"We are not slave girls," protested Max.
"The red savages, as you may not know," said Grant to me, though doubtless hewas speaking primarily for the benefit of the Hobarts, "are rather strict aboutthe privilege of wearing the breechclout."
"Oh?" I said.
"Yes," said Grunt. "It is not permitted to women, even to their own women, nor,of course, is it permitted to slaves.
"I understand," I said. The breechclout of the Barrens, incidentally, consistsof a single piece of narrow material. This may be of tanned skin but, notunoften, is of soft cloth. It is held in place by a belt or cord. It commonlygoes over the belt or cord in the back, and down and between the legs, and thencomes up, drawn snugly tight, over the belt or cord in the front. In coolerweather it is often worn with leggings and a shirt. In warmer weather, in camp,it is usually the only thing that a male will wear.
"For a slave, or a prisoner, to wear a breechclout might be regarded aspretentious or offensive," said Grunt, "an oversight or indiscretion calling fortorture or, say, for being set upon by boys on kaiila, with war clubs."
"I understand," I said.
The Hobarts looked at one another. Their garments, like those of female slaves,would not be permitted a nether closure.
Grunt cut the thongs binding the ankles of the Hobarts to the leg-spreaders. "Onyour feet," he said.
They struggled to their feet, chained together by the neck.
Grunt mounted to the high saddle of his kaiila. He looked down on them. "You aremy prisoners," he said, "totally, and when sold will be slaves. You will beperfectly docile and totally obedient. At the least sign of refractoriness orinsubordination on the part of either one of you, both will be slain. Is thatclear?"
"Yes," said Max, miserably.
"Yes," said Kyle.
"That way lies our camp," said Grant, pointing. "Move!
The two Hobarts, stumbling, the chain on their necks, proceeded in the directionindicated.
I turned about in the saddle to view once more the torn, bloodied grass, themotionless figures, the insects and birds, where, yesterday, in brief compass,carnage had touched the prairie.
"Come along," said Grunt.
"I am coming," I said.
He rode after the Hobarts.
In a moment I had urged my kaiila after him.
When he reached the Hobarts he unhooked his whip from its saddle ring and,throwing it out behind him, and then bringing it forward, he lashed them.
"Hurry!" he called. "Har-ta! Faster! Faster! Har-ta! Har-ta!"
They hurried on before him, stumbling and gasping, helplessly herded, driven,responding to his will and the imperious strokes of his whip, neck-chained andbound, his enemies. I smiled. It is pleasant to have one's enemies in one'spower.
I did not look back.
13 Blankets and Bonds; I Do a Favor for Grunt
I lay on one elbow.
When she reached my vicinity she knelt down, in the brief brown slave tunic.
She trembled. She did not speak.
I regarded her for a time. Her head was down.
I then lay back on my blankets, on the grass. I put my hands under the back ofmy head, on the folded saddle blanket beneath my head. The kaiila saddle and thekaiila quirt lay to one side. I looked up at the stars, and the three moons ofGor. It is difficult to convey the majesty of a Gorean night in the Barrens,because of the vastness of the sky and the depth of the blackness, and thecontrasting brightness of the stars. The large extents of wilderness on thesurface of Gor and the absence of large-scale artificial illuminations, ofcourse, permit starlit nights, almost anywhere, to manifest themselves with asplendor that would be almost breath-taking to one accustomed to the drab,half-gray, polluted, semi — illuminated, dim, nocturnal atmospheres of Earth. Inthe Barrens, however, and in places such as the Tahari, probably because of therelative levelness of the terrain, horizon-to-horizon, these effects seem evenmore accentuated, even more stupendous, more spectacular, more unbelievable andastounding.
I did not speak to the girl. I did not wish to hurry her. I let her continue tokneel there in the grass, a few feet from me.
I heard one of the kaiila moving about on its tether, biting at the grass,pawing the turf.
I continued to regard the stars.
"Master," she said.
"Yes," I said. She had spoken in Gorean.
"I have been sent to your blankets," she said.
I rose on one elbow, to regard her. Her lower lip trembled. She looked verylovely, in the brief brown slave tunic. Her throat was bare, having beenreleased from the collar in the come.
"I have been sent to your blankets," she whispered.
"I understand," I said.
She tried, with her small fists, to pull together the sides of the tunic, toprotect, as she could, the rounded, interior contours of her softness from thegarment's apparently thoughtless disclosure. I smiled. Did she not know it was aslave's garment? Did she not understand the statement that was made by thatdeep, V-shaped, plunging division in the tunic, terminating only at her belly,that the woman who ware it was owned by men, that she was a slave?
At a gesture from me she removed her hands from the sides of the garment andplaced them on her thighs.
She then knelt there in the grass, and I looked at her.
She put her head down, not meeting my eyes. She, a new slave, was not yet usedto being looked at, truly looked at, as a woman, by a Gorean master.
I continued to regard her.
I found her reserve charming.
She lifted her head, frightened.
At as little as a snapping of my fingers, she must strip herself and hurrynaked, licking and kissing, to my arms.
It is pleasant to own women.
"I do not know what to do, or what to say," she moaned, to herself, in English.
We had now been five nights in the Barrens. This woman, and the others, tutoredby Ginger and Evelyn, had now picked up a smattering of Gorean. I was pleasedwith her progress in the language, and it seemed to me the best of her chainedpeers. Yet it was still, of course, piteously limited. The phrase which she hadrepeated more than once, "I have been sent to your blanket," for example, hadnot been spoken as a slave girl in full cognizance of its meaning, humbly makingit clear that her nearness to the male was not illicit, and begging him toconsider her for his pleasure-use, but rather as though it might have beenspoken by rote, merely a set of words committed to memory, and as though she wasdesperate not to forget it or mispronounce it. She had doubtless learned thephrase by repetition, from Ginger or Evelyn. Still, doubtless, they would alsohave taught her its meaning, or at least as much of its meaning as could beabsorbed by a raw Earth slave in her present stage of training. She doubtlessthus understood its meaning, but did not, presumably, understand it in its fullmeaning, as what it might mean, fully, to present herself as a Gorean slave girlfor the pleasure of a master.
"I cannot even speak your language," she said, miserably in English. "I amstupid. I cannot remember anything. It is all gone from me!"
I saw that in her terror the little Gorean that she knew had eluded her.
"Forgive me, Master," she then said, suddenly, in Gorean. "Forgive me, Master.
Forgive me, Master."
I was pleased to, see that she could remember at least that much Gorean.
She put her head down, trembling.
I saw that I would not be able, at least for the time, to communicate with herin Gorean. Obviously the Gorean she knew was largely unavailable to her now andit was, moreover, extremely limited anyway in her current stage of linguisticdevelopment.
"Forgive me, Master," she wept, in Gorean.