Mariners of Gor

“Of course,” she said, angrily.

“You had compromised the honor of Marlenus,” I said. “Accordingly you were disowned, made no longer his daughter. An embarrassment to the city, you were sequestered in the Central Cylinder. It is easy to understand your outrage, your bitterness, at such a reduction. Then something happened to Marlenus. He was long from the city. In his absence, with which you or others may have had something to do, you plotted with dissident factions and the island ubarates; you laid your plans carefully, and put them into patient and subtle execution; and then, eventually, by means of enemies without and treachery within, your schemes bore their ugly, dark fruit. You received the medallion. You were declared Ubara. The rest is well-known.”

She was silent.

“So,” I said, “you were adjudged inferior to a barbarian named El-in-or.”

“By Rask of Treve!” she said.

“To be sure,” I said.

“What does he know?” she said.

“What, indeed?” I said.

“He is only one man!”

“True,” I said.

“I am the most beautiful woman on all Gor!” she said.

“Perhaps your slaves, and courtiers, told you that,” I said.

“Certainly,” she said.

“And you believed it?”

“Am I not the most beautiful woman you have ever seen?” she said.

“No,” I said, “but you are quite beautiful. In a normal market, you might bring three, perhaps four, silver tarsks.”

“Others might bring more?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “What I think you should understand, is that a woman might be the most beautiful woman in the world to one fellow, and not to another. A woman who is incomparably beautiful to one fellow might not be taken as a free pot girl by another. Perhaps the first fellow senses in her something the others have missed. There are mysteries in these matters. And often a fellow wants not the most beautiful woman, anyway, but the most desirable, the one he wants most, which is not necessarily the same thing. Who knows why one fellow wants one woman in his collar and not another?”

“You will keep my secret,” she said.

“For the time being, certainly,” I said.

“Do others know I am here?” she said.

“Doubtless some of the high Pani,” I said, “or you would not be here, at all.”

“Of what value am I to them,” she said, “that I would be here?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Are there others?” she asked.

“I know of one woman,” I said.

“What woman?” she said, frightened.

“You might be surprised,” I said. “Perhaps I shall introduce you later.”

“And others?” she said.

“Possibly,” I said. “I do not know.”

“I am afraid,” she said.

“Seremides is here,” I said.

“No!” she wept. “He had me bound at his feet, in the rag of a slave, to bargain with me in Ar!”

“He does not know you are here,” I said, “though he may suspect it.”

“Keep him from me!” she begged. “Do not let him know I am here!”

“He need only look into your kennel,” I said.

“‘Kennel’?” she said.

“Surely you know you occupy a slave kennel,” I said.

“I am helpless,” she moaned.

“At least,” I said, “the Pani have given you a rather ample tunic.”

“It is clearly the garment of a slave,” she said.

“Perhaps it will protect you from the Pani free women,” I said.

“They look upon me as though I were a beast,” she said.

“That is all you are,” I said.

She shook the bars.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Very!” she said.

“Master?” I said.

“Very, Master,” she said.

I took a small cake from my pouch, and she eagerly reached for it, but I drew it back. I gathered she was indeed hungry.

“Hands on the bars,” I said, “face forward, open your mouth.”

She complied, and I fed her by hand. Slaves may be fed that way. Sometimes they are knelt and their hands bound behind them. Sometimes they must take food and water from pans on the floor, without the use of their hands. Such homely practices are useful in reminding them that they are slaves.

It pleased me that the former Talena, of Ar, the former Ubara of Ar, was now before me, a kenneled slave. It pleased me that she had kissed and licked my hand, first the palm, and then the back, reverently. That is a common conciliatory act on the part of a slave, to lick and kiss, reverently, the hand by which she might be cuffed, first the palm, and then the back. In this way she might express her fear that she might be, and her hope that she will not be, struck. Commonly, however, this serves as a simple, lovely act of deference, by means of which the slave acknowledges that she is her master’s beast, his owned, domestic animal. A similar act, perhaps more clearly symbolic, is involved when the slave, kneeling, licks and kisses the master’s whip, held to her lips. Sometimes she must bring it to him in her teeth, on all fours, and then, on all fours, or kneeling, lick and kiss it, as it is held to her lips. In this way she acknowledges that she is subject to him, that she is his slave, his property. It pleased me, too, of course, that the former Ubara had fed from my hand. The hand-feeding of a slave, she not permitted the use of her hands, is, too, an act rich in symbolism. In this way it is signified that the slave is wholly dependent on the master, even for her food, and that it will be granted to her, if it is, only when, and as, he pleases. Domestic beasts, of course, are often fed by hand.

“Master well knows how to teach a girl her collar,” she said.

“I know of someone whom you might be interested in meeting,” I said.

“Not Seremides!” she said.

“No,” I said, “a woman.”

“Does she know me?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And she is here?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I will introduce you,” I said. “I think you will be surprised.”

“Who is she?” she said.

“An old friend,” I said.

“Who,” she said, “who?”

I then turned away, leaving the slave, Adraste, in the kennel.

“Slave! Slave!” had said Alcinoe.

“Slave, slave!” had cried Adraste.

“Is this any way for old friends to greet one another?” I asked.

“How is it that you are here?” asked Alcinoe.