“Mr. White?” said Lord Nishida.
“Yes,” said Miss Wentworth. “And now I come to my demands.”
“But, please,” said Lord Nishida. “You were approached by no agent of mine.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Can you make tea?” he inquired. “Properly?”
“No,” she said, puzzled.
“Can you arrange flowers,” he asked. “Properly?”
“No,” she said.
“Can you play a stringed musical instrument, a lyre, a lute, a samisen?”
“No,” she said.
I saw the two contract women exchange amused glances. One giggled, slightly, she on the right, as one faced them. This displeased Tajima, but the girl did not seem disconcerted by his disapproval.
Lord Nishida did not see fit to acknowledge the contract woman’s indiscretion.
The woman’s name was Sumomo, and Tajima, I would later learn, was interested in her contract, which he could not afford.
“Perhaps you can dance,” said Lord Nishida.
“No,” she said.
Lord Nishida would surely not have in mind dances which might be indigenous to his own culture. Miss Wentworth could not be expected to have such skills. They would be quite foreign to her.
He must have in mind then, I supposed, Gorean slave dance.
To be sure, she would doubtless know nothing of that, as well.
The forms of dance of the women of the “strange men” would, I supposed, be lovely and would be backgrounded by a rich cultural tradition, but I also supposed they would be quite different from Gorean slave dance.
Whereas Gorean slave dance can be as subtle as the opening of the petals of a flower it is commonly richly, luxuriantly, unmistakably, outspokenly, unapologetically, brazenly erotic. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than in slave dance, where the slave, barefoot in sand, in a swirl of diaphanous silk, bangled, belled, and collared, dances before masters.
A skilled dancer brings high prices. I had once owned one, Sandra, whom I had sold long ago to a dealer in such wares, for a golden tarn disk.
Many masters require that their slaves learn at least the rudiments of such dance.
One supposes that the motivation of this is clear.
“Are you skilled,” asked Lord Nishida, “in the art of conversation?”
“No,” said Miss Wentworth, “and I do not understand the purport of these bizarre questions.”
“What then are you good for?” asked Lord Nishida.
“I do not understand,” she said. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, and I now demand my compensation, and to be conducted to some point, from which I may be promptly returned to Earth, to New York City. Please secure the moneys as soon as possible, or arrange for their delivery on Earth, as I intend to waste no more time here.”
“It will be seen to,” said Lord Nishida, “that your time is not wasted.”
“Good!” she said.
“But I fear it is not within my power,” he said, “to see to it that you are returned to your world.”
“I was promised!” she said. “Your agent, or some agent, arranged this whole matter! I do not understand what is going on.”
It was not difficult to tell that Miss Wentworth was now not only puzzled, but frightened. She had, as she had pointed out, fulfilled her part of a bargain, be it one of unscrupulous betrayal, and now she found herself in an alien environment, in which little or nothing of the arrangements into which she had entered seemed to be known.
She turned about. “White, White,” she exclaimed, “what is going on?”
“There is no ship,” said Pertinax.
“No, no!” she cried. “There is a ship!”
“No,” said Pertinax.
“Perhaps I can explain,” said a voice.
“You?” she said, questioningly. Then she cried out, “You!”
He who had spoken was the fellow on the platform at the right hand of Lord Nishida, he in the informal, brown robe, seemingly indicative of no caste in particular, he of the short-cropped blond hair, and heavy features, he whom I took to be an agent of Kurii.
“Joy! Joy!” cried Miss Wentworth suddenly, in wild relief, now certain it was he whom she thought. “There! He will tell you! He will tell you!” she cried to Lord Nishida. “Now things are all right! Now, all will be explained!”
“You have met before?” said Lord Nishida.
“Certainly!” she cried. “It is he, Mr. Stevens! He was my contact! It was he with whom I entered into agreement! I received an advance payment of several thousand dollars from him! Mr. Stevens, explain all to these fools!”
“You know him?” said Lord Nishida.
“Certainly!” she said. “He is Thaddeus Stevens, of Stevens and Associates.”
“I am Thrasilicus,” said the man. “As you were disguised on Gor so I was disguised on Earth. There is no firm ‘Stevens and Associates.’”
I did not think that it was really surprising that Miss Wentworth had not immediately recognized Thrasilicus. She had probably met him only once or twice before, probably months ago, in very different circumstances, and in very different garb. Here he would seem much different, in a different garmenture, in a different environment. Too, he had been rather in the background, and her attention had been much fixed on Lord Nishida, who occupied the center forefront of the platform. Too, Miss Wentworth had been distracted by her various concerns and the perhaps intimidating unfamiliarity of this milieu. Too, his appearance might have been somewhat different on Earth. For example, he would presumably have attempted to duplicate the diffident, half-apologetic body language of the man of Earth, and the subdued discourse of the typical, reduced male of Earth, culturally engineered to betray his natural power and manhood.
“Explain who I am to these fools!” said Miss Wentworth. “Get me out of here!”
“You have had little difficulty in the past,” said Thrasilicus, “in having your way with men.”
“So?” she said.
“And men strove to please you,” he said.
“Yes?” she said.
“Perhaps now,” he said, “men will have their way with you, and you will strive to please them.”
“I do not understand,” she said. “Explain things to these fools, and get me out of here!”
Thrasilicus then turned to Lord Nishida. “Miss Wentworth,” he said, “was an employee in a large business establishment of a sort with which you would be unfamiliar, and one of which I doubt that you would approve. Her office was to solicit funds from male clients to be invested in other enterprises, for which she spoke, through the auspices of the business establishment she represented.”
“In this endeavor she was successful?” asked Lord Nishida, with interest.
“Very much so,” said Thrasilicus. “Men would do much to please her, to win a smile, a glance of gratitude, to avoid a frown, a tear, a trembling lip. She is a highly intelligent, sophisticated, beautiful woman, and she used her sex brilliantly. Few men realized how blatantly they were being manipulated. Some others understood her game only too well, and played the game with her, she not understanding how the player was being played. She supposed them as much the victims of her charm and beauty as their simpler brethren. In any event, she brought large amounts of coin to her employers, and accordingly soon stood high, in arrogance, in her company, was welcomed into her establishment’s chambers of power, and so on. Colleagues of mine, for purposes which you can guess, scout attractive females. Indeed, there are many women of Earth who, unbeknownst to themselves, are even now being scouted.”
“What are you saying!” cried Miss Wentworth.
“Please,” said Lord Nishida, gently cautioning Miss Wentworth to silence.
“These colleagues,” continued Thrasilicus, “when they are convinced of the potential value of a given woman, enter her on an acquisition list.”