Mariners of Gor

was strangely, inexplicably, stirred. Unaccountable sensations coursed through me. What might it be, I wondered, to be vulnerably, helplessly, legally, subject to such abuse? What might it be, I wondered, to be in a man’s arms, owned by him, to be choiceless, to have no option but to feel and yield. I struggled to put such thoughts from my head, but then I screamed in misery, for the pain had begun.

“I was sobbing wildly, and he placed his hand over my mouth, and I looked up at him, wildly, over his hand, and he removed his hand from my mouth, and said to me, ‘Good evening, slave.’

One of the men looked at me, and said, ‘A good mark.’ I did not even know what mark it was.

I heard the iron immersed in water, and heard the water hiss and boil about the metal.

As I put my head back, sobbing, I felt a cloth measuring tape put about my neck, read, and removed. The Metal Worker then sorted through the encirclements on the projecting spindle, and, a moment later, approached the rack. In another moment, I felt a collar snapped about my neck, and then turned, so that the lock was at the back of my neck. The key was handed to the leader. ‘What time is it?’ he asked. A fellow, glancing at the sand glass, said, ‘A bit past the nineteenth Ahn.’ The leader then said, ‘Take her out back and tie her to a slave post.’

“I was freed of the rack by the two young men, and, each holding an arm, they assisted me, half carrying me, for I could barely walk, back through the shop, and the private quarters, toward a rear entrance, from which one might approach the stable yard of what had been the Inn of Ragnar. As I passed through the kitchen, we passed a sturdy, stocky woman in rags, clearly of a low-caste aspect, doubtless the companion of the Metal Worker. I was afraid of her because of her overt attitude of contempt and hostility, and, as I was considerably slighter than she, I was sure she could easily subdue me, and hurt me, should it please her. ‘Hereafter,’ she said, ‘do not bring an animal through my kitchen.’ As I passed she spat upon me. Behind her was a younger woman, probably her daughter. I think it was she whom I had seen drawing water, earlier. The girl regarded me, curiously. I sensed she might be comparing herself with me, perhaps wondering which of us might bring a higher price in a market.

“Shortly thereafter the two young men brought me to one of several slave posts, thick, sturdy stakes, some four feet high, fixed in the abandoned stable yard behind the closed Inn of Ragnar. I was knelt, my back to the post. My ankles were then crossed and bound behind the post, and fastened to a ring there, and my wrists were crossed and bound, too, behind the post, and fastened to a second ring there. They then withdrew, and I knelt at the post.

“I was helpless and miserable, and in pain, and overcome with the enormity of what had been done with me, and was scarcely able to comprehend the radical transformation which had taken place in my fortunes, from a noble, lofty, exalted, free woman, a legal person, and one of wealth and station, to that of a purchasable object, a vendible beast, an animal, a branded, collared slave, but mostly I was terrified that my identity was suspected, and that I would be returned to Ar, for tortures culminating in the humiliation and agonies of the impaling spear. As Ar might be unable to apprehend Talena, I feared that much of the hatred and rage which would have been levied against the former puppet Ubara might now be visited upon me, not merely as a co-conspirator and abetting traitress, but as one supposedly her dearest friend and colleague, and one certainly, obviously, her highest-placed, best-known, and most-trusted confidante. My affection for the Ubara had, of course, been cunningly feigned, to achieve power and wealth, but this might not be believed, and, even if it were, this pretense might not be seen as redemptive, or counting in my favor. I had, of course, quickly enough, and eagerly enough, agreed that she was to be repudiated, betrayed, and sacrificed for the welfare of our party, that of Seremides and others. Who would not? She was then no longer the key to wealth and power in Ar; indeed, even to have been acknowledged by her, let alone to have been a member of her inner circle, was now a dangerous liability. But this stratagem, to bargain with her for our freedom, even if those of Ar were prepared to bargain, came to naught with her disappearance, her rescue or abduction, from the roof of the Central Cylinder.

“I drew against the cords on my wrists and ankles. I was helpless. I had been tied by men who were obviously no strangers to the tying of slaves. I put my head back, miserably, and felt the metal of the collar rub against the wood. I was collared. My head fell forward, in misery. I was afraid, too, of what I had heard about the twentieth Ahn, which must be nigh. What was to occur then? Clearly it must have to do with me!

“So in the moonlight, in the abandoned stable yard, kneeling, tied to a slave post, I waited.”

