I continued to regard her, feeling much pleasure.
"Please!" she said.
She was quite pretty. She was pretty enough even to be a slave.
Indeed, she had excellent slave curves. I wondered if she knew that.
"Please!" she wept.
Indeed, if she had been branded and collared, I did not think that anyone would have thought twice about seeing her under a sun trellis in an open market, on a warm day, chained by the ankle to a ring, displayed in a booth, or being herded upward, with a whip, to the surface of a sales block.
"I am helpless!" she protested.
I continued to regard her, in the Gorean fashion. She looked well, bound as she was. Considering her bonds, and such, she might have been an exhibited slave, and not a free woman put out for tharlarion.
I continued to regard her.
"I appeal to your honor," she said, "as a soldier of Ar."
I was wearing a tunic of Ar.
"Are you of Ar?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "I am Ina, Lady of Ar!
"I am not of Ar," I said. She apparently did not recognize me, in the tunic, and such. To be sure, she had seen me only briefly, and in poor light, on one of the small islands of sand in the delta, days ago. Doubtless she had never expected to see me again. Perhaps she was afraid, in some way, on some level, to recognize me.
"You are a rencer," she asked, "in a tunic of Ar?"
"Perhaps," I said.
"I am not a lady of Ar," she said. "What are you, then?" I asked.
"I am a simple rence girl," she said. "I think you are a slave," I said.
"No!" she said. "You can see that I am not branded!"
I looked at her.
"Do not look at me!" she wept.
"How then shall I see that you are not branded?" I asked.
"Look then," she moaned.
She blushed, again scrutinized, again with exquisite care. I even lifted up her feet a little, as if to see if she might be branded on the instep.
"You see?" she said.
"Some fellows do not brand their slaves," I said.
"That is stupid!" she said.
"It is also contrary to the laws of most cities," I said, "and to merchant law, as well."
"Of course," she said.
Gorean, she approved heartily of the branding of slaves. Most female slaves on Gor, indeed, the vast majority, almost all, needless to say, are branded. Aside from questions of legality, compliance with the law, and such, I think it will be clear upon a moment's reflection that various practical considerations also commend slave branding to the attention of the owner, in particular, the identification of the article as property, this tending to secure it, protecting against its loss, facilitating its recovery, and so on. The main legal purpose of the brand, incidentally, is doubtless this identification of slaves. To be sure, most Goreans feel the brand also serves psychological and aesthetic purposes, for example, helping the girl to understand that she is now a slave and enhancing her beauty.
"As I am not branded then," said she, "it is clear I am not a slave!"
"Had it not been for the absence of a brand," I said, "I might have conjectured you a slave."
She cried out with rage, though I saw she was muchly pleased.
"But you are a simple rence girl?" I said.
"Yes!" she said.
"Where is your village?" I asked.
"Over there," she said, vaguely, with a movement of that lovely head. Her hair came down the post behind her, to the small of her back.
"I shall take you back to your village," I said.
"No!" she cried.
"No?" I asked.
"I have left the village!" she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Fleeing an undesired match," she said, woefully.
"How came you on your little perch?" I asked.
"I was robbed," she said, "and put here by brigands!"
"Why did they not sell you at the delta's edge?" I asked.
"They recognized," she said, proudly, loftily, "that I would never make a slave."
"It seems to me that you might make a slave," I said, "and perhaps a rather nice one."
"Never!" she cried.
"Perhaps even a delicious one," I said.
"Never, never!" she cried.
"To be sure," I said, "you, might need a little training, perhaps a taste of the whip, perhaps some understanding that you must now be good for something, that all details of your life, including your clothing, if you are permitted any, are now in the control of another."
"I am a free woman!" she cried.
"So, too," said I, "once were most slaves."
She struggled.
"Do you fear no longer being pampered," I asked, "but having to obey and serve, immediately, unquestioningly?"
Again she struggled.
"Surely you understand that you are exciting when you move like that," I said.
She made a noise of frustration.
"Slave girls are sometimes ordered to writhe in their bonds and attempt to free themselves," I said. "But they know, of course, that they cannot do so."
She tried to remain absolutely still. Her exertions, however, had caused her to breathe heavily, and her gasping, the lifting and lowering of her breasts was also lovely.
"And when they finish their writhing, their futile attempts to free themselves," I said, "they have reconfirmed perfectly their original comprehension of their total helplessness."
She looked at me, in fury.
"As you have now," I said.
"Free me," she said.
"I shall return you to your village," I said. "There may be a reward for your return."
"I do not want to go back," she said.
"No matter," I said. "Where is it?"
"If I am taken back to be forcibly mated," she said, "my companion may keep me in shackles."
"I think your ankles would look well in shackles," I said.
"Do I know you?" she asked, suddenly, frightened.
"More likely you would be beaten with rence stalks," I said.
"I do not know where the village is," she said.
"We can inquire at several of the local villages," I said.
"No!" she said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Brigands did not put me here," she said.
"True," I said, "if brigands had taken you, they would have bound you hand and foot and taken you to the edge of the delta, there to sell you off as a slave."
She looked down at me.
"You have been caught in a lie," I said.
She pulled back, against the post.
"It is fortunate that you are not a slave," I said.
"I am not a rence girl," she said.
"I am not surprised," I said, "as few of them, I suspect, speak in the accents of Ar."
"I cannot place your accent," she said.
I was silent. My Gorean doubtless bore traces of various regional dialects. Too, although this was really not so clear to me, I suppose I spoke Gorean with an English accent. More than one slave, women brought here from Earth to serve Gorean masters, had intimated that to me. I did not beat them.
"What are your sympathies?" she asked.
"What are yours?" I asked.
"I do not think you are a rencer," she said.
"That is true," I said. "I am not a rencer."
"But you said you were not of Ar," she said, suddenly, eagerly.
"True," I said.
"And your accent is not of Ar!"
"No," I said.
"Then free me!" she said, elatedly.
"Why?" I asked.
"We are allies!" she said.
"How is that?" I asked.
"I am a spy for Cos!" she exclaimed.
"How came you here?" I asked.
"A rencer village was burned," she said, "burned to the water. Later, rencers, in force, attacked a column of Ar, that on the right flank of her advance into the delta. Afterwards, in a small, related action, my barge was ambushed. My guards fled into the marsh, abandoning me. I was seized, and, though I was a free woman, stripped and bound! The barge was burned. I was taken to a rencer village, and kept prisoner, naked, in a closed, stifling hut. For a time, days, it seemed terrible flies were everywhere. I was protected in the hut. After they had gone I was still kept in the hut, though now bound hand and foot. Then yesterday morning I was brought here."