshly.
She looked wildly at Cabot, who nodded.
"Yes,” she said, nodding, “I am kajira."
Peisistratus looked to Cabot. “I thought you said she did not know herself kajira."
"She does not know the meaning of the word,” he said. “She thinks it means she is beautiful, or a beauty, such things."
Peisistratus then turned again to the girl.
He removed the switch from his belt.
She regarded the implement disbelievingly.
"Kneel,” said Peisistratus to the girl, “now, instantly! Back on your heels. Spread your knees!"
"My knees!” she cried.
"Yes,” he said, “widely. More widely! Straighten your back, place your hands, palms down, on your thighs, lift your head, look straight ahead!"
"Never!” she cried.
And then the switch fell savagely upon her, twice.
She screamed in misery.
She looked at Cabot, startled, disbelievingly, in pain. She had felt the switch. Cabot supposed it might have been the first blow she had ever received. This was true, as she had been, for most practical purposes, reared by nurses, maids, and governesses, none of whom would have dared risk their positions by more than a suggestion or a gently reproving word, easily ignored. “Help me!” she cried. There were two marks on her body. Doubtless the blows stung. He had struck her only twice. He had shown her indulgence, doubtless because he sensed her ignorance. A more aware kajira would have doubtless been punished seriously for her lack of instant obedience. But then a more aware kajira would not be likely to have been punished at all, for she would have obeyed instantly. Aware kajirae are seldom punished, for there is no reason to punish them. They know, of course, that they may be punished for the least failure to be fully pleasing. Indeed, they know, as well, the master needs no reason to punish them. They may be punished at any time, at his pleasure, with or without a reason. He is master.
"No,” he said.
"Up, slut, position, position!” said Peisistratus.
Wildly, frantically, sobbing, tears streaming from her eyes, in pain, the brunette knelt before Peisistratus, in position, as required.
"Keep your hands on your thighs!” snapped Peisistratus, for she had dared to move to cover herself.
She complied instantly.
Cabot was pleased to note this alacrity.
Too, he was pleased to see her in position.
She looked well in position, in the position of a Gorean female slave, indeed, rather, in the position of a Gorean female slave of a particular sort, the Gorean female pleasure slave.
Indeed, Cabot thought, she might make a nice pleasure slave.
He supposed that her former male acquaintances would have enjoyed having her kneeling so, before them.
"Do you speak Gorean?” Peisistratus inquired of the girl.
"A little,” she stammered. “A few words, some simple sentences!"
"What were your first words in Gorean?” he asked.
"La kajira!” she said.
Peisistratus then turned to Cabot, and he spoke in Gorean. “You did well,” he said.
"She bespoke herself kajira on a satellite of Priest-Kings, the Prison Moon,” said Cabot.
"I had heard this,” said Peisistratus, who glanced at Arcesilaus, who nodded.
The two men then returned their attention to the girl on the chain, kneeling before them, in the straw.
Yes, Cabot thought, the former male acquaintances of the former Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym would have doubtless enjoyed seeing her as she was now, frightened, and obedient, in the position of a Gorean pleasure slave, subject to masculine discipline and direction.
"You are a professional slaver, are you not?” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said Peisistratus.
"What do you think of her?” asked Cabot.
"Less than a half tarsk,” he said.
"So little?” said Cabot.
"She is a barbarian,” he said. “She knows little Gorean. She is new to her condition. She is ignorant, untutored, untrained. She does not yet know how to drive a man out of his mind with pleasure."
"But we are thinking in terms of silver, I trust."
"Yes, silver."
"Then you think she has promise?"
"They all have promise,” he said. “The collar brings out their beauty. Her slave curves could be worse."
Cabot nodded. To him, of course, somehow, she was maddeningly attractive. Had not the Priest-Kings seen to that? But, too, he did not doubt that she was, objectively, an incredibly beautiful young woman, who would be of interest to almost any connoisseur of her form of merchandise. And he did not doubt that several of the men she had known on Earth might very well have considered her, as she had claimed, the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. And she, in her unweening vanity, may well have held this view herself. Her mirror, surely, had not lied. On the other hand, her mirror, too, had not been familiar with, other than its owner, women of an excellence sufficient to be brought to the marking irons and the clasping collars of Gor.
"What do you think, with training, and such,” asked Cabot.
"Perhaps as much as three silver tarsks,” he said, “perhaps as much as four, or five."
"Excellent,” said Cabot.
In a market where beauty was commonly cheap that was an excellent price. But had he not assured her that he thought she would sell well, that she would bring a good price in market of the right sort, a slave market?
"Do you have any objection,” inquired Peisistratus, “to enlightening this stupid little vulo, this ignorant little tasta, as to what she is?"
Cabot shrugged. “No,” he said, “she must learn sometime."
"I think it will be much to her advantage to come to a realization of this as soon as possible, particularly if she should be outside the stable."