The ball in Miss Wentworth’s lovely, but widely distended mouth was blue, and the straps which held it in place, buckled behind the back of her neck, were yellow. These are the colors of the slavers.
Miss Wentworth was then silent, absolutely, unwilling to further embarrass herself.
She threw a piteous look at Lord Nishida, one less then of anger than of supplication.
Surely he must understand her plight, and take pity on her.
She was now learning, too, I supposed, what it was to be in the power of men. She continued to clutch the sheet about her, tightly. The two guards held her, still, by the upper arms.
There was a bruise on the left side of her face, and I noted some discoloration, dirt, I supposed, on the sheet.
This soiling was in the vicinity of her knees.
A small gesture from Lord Nishida, a lifted finger, indicated that the embarrassing impediment to her speech might be removed.
She looked angrily at one of the guards, he to her right, and with, too, a look of vindictive triumph.
I supposed it must have been he who had seen to her inconvenience and discomfiture.
Tajima, carefully, unbuckled the gag and handed it to the guard on Miss Wentworth’s left, who slipped it in his pouch.
It was doubtless he who had supplied the device to his colleague.
“Lord Nishida!” she cried.
“Please,” said Tajima, “do not speak yet. You have not been presented.”
“I can present myself!” she cried, angrily, clutching the sheet even more closely about her. The two contract women observed her, with interest. They were unfamiliar, I supposed, with this tone of voice being used by a woman to a man.
But Lord Nishida smiled, and shook his head a tiny bit, negatively, and lifted his hand a little, in a benevolent, cautionary gesture.
“Then present me!” said Miss Wentworth, in fury.
“One moment,” said Tajima.
He then reached to the hair of Miss Wentworth.
“What are you doing?” she said, angrily.
“Please,” said Tajima, politely.
He then rearranged the hair of Miss Wentworth, first lifting it to the sides that its length and sheen might be noted, and then he put it carefully behind her back, spreading it nicely, evenly, behind the sheet.
Lord Nishida nodded. I gathered he was pleased.
I noted the interest, too, of the two contract women on the dais behind Lord Nishida, and to his left. I supposed they had seen few examples of such hair, given their presumed backgrounds, long, glossy, silken yellow hair, or blond hair.
Tajima stepped back, and seemed satisfied with his work.
Miss Wentworth seemed to smolder and fume with fury.
Tajima then turned to Pertinax.
“Mr. White,” he said, politely, “please do us the honor of presenting Miss Wentworth to Lord Nishida.”
“Do it, you fool,” snapped Miss Wentworth.
“Lord Nishida,” said Pertinax, “this is Miss Margaret Wentworth.”
Lord Nishida inclined his head, slightly, graciously, acknowledging her presence.
“I have been kept waiting,” said Miss Wentworth. “Why?”
“Deplorably, certain minor details of business were to be attended to,” said Lord Nishida, “before we were prepared to entertain your august presence.”
“The delay,” she said, “is rude, and inexcusable. I discover that a brutish warrior, a half-naked, meaningless slave, and my employee, White, are all here before me. I have priority over each of these. No business could conceivably be more important than mine.”
“And what is your business?” asked Lord Nishida.
“First,” said Miss Wentworth, “not only was I kept outside, kept waiting, but I was subjected to violence!”
“Yes?” said Lord Nishida.
“I demanded entrance, and was denied it, by this brute to my right,” she said, indicating one of the two guards who flanked her. “I was warned to silence, but would not be denied. I was struck! Struck!”
I now understood the bruise on her left cheek. I supposed she had been cuffed, struck with the open hand. One does not strike a woman as one might a man.
“I could not believe that one had dared to lay a hand on me,” she said. “When I expressed my indignation, and warned him that I would see to his punishment, the hideous, degrading device you saw but moments ago was forced into my mouth and fastened in place, and then I was put to my knees, to my knees, though a free woman, and must then wait outside, unable to speak, and kneeling, until brought within.”
“Most regrettable,” said Lord Nishida.
That she had been knelt would account for the soiling of the sheet, in the vicinity of her knees.
Given the personality, antecedents, and presuppositions of Miss Wentworth I could understand something of her frustration and outrage.
She had brought much of this, if not all of it, on herself, of course.
An obedient slave, of course, would almost never be struck. There would be no point to it. Similarly, if she were knelt, and, say, hooded, she would think little of it, for she is slave, and knows it will be done with her as the master pleases.
“Then,” she said, “when put to my feet and ready to be brought within, my head was covered in the sheet, completely, so I could not see my way!”
“That is common,” said Lord Nishida, “when one such as you is to be presented before a daimyo.”
“What?” said Miss Wentworth.
“A lord,” said Tajima.
“One such as I?” she said.
“Yes,” said Tajima.
This was not unlike a practice in the court of some Ubars, when a certain form of gift, or tribute, is being presented.
I would later learn that daimyo, or “great names,” were vassals to a shogun, a high lord, usually a military governor, with an army at his disposal. A shogun was nominally subject to an emperor, but the emperor’s role was largely ceremonial, and the true power, as is commonly the case, lies with those who are the masters of men and weapons.
“I denounce this brute to my right,” said Miss Wentworth. “He struck me, he denied me speech, by means of the humiliating object fastened in my mouth, and he put me to my knees before him. I, on my knees, before a male! I demand his punishment. He is to be slain, or flogged to the bone!”
“What is your business, that of which you spoke?” asked Lord Nishida.
“Is it not obvious?” inquired Miss Wentworth.
“Please speak,” said Lord Nishida.
“You have heard of the world, Earth, I presume,” said Miss Wentworth.
“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.
“I was approached by an agent on Earth, one doubtless in your employ,” she said, “and engaged, for a stipulated compensation, to pursue certain projects on this world on your behalf, in particular making contact with a Tarl Cabot and seeing to it that he was delivered to an agent of yours in a timber reserve of a city called Port Kar. To abet this project it was meet that I disguise myself, which I did, adopting the guise of a Gorean slave girl, even to allowing myself to be seen in the insulting, disgusting garmenture of such sleek, meaningless, lascivious, groveling little beasts. To complete the disguise I would require a subordinate to play the role of a master, and for that purpose I had no difficulty in recruiting a suitable male weakling, a minor employee in the very firm in which I worked, a fool, one of several, hopelessly besotted with my beauty from afar, who would take orders from me, docilely and unquestioningly.”