Fighting Slave of Gor (12 page)

"Are you not a slave, Jason?" inquired the Lady Gina.

"Forgive me, Mistress," I said, hastily, to Lola. "I will clean this up immediately."

"Hurry, Slave," said Lola, triumphantly. "And, meanwhile, I shall consider what your punishment shall be."

In fury I went to the side of the room and put down the vessel of wine. There, at the side of the room, I fetched cloths and water and returned, quickly, to clean the table and floor, where Lola had struck over the cup. "Clumsy slave," whispered one of my fellow male slaves, kneeling at the line, to me. When I had cleaned the table and floor and replaced the water and cloths I again knelt before Lola.

"Head down," she said.

I put my head down.

"What punishment shall I mete out to you?" she mused. "I have it! Return to your cell and remove your clothing. There, have yourself placed in close chains. There will be no food or blanket for you tonight. Too, tell the guard you are to receive twenty strokes." She paused. "Of the snake," she added, thoughtfully.

I looked up at her, in disbelief. Men could die under the blows of the snake. She was smiling at me, contemptuously.

"Five will do," said the Lady Gina.

"Very well, five!" said Lola.

"Thank your mistress, and obey," said the Lady Gina.

"Thank you, Mistress," I said to Lola.

"Run," said Lola. "Run, Jason, Slave!"

I rose to my feet and, angrily, ran from the room.

"Tandruk," I heard, from the Lady Gina, behind me, "you are next. Pour the wine, Tandruk."

I lay on the stones of the cell, naked, in blood, my wrists and ankles chained. I could scarcely move my body. I had received five strokes of the snake, wielded by a man.

"Jason," I heard.

I struggled to my knees and looked to my left. There, on the other side of the bars, was the Lady Gina.

"Why did you not point out that Lola had spilled the wine?" she asked.

"You know that she did it?" I asked.

"Of course," she said. "Her small hand, though quick, was not so quick as my eye. Too, your hands, as they were placed on the vessel of wine, could not have struck the cup."

"I did not want you to punish her," I said.

"Good!" she said. "I see you are learning. You wished to reserve her for yourself, that you yourself might later, if the opportunity presented itself, mete out her punishment. Good! You are learning something of being a man."

"I would not have punished her," I said. "I am a man of Earth. A woman is not to be punished no matter what she does."

"How then do you control your women?" she asked.

I shrugged. "We don't," I said.

"You men of Earth well deserve the lives you lead," she laughed.

"Mistress," I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Why does Lola so hate me?" I asked.

"You are different from the other men she has known," said the Lady Gina. "She finds you despicable. You do not master the slave in her."

"She is a person," I said. "She has feelings."

"Of course she has feelings," said the Lady Gina. "She has the deep, exciting, profound feelings of a woman who knows herself a slave. Have you answered those feelings in her?"

"No, of course not," I said.

"You area male of Earth," she smiled.

"Yes!" I said. "She is not supposed to have those feelings!" I said. "She is supposed to be a person!"

"Women are slaves," said the Lady Gina. "They long for their masters. That is far deeper than your myths and political inventions, regardless of their expediency in your form of society."

"How can you speak in such a fashion?" I demanded. "You yourself area woman!"

"Look upon me, Jason," she said. "See my size and strength, my severity. I am not as other women. I am for all practical purposes a man, but one trapped by some cruel trick of nature in a woman's body. It is painful, Jason. That is perhaps why I hate both men and women so."

"I do not think, Mistress," I said, "that you truly hate either."

She looked at me, puzzled. Then she said, "Beware how you speak, lest you be lashed and burned with irons."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Yet I think you are, strangely, a woman of both vision and kindness."

"Beware, Slave," she warned me.

"Forgive me, Mistress," I said.

"Keep clearly in mind, Jason," she said, "that women are slaves, longing for their masters."

"They are persons!" I insisted.

"You insist on seeing women through sexless and demeaning categories," she said. "By doing so, you will prevent yourself from knowing them and understanding them. You will, by using such categories, miss their richness, their depth, their latency, their womanhood, and you will be forever unable to satisfy them in the fullness of their biological needs, which include the need to submit themselves as a slave to a strong male."

"False! False!" I cried. "False! False! False!"

"I am sorry if I have caused you distress, Jason," she said. "That was not my intention. You have had a difficult and cruel day. Doubtless I should not speak to you as I sometimes do. Sometimes, for some reason, I seem to forget that you are only a male of Earth, and a slave."

I did not speak.

"You are large and strong to be a slave, Jason," she said. "Perhaps that is why I sometimes forget that, as a male of Earth, you are small and weak inside."

"It requires courage and strength to be small and weak," I said, angrily.

"Perhaps," she said. "I would not know. I am neither small nor weak."

I put my head down, angrily.

"It is an interesting way to view matters," she said. "Perhaps the fool has the strength to be a fool. Perhaps the coward has the courage to be cowardly."

I looked at her.

"It is sad enough to be a fool and a coward," she said, "without making virtues of these sorry flaws. Can you not see that you have been conditioned into a morality of weakness, an invention of the weak to undermine and inhibit the strong? Is not the social utility of such a device, so congenial to the fears of the small and weak, obvious? Can you not see that a morality designed to cripple and thwart the strong, to turn them against themselves, is an ideal instrument to advance the ambitions of the small and weak? While the strong lacerate themselves and tear themselves apart with misery and guilt the small and weak, swarming unabated over the world, proceed unimpeded with their small projects and gnawings."

"No, no," I said.

