Fighting Slave of Gor (19 page)

"Are you quite tame?" asked the first woman.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"He probably is," said the second woman. "The market of Tima is famous for her tamed slaves."

I did not tell them that I came from a world in which almost all the males were perfectly tamed, indeed, a world in which males were supposed to pride themselves on their inoffensiveness and agreeability.

"I do not trust Kajiri," said the first woman. "They can revert. Can you imagine how fearful that might be, if one turned on you?"

The second one shuddered, but I thought with pleasure. "Yes," she said.

"Consider your danger, and what they might make you do," said the first.

"Yes," said the second.

"They might treat you as though you were little better than a slave."

"Or perhaps as only a slave," said the second.

"How horrifying that would be," said the first.

"Yes," said the second, but it seemed to me that she, beneath her robes and veil, shuddered again with pleasure.

"But if the Mistress is strong," said the first, "what has she to fear?"

"One who is stronger than she," said the second.

"I am stronger than any man," said the first.

"But what if you should meet your Master?" asked the second.

The first one was silent then for a moment. Then she spoke. "I would love him and serve him, helplessly," she said.

"Beautiful Mistresses," I said, "can you tell me in what city I am?"

"Be silent, Slave," said the first woman.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajirus," said the second.

"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Forgive me, Mistresses."

They turned away, their market baskets on their arms. The butt of the whip of Prodicus suddenly struck twice at the side of the box, sharply. I jerked away from the sound, crying out, startled, frightened. "Be silent in there, Slave," he said, "or you will be well beaten."

"Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master."

I then felt the slave box, on the rings and poles, again being lifted. I pressed my face again to the perforations. I saw the brightly colored robes and tunics of the people. The square was crowded. I saw market stalls and heard the cries of vendors hawking their goods. I smelled fresh vegetables and roasting meat. The day was bright. The air was clear. On a cement dais, at one side of the square, I saw a man selling naked, chained slave girls. They were very beautiful, and piteous, in their collars and chains. I thought of Miss Beverly Henderson. How lovely she had been. I scarcely dared to conjecture what tragic fate might have befallen her on this rude world.

"Make way," called Prodicus. "Make way for goods bound for the market of Tima!"

10
I
FIND
MYSELF
SLAVE
IN
THE
HOUSE
OF
THE
LADY
TIMA;
I
AM
RECREATION
FOR
THE
LADY
TIMA,
AFTER
SHE
HAS
FINISHED
HER
WORK

The door of the slave box, behind me, was opened, and swung down. At the same time I was thrust forward in the box and my ankles were seized. I was dragged backwards out of the box on my belly. Four men held me. Prodicus jammed the key into the lock on the back of my collar and, in an instant, had opened the collar, which he jerked from my throat. Almost at the same time another man closed another collar about my throat and snapped it shut. I then wore the collar of the House of Tima. I saw a woman, stern and cruel, in black leather, with leather wristlets, sign a paper. Prodicus placed the paper in his tunic. Two men lifted me and flung me to my knees on the cement flooring of the large room. The door, or gate, to the slave box was swung up and shut, the bolts thrown in place. Prodicus gestured to the carrying slaves and they set their poles again through the rings and, in moments, they, carrying the box, preceded by Prodicus, had exited through an iron door.

I felt the woman's whip under my chin. It pushed my head up.

"Greetings, Pretty Slave," she said.

"Greetings, Mistress," I said.

"I am Tima," she said. "I am Mistress here"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

Then she turned to the men about her, strong fellows, fit for keeping order in slave pens.

"Whip him," she said. "Then clean and groom him. Then send him to my chamber."

"Yes, Lady Tima," said one of them.

I was lifted to my feet and, two men holding my arms, was dragged stumbling from her presence.

"Kneel here," said the man, indicating a position before the heavy door, of iron, in the dark corridor. "When we have left," he said, "make your presence known."

"Yes, Master," I said, miserably. I had not been in the House of Tima more than a few Elm before I had been bound at a whipping ring, suspended over my head, and, dangling, feet tethered to a second ring, well lashed. I had then been conducted to a small, low-ceilinged cell in which I was locked. I lay there, alone, miserable, I conjecture, for some Ahn. Then a man brought a pan of water and a bowl of moistened slave gruel. I was not hungry but I was ordered to eat and, kneeling, observed, did so. When I had fed to his satisfaction he made me precede him to a warm, humid chamber. In that place there were sunken baths, cisterns of water, and vessels of heating water. Too, there were strigils, towels and oils. He removed my collar and ordered me into the bath. It was uncomfortably hot but I dared not object. Gorean masters tend not to be tolerant of the feelings of slaves. An enslaved male of Earth, fool that I was, I did not even know how to take a bath. Laughing, he explained to me the use of the strigils, the rinsings and oils. Frightened though I was, I was pleased, in the lengthy process of the bath, which tends for Goreans to be a pleasant experience, and is often a social one, at the public baths, to rid myself of the stink of the pens. I had then been scented, with the colognes and perfumes thought suitable for certain types of male slaves. I was then given a white, silken tunic. "Kneel," he then said. I knelt, and again he fastened me in my collar. We left the chamber. I was then made to lead the way through the halls of the House of Tima, until we arrived at the entrance to a long, dark corridor. This entrance was protected by two guardsmen, armed with spears and swords. "Continue forward, Slave," said the man. "Yes, Master," I said. I continued to walk forward and the two guards, not speaking, fell into step behind us. The corridor was long, and branching. We walked for some Ehn. I could feel the carpeting beneath my bare feet. "Turn left," said the man. We continued to walk. I was aware of the steel locked on my neck, the silk on my body. "Turn right," he said. We continued on for another Elm. "Stop here," he said. We stood before a heavy, iron door.

