Mariners of Gor

though I might have been a loose verr.”

“Or tarsk,” I suggested.

“I made my way through crowds,” she said. “There was only one untoward incident. Most unpleasant! Only a hundred yards from the walls, I was accosted by a large female slave. ‘High slave!’ she sneered. ‘Give me your sandals!’”

“You wore sandals?” I said.

“Of course,” she said.

I nodded. It was not that unusual for a favored slave, a high slave, a spoiled slave, or such, to be granted sandals.

Most masters, subject, of course, to conditions of weather and terrain, keep their girls barefoot. This is because they like to see the feet of slaves bare, as they like, generally, bareness in slaves. Too, the feet of slaves are often attractive, small, and pretty. Too, of course, being barefoot helps the slaves to keep in mind that they are slaves. The barefootedness of the slave also tends to draw a further distinction between her and the free woman, for the free woman, even of low caste, almost always has footwear of one sort or another, even if it is only a wrapping of cloth. Too, who would put sandals, slippers, or such, on verr, tarsks, kaiila, or such?

“Did your girls have sandals?” I asked.

“Certainly not,” she said.

I raised the broth, again, to my lips, surveying her over its brim. She seemed uneasy, my eyes upon her.

“Master?” she said.

She seemed uncertain, as to whether she might continue to speak. I found that encouraging. She was not sure of herself before me. That was appropriate. It seemed clear she wished to speak, but was reluctant to ask permission to do so, for what that might signify, not so much to me, as to her.

I put the bowl to the floor, beside me, with its residue of fluid.

“Master?” she said, again.

I suspected it had been long since anyone had listened to her, long since her hunger, that of a woman, to be heard had been satisfied. To be denied speech is a torment for them. Indeed, the control of their speech, as that of their food, and garmenture, muchly impresses on them what they are. It leaves them in little doubt that they are in a collar. They want so much to speak! I think that we should indulge them in this. Certainly it is another pleasure, that of listening, derivable from them. So put one such as she, a highly intelligent, articulate, aware, sensitive, literate woman, such as obviously belongs in the collar, before you, and listen to her, and with care. She is, of course, to be naked and kneeling, with her hands braceleted or thonged behind her. There is, I assure you, a special flavor or ambiance to such a conversation. Afterwards, when one wishes, one terminates the conversation, and does with her what one wishes.

“Continue,” I said.

“This monstrous female,” she said, eagerly, gratefully, “perhaps a discipline slave in a pleasure garden, used to keep smaller, more beautiful females in line, or a female draft slave, or a laundress, at best, said, ‘Give me your sandals!’ ‘Never,’ cried I, ‘slave!’ ‘Slave?’ she said. ‘Get out of my way,’ I cried, ‘slave, or I will have the flesh lashed off your large, ugly bones!’ She looked at me, suddenly, warily. ‘Is Mistress free?’ she asked. ‘No,’ I said, ‘of course not. I am only a poor slave, as yourself.’ ‘Truly?’ she said. ‘Certainly,’ I said, ‘you can see I am tunicked and collared. Now let me pass!’ ‘You high slaves,’ she said, ‘think you are better than the rest of us!’ ‘We are superior,’ I informed her. Was that not obvious? ‘But we all lick the feet of men!’ she said. ‘Get out of my way!’ I demanded. ‘Your sandals!’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘No!’ I said. After all, how could I walk without them? ‘You would deny me,’ she asked, ‘you bauble, you small, well-turned, meaningless morsel of collar meat, you plaything, you caressable little she-urt!’ And then she leaped at me and seized me by the hair, and twisted her hands within it, and shook my head, and I screamed with misery, blind with pain. Then she forced me down to my knees, I, actually a free woman, and, without relinquishing her hold on my hair, still hurting me, terribly, went behind me, and jerked my head up. ‘I am going to tear the tunic off your little man-pleasing body!’ she snarled. ‘Please, no, Mistress!’ I cried, terrified, in pain, for in my flank there was no iron burn. Lacking that I feared the impaling spear was imminent. ‘Mistress, mistress, please, no!’ I wept. I was then thrown forward, to my stomach, and, simultaneously, thankfully, she released my hair. I dared not move. I felt my sandals stripped off. When I dared I turned to my side, and looked up, fearfully, and saw her, through tears, standing almost over me. She dangled the sandals from her hand, looked at me, and laughed. She was so large, and strong. I could not have begun to match strength, nor try force, with her. No longer did men, and society, stand behind me. She disappeared in the crowd, and I rose, painfully, to my feet. I pulled down the tunic, for it had come high on my thighs. ‘Pretty kajira,’ laughed a fellow, passing, and made a noise which frightened me. I must remember that I was in a collar! I shuddered, and drew down the tunic even more. My feet were now bare. How strange it seemed for my feet to be bare, to feel grit beneath them, sand, a pebble, the smoothness of street stones. I did not know if I could walk. Could I do more than hobble, painfully? And might this not attract attention, as, say, a crippled kaiila might attract the attention of tawny prairie sleen? Might it suggest that I might be an unshod free woman? But none about seemed to notice me, other, of course, than as a slave might be noticed. More than once I found myself, a free woman, under the appraising glances of men. How slaves are looked upon! I dared not confront them. I dared not reprimand them. I dared not object. I realized, to my astonishment, that despite my remarkable beauty, that of a free woman, I was being seen, and without a second thought, as no more than another slave, perhaps only another ‘pretty kajira.’ This angered me, but at least my disguise was effective.

