Rebels of Gor (48 page)

What had Tajima meant? It seemed he might have meant anything.

It seemed there must be an infinite number of modalities of slave exhibition. What is the last natural number?

Certainly any slave must expect to be exhibited, for she is a slave.

Tajima cut, and sharpened, four stakes, each of which he notched at the blunt end.

He then, with a heavy rock, drove two of these stakes well into the ground, and then drew Nezumi between them, extended her arms, and fastened her wrists, with thongs, to the two stakes. Then she lay between them, arms stretched out, her legs still fastened together. He then put the last two stakes in the ground, undid her legs, and fastened each ankle to its appropriate stake. The thongs resided in the notches in the high ends of the stakes, so they could not slip.

“Behold,” proclaimed Tajima, looking down, pleased, upon his handiwork, “the daughter of Lord Yamada, supposed Shogun of the Islands, a slave, and the slave of Tajima, servitor to the daimyo, Lord Nishida of Nara, Tajima, officer in the tarn cavalry of Lord Temmu, commanded by the warrior Tarl Cabot.”

The slave struggled a little, but could do nothing to free herself.

“What think you?” asked Tajima.

“It is hard to conceive of a woman better exhibited,” I said, “unless perhaps she was bound naked on a spinning exhibition rack, her hands tied over her head.”

“And you, Haruki, gardener
san
?” he asked.

“She is quite different from she whom I once knew as Sumomo,” said Haruki. “She whom I once knew as Sumomo was a free woman, delicate and refined, as fragile, soft, and exquisite as the petal of a veminium, but, too, petty and unpleasant, cruel and deceitful, arrogant and haughty, impatient and short-tempered, clad in rich garmenture, with silken slippers, with long hair, glistening like dark stars, curled high about her head, fixed in place with a high, black, jade comb.”

“And what do you see now?” asked Tajima.

“A naked, well-bound slave,” he said.

Tajima stood over the slave, looking down upon her. She was well spread for the inspection of men.

“Why are you bound so?” inquired Tajima.

“I do not know, Master,” she said.

“You tried to hide yourself in the water,” he said, “and, emerging, you tried to conceal your body.”

“Forgive me, Master,” she said.

“A slave may be looked upon,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Say,” said Tajima, “‘I am a slave and may be looked upon’.”

“I am a slave, and may be looked upon,” she said.

She pulled at the thongs, and tears welled in her eyes.

“‘Whenever and however men may wish’,” he added.

“Whenever and however men may wish,” she said.

“Keep it well in mind, girl,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“You may thank me for this lesson,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

She twisted helplessly in the thongs. She looked well, so secured, but would not any slave?

“At least,” I said, “she is now presentable. Even her tunic has been washed.”

“Perhaps now,” said Haruki, “she is more appealing to her master.”

“No!” said Nezumi, pulling suddenly, helplessly, at the thongs.

I saw she was frightened.

“She is well tied for exhibition,” I said to Tajima, “but how for torment?”

“Please do not hurt me, Master,” she said. “I will try to be a good slave. I will try to be pleasing. I will try not to disturb the Masters. I will carry burdens. I will tidy camps, I will prepare couches, I will gather nuts and berries, I will gather wood, I will carry water, I will cook!”

“The torment I have in mind for her,” he said, “is not one of insects, or burnings, not one of irons, not one of tongs and pincers, not one of the lash of leather, such things.”

“What then?” I asked.

“I will make her the victim of her own body,” he said. “Her own body will be her torturer.”

“And, in time,” I said, “when she begs for relief?”

“Then,” he said, “I shall grant her relief or not, as it might please me.”

“Excellent,” I said.

“I do not understand, Masters!” she wept.

“Do you wish to watch?” asked Tajima.

“No,” I said.

“No,” said Haruki.

“It will not be dark for some Ahn,” he said. “That will be enough time.”

“More than enough,” I said.

To be sure, on Gor, it is not unusual for a master to allot several Ahn, even a full day, to such a business.

“What are you going to do?” cried Nezumi.

As she struggled, I noted that Tajima had tied her legs in such a way that her knees might be drawn up, and back, a bit, lifted some inches from the grass.

Haruki and I withdrew.

It seemed most judicious to let Tajima attend to his slave, in his own way.

If torture were to be involved, I recalled, it was to be an internal matter, one inflicted on her by the means of her own body. That was to be the instrument in terms of which she would be afflicted, apparently to whatever degree Tajima might wish. I recalled he had said that he would make her the victim of her own body, that it would be her torturer.

“What are you going to do, Master?” she begged. “Do not hurt me. I will be a good slave! I will be humble, and obedient. I will be solicitous to please! I will crawl to you! I will bring you the whip in my teeth! I will kneel before you! I will beg to kiss your feet! I will tie sandals, and wash clothing! I will polish leather, I will try to sew, I will cook! Do not beat me! Be merciful! I am only a slave!”

I will make her the victim of her own body, he had said. Her own body will be her torturer.

“What are you doing, Master?” she cried. “I am helpless, I am naked, I cannot resist! No! No! How dare you! I am the daughter of Lord Yamada, Shogun of the Islands. Oh! I hate you! I hate you!”

How careless she had been, I recalled, to have cast that beribboned missive from the outer parapet.

“Please, Master, stop!” she cried. “Desist, stop, stop! Yes! Thank you, Master! You are kind! Master is kind! No, no, not again! I beg you to stop! Stop! Please, Master!”

“Interesting,” said Tajima. “Do you know how you just moved, how you yanked against the thongs?”

