“No, Master,” she said.
“You,” I said, “have an affinity with the Scribes.”
“Master?” she said.
“I think you are the sort of female who would appeal to a Scribe,” I said.
“I will try to please my master,” she said.
“You were a student, of sorts?” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said, “one spoken of as a graduate student. I was in what is called a university. I was in what is called a department, for in my old world knowledge is often put in departments, its wholeness, doubtless of necessity, being ignored or neglected. My department, in which I studied, was one devoted to classical studies. One attended classes, one heard lectures, one participated in what are called seminars, smaller courses, more informal courses, where students might participate in discussions, commonly held about tables.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“It is a way of doing things,” she said.
“One gathers then, that many might be in such places.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Would there be more than one, or, say, two students, with a teacher?”
“Often several,” she said.
“They do not live together?”
“No,” she said. “They meet at appropriate times and places, according to schedules, beginning when clocks strike or bells ring, and ending when they strike or ring again.”
“As hiring space on a passenger wagon?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” she said.
This account seemed strange to me, but I supposed she had no reason to lie to me. I had spent several years in the household of my teacher, who would accept no pay, because, for our caste, knowledge is priceless. One day he had said to me, “You may leave now,” and I knew then that I was of the Scribes.
“Are there many students at these places?” I asked.
“Sometimes thousands,” she said.
“There are so many,” I asked, “who hunger so for knowledge, and so avidly seek it?”
“Not at all,” she said. “By far the greatest number have little or no interest in learning whatsoever.”
“Why then are they there?” I asked. “What are they doing there?”
“It is expected of them,” she said. “It is something to be done.”
“Why?” I asked.
“One supposes there are many reasons,” she said. “If one does not perform certain actions, enact certain rituals, spend time in certain places, and obtain legal evidence that one has done so, one may be culturally disadvantaged.”
“And what do these actions, these rituals, or such, have to do with learning?”
“In most cases,” she said, “very little, if anything.”
“Might they not just as well do other things for the same amount of time,” I asked, “jump up and down, or sing songs, or such?”
“I had not thought about it,” she said, “but one supposes so.”
“It is a cultural thing?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Is there not some sort of monstrous mistake, or deceit, or fraud, involved in all this?” I asked.
“It is a way of doing things,” she said.
“Is this not a misunderstanding of learning, a disparagement of learning, an insult to learning, a cheapening of learning, a prostitution of learning?” I asked.
“Some care,” she said.
“Even there?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“You were interested in far worlds,” I said, “ancient worlds, ancient to your former world, their culture, their languages, their way of life, their beliefs.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“I approve of that,” I said.
“I am pleased,” she said.
“Who is pleased?” I asked.
“A slave is pleased,” she said.
“Perhaps, someday, you will speak to me, at length, of such things.”
“Surely Master is not interested in my interests, my feelings, my mind?” she said.
“In that question,” I said, “I detect the pathology of your world.”
“Master?”
“A Gorean,” I said, “wants all of a slave, and owns all of a slave.”
She looked at me, startled.
“All of her is in his collar,” I said.
“A slave is pleased,” she said, “that a master would lock his collar on the whole of her.”
“Few men would want less,” I said.
“I did not gather that,” she said, “from the alcove.”
“You did not have a private master,” I said.
“No, Master,” she said.
“As a student, a graduate student, or such, on Earth,” I said, “I would suppose you did not anticipate that you would one day be on Gor, kneeling naked before a man, his slave.”
“No, Master,” she said, “but in secret moments I dreamed of such things.”
“Did you know of Gor?” I asked.
“I thought it only in books,” she said.
“What do you think now?” I asked.
“I have felt the thongs of a Gorean master on my limbs,” she said, “I have been collared, I have served on the floor of a Gorean tavern, I have striven in the alcove to be found pleasing by my master’s customers, I am no longer of the opinion that Gor exists only in books.”
“You are very pretty,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Of your fellow female graduate students,” I said, “I wonder if you were the only one found worthy to be put in a Gorean collar.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “I do not know.”
“So,” I said, “you were a student, a graduate student?”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Spread your knees more widely,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“You obey promptly,” I observed.
“I hope to please my master,” she said.
“What do you think of dancing naked?” I asked.
“I would have to obey my master,” she said.
“But what do you think of it?” I asked.
“I would hope to please my master,” she said.
“Do you know how to play the kalika?” I asked.
“No, Master.”
“You do not know slave dance, I take it,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“You may be taught such things,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Slave dance,” I said, “is very attractive in a woman.”