"Rest now, Jason," she said. "Tomorrow you are to be appraised by woman slavers from the market of Tima."

"What is the market of Tima?" I asked.

"You will discover, soon enough," she said. Then she said, "Lie down, Jason."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. I lay down.

She stood there for a moment, looking at me. "Lola should not have attempted to embroil you in difficulties with me," she said. "The slave oversteps herself. I am growing rather dissatisfied with her performances. She is treading a thin line. I think she is growing too bold, too pretentious. The next time she displeases us in the pens, even in the least way, I think that I will have her disciplined."

I looked at her.

"We are not of Earth here, Jason," she said. "We punish slaves when they are not pleasing. Indeed, sometimes we punish them even if they are pleasing."

"But why, Mistress?" I asked.

"Because they are slaves," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Rest now," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Incidentally, Jason," she said, "I commend you on your progress in Gorean. You have a skill with languages."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said.

"And your body, too," she said, "with the exercises and the diet, is shaping up nicely. You have gained weight but look more trim, for the weight now is more that of muscle and less that of fat."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said. Muscular tissue, to be sure, was both heavier and more compact than fatty tissue. This accounted for the paradox of increased bodily weight coupled with a thinner appearance.

"You are as large as many Gorean men, Jason," she said. "Indeed, you are even larger than many of them. It is too bad you are fit to be only a slave."

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Go to sleep now, Jason," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

6
   
THE
LADY
TIMA

"Interesting," said the woman. "Promising."

I trembled, involuntarily, as the coolness of the leather of the woman's whip, its blades folded back against its handle, moved upward against my right side.

"We call him `Jason'," said the Lady Gina, standing in the background.

My hands were manacled over my head to a ring in the low-ceilinged, torchlit room. My ankles, too, were manacled. They were fastened closely to a ring on the floor, near my feet. I was stripped naked.

"A nice name," said the woman, "but we can call the tarsk anything."

"Of course," said the Lady Gina.

Extending in a line to my left, the same line in which I formed the initial point, stripped, secured as I was, were twenty more male slaves. We were being examined by five women, veiled and robed, woman slavers.

"Open your mouth," said one of the women to me.

I opened my mouth.

She pushed up, under my upper teeth, with her thumb. The robes and veils the women wore were graceful and of silken sheens. They were predominantly blue and yellow in their colors, which are the colors of the slavers. As the lovely sleeve of her robe dropped back I saw, on her left wrist, a heavy, metal-studded wristlet of black leather. Her eyes were dark and shrewd, fierce, objective, appraising, merciless. I had little doubt but what, in her own pens, she would be as formidable, if not more formidable, than the Lady Gina. I did not meet her eyes. She, like the Lady Gina, when she chose to be severe, frightened me. Such women, I knew, would treat me with great strictness. They would not be easy with men so miserable as to fall into their power as slaves. Her hands were then at my mouth, pulling it more widely open, moving my head about that she might more easily conduct her examination. Then, her thumb and first finger at my chin, she turned my head from side to side. "Not bad," she said. She stepped back. "Hold your head up," she said. "Yes, Mistress," I said. I lifted my head. We were being examined by these women as what we were, animals and slaves.

"This one has good thighs," said a woman down the line.

"Good," said another.

"Keeper," said the woman who had been examining me.

"I am here," said the Lady Gina.

"In this one," said the woman, indicating me, "there is a mark on the upper left arm, and in one of the teeth on the left and in the back, a bit of metal. I have seen such things before almost only in Kajirae from the slave world."

"This is a male from the slave world," said the Lady Gina.

"I wondered if it might not be," said the woman. "But we will not pay the more for him, if we are interested in him, because of that."

"Such matters, are between you and my superiors," said the Lady Gina.

"Your superiors are men," said the woman, mockingly.

"Yes," said the Lady Gina.

"I could use a woman like you," said the woman.

"I have my work here," said the Lady Gina.

"As you wish," she said. "Are they vital?" she asked.

"I think so," said the Lady Gina, "though we have, of course, kept them suppressed in the pens, the better to control them as slaves."

"It is a delicate matter," admitted the woman who had examined me. "Yet I think an intelligent mistress will usually manage to her own satisfaction"

"This one is alive," said one of the women down the line, laughing. She drew back her hand from the slave's body.

"Let us amuse ourselves," said the woman who had examined me. "Send for a Kajira."

The Lady Gina went to the door of the long, low-ceilinged room. "Prodicus," she said. "Send Lola to us."

In a few moments Lola entered the room. I had never seen her appearing so demure. Her hair was combed back and tied with a white ribbon. She had been washed. She was dressed in a brief, sleeveless, white tunic. She was barefoot. She still had on her throat, of course, the same steel collar. Lola fled to the Lady Gina and knelt before her, putting her head to the floor. Lola, I saw, was terrified to be in the presence of the free women. I realized then, as I had not before, something of the loathing and hatred with which the enslaved female is regarded by her free sisters.

"A pretty little slave," said one of the women.

I then realized that Lola's garb, so demure and modest for a female slave, so unlike the usual bit of rag knotted at her left hip, must be because of the presence of the woman slavers in the pens. The House of Andronicus, in which I was slave, presumably did not wish to offend the female visitors. Lola, too, I imagine, was only too happy to deemphasize her sexuality before her free sisters. She did not, after all, wish to writhe beneath their whips, the lashed object of the fury and contempt of free women, jealous perhaps of the helplessness of the slave girl before men, her beauty and her collar.