From what she had told me it seemed clear that some sort of rendezvous was to take place at the village of Ragnar. Leaving a slave bound and alone, of course, is not that unusual. It may be used as a discipline, of course, but that is seldom the case. More often, it is used simply to impress upon her what she is, that she is a slave, subject to the will of her master. Often she does not know how long she is to be left bound, which muchly impresses upon her her helplessness and her dependence on the will of another, this demonstrating for her her vulnerability and utter subjugation. Perhaps he is supping in an adjoining room, and she must wait until she is recollected, or he has time for her. This may also be used as heating technique. Often they will beg to be unbound, rearing and twisting in their cords, that they may be permitted to please their master.

“I lifted my head,” she said, “and, looking up, I saw the leader, standing there in the darkness, a few feet from me. ‘They should be here soon,’ he said. ‘They?’ I asked. ‘They-Master,’ he said. ‘They,’ I whispered, obediently, looking up, pulling a little at the cords, and sobbed, ‘- Master.’ It was the first time I had truly, appropriately, used that word, not as an ingredient in an imposture, not as an element in a disguise, but in the sense in which it must be truly found on the lips of a slave. ‘Search parties emanating from Ar and leagued cities use many such places as the village of Ragnar, scattered over thousands of pasangs,’ he said, ‘in their endeavors to track and apprehend fugitives. Tarnsmen make wants known at such places, exchange informations, carry intelligences elsewhere, and so on. It was here, earlier today, that we conveyed to an agent of Ar, and he then to his superiors, that we had the Lady Flavia of Ar in custody, and, for a suitable consideration, were prepared to remand her to the proper authorities, here, at the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I cried. ‘Perhaps you are curious,’ he said, ‘as to why you have been marked and collared. There were two reasons. First, it had come to light that some months ago Talena of Ar, herself, being guilty of a violation of the couching laws of Marlenus of Ar, had been secretly enslaved. Amusing then that it was a mere slave who sat upon the throne of Ar, in imperial regalia. Accordingly it was determined then that the Lady Flavia, if apprehended, should be similarly enslaved, that she should not stand higher than the former Ubara. In no way was she to be deemed superior to Talena. Let the two of them then share the same fate, the collar. The second reason is personal. I found you annoying, and thus, in any event, I would have had you brought under the iron.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia,’ I insisted, sobbing. At that point, we heard the hovering beating of a tarn’s wings, and, looking up, I saw a tarn, with tarn basket, preparing to alight in the stable yard. I shut my eyes against the dust. ‘It seems,’ said the leader, ‘it is the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I said. ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ The tarn, controlled by a tarnster from the basket, had alit several yards away, across the yard. In the basket there was the tarnster, and a warrior, and, to my surprise, a woman, a slave. The tarnster remained in the basket; the warrior lifted the woman from the basket and set her in the yard, and then leapt from it to the ground. He remained in the vicinity of the basket, and two of the leader’s men, not the leader, now come through the back of the Metal Worker’s shop, went to join him. At the same time the leader turned about, and, moving measuredly through the darkness, returned to the shop. He would remain indoors, it seemed, waiting for the identification to be confirmed. Perhaps he preferred to come under the purview of Ar as little as possible.

“The slave approached.

“She wore a brief, revealing tunic, cut at the sides, with a disrobing loop. Clearly she had been dressed for the pleasure of men. I was scandalized, but men do with slaves what they please. I surely would never have let my sandal slaves dress so, in a way so exhibiting their beauty, in a way that so blatantly proclaimed their bondage.

“The slave, who seemed marvelously figured, and would doubtless have been of much interest to men, stopped a few feet from me, almost as though startled. Then she seemed to recover herself and approached, and stood before me. I, terribly frightened, put my head down. She took my head in her hands and lifted it, and the moonlight, the clouds separated, fell full upon my face. Tears ran down my cheeks. My head was held still, so that she might examine my face with care.

“‘Please, please,’ I begged. ‘Now, Flavia,’ she whispered, ‘you are no more than I.’ ‘Please,’ I wept. ‘I remember my whipping,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I said. ‘You were very cruel,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I begged. I recalled that when I, in my escape, had been descending the stairs in the cylinder, I had heard her, relieved of her gag, above, seemingly joyfully, gratefully, cry out the word ‘Masters!’ ‘I burned your robes,’ she said, ‘that they might not give your scent to sleen.’ I looked at her, with wonder. ‘Do you remember the drover,’ she asked, ‘at whom I, looking over my shoulder, smiled, and you, in fury, switched me home, and then whipped me?’