expense, rebuffing them when your sport was done.”
“Were we all so different,” I asked, “even Mistress?”
“You were pretty,” she said, “but petty, too, and empty, shallow, a nothing, a sly, selfish, cunning, opportunistic, calculating, vain, egotistical, little chit. And how popular you were with the boys, and, oh yes, how aware of it you were! How many envied you!”
“Surely as many, or more, envied you,” I said.
“What a match, with such delightful charms, might you not have garnered for yourself.”
“I had few repeat dates,” I said, “of the sort I wished.”
“A serious male,” she said, “soon saw through your shallowness and hypocrisy. At best you might be of some transient interest at a slave ring.”
“Perhaps I am different now!” I said.
“You are,” she said, “you are now, as you should be, branded, and collared.”
“What of you?” I demanded.
“You dared to think of yourself as my equal, my rival,” she said.
“Was I not,” I asked, “and one or two of the others?”
“You were never my equal,” she said. “I was always, by far, your superior.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. I supposed it was true.
“How I hated you, how I despised you!” she said.
I put my head down.
“And now,” she said, “it is pleasant to see you again, and as you should be, and are, kajira.”
“A slave notes,” I said, looking up, “that Mistress is camisked, and collared.”
“Do you think you are clever?” she asked.
“Mistress knows I am intelligent,” I said, “just as I know that Mistress is intelligent.”
“I wonder what Mrs. Rawlinson saw in you,” she said.
“Doubtless the same that she saw in you, and the others,” I said, “that we might do, as slaves.”
“What do you know of Mrs. Rawlinson?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Doubtless she is on our former world, going about her work, abetting slavers, locating and assessing other girls such as we for the chains of Gor.”
“Some of us wear the talmit,” she said.
“I know one,” I said.
“I trust you have been red-silked,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “White-silk slaves are rare on Gor.”
“I would have enjoyed seeing you in the hands of a man,” she said.
“It is possible I might not appear that much different from Mistress,” I said, “were she in the hands of a man.”
“Beware,” she said.
“Perhaps Mistress has been red-silked, as well,” I said.
She slashed down with the switch, striking my left shoulder.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I begged.
“Now I have you amongst my girls!” she said.
“Please be merciful, Mistress,” I begged.
“Who would have dreamed of this, pretty Allison,” she said.
“Please be kind, Mistress,” I said.
She then cried out in rage, and a storm of blows fell upon me, and I went, gasping and sobbing, to all fours, and then to my belly, trying to cover my head, and then, struck repeatedly, I was twisting on the floor, back to belly, then belly to back, and then to belly, again, and then the blows stopped, and I was on my belly, trembling, my hands beside my head, my body a raging tissue of fire.
“Who is Mistress, and who is slave!” she demanded.
“Mistress is Mistress, and I am slave!” I wept. My insolence, my forwardness, my boldness, was at an end. I was then only a beaten slave, cringing before her Mistress, fearing to be further punished.
This was Gor, and I was kajira.
“You are going to be well worked,” said Nora, “and often in shackles. You will know the heaviest of labors and the lowest and most repulsive of chores. If you are in any way lax or deficient you will be whipped, as you deserve.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I sobbed, almost a whisper. I was scarcely able to speak.
“And recall,” she said, “that you exist for men!”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Do you understand what that means?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“And if I hear of the least dissatisfaction,” she said, “it will mean the whip. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Now,” said she, “kajira, to all fours, and crawl to the slave quarters, through that door. The last cage on the left is yours. Enter it, and draw shut the gate. It will lock automatically.”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“Hurry,” she said. “Hurry! Faster! Faster!”
“Yes, Mistress!” I wept.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Have you not finished yet?” asked Chloe.
“Do not tell the Mistress,” I begged.
“Only if she asks,” said Chloe. “I do not wish to be lashed.”
Chloe bit into a larma, and the juice ran down her chin. “Where is your camisk?” she asked.
“In the slave quarters,” I said. “It is not to be soiled.”
“You had best hope that no men traverse here,” she said. She took another bite of the larma, and sucked the juice into her mouth. “Why are you shackled?” she asked.
“It pleased the Mistress,” I said.
“She is Mistress to us,” said Chloe, “but she is slave to the men. She is as much in a camisk and collar as the rest of us.”
Chloe then went her way.
It pleased me to think of the proud Nora on her knees, her lips pressed to the feet of men.
I was on my hands and knees, and I dipped the heavy, thick-bristled brush into the soapy water again. The strokes are to be firm, and circular. Later one rinses with rags and clear water. As I moved, I heard the chain linking my ankles move on the wood.
Nora would usually give me my assignments in the morning, as I knelt before her, specifying the times they should begin and the times within which they were to be completed. This was usually done in such a way that I could not complete the task in the allotted time. I would then be punished. Usually the punishment was not as serious as a lashing, though I had been bound and lashed twice. More often I was given a harsh scolding before the other girls, concluded with a stroke or two of the switch. The point of this was more to demean and humiliate me before my sister slaves than really hurt me. Indeed, Nora would have been treading a thin and dangerous line if she were to diminish my value. Often my punishment would consist of nothing more than being ordered to enter my small cage well before locking time, or being denied a meal. One expects a first girl to have her favorites, and those she least favors, but, I think, it was clear to all that for some reason I was very much in our first girl’s disfavor, and indeed, unusually so. I suppose most of the other girls thought me indolent or lax, or my work slovenly, but Jane and Eve, at least, realized that this hostility had nothing to do with those matters for which I was commonly castigated, but was of long standing, dating back, even, to a distant venue, one on another world. As long ago as my former world, I had sensed myself a slave, and this intuition or comprehension had been explicitly and
