Perhaps it should only be added that the Gorean master, though often strict, is seldom cruel. The girl knows, if she pleases him, her lot will be an easy one. She will almost never encounter sadism or wanton cruelty, for the psychological environment that tends to breed these diseases is largely absent from Gor. This does not mean that she will not expect to be beaten if she disobeys, or fails to please her master. On the other hand, it is not too unusual a set of compartments on Gor where the master, in effect, willingly wears the collar, and his lovely slave, by the practice of the delightful wiles of her sex, with scandalous success wheedles her way triumphantly from the satisfaction of one whim to the next. I wondered if the girl approaching was beautiful.
I smiled to myself.
Paradoxically, the Gorean, who seems to think so little of women in some respects, celebrates them extravagantly in others. The Gorean is keenly susceptible to beauty; it gladdens his heart, and his songs and art are often paeans to its glory. Gorean women, whether slave or free, know that their simple presence brings joy to men, and I cannot but think that this pleases them.
I decided the girl was beautiful. Perhaps it was something in her carriage, something subtle and graceful, something which could not be concealed by the dejected cast of her shoulders, her slow gait and apparent exhaustion, no, not even by the coarse heavy robes she wore. Such a girl, I thought, would surely have a master or, I hoped for her sake, a protector and companion.
There is no marriage, as we know it, on Gor, but there is the institute of the Free Companionship, which is its nearest correspondent. Surprisingly enough, a woman who is bought from her parents, for tarns or gold, is regarded as a Free Companion, even though she may not have been consulted in the transaction. More commendably, a free woman may herself, of her own free will, agree to be such a companion. And it is not unusual for a master to free one of his slave girls in order that she may share the full privileges of a Free Companionship. One may have, at a given time, an indefinite number of slaves, but only one Free Companion. Such relationships are not entered into lightly, and they are normally sundered only by death. Occasionally the Gorean, like his brothers in our world, perhaps even more frequently, learns the meaning of love.
The girl was now quite close to me, and yet had not seen me. Her head was down. She was clad in Robes of Concealment, but their texture and colour were a far cry from the glorious vanities often expressed in such garments, the silken purples, yellows and scarlets that the Gorean maiden delighted in; the robes were of coarse brown cloth, tattered and caked with dirt. Everything about her bespoke misery and dejection.
"Tal," I said, quietly, that I might not startle her too much, lifting my arm in gentle salute.
She had not known of my presence, and yet she did not seem much surprised. This was a moment she had apparently expected for many days, and now it had come. Her head lifted and her eyes, fine, grey eyes, dulled with sorrow and perhaps hunger, regarded me. She seemed to take no great interest in me, or her fate. I gathered that I might have been anyone.
We faced one another without speaking for a moment.
"Tal, Warrior," she said, softly, her voice emotionless.
Then, for a Gorean woman, she did an incredible thing.
Without speaking, she slowly unwound the veil from her face and dropped it to her shoulders. She stood before me, as it is said, face-stripped, and that by her own hand. She looked at me, openly, directly, not brazenly, but without fear. Her hair was brown and fine, the splendid grey eyes seemed even more clear, and her face, I saw, was beautiful, even more beautiful than I had imagined.
"Do I please you?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "You please me very much."
I knew that this might be the first time a man had looked upon her face, except perhaps a member of her own family, if she had such.
"Am I beautiful?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, "you are beautiful."
Deliberately, with both hands, she slipped her garment some inches down her shoulders, fully revealing her white throat. It was bare, not encircled by one of the slender, graceful slave collars of Gor. She was free. "Do you wish me to kneel to be collared?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Do you wish to see me fully?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"I have never been owned before," she said. "I do not know how to act, or what to do — save only that I know I must do whatever you wish." "You were free before," I said, "and you are free now."
For the first time she seemed startled. "Are you not one of them?" she asked.
"One of whom?" I asked, now alert, for if there were slavers on the trail of this girl it would mean trouble, perhaps bloodshed.
"The four men who have been following me, men from Tharna," she said. "Tharna?" I asked, genuinely surprised. "I thought the men of Tharna revered women, alone perhaps of the men of Gor."
She laughed bitterly. "They are not in Tharna now," she said.
"They could not take you to Tharna as a slave," I said. "Would the Tatrix not free you?"
"They would not take me to Tharna," she responded. "They would use me and sell me, perhaps to some passing merchant, perhaps in the Street of Brands in Ar."
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Vera," she said. "Of what city?" I asked.
Before she could respond, if respond she would have, her eyes suddenly widened in fear, and I turned. Approaching across the meadow, ankle deep in the wet grass, were four warriors, helmeted and carrying spears and shields. By the shield insignia and blue helmets I knew them to be men of Tharna.
"Run!" she cried, and turned to flee.
I held her arm. She stiffened in hate. "I see!" she hissed. "You will hold me for them, you will claim right of capture and demand a portion of my price!" She spat in my face.
I was pleased at her spirit.
"Stand quiet," I said. "You would not get far."
"I have fled from those men for six days," wept the girl, "living on berries and insects, sleeping in ditches, hiding, running."
She could not have run if she had wished. Her legs seemed to quiver under her. I put my arm about her, lending her my support.
The warriors approached me professionally, fanning out. One, not their officer, approached me directly; another, a few feet behind the first and on their left, followed him. The first, if necessary would engage me, and the second drive in on my right with his spear. The officer was the third man in the formation, and the other warrior hung several yards in the rear. It was his business to observe the entire field, for I might not be alone, and to cover the retreat of his fellows with his spear should the need arise. I admired the simple maneuvre, executed without command, almost a matter of reflex, and sensed why Tharna, in spite of being ruled by a woman, had survived among the hostile cities of Gor.
"We want the woman," said the officer.
I gently disengaged myself from the girl, and shoved her behind me. The meaning of the action was not lost on the warriors.
The eyes of the officer were narrow in the Y-like opening of his helmet. "I am Thorn," he said, "a Captain of Tharna."
"Why do you want the women?" I taunted. "Do not the men of Tharna revere women?"
"This is not the soil of Tharna," said the officer, annoyed.
"Why should I yield her to you?" I asked.