"I understand,” said Cabot.
"We and they, however,” said Peisistratus, “with more familiarity with one another have little difficulty in distinguishing amongst individuals. Indeed, Kur young must learn to distinguish amongst different members of their own species."
"Perhaps it is so, too, with humans,” said Cabot.
"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus.
"Perhaps one learns to see,” said Cabot.
"Possibly,” said Peisistratus.
"Our friends,” said Cabot, indicating with a slight gesture of his head the two crouching, hulking forms behind them, “do not seem much interested in the entertainment."
"They are Kurii,” said Peisistratus. “They see us primarily as food, I fear."
"Do they hear the music as we do?” asked Cabot.
"I do not know,” said Peisistratus.
"They seem uncomfortable,” said Cabot.
"It is too loud for them,” said Peisistratus. “Have you ever heard Kur music?"
"No,” said Cabot.
"It is commonly inaudible to the human ear,” said Peisistratus. “Sometimes when they seem to move strangely, or meaninglessly, they are listening to their music."
"Why then are they so close?” asked Cabot.
"They are trying to overhear our conversation,” said Peisistratus, “but I fear you have frustrated them, as you persist in speaking English. Their translators then are ineffectual."
"You may of course later convey to them the gist of our converse."
"True,” said Peisistratus.
With a swirl from the czehar and kalikas, and a pounding of the tabors, the dancers prostrated themselves in the sand, as slaves, and then, as Peisistratus struck his hands sharply together, they leapt up, and fled from the room, exiting through a portal, it curtained with dangling strands of blue and yellow beads, the caste colors of the slavers.
Another dancer, a single dancer, then entered the sand. Like the others, she was barefoot, and bangled.
She wore bells on her left ankle.
It is not unusual for a slave to be belled.
Bells help the female keep in mind that she is a slave.
"What will she dance?” asked Cabot.
The dancer was now kneeling in the sand, her head bowed, waiting for the first strumming of the kalika. She was nicely silked, in the diaphanous dancing silks of Gor. Her hair, long and dark, fell to the sand.
"I do not mean to be importunate,” said Peisistratus, “but Agamemnon is curious to know if you have reached a decision with respect to his proposal."
"I am still considering the matter,” said Cabot.
"I would not consider it too long,” said Peisistratus, “as Kurii are not noted for their patience."
"He may be informed,” said Cabot, “that his offer is under the most earnest scrutiny."
"Doubtless he will be relieved to hear that,” said Peisistratus. “If it will speed your deliberations, you might consider that a similar offer might be made to others, whose deliberations might be less prolonged."
"To you?"
"Not to one of my caste, surely,” said Peisistratus.
"I see."
A whispering sentence of notes emanated from the kalika, and the dancer rose gracefully to her feet, her knees flexed, her head still bowed, her hands at her thighs.
"If you accept the offer,” said Peisistratus, “the medallion of a world's Ubar might be yours, power, hundreds of cities, rivers of wealth, innumerable pleasure gardens, exquisitely stocked with game and slaves."
"Who but a fool could refuse such an offer?” said Cabot.
"Indeed,” agreed Peisistratus.
"But suppose one did refuse such an offer?"
"I would not care to be he,” said Peisistratus.
"I see,” said Cabot.
"Paga, Master?” inquired a soft, feminine voice.
She knelt beside the table, suitably as a pleasure slave. She was red-headed, and naked, save for the collar on her neck.
Women look well so, and slaves in particular.
"Yes,” said Cabot, handing her his goblet. She then rose to her feet and backed away, and then turned, and hurried to the counter, to replenish the contents of the goblet.
"Ho, the whip dance,” said Cabot, returning his attention to the dancing sand.
"You like it?"
"She is lovely,” said Cabot.
"She is Corinna,” said Peisistratus. “She writhes well."
"Yes."
At certain points in this dance the whip snaps and the dancer reacts as though she was struck with the whip. If she does not do well, of course, she will feel the whip.
"You are tempted, are you not?"
"Who would not be?” asked Cabot. “But I think I shall soon return to my lodgings."
"The evening is young,” said Peisistratus.
The red-haired paga slave then returned with the goblet, brimming, and knelt beside the low table, at which Cabot and Peisistratus sat, cross-legged. It is common for Gorean men to sit cross-legged, and for Gorean women to kneel. Chairs on Gor are commonly reserved for individuals of rank. Gorean society is muchly based on status and hierarchy. There is little attempt on Gor to pretend that obvious differentiations in such matters do not exist. On Gor that would be regarded as dishonorable hypocrisy. The slave's eyes met Cabot's and in her glance, pathetic and pleading, he read her need. And then, looking down, she pressed the metal of the goblet to her belly, and then to her breasts, and then lifted the large cup to her lips, and, looking at Cabot over the rim, kissed the cup, lingeringly. She then lowered her head between her extended arms and proffered him the goblet, which he accepted.
"May I speak, Master?” she asked.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
There were tears in her eyes. Her lip trembled. “I desire to be found pleasing,” she said.
"I see,” said Cabot.
"Take me to an alcove, Master,” she whispered, tensely, “I beg it!"
"She is needful,” explained Peisistratus.
"Take me to an alcove, Master,” she said. “Chain me! Make me helpless! Whip me, if you wish! But use me! I beg to be used!"
"I gather she has been deprived,” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said Peisistratus.
"Why?"
"She and some others,” said Peisistratus, “in order to be readied for your entertainment."
"I see,” said Cabot.
Slave fires, as the expression is, are cruelly and mercilessly lit within the bellies of female slaves. It is often a part of their training. It is interesting to see a slaver take a free female, complacent in her sexual inertness, even one arrogantly proud of her frigidity, and transform her into a needful, helpless, vulnerable, begging slave, zealous to serve, that she may be rewarded with even the least touch of a male. Once the slave fires flame in the belly of a woman her freedom is behind her. She is then spoiled for freedom, is beyond it, and lives instead for the attention, love, and touch of her master. Indeed, it is not unusual that one who is familiar only with free women, with their reservations, suspicions, calculations, and inhibitions, their inertnesses and frigidities, is often astonished to encounter a female slave, one whose needs have now put her vulnerably, helplessly, at the mercy of men. Sometimes a fellow encounters in an alcove a woman earlier courted in vain, now a collared slave. It is then as though there were two women, and, in a sense, this is true, for where there was once a free woman there is now a slave. Perhaps he buys her, and takes her home. Perhaps she begs him, kissing piteously at his feet, to do so.
"Go ahead,” said Peisistratus. “Take her to an alcove."
"What is your name?” asked Cabot.
"Lehna, if it pleases Master."
"Tell me of your collar,” said Cabot. “What does it say?"
She touched the collar. Cabot had been curious about the collars of the slaves in the cylinder. They were of a common type, a flat, light, closely fitting band, locked at the back of the neck.