We left the tavern and made our way to the Curulean, to a back entrance.
I looked at the stout iron door, behind which I would be sold.
"We must enter," he said to me.
"Do with me what you want," I said to him.
"I am," he said.
"Are you?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
I looked up at him.
"I am a warrior," he said. "I cannot be weak."
"You are weak now," I said.
"No," he said.
"I despise your weakness," I said.
"How am I weak?" he asked.
"You do not want to sell me," I said. "Yet you are doing so."
"I do want to sell you," he said.
"Look at me," I said.
He regarded me.
"What do you see?" I asked.
"A slave girl," he said.
"What now," I asked, "do you truly want to do with me?"
"Sell you," he said.
"No," I said. "You want me in your compartments. You want me at your feet. You want me in your collar. You want notto sell me, but to master me, to own me."
"I want many things from you," he said.
"Then command them, take them," I challenged. "Did you trace me to Ar, and follow me to Cos, to sell me?"
He looked angry.
"No," I said. "You wanted me slave, naked on your chain."
"Yes!" he said, angrily. "I wanted you a naked slave on my chain, mine!"
"Strip me!" I cried. "Chain me!"
"No," he said.
I subsided. "Sell me," I said wearily. "The decision is yours. I am slave."
He pounded on the iron door.
"I had thought Clitus Vitellius strong," I said. "I had thought him of the Warriors. I had thought he had the power to do as he wills with a woman. I see now he is too weak to do with a woman what truly he wants, what pleases him."
He struck again on the iron door.
"He is weak," I said. "A slave despises him."
"Do not make me angry," he said.
I looked away. I had nothing to fear from him.
I heard feet approaching the iron door, from the other side. A small, lateral panel in the door, about eye level, slid back. "Your business?" inquired a voice.
"The vending of a girl," said Clitus Vitellius.
The panel slid shut. A moment later the door swung open. "Enter, Master," said a man.
We entered and found a large room, floored with cement. A yellow circle, in outline, narrow-bordered, the border some six inches in width, the circle itself some ten feet in width, was painted on the cement. A man, at a small, four-legged table, sat to one side. "Remove her tunic and collar," he said. Clitus Vitellius did so. We did not speak.
"Kneel in the circle, Slave," said the man at the table. The fellow who had opened the door stood to one side. A coiled, rawhide rope, on a clip, hung from his belt. I went to the circle and knelt in its center, on the cement. The man with the rope entered the circle and loosed the rope from his belt. He tied it about my neck. The knot was at the side, under my left ear. He backed away, giving me some five feet of slack..The remainder of the rope he held, in long, loose loops, in his right hand. I knew it would serve to whip me, if necessary.
I would be put through slave paces.
"Give me whatever you think she is worth," he said, "and send the coins to the compartments of Clitus Vitellius, in the Towers of Warriors."
"Yes, Master," said the man at the table.
Clitus Vitellius turned about and left the Curulean.
I knelt alone in the yellow circle on the cement.
I felt the rope on my throat pull taut. I sensed the swinging loops of leather near me.
The man rose from behind the table and came to the circle. He looked down at me. "Well now, little beauty," he said, "let us see what you can do."
"Yes, Master," I said.
28
What Occurred At The Curulean
The first time that one is sold it is the hardest. Yet it is, I suppose, never easy. The hardest part is perhaps not knowing who it is, among those many faces in the darkness, who will buy you. You are illuminated, exhibited, forced to perform. At your side is the auctioneer with his whip. You perform, and perform well. Do not think you would not. You feel the wood of the block with your feet, and the sawdust upon it. The block itself is smooth. Many girls have been sold here before. You are not special, you are only another slave, a bit more or less pleasing than others. You feel the sawdust with your feet. On Gor, animals are commonly sold on blocks which are strewn with sawdust. The slave girl is an animal. You lift your head under the torchlight. You hear the first bid. it is hard not to tremble. You have been bid upon. From the voice you try to guess the nature of the master. Then there is another bid. You smile, you turn, you walk, you lift your arms, you kneel, you lie upon your back at the auctioneer's feet, your knee lifted, your arms over your head as though braceleted, you roll to your stomach, you look up at him, over your shoulder; you respond to him, instantly, setting forth for the view of the buyers subtle and provocative positions and attitudes, displaying yourself as you must, fully, and as a slave. You are sweating. Sawdust clings to your body. It clings in your hair. If you falter, or are in the least displeasing, the auctioneer's whip will sharply instruct you in your error. At last, breathing heavily, you stand there, naked. Perhaps you have been struck.
The last bid is taken. It is accepted. The auctioneer's fist closes. You have been sold.
Many girls dream of being sold in the Curulean. Its great block is perhaps the most famous in Ar. It is also the largest. It is semi-circular and some forty feet in width. It is painted for the most part in blue and yellow, the colors of the slavers, and ornately carved, with many intricate patterns and projections. It is perhaps fifteen feet high. An interesting feature of the block is that about it, on the semi-circular side facing the crowd, tall and serene, carved in white-painted wood, evenly spaced, are the figures of nine slave girls. They represent, supposedly, the first nine girls taken, thousands of years ago, by the men of a small village, called Ar. In the carving it may be seen that the throats of the girls are encircled by ropelike collars, presumably woven of some vegetable substance. It is said that at that time the men of Ar were not familiar with the working of iron. It is also said the girls were forced to breed mighty sons for their captors.
"You, Slave!" said the man.
"Yes, Master!" I said, looking up in the collar, with its two chains, one on each side, which fastened me to the girl on my left and right.
We were in the tunnel leading to the block. Another tunnel left the block.
"Are you familiar with the choreography of your display?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. I had been well rehearsed. Little occurs by accident on the block of the Curulean.
He then went to the next girl, she on my right, farther down the tunnel toward the pens. He addressed to her the same question. She, too, wore a collar, with two chains. It fastened her, on her left, to me, and, on her right, to another girl. "Yes, Master!" she assured him. He then went to the next girl in the line, farthest from the block. Each collar opens, and the chains may be attached or removed. This provides great flexibility. There were one hundred and twenty girls in the line. It would take some five or six Ahn to sell us, if the bidding was brisk. On a slow night it could take as much as eight Ahn, the sales extending into the early morning hours. Some girls sell quickly, and others slowly. When it takes longer to sell a girl it usually means that she is less interesting to the buyers, and that the bids are slow, or that she, an unusual beauty, is being more elaborately displayed, with the object in mind of intensifying and driving up the eventual bids.
"Yes, Master!" said the girl some two girls below me on the chain, responding to the question of the slaver's man. We would all be ready. We would all do our best, or, be punished terribly.