"She will soon awaken,” said Grendel.
"Slavers,” said Cabot, “often take a woman in her sleep, and bind her. She retired the night before, as usual, considering, if anything, only the prosaic routines of her next day's quotidian existence. She retires, anticipating nothing, suspecting nothing. Then, later, she awakens, doubtless to her consternation and horror, to find herself bound helplessly."
"Doubtless she cries out,” said Grendel.
"Only if the captor finds it acceptable,” said Cabot. “For she may have been gagged."
"Doubtless awakening so, helplessly bound, is an interesting experience for the woman."
"One supposes so,” said Cabot. “On the other hand, as I understand it, most are sedated, and awaken only later, doubtless days later, to find themselves in a Gorean pen, or cell, naked and in chains."
"Doubtless it is a suitable introduction to their new life,” said Grendel.
"One supposes so,” said Cabot.
The girl opened her eyes, and squirmed a little.
"I am bound,” she said.
She did not seem surprised. Slaves are accustomed to such things.
Sometimes they awaken while being bound, but can do nothing about it. They may then be turned to their back or belly, and put to use, as the slaves they are.
"Slave cord,” said Cabot.
"I am familiar with such cord,” she said.
"Certainly,” said Cabot, “as you are a slave."
She struggled a little, futilely. “I cannot rise,” she said. “I cannot bring my hands to my mouth. I awaken yours, and helpless."
"Not infrequently are slaves bound,” said Cabot. “Few things so contribute to a slave's awareness of her condition as being rendered totally vulnerable, completely defenseless and helpless. Susceptibility to the master's bonds, at his pleasure, finding herself wholly at his mercy, whenever he pleases, well reminds her of what she is and to whom she belongs."
She pulled a little at the slave cord, wrapped so securely about her small wrists and slender ankles.
"How much I am yours!” she said. “How much you master me!"
"Do you object?” asked Cabot.
"No,” she said, “I am a slave. I want to be well mastered! I need to be well mastered! I beg to be well mastered! I would be miserable were I not well mastered!"
"Any man can master you,” said Cabot.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “—Now."
Cabot's eyes roved her, as the eyes of masters can rove slaves.
She dared not meet his eyes.
"The sand,” she said, “my hair, my body."
"You are filthy,” said Cabot.
"Perhaps I will be permitted later to make myself more presentable to my master,” she said.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"I want to be presentable,” she said.
"You had better be more than presentable,” said Cabot.
"Of course,” she said. “I am a slave."
Grendel stirred the fire.
"As a slave,” she said, “I wish to go far beyond being merely presentable. As a slave I want my master to find me not only presentable, not only clean and well-groomed, and such, but appealing."
"'Appealing'?” asked Cabot.
"Attractive,” she said.
"Attractive slaves are, of course, pleasing to the master,” said Cabot.
"And we wish to be attractive to our masters,” she said. “The life of a slave who is attractive to her master is likely to be much more pleasant than that of one who is not attractive to the master."
"Doubtless,” said Cabot. “But if I am not mistaken you would like to be attractive to men, in general."
"Certainly, Master,” she said, “for we are women. Even when I thought I despised and hated men, I still wanted keenly to be attractive to them."
"Do you understand the meaning of that?” asked Cabot.
"I do not think I understood it then, at least fully, at least in full consciousness,” she said, “but now its meaning is quite clear. Its meaning is that we are women, and exist to be desired and sought, and that we wish, and wish desperately, despite what we might claim, to be desired and sought, and that we exist to be beautiful, and loving, for men, and that we exist to please and serve men, that we are the complementary sex to theirs, and each sex is to be a perfection to the other, and take its meaning from the other, and only as utterly different are the sexes united in the wondrous and precious perfection of wholeness, and this is what brings us to the feet of men, hopeful and submissive, to be accepted, if only we fully understood our meaning, and ourselves, as their slaves."
"And so your beauty is so important to you,” said Cabot, “and, on Gor, it is a beauty that does not fade."
"So I have been given to understand, Master,” she said.
"Have no fear,” said Cabot, “I will eventually give you an opportunity to clean yourself, to tend your hair, as you can, to wash and press your tunic with warm stones, such things."
"Thank you, Master,” she said.
"Females are such vain creatures,” said Cabot.
"Would you have us otherwise?"
"No,” said Cabot, “it makes it easier to control you."
"We are yours, Master,” she said.
"In a thousand ways,” said Cabot.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “Master,” she said.
"Yes?” said Cabot.
"We are attractive, are we not, Master?” she asked.
"Yes,” said Cabot, “otherwise you would not be worth buying and selling."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
Cabot, with his thumb, wiped some of the sand from her collar, better revealing its legend.
There were tears in her eyes.
"My master's name is on my collar,” she said.
"Of course,” said Cabot. “That is commonly done. The slave is goods. Thus it is important to know to whom she belongs."
"We belong to our masters,” she said.
"Of course,” said Cabot.
"I wonder if men can understand what it is for a woman to belong to a man,” she said.
"It is not hard to understand,” he said. “It is a simple matter of legalities, as owning a belt or saddle, or a kaiila or tarsk."
"To know that she is owned by him, truly owned by him,” she said.
"It is a legal matter,” he said.
"Oh, yes,” she said, “it is a matter of perfect legalities, and we are well aware of that, perfectly aware of that, that we are only goods and properties, no more, but what of our feelings, our emotions, our understandings of this?"
"The feelings of a slave are of no interest, and of no importance,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said, softly.
"It is expected that the slave will be dutiful, and serve well,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she whispered.
Cabot looked past Grendel, and the small fire, toward the opening of the small cave. “The weather has changed,” he said.
"Yes, it is warm,” she said, gratefully.
"Lord Grendel speculates that Agamemnon trusts that cold is no longer necessary to his plans, and thus, one supposes, that the temperature of the world may be returned to an equable level, one suitable for this season of the cylinder year."
"Agamemnon?"
"The cold, the storm,” said Cabot, “may have been manufactured."
"It is highly likely,” said Grendel. “In any event, it is surely not a natural phenomenon, of the sort with which you might be familiar. It is within the cylinder. Too, there was, for example, no lightning, and no thunder."
"No!” she said.
Grendel returned to tending and turning the meat, at the small fire.
"If Agamemnon wished to kill us,” said Cabot, “he could have done so on the lake, with the aquatic machine."
"Yes,” said Grendel, “but perhaps not with consequences to his liking."