“Tarsk!” she screamed. “Let me go!”

“I do not think you wish to be unbound,” he said.

“I hate you,” she cried. “I hate you! Oh!”

“Interesting,” he said. “Let us see.”

“No!” she cried. “Oh!”

“I thought I saw your little belly leap, and jerk,” he said.

“No,” she said. “No!”

“I must have been mistaken,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh! Oh!”

“No,” he said. “I was correct. I was not mistaken.”

“Let me go!” she said.

“I think you are going to writhe,” he said.

“No!” she said.

“Do you think you are a free woman?” he asked.

“Let me go!” she said.

“Dullness, inertness, a lack of feeling, insensibility, passivity, dormancy, the suppression of nature, self-fear, self-denial, frigidity, torpidity, and such, is acceptable in a free woman,” he said.

“Let me go!” she begged. “Oh!”

“Indeed,” he said, “I know of places where such biological denials and maimings are the object of indoctrinations, and are to be praised, where nature is to be subordinated to superstition and ideology, in the interests of pathological minorities, whose interests and livelihoods are involved, where women are encouraged to take pride in their inertness, and deride their more natural, more vital, helpless sisters.”

“What are you doing to me?” she wept.

“We shall rest,” he said. “Did your belly lift?”

“No, no!” she said.

“You draw back in the thongs,” he said.

“Let me go!” she begged.

“But you look pretty, tied so,” he said.

“Please,” she wept.

“When you were in the elegant, sedate robes of a contract woman,” he said, “I wondered what you might look like, so fastened.”

“And perhaps when I was in the robes of a shogun’s daughter?” she said.

“Possibly,” he said.

“Beast!” she said.

“It is on your throat that I detect a collar. It seems it is you who are the beast.”

“Beast!” she cried.

“Perhaps,” he said, “but a free beast, as opposed to an owned beast, a domestic animal which may be penned, given away, or sold.”

“I hate you!” she said.

“Such things I spoke of,” he said, “dormancy, and such, are acceptable in a free woman.”

“Please, untie me,” she said.

“Do you think you are a free woman?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I am a slave!”

“But perhaps you do not know much of bondage yet,” he said.

“I am naked,” she said. “I am collared! I am branded!”

“But perhaps you know little of bondage at this point,” he said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Do you think it is merely a lack of clothing, a ring or band on your neck, a mark on your thigh?”

“Let me go,” she begged.

“It is a condition,” he said, “a form of being, an entirety, an existence, a suffused reality, a wholeness.”

“Please be kind to me, Master,” she said. “Oh!”

“Do not protest,” he said. “What has the slave to say of such things? In all things she is subject to the master’s pleasure. It is done to her, and will be done to her, as the master wills.”

“Please untie me, Master!”

“The slave,” he said, “is wholly different from the free woman. The free woman is free, the slave is a belonging, a property. The free woman does as she pleases; the slave hopes to be found pleasing. The free woman stands proudly; the slave kneels at the feet of her master, submissively, her head down. The free woman is a person; the slave is a purchasable, vendible animal, a domestic beast.”

“Please do not hurt me,” she said. “I know I am now a beast. I will try to be a pleasing beast.”

“What of this?” he asked.

“Master?” she said. “Ai!”

“Interesting,” he said. “Would you prefer to be blindfolded?”

“No!” she said.

“The correct response,” he said, “is ‘As Master pleases’.”

“As Master pleases!” she cried.

“No,” he said, “I think we will dispense with the blindfold. Perhaps some other time, for that involves a different modality of sensations. I enjoy studying your features, which, Nezumi, slave girl, I admit are exquisite, surely marvelous, the thousand subtleties of expression, the soundless words and cries of the eyes, the turning of the head, the trembling of the lips.”

“Mercy,” she said.

“But such things as I mentioned with respect to free women,” he said, “dormancy, and such, are not acceptable in a slave.”

“I cannot help how I am!” she said. “Oh!”

“I do not think you know how you are,” he said, “but I think you suspect.”

“No!” she said.

“Have you heard of slave fires?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“I gather,” he said, “they can be quite tormenting to a woman.”

This was true. I suppose it might be wondered if men should put such fires into the belly of a woman. Perhaps it is cruel. Doubtless this should not be done to a free woman, unless as a prelude to her collaring. The slave, of course, is a different matter. One need not concern oneself with slaves. One does with them as one pleases. They are only slaves, and exist only for the service and pleasure of masters. Indeed, such fires are almost always lit in the belly of slaves, as it improves the stock. Hot slaves bring higher prices. It is pleasant, incidentally, to see a woman in the throes of slave fires. How piteous she can be, before one, helpless, suffering with need. To be sure, such fires are seldom instilled in the women of my former world, unless, of course, they are embonded. Then they are as helpless as any other slave. Earth males, I conjecture, though I have not polled the matter, seldom encounter women, helpless, beautiful, and naked, crawling to their feet, pleading for relief. It is common in slave houses, prior to sales, to deprive the merchandise of relief for two or three, even for four or five days, prior to the sale. Such a girl, brought to the block, so poignantly alive, so needful, is likely to leap to the slightest touch of the auctioneer’s whip.

“I know nothing of such things,” she said.

“Perhaps you might speculate,” he said.

“No!” she said. “Oh!”

“Did not your hips jerk?” he inquired.

“No,” she said, “no, no!”

“Let us see,” he said.

“Aii!” she exclaimed.

“That is clearly such a response,” he said.

“Tarsk!” she said.