“I was in the vicinity of the ruins of the walls when I had been halted, abused, and robbed. This was a place of most danger for men patrolled the perimeter of the city, to prevent the flight of those whom the risen, vengeful citizens sought. I thought of trying to hide until darkness, but where would I hide? There was a collar on my neck. And buildings were being searched, room to room. And I feared the perimeter would be illuminated at night, not only by the moons, for two would be full, but by torches and kindled fires. Then, too, I had a sudden, fearsome thought. What if my robes, which I had thrust beneath the covers of my couch, were found, and understood. I had had no time to dispose of them. Even now, perhaps, their scent taken, eager sleen might be straining on their leashes, eyes blazing, salivating in anticipation, their fangs wet, their claws scratching on the stones, pulling their way toward me. And I had no men to protect me! I was as vulnerable as what I was pretending to be, a female slave!”

“Yet you are here,” I said, “wherever this may be.”

“We are both prisoners,” she said.

“I am a prisoner,” I said. “You are something other than a prisoner.”

“Do not so think of me,” she said.

I said nothing.

“Perhaps we can be of assistance to one another,” she said.

“You speak as though you might be a free woman,” I said.

She regarded me, frightened. I did not give her the “thigh” or “brand” command, but I had little doubt she was now marked. In response to such a command those such as she must kneel on the right knee and extend the left leg gracefully, bared to the hip. The most common marking site on such as she is high on the left thigh, under the hip.

One does not bargain with such as she of course, nor are they permitted to bargain. The very suggestion of such a thing can be cause for discipline. One would not bargain with a verr, kaiila, a tarsk, or such.

“How did you escape from Ar?” I asked.

“I resolved upon, and put into immediate execution, a bold plan,” she said. “I walked, as I could, openly, purposefully, to the nearest fellow at the perimeter, one who seemed to be first amongst his fellows. I knelt before him, shamed to do so, but such comported with my deception. ‘Master,’ I said. ‘I and other sandal slaves of the hated Lady Flavia of Ar, traitress to the Home Stone of Ar, have been sent to the perimeter, that we might identify our former mistress, should she attempt to elude the justice of Ar.’ ‘What is wrong with your feet?’ he asked. ‘My feet are sore,’ I told him. ‘I am not used to being barefoot. My sandals were stolen.’ ‘What is your name?’ he asked. ‘Publia,’ I said, adding, ‘if it pleases Master.’ ‘To whom do you belong?’ he asked. ‘To the state of Ar,’ I told him. ‘You are pretty for a sandal slave,’ he said. I did not know what to say. My own sandal slaves were lovely. Certainly I had seen men admire them in the markets, and on the boulevards. Then he added, ‘You have been complimented.’ ‘Thank you, Master,’ I said. ‘Split your knees,’ he said. ‘Master?’ I said. ‘You are before a man,’ he said, ‘split your