Swordsmen of Gor

It was toward dark, and a fire burned nearby.

“How did you know the tarn would return?” asked Pertinax.

“When the rider lost consciousness, it was no longer controlled,” I said. “It would then, having no guidance, return to its cot, perhaps even hastening, that it might not miss the evening feeding.”

It had arrived, interestingly, some Ehn before the evening’s distribution of meat.

We had then recovered Licinius and the slave, both unconscious.

The effect of Tassa powder is not felt for a time, but when it takes effect, it does so swiftly. Presumably Licinius would not have a weapon at the ready swiftly enough to slash the girl’s throat. Even more likely, he would not think to do so. Goreans frown on gratuitous injury to a slave, as they would to any other animal. Too, if he had had time to think, which seemed unlikely, the last thing he would wish to risk would be falling into the hands of vengeful captors. He had lost. He would abide by the consequences.

“Licinius was kept in the saddle by the safety strap,” said Pertinax.

“Of course,” I said.

“And the slave was quite safe,” said Tajima.

“Yes,” I said, “secured in utter helplessness, as befits one such as she, merely a soft, smooth, shapely beast, nicely tethered, a bound kajira.”

“She, too, was unconscious,” said Tajima.

“I thought she would be,” I said. “It did not really matter, of course, but I supposed he would give her of the water. Why should he not? Would she not be thirsty, as well? Are animals not watered?”

“Yes,” said Tajima.

“Too,” I said, “there was plenty. Also, water rounds the belly of a slave nicely, and freshens her appearance.”

“True,” said Tajima.

It was common, of course, to water women before their sale.

“How you think of her, how you speak of her!” protested Pertinax.

“She is a slave,” I said. “And the sooner you learn to so think of her, and so speak of her, the better.”

“Never!” said Pertinax.

“Did you not note,” asked Tajima, “how she denied being cold, and addressed Licinius Lysias as ‘Master’?”

“She was frightened,” said Pertinax.

“Surely, even in fear, truth may be spoken,” I said. And, I thought, though I did not bring this to the attention of Pertinax, a slave who is frightened is often afraid not to speak the truth. The Master may know the truth, and be examining her. Too, whereas a free woman may lie as profoundly and frequently as she wishes, a slave girl is forbidden to lie. A free woman may lie with impunity; a slave girl does not have this privilege. The slave girl fears to lie. Lying is not acceptable in a kajira. Punishments are terrible. She is not a free woman.

“Would you prefer,” inquired Tajima, “that the slave was frigid?”

“Surely such things are a matter of private concern,” said Pertinax.

“Not in a slave,” I said. “In a slave they are quite public, like eye color and hair color. They affect her price.”

“You would wish her to be frigid?” asked Tajima, politely.

“She is not a free woman,” I reminded Pertinax.

“- I suppose it is better for her to be frigid,” said Pertinax, “in order that she may remain her own woman, retain her self-respect and self-esteem, her dignity.”

“The slave,” I said, “is not her own woman. She is her master’s woman. Too, whereas she may well think well of herself, rejoice in herself, celebrate herself, love herself, as well as the master, for how can one love another if one does not love oneself, and so on, she is not likely to have self-respect and self-esteem in the senses that I think you understand such things. She is, after all, an animal. And certainly she is not permitted dignity. She is a beautiful animal, and whereas she has far more attractions than, say, a she-tarsk, she has no more dignity than a she-tarsk.”

“I see,” said Pertinax.

“The slave is not a free woman,” said Tajima. “She is to be hot, helplessly so. She must juice upon command. A touch readies her. At a snapping of the fingers, she must hasten to assume whatever attitudes or positions you wish. Indeed, she may assume them hoping that her master will see fit to caress her. Usually she conveys her desires by kneeling and nuzzling, and making tiny noises and whimpering, and kissing the feet and legs of the master, looking to him, lips parted, hoping for attention, such things. There are many variations. Slaves are very inventive, and very clever. Too, I assure you, my dear Pertinax, it is pleasant to have one in one’s arms, squirming, and writhing, and gasping, and moaning, and crying out, and weeping, and begging, and yielding.”

“They are not free women,” I reiterated.

“Such things,” said Pertinax, “are for low women, not for such as Miss Wentworth.”

I smiled to myself. Pertinax did not know, as Cecily and I knew, that the stable grooms had well ignited, as it had amused them, and doubtless in accord with the instructions of Lord Nishida, slave fires in the belly of the former Miss Wentworth, at that time a stable slave at their disposal. Any woman in whose belly burn slave fires is a slave, and henceforth and thereafter can be but a slave. Ropes, straps, and chains were not the only bonds to which the former Miss Wentworth was now subject. A free woman might, of course, look upon the former Miss Wentworth and, in virtue of the brevity of a tunic, perhaps, or a brand, or a collar, easily see her as slave, but they might sense, too, to their jealous fury, that something less visible and far more profound was involved, that she now, supplicatingly and irremediably, belonged to men. In her belly, smoldering, ready to spring into flames, seldom far from the surface, was the heat of a slave, and of this, perhaps, a brand on her thigh, a collar on her neck, might be understood as little more than institutional tokens hinting at the possibility of a far deeper bondage.

No wonder they hated slaves with such vehemence.

How could they, free women, hope to compete in interest with a slave? A slave, of course, came with no companion dowry, no land, no wealth, no social or mercantile connections, but men, nonetheless, somehow, enjoyed having them at their feet.

“Perhaps,” said Tajima.

“Certainly,” said Pertinax, irritably.

“She is stirring,” I noted. The effect of Tassa powder, on a smaller body, given identities of quantities, and such, is more lasting than on a larger body. Licinius had regained consciousness, in his bonds, something like a half of an Ahn past. Too, of course, I did not know the size of the draught accorded to the slave. She would not have been freed to drink, of course, but, tethered, supine, would have had the spike of the bota thrust between her teeth.

Licinius again fought his bonds.

He was well swathed with straps.

“Lord Nishida will have him crucified,” said Tajima.

“For the sake of the Priest-Kings,” said Licinius, addressing me, “use the sword, swiftly.”

“I fear that is not practical,” said Tajima, “for you are a spy, and traitor.”

“No traitor!” he said.

“You wear the cavalry’s gray, and betrayed it,” said Tajima.

“I am in another’s fee,” he said.

“Whose?” I asked.

“I do not know,” he said. “I was approached in Turmus.”

“You may be tortured before you are crucified,” said Tajima. “Perhaps that will to some extent refresh your memory.”

“He would either die, or lie, to stop the pain,” I said. “Too, I doubt he knows from what purse his gain was taken.”

“I do not know,” said Licinius.

“I believe him,” I said. “Those who bought his services would be discreet in such a matter. A spy, he might be apprehended, and tortured. He can not reveal what he does not know.”

“Use the sword, before they come for me,” begged Licinius. “We are not of the Pani. It is a small favor to ask.