“Certainly not,” she said, “though I now realize how pathetically, and needfully, half consciously, sometimes fully consciously, I longed for it.”
“I see,” I said.
“I did not realize then what it was, what it would be, to be overwhelmed, owned, and mastered.”
“You are content?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, “joyfully so.”
“But it does not matter,” I said, “one way or the other.”
“No,” she said, “I know that. It does not matter, one way or the other.”
I looked out to sea.
No sails were seen.
The horizon was clear.
“You, and others,” she said, “fought against Agamemnon, furthering the ends of other Kurii, those opposed to him. Are not you, then, and your colleagues, friends, allies, with them?”
“For a moment, we were,” I said. “It was a brief intersection of interests, a moment when we traveled a single road.”
“And that road has forked?” she said.
“I think so,” I said. “Kurii are intent, and steadfast.”
“But we have been brought here, and put here, alive.”
“Doubtless in virtue of an arrangement with Priest-Kings,” I said.
“Who are Priest-Kings?” she asked. “What are Priest-Kings?”
“Do not concern yourself with the matter,” I said.
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not for one such as I?”
“No,” I said. “Such as you are for other things.”
“‘Other things’?” she said.
“Certainly,” I said.
“I can no longer see the ship of Peisistratus,” she said, looking after the path of the ship, shading her eyes.
“I gather it is to make landfall within territories under the hegemony of Ar, and there disembark the Lady Bina and her cohort, and guard, Lord Grendel.”
“To what purpose?”
“I know not,” I said.
“She expects to become a Ubara,” she said.
“She is clever, and beautiful,” I said, “but the thought is madness.”
“But she was put there, with her guard, Lord Grendel. Do you think this is a guerdon for obscure services she rendered, or a gift to Lord Grendel?”
“It seems unlikely,” I said.
“If you have been placed here, in this verdant wilderness, at the will of Priest-Kings, whoever or whatever they may be, might not the Lady Bina and Lord Grendel have their purposes, as well?”
“I do not know.”
“Why have you been put here?”
“I do not know,” I said.
“I see nothing about,” she said.
“Nor I,” I said.
“You have your bow, some arrows, a sword, a knife,” she said.
“Rejoice,” I said, looking about.
“It does not seem we were put here to perish,” she said.
“No,” I said, looking back to the forest, “but we may perish.”
“There are animals?” she said.
“Doubtless,” I said.
“Men?” she asked.
“One does not know,” I said.
“We have some provisions,” she said, “bread, a bota of ka-la-na.”
“I will hunt,” I said. “We will seek water.”
“When Peisistratus disembarks Bina —” she said.
“Lady Bina,” I said, sharply, narrowly.
“Yes,” she said, quickly, “Lady Bina.”
I wondered if she were testing me. That would have been unwise on her part. No love was lost between her and the beauteous Lady Bina, but that was no excuse for an impropriety in this matter, however inadvertent or slight. There were forms to be observed. Too, a chasm, a world, separated her from the Lady Bina. The gulf between a tarsk and a Ubara was less than the gap between one such as she and one such as the Lady Bina. To be sure, I had often thought that the Lady Bina would herself look quite well in a collar.
How did she expect to become a Ubara?
She did not even have a Home Stone.
And there was a Ubara in Ar, if only a Cosian puppet on the throne, Talena, a traitress to her Home Stone, Talena, once the daughter of the great Ubar, Marlenus of Ar, whose whereabouts, as far as I knew, were unknown.
“When Peisistratus disembarks the Lady Bina and Lord Grendel,” she said, “whence then he?”
“He will undoubtedly continue his work,” I said. I did not elaborate on the nature of his work, but she was substantially familiar with it. Peisistratus, and his crews, were in their way mariners and merchants. He doubtless had one or more bases, or ports, on Earth, and one or more on Gor, and I knew he had one on the Steel World from which we had been brought, that now under the governance of Arcesilaus, now theocrat of that world, and now, claimedly, Twelfth Face of the Nameless One.
“He is a slaver,” she said.
“He doubtless deals in various commodities, in various forms of merchandise,” I said.
“He is a slaver,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “certainly at least that.”
“Predominantly that,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.”
“I saw the capsules on the ship,” she said.
“He is a slaver, certainly,” I said.
“Perhaps he thinks he is rescuing women from the ravages of Earth,” she said.
“That seems unlikely,” I said.
“At a price, of course,” she said.
“Oh?” I said.
“A rag, if that, and a mark, a collar,” she said.
“I doubt that his motivations are so benevolent, so thoughtful,” I said, “even mixedly so. And, on the other hand, his motivations are certainly not villainous, or malevolent. Do not think so. You know him too well for that. I think of him primarily as a business man, obtaining, transporting, and selling, usually wholesale, wares of interest.”
“Women,” she said.
“Perhaps an occasional silk slave, to delight a free woman,” I said.
“Mostly women,” she said.
“Almost always,” I said.
“They sell better,” she said.
“Of course,” I said. “They are the most fitting, appropriate, and natural form of such merchandise.”
“‘Merchandise’?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Goods?”
“Of course.”
“They view us as animals, as cattle,” she said.
“There is nothing personal in it, or usually not,” I said. “To be sure, one might take a particular female who has displeased one, in one fashion or another, and have her brought to Gor, to keep her, or see her sold off to the highest bidder, that sort of thing.”
“As cattle!” she said.
“No,” I said, “as less, as females.”
“It seems I have an identity, and a value,” she said.
“Certainly,” I said.
“But I was not brought to the Prison Moon by him, or by one such as he,” she said.
“No,” I said. “But do not be distressed, for he assured you that you would have been well worthy of selection and transportation, that you were exactly the sort of goods which would have been well enclosed, so to speak, in one of the capsules.”
I had found myself, months ago, imprisoned in a container on the Prison Moon, sharing the container with two individuals, a young Englishwoman, Miss Virginia Cecily Jean Pym, and a lovely Kur Pet, who had later come to be the Lady Bina. These were both free women and I, who had seemingly displeased Priest-Kings had been, apparently, enclosed with them as an insidious punishment, that, sooner or later, as I weakened, becoming more bitter, frustrated, outraged, and needful, my honor would be compromised, or lost. And, after that, I do not know what fate they might have planned for me, perhaps a hideous death, perhaps a wandering life of exile, beggary, and shame. One does not know. Both were, at the time, though without Home Stones, yet free women, you see, and thus, given the nobility of their status, not to be lightly put to one’s pleasure, certainly not without suitable provocation. It is difficult to convey the dignity, importance, and social standing of the Gorean free woman to one with no first-hand awareness of the matter. They have a position and elevation in society which far transcends that of, say, the free woman of Earth who is usually not so much free as merely not yet enslaved. The analogy is imperfect but suppose a society of rigid status, of severe hierarchy, and the rank and dignity that might be attached to the daughter of, say, a royal or noble house. One in such a society would not be likely to think of bedding such an individual, at least as a serious project. To be sure, a Goth, a Turk, a Saracen, a Dane might have fewer inhibitions in such a matter.