Swordsmen of Gor

She would receive none.

I gestured that she should approach, and serve Pertinax.

She did so.

She knelt before the small table, before Pertinax. Her head was down. She did not dare to meet his eyes. “Wine, Master?” she asked.

“No,” he snarled. “Away!”

She withdrew gracefully, gratefully, still facing the table, and then turned away. “Wine!” called a fellow. “Yes, Master,” she said, and hurried to him, to kneel and fill his extended goblet.

Jane and Cecily were elsewhere, in service.

The tables had been set in the open air, and the area was lit with the glow of torches.

Four or five hundred men were at the tables.

The slaves were clothed, most tunicked, or camisked. One wore the Turian camisk, rare in the north, and two were in cleverly contrived ta-teeras, a form of garment which some think of as “slave rags.”

Whereas some slaves, indeed, say scullery slaves, garbage slaves, or such, may be clothed, if at all, in no more than a tiny rag, in any shred of cloth, perhaps one soiled from the soot and grease of the kitchen, to conceal their nudity, the subtler ta-teera is carefully tied or sewn. It is carefully wrought, artfully designed, to accomplish two objectives, first, to seem to convey the thought that the slave is a low slave, and one of little value, one worthy of no more than brief, demeaning rags, though she may in actuality be a prized, high slave, and, secondly, to well exhibit the charms of the slave, such things accomplished by the brevity and openness of the garment, as by, say, a short, uneven hem, ragged at the edges, a slit hem, showing a flash of thigh, as though inadvertently, and by, say, a rent here, a gap there, and so on. I noted the eyes of several men on the ta-teera-clad slaves, a master’s inspection, a Gorean male’s inspection, of which the slaves pretended to be oblivious. I had little doubt both girls would well be put to use at the feast’s end, probably somewhere in the neighborhood of dawn.

There was plenty of tabuk and tarsk, and the slaves brought it to the men on steaming platters. Wine was plentiful, and paga, too, and slaves hurried about, with vessels, and botas, to refill goblets. Hot bread with honey was on the table, on wooden trenchers.

I sat near Lord Nishida, and he had offered me a sip of a different fermented beverage, one I had once tasted on Earth, though not of so fine a quality. It was warm, in its small bowl. “It is sake,” I was informed. I nodded. There are rice fields on Gor, in the vicinity of Bazi, famed for its teas, but rice is not as familiar on Gor as the grain, sa-tarna. And Pani, as far as I knew, were not found in Bazi, or its environs. To be sure I supposed the rice might be Bazi rice, but I was not sure of that, not at all sure of it.

“Good,” I said.

Lord Nishida smiled. He had said nothing of the matter of Licinius, but I was sure he was well aware of what had happened, or might have happened. His Ashigaru, of course, had failed to find the body in the forest.

I doubted that Lord Nishida had given orders that I was to be slain after the feast, for he had shown me something surprising earlier in the day, in a tour of some of the remoter storage sheds, near the training fields.

It seemed he still had use for me, or might have use for me.

I did not know.

“Eggs,” I had said, finally, “hundreds.” I had seen them nestled in their straw-lined boxes.

Obviously they had been the eggs of tarns.

“They will not hatch,” I said. “They are without females, they lack incubators.”

“Incubators?” he asked.

“Devices, heated,” I said, “to hatch eggs.”

“Touch one,” he suggested.

I reached into one of the boxes, and placed my hand on the egg.

“It is warm,” I said.

“It is a matter of fluids,” he said. “There are two, one to keep the egg viable, another, later, to induce hatching.”

“I see,” I said.

The matter, I gathered, was in effect a chemical incubation. I supposed we owed this development to the Builders or Physicians. I supposed the Builders, some of whom concerned themselves with industrial and agricultural chemistry, might have been paid to inquire into such matters. The Physicians, I thought, would have regarded such research as beneath the dignity of their caste.

The feast was well underway.

I caught sight of Cecily, four tables away. She had a vessel of paga, on its strap, over her small shoulder.

Pertinax’s Jane bore a large wooden plate of roast suls. More than once it had been replenished at the kitchen area, the suls withdrawn from the ashes of several “long fires.” When a great deal of food is involved, particularly in the open, or in large halls, as in Torvaldsland, the fires are almost always narrow, and long, as this increases the amount of food which can be simultaneously prepared, and allows easy access to it, from both sides of the fire. Such a fire, too, it might be noted, given its length, distributes heat over a wide area. This can be important in heating a large structure, such as a hall.

I watched Saru, across the tables.

Pertinax, as suggested, had done his best to make her feel ashamed, inferior, and worthless.

Too, he had, it seemed, succeeded in this matter.

The last thing a typical slave feels in her bondage is shame. Typically, after a time, she finds she is freer in her bondage than she ever was as a free woman, freer not only in her movements, in the lightness and looseness of her garmenture, but freer emotionally and sexually. She finds herself owned, but liberated, in the collar. She must obey instantly and unquestioningly, but she delights to do so. She is thrilled and fulfilled to be owned. She knows that, in a sense, she is superior to all other women. She has been adjudged worthy of a collar. The collar, in itself, is a badge of her desirability and beauty. Her desirability and beauty are such that men will be contented with nothing less than owning her. Thus, rather than being ashamed of her bondage, the typical slave finds in it a source of reassurance and pride. Too, the slave finds herself fulfilled in her womanhood, responding emotionally and sexually to a dominant male who will have everything of her, and more, and what woman does not wish to have no choice but to yield all to such a man? Who would wish to relate to a lesser male? All women dream of masters. Some find them. Too, it might be noted that the female slave on Gor is a familiar and important part of Gorean society. Their identity and place are clearly defined and established. And who other than jealous, envious free women does not relish the sight of lovely slaves? Would you not like to buy one? Two powerful forces are thus conjoined to assure the perpetuation of female bondage on Gor, the society’s unqualified acceptance and approval of the institution, it is pleased with its female slaves, and will have them, and the effects on the slave. In bondage, she finds her fulfillment, a fulfillment society not only has no interest in denying to her, but supports and favors. It is no wonder so many slaves revel in their collars. They are as they wish to be, at last, and how they wish to be is not only accepted, but approved. Indeed, society not only approves of her bondage but it will marshal all its considerable resources and forces to guarantee that her bondage, whether she wishes it or not, will remain inflexible and inescapable, that the collar, so to speak, will remain securely locked on her lovely neck. In all these matters, she is choiceless, and she knows herself so. The chain is real, and, whether she is pleased or not, it is on her.

It is an independent question, of course, as to whether or not the slave is inferior, or worthless, and such.

There is obviously a sense in which the slave is inferior. She is, after all, a slave.

Chasms separate her from the free woman, and so on.

On the other hand, as we have suggested, far from feeling inferior, the slave is likely to feel, as a woman, far superior to her free sister. For example, to refer to a free woman as “slave beautiful” is a considerable compliment. It means she is beautiful enough to be a slave, beautiful enough to be of interest to men, beautiful enough to be publicly exhibited and sold, beautiful enough to be collared. Too, apart from considerations of economic or social