This is a cruel thing to do to a slave, of course.
“What did you do,” I asked, “to be so punished?”
“I did nothing!” she said. “He did this for his hatred, for his amusement. I was of Cos, and he of Ar! So he brought me to this point and left me! Have mercy on me!”
“You are no longer of Cos,” I said. “You are only a slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she wept.
“Only a slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master, yes, Master!” she wept.
There are many warring polities on Gor, and there is often a deep-seated hatred amongst them. After all, do not enemies threaten one another’s cities, goods, fields, and resources, their walls, and Home Stones? Some vendettas and rivalries have continued for generations. Too, wars on Gor are fought not only for adventure and sport, but for gain, as well. An enemy’s trading posts may be looted, his mines seized, his crops harvested. Wars may be fought for arable land, for markets, for high ground, for defensible passes, for routes, for access to the sea, for olive groves and stands of timber, for orchards and vineyards, for precious metals, cloths, and jewels, for kaiila, tarsks, verr, many things. Indeed, a warrior’s pay is commonly the loot he can acquire. Too, we might note that amongst the most prized and sought-after fruits of war are the females of the enemy. They are valuable loot and bring good prices in the markets. Too, one may wish to keep them. One of the greatest pleasures of a Gorean warrior is to have a woman of the enemy as his slave. And often, she in his power, and as he is teaching her her collar, he may have it, however foolishly, that she stands proxy for her city and he may, however absurdly, vent upon her all the contempt and spleen he feels for a hated foe. Does she not then, chained in her cage at night, try fruitlessly to tear the collar from her throat? Then, in the morning, after sobbing herself to a fitful sleep, she is ordered forth from her cage again, naked, on all fours, in her shackles, to be again abused and set once more to arduous, exhausting, seemingly endless, humiliating labors, to be once more subjected to a misplaced vengeance, a vengeance now as meaningless, as inappropriate, and as out of place, now that she is a slave, as would be the gratuitous abuse of an innocent, helpless, tethered verr. One supposes the master’s victimization of his property will eventually subside, one certainly hopes so, when he no longer sees her as a scion of, and in terms of, hated foes, but comes to understand that she is no longer a proud, exalted free woman of the enemy toward whom a sword may be legitimately directed, but is now no more than a collar-beast he owns, a sleek, lovely collar-beast fully in his power, one who depends upon him, totally, and one who hopes to be found pleasing. She knows, of course, that Home Stones are now behind her, forever. She is collared. Too, she now has what she has always desired, a master, and she hopes to please him, to warrant a caress, and to one day win his love. As a former free woman certainly the extraordinary pleasure she gives her master and the extraordinary pleasure, psychological and physical, she derives from his mastery has come as a revelation, a welcome and astonishing joy which she as a free woman had only suspected in fearful, secret moments. Already it seems she is a love slave.
“Please, Master,” she begged. “Complete his work! I beg it!”
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Talena,” she said.
“No,” I said, suddenly. “You are not Talena!”
“It is the name I have been given,” she said, frightened. “If it does not please you, name me as you will.”
I fetched a nearby lantern, and held it over the supine slave, who half closed her eyes against the light.
“You are not Talena,” I said.
“I was of Cos,” she said. “They gave me a name of the mainland, of Ar.”
“As masters may,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
This was not surprising. Had she been of Ar and taken to Cos it was likely she would have been given a Cosian name. The same animal on Earth, say a dog, would be likely to receive one name in Britain, another in France, another in Italy, and so on.
“‘Talena’,” I said, “is the name of one who was Ubara of Ar.”
“A false Ubara!” she said. “That is known even in Cos.”
My hand tightened menacingly on the ring by means of which the lantern was suspended.
“Do not strike me!” she pleaded.
“Yes,” I said, drawing back, wearily, “she was a false Ubara.”
“There are many Talenas,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. ‘Talena’ was a not unfamiliar name on Gor, at least on the mainland. To be sure, it would be an unusual name for a slave. There was at least one other Talena, of course, who was a slave. I recalled the Metellan district. I had not changed her name on the embondment papers, but had permitted her to retain the name ‘Talena’, though then, of course, not as a free name but as a slave name, put upon her by the will of her master. Now, I supposed, she would, if somewhere collared, have yet a different name.
“I do not like the name ‘Talena’ for you,” I said. “It is too fine a name for a slave.”
“Forgive me, Master,” she said.
“When you have a private master,” I said, “should you be so fortunate, beg him for a different name. Masters are commonly indulgent in such matters.”
“I will!” she said.
Slave names are often short, and convenient, such as ‘Lita’, ‘Lana’, ‘Dina’, and such. Earth-girl names, it might be noted, are commonly accounted slave names on Gor, and may be put upon Gorean girls as well as slaves harvested from the fields of Earth. For example, ‘Jane’, on Gor, would be clearly understood as a slave name. There are many names on Gor, of course, both masculine and feminine, which are frequently encountered, as is the case on Earth. My own first name, ‘Tarl’, for example, was quite common in Torvaldsland.
I placed my hand on her right knee.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Please, Master!”
I was annoyed at my reaction to being apprised of the slave’s name. Her voice had not been that of Talena. And I had even fetched the lantern to look upon her. She had not been Talena, of course, not
Again I recalled the conversation with Seremides, in the darkness above the forest.
I gathered that the Ubara had not yet been brought before the throne of a Ubar’s justice.
Strange, I thought, that so mighty a bounty, ten thousand tarn disks, of gold, of double weight, had not yet been claimed.
What value might she have to someone, or something, which might exceed such a sum?
Did a captor wait for even so incredible a sum to be increased? Were negotiations now in progress? Perhaps a captor was amused to have the former Ubara at his slave ring for a time, before, say, tiring of her, and then delivering her to the justice of Ar. I could well imagine the slave, in such a situation, striving mightily to please whoever, or whatever, might be her master of the moment, to postpone as long as possible the day of her return to Ar.
“Please, Master,” whispered the slave.
I rose from her side and returned the lantern to its place.
I heard her sob behind me.
I returned to her side.
“Master?” she whispered, disbelievingly.
She had thought, I supposed, that I had abandoned her.
“Are you still in heat, girl?” I inquired.
One would seldom use so vulgar an expression, I supposed, in the case of a free woman, but it is often used in the case of animals, which makes it acceptable in the case of a slave, as she is an animal, a lovely form of domestic animal.
“Yes,” she said.
It is not unusual for a slave girl to approach her master, kneel before him, kiss his feet, straighten up, and inform him that she is in heat, openly, clearly, frankly, honestly, and innocently. The slave is not ashamed of her sexual needs, no more than it would occur to the free woman to be ashamed of her needs for, say, food and water. “Master’s girl is in heat,” she might say. “She begs for his caress.”
