Mariners of Gor

“Master,” breathed Alcinoe, softly.

“To all fours,” he said to her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

This position can be igniting to a female slave, being so positioned by a master. At the least, they are well reminded, so positioned beside a man, that they are slaves.

No free woman, of course, would be so positioned.

It makes clear that the slave, legally, and otherwise, is an animal, her master’s animal.

“Surely,” I said, “you could detect her intelligence, her sensitivity, her emotional depth, her readiness, her softness, her femininity, her needs, the incipience of her passions?”

“I gathered something of that,” he said.

“Consider,” I said, “such a one, with all her beauty, intelligence, and depth, and how helpless she will be when slave fires burn in her belly!”

“I saw her look upon you,” he said. “I suspect they burn there already.”

“She is perfect,” I said.

“How so?” he asked.

“Consider the studies to which she was drawn, studies of a world much different from her own, a simpler, more natural world.”

“And she a female,” he said.

“What would be the most, on such a world, for which she, an alien female, might hope, and what, on such a world, might be what she truly desired, wanted, and would hope for?”

“As she is a desirable female, and might bring a decent price on a block, that seems clear,” he said.

“She must have understood,” I said, “that she, in all likelihood, if found on such a world, would be captured, and would soon find herself stripped and in the chains of a slave, awaiting her sale.”

“I would think so,” he said.

“Do you think she did not know herself, even on her own world, as suitably a man’s slave?” I said.

“What woman does not, on any world?” he asked.

He looked on Alcinoe, and she, on all fours, put down her head.

“Why then should she be denied, as her own world would deny her, submission to the mastery, ropes on her ankles, her wrists pinioned behind her back in slave bracelets, a collar on her neck, her lips pressed obediently to a master’s whip?”

“I, for one,” he said, “would have no interest in denying her such things, particularly if she would look well at a man’s feet. It is cruel to deny to a woman her nature, and, as well, to a man his.”

“She would be a delicious, perfect slave,” I said. “I want her! I want her, wholly! I want to own her, completely! Let herself then discover herself, and know herself, as that for which nature has designed her, a man’s slave!”

“And if you owned her,” he said, “and she writhed in her chains before you, miserable in the throes of slave fires, and begged for the attentions commonly bestowed on a slave, would you show her mercy?”

“Perhaps,” I said, “if she begged well.”

“I see,” he said.

“Master,” said Alcinoe to the stranger, looking up at him, “I am needy!”

“Kneel,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Bedding is there,” I said, pointing to a side of the room. “And in the locker, at the back, you will find ka-la- na, and food. I am off now to The Sea Sleen!”

“Do not go,” said Callias.

I paused at the door.

“You advise me to wait until morning?” I asked. Surely there was much to be said for such counsel.

“No,” he said.

“You wish me to wait, a bit,” I asked, “and you, armed, would accompany me? I would be grateful, and that is thoughtful, but it is not necessary. Too, I suspect there must be guardsmen about. I will keep to the wider, better-lit streets.”

“No,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“It is too late,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“I stopped by The Sea Sleen, after leaving the warehouse,” he said. “It is there I had supper.”

“So?” I said, apprehensively.

“The slave whom I suppose you mean,” he said, “the slender brunette, who heard the story of the voyage, she of the yellow camisk and belled ankle, is no longer there.”

“No!” I cried.

“I assume she is the one you had in mind,” he said.

“She is no longer there?” I said. “Are you sure? Perhaps she was not on the floor at the time.”

“No,” he said. “She was sold.”

“When?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Recently,” he said.

“Aiii!” I moaned. I sank to my knees beside the door, my head in my hands. My body shook with sobs.

“Master!” breathed Alcinoe, concerned.

“Please,” said Callias, embarrassed.

“Forgive me,” I said.

“It is only a slave,” he said.

“Of what value is this?” I said, looking down at the tiny golden tarsk in my hand.

“Something like a hundred silver tarsks,” said Callias.

With a cry of anger and frustration I cast the golden tarsk to the end of the room.

It was retrieved by Callias.

Alcinoe had not stirred. A slave, commonly, may not touch money without permission.

Callias thoughtfully placed the coin in my purse.

“Thank you,” I said.

“These things are not to be thrown about,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“Forget her,” said Callias.

“No,” I said.

“You can buy another,” said Callias.

“I do not want another,” I said. “All my life I have waited for one such as she.”

“And then,” said Callias, “you found her.”

“In one brought from a far world,” I said.

“A mere barbarian,” he said.

“What is a barbarian,” I asked, “other than one whose native tongue is not Gorean?”

“Oh, much more than that,” said Callias. “One lacking civilization, or derived from some civilization which is unnatural and inferior, perhaps one which is complex, selfish, polluted, crowded, and uncaring, one unfamiliar with suitable customs and proprieties, with codes and castes, with literature, music, and poetry.”

“Gorean literature, music, and poetry,” I said.

“I knew a barbarian once,” said Callias, “who not only lacked a Home Stone, but did not know what a Home Stone was.”

“That is more serious,” I granted him. “I am sure she knows now!”

“But a slave is not permitted one,” he said, “no more than a verr, a tarsk or kaiila.”

“True,” I said.