"Shall we wait?" asked one of the guards.

"It will not be necessary," said the man. "This is a man from the planet Earth."

The guards nodded, understanding.

"Kneel here," said the man, indicating a position before the heavy door, of iron, in the dark corridor. "When we have left," he said, "make your presence known."

"Yes, Master," I said, miserably.

He then turned and left, followed by the two guards. They did not look back.

I knelt by the door, miserably. I lifted my hand to knock at the door, but then my hand fell. I feared to knock. I put down my head, miserable. After I had been locked in the cell, only one man, for all practical purposes, had controlled me. He had fed me, and commanded me, and had overseen my bath, my preparation for whatever was to ensue. He had taken my collar off and then, later, had made me kneel, fastening it again on me. I knew he had not been armed, but, still, I had feared and obeyed him. Free men were to me as master, as free women were to me as mistress. I was angered, now that I thought of it, that they had seen fit to send only one man to handle me. In the beginning four or five men had, rudely and cruelly, controlled me. But then I had been whipped. They had seen me under the whip, crying out, begging for mercy. They had known then, I suppose, as slavers can know such things, that no more than one man would be necessary to see to my governance. I was only a man of Earth.

Then I was frightened, for I had not yet knocked at the iron door.

I knocked lightly, frightened, at the door. I had knocked timidly. I had scarcely heard the knock myself. I put my head down, trembling.

I looked down the corridor. The man who had conducted me to this place had now disappeared, together with the guards.

He had doubtless gone about his duties, whatever they might be, and the guards had returned to their post. I could see far down the corridor.

They did not fear to leave me at the door, alone. One man had, in effect, conducted me to this place. He, and the guards, had now left. I might as well have been a woman They showed me no more respect than they might have accorded to a helpless, vulnerable slave girl. How shamed I was. Yet were they not right? I was a man of Earth. Are we not all well tamed?

The door had not yet been opened. I was afraid. I had been told to make my presence known.

I then, frightened, breathing heavily, my heart pounding is fear, again knocked at the heavy door. I hoped that no one would be within.

"Who is it?" called a woman's voice,, distracted.

"A-a slave," I stammered.

She opened the door, and looked down at me. She held some papers, long and yellow, in one hand.

"It is Jason, is it not?" she asked.

"If Mistress pleases," I said.

"It will do," she said. She regarded me. She did not even seem to notice that I was alone in the hall. In this she apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I had forgotten," she said. "You were to be sent to my chamber this evening, were you not?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Come in," she said. "Remove your tunic and kneel by the couch. Close the door behind you."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. She was wearing golden sandals and a long, scarlet robe, with a high, ornate collar, fastened by a silver clasp.

I entered the room and shut the door behind me. I tomoved the silken tunic I had been given and folded it, placing it on the floor. I then knelt, naked and collared, near it, in the vicinity of the couch.

She knelt before a low desk, her back to me, and gave her attention to the papers which she had now placed upon it. She held a marking stick in her right hand.

"I am attending to the details of tomorrow evening's sale," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

She worked quietly, thoughtfully. Sometimes she would remove one paper from the group, and add another. Occasionally she would make a notation on one of the papers with her marking stick. Several Ehn went by. I did not disturb her. I knew she was working. She was a businesswoman, with demanding and intricate responsibilities. I wondered if any of those papers were pertinent to me. I did not dare ask, of course. I had learned that curiosity was not becoming in a Kajirus. If I were to be sold tomorrow I would find out when masters or mistresses were pleased to let me know, perhaps as late as the moment when a sales disk might be wired to my collar.

"Serve me wine, Jason," she said, distractedly. "As a slave girl," she added.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, bitterly.

"Do I detect bitterness?" she asked, not turning about.

"No, Mistress," I said.

"Good," she said. "You are a true man of Earth, fit to be the slave of a woman."

"Yes, Mistress," I said. I found some wine, and poured a bit for her. Then, as I had seen Lola do for me, I pressed the goblet into my lower abdomen and then lifted it to my lips, where, turning my head, I kissed it. Then, head down, kneeling back on my heels, arms extended, I proffered it to the Mistress.

"Excellent, Jason," she said.

"Thank you, Mistress," I said.

She sipped the wine, and regarded me contemptuously. Then she said, "Go back to your place."

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

I went back, beside the couch, and again knelt. She turned about and placed the cup of wine on the low desk and in a moment, was again deeply engaged in her work. I think she forgot that I was in the room. I knelt silently in the background. Occasionally, however, as the Ehn passed, she drank from the cup.

I was ignored and neglected. I would be summoned, if needed.

I glanced at the large, fur-strewn couch. I saw that there were chains, on rings, attached to it.

She at last, wearily, thrust back the papers and put down the marking pencil. She rose to her feet and stretched, and turned to look at me.

"Get on the couch," she said, "on your back."

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

She went to the right side of the couch and, in a routine and unconcerned fashion, lifted a shackle, on a chain, which she snapped shut on my right ankle. She then walked about the couch and, on the left, similarly secured my left ankle, She then, as I felt the movement through the left shackle, my leg pulled slightly to the left, adjusted that chain at the ring. She then walked about the bottom of the couch and, taking my right wrist, locked it on a manacle, at my right side. She then went about the head of the couch and, taking my left wrist, enclosed it, too, in a manacle, at my left side, which she then snapped shut. My left wrist was pulled further then to the left, as she adjusted the chain on the left manacle, fixing the length of its play by a snap ring thrust through a link and about the couch ring. My feet, then, had been well chained, and my hands, too, had been well chained, and a few inches from my sides. She had done these things with the same habitual routine, the same lack of attention and concern, with which she might have hung up a piece of wearing apparel or replaced a comb and brush on a vanity.