“Certainly,” I said. “Why should an exalted literate slave, such as yourself, be put to such puerile endeavors?”
“I suppose you are right,” she said.
“I am literate in my own language,” I said to her, annoyed.
“A barbarian language,” she said.
“True,” I said.
“I am tired,” she said. “Look what I have done.” She pointed to several sheets, each square of which had been filled in. There were several more, beside her. I supposed it was a boring business, or might become so, after a time. On the other hand, I thought I might enjoy it, certainly for a while. I had no objection to its clerical aspect, and it was certainly very different from the tasks I commonly performed.
“Explain it to me,” I said. “Let me help you.”
“These large sheets,” she said, “are each marked off into a hundred squares, ten on a side.”
“That is like a Kaissa board, is it not?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “And on most of the small scraps of paper is a letter, an Al-ka, a Ba-ta, and so on, though on some, for some reason, there is nothing but a meaningless mark. What one is to do is to take a paper from the helmet which bears a letter or the meaningless mark, and transcribe it onto one of the squares on the large sheet. There are also one hundred such scraps. After transcribing the letter or meaningless mark one puts it aside until later. When a large sheet is filled, the last letter or meaningless mark placed in the last square, one replaces the scraps of paper in the helmet, shuffles them about, jumbles them, and then, with a new large sheet, one begins again.”
“How many large sheets are there?” I asked. Chloe had, clearly, filled in several already.
“One hundred,” she said.
“It is clearly a great deal of work,” I said.
“You offered to help,” she said.
“I am happy to do so,” I said, “at least for a time.”
“You do not have to recognize the letters,” she said. “Just transcribe them.”
“I understand,” I said. “What is the point of all this?”
“I do not know,” she said. “As there are a hundred squares and letters, and such, I suppose it is some sort of game.”
“Might it be a form of decoration, or an eccentric oddity for display?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” she said, rising from her low desk and stretching.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I will wander about in the halls,” she said.
“Beware that your thigh is not marked,” I said.
“Why do you think I am going to wander about in the halls?” she asked.
“Oh,” I said.
Chloe went to Nora, knelt before her, lowered her head, and requested permission to leave the slave quarters, which permission received, she exited. I knew that Chloe was not happy that our first girl should be a barbarian. Indeed, I had gathered, from remarks by our Gorean chain sisters in the quarters, that such an appointment was rare. It was their surmise that Nora’s position was intended to affront and demean them, that they should be under the authority of a barbarian. Would this not make their collars more meaningful to them? It is hard to know about such things. I supposed it was also possible that Kurii, subversives, traitors, conspirators, and such, those who might wish to conceal the nature of their activities and plans, might have less to fear from an ignorant barbarian, at a loss in an unfamiliar culture, than a native Gorean. On the other hand, it is my surmise that to the masters, inspecting the available slaves, it had been a simple matter; Nora had been the obvious choice for first girl, the best choice for a girl to intimidate, control, and manage lesser girls.
For better than an Ahn I continued the work which Chloe had relinquished to me. I did not even know the names of the letters I was transcribing. In a sense they were simple designs, or mere marks, to me, though I knew them to be letters, or most of them. Chloe had said that some of these marks, or designs, were meaningless. I did not know for certain which were letters and which were not. If I were familiar with the alphabet I could probably have done the work more quickly, knowing that, say, that was an Al-ka, that a Ba-ta, and so on, and then quickly transcribing them. On the other hand, to me they were mostly marks or designs, and so I was careful to try to reproduce each as carefully as I could. I placed each mark or design in the center of a square, neatly.
“Master!” I heard, a girl’s warning cry.
Instantly we all went to first obeisance position.
“I hoped more would have been done,” said a masculine voice, almost at my side.
“Master!” I said, lifting my head. It was Master Desmond. Then I said, “Chloe is gone. I am doing the work.”
“I will take these,” he said, picking up the sheets which had been finished, Chloe’s and mine.
“I am not authorized to surrender them!” I said.
“What are they?” he asked.
“I do not know,” I said.
Nora called from her knees. “May I inquire the name of Master?” she asked.
“Desmond,” said he, “Desmond of Harfax.”
“You may not carry such things from here, Master,” she said.
“Who has said so?” he asked.
“Pausanias, master of the Wagons,” she said.
“I herewith countermand his order,” said he.
“I fear to report Master,” she said.
“You are first girl?” he asked. Surely he knew that, from the talmit, from the switch on her right wrist.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
He put down the sheets, and strode to her. She cowered back.
“Talmit!” he said.
She reached behind her head and undid the talmit, and handed it to him. He cast it to the floor.
“Camisk off!” he said.
“Master?” she said.
“Now,” he said. Then he said, “Switch.”
He then looked down upon her, as she now was, the switch in his hand.
“Please, no, Master!” she said.
I then saw the proud Nora under the switch. In a moment she was only a cringing, beaten slave, no different from others. He then yanked her to her feet by the hair, and held her head to his right hip, following which he dragged her, stumbling, to the nearest empty cage. There he threw her to all fours and, with his boot, hastened her into the cage, the gate of which, as she turned about, on her knees, he flung shut. She grasped the bars, trembling, tears coursing down her cheeks, looking out.
“Are you a slave girl?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” she said.
“Anything more?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
“Do you want your tongue slit, or removed?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
“Do you intend to interfere further in the matters of masters?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said.
Nora, I was sure, would remain silent.
Desmond of Harfax then returned to my side. He picked up the sheets which had been finished. “Continue your work,” he said. “Make haste.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Do not fear that Pausanias will soon call for the sheets,” he said. “I encountered Chloe in the hall. She will see to it, in the manner of the slave, that Pausanias marks her thigh.”
“Is that not dangerous?” I said.
