“Merely for the integrity and welfare of a pleasant set of curves,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“Such have value,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“They sell well,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“But I thought it possible, as well,” he said, “that the shapely slut might be less innocent, not only that she might be implicated, but that she might be a cognizant villainess, a knowing part of some nefarious scheme. And for such things there are serious consequences, even for a slave.”
“Lord Grendel,” I said, “meant no harm to men, or the world.”
“I did not know that,” he said. “And I learned that he contemplated a mysterious trip to the Voltai.”
“On behalf of a blinded beast,” I said, “that he might succor him, and return him to his fellows.”
“More was involved in the Voltai,” said Desmond of Harfax.
“The blinded Kur knew that,” I said. “Lord Grendel, and the others, did not.”
“It was my intention,” he said, “to join, or somehow follow, this expedition, that I might keep it under surveillance. Accordingly, learning that it was being outfitted and organized by Astrinax, I petitioned service, as a Teamster.”
“You were accepted,” I said.
“It was not difficult,” he said. “Few in Ar were interested in hazarding the perils of the Voltai, particularly in the late summer or fall, and fewer yet when the nature of the expedition, its purpose, its destination, its length, and its time of return, seemed not only obscure, but secret. You may remember that the expedition was still short of guardsmen when it reached Venna.”
“Trachinos and Akesinos were placed in fee,” I said.
“Bandits,” he said, “whose intention was despoliation.”
“You were Teamster for the slave wagon,” I said.
“I permitted Astrinax to know that the curves of a slave were of interest to me,” he said. “He was accommodating.”
“I see,” I said.
“Your ankles,” he said, “which are attractively slender, looked well shackled to the central bar.”
“I was given into your charge by the Lady Bina,” I said.
“That was natural,” he said, “as I was driving the slave wagon.”
“It seems things worked out rather well for you,” I said.
“Quite,” he said. “I was well placed to monitor the expedition and, at the same time, to find myself in the vicinity of a particular slave.”
“Who was placed in your keeping,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“But you never put her to your pleasure,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Honor?” I said.
“Certainly,” he said, “I did not own her. Her keeping was mine, not her use.”
“But you came to understand, I trust,” I said, “that she was not some sort of traitress to a species or world, a cognizant conspirator, a cooperating, malevolent, unscrupulous villainess?”
“That sort of thing would have serious consequences,” he said, “for a free woman, one supposes impalement, and, for a slave, as she is a beast, presumably something like heavy chains and drawing ore carts in the mines.”
“I am pleased that you then understood her to be innocent,” I said.
“In any event,” he said, “I no longer feared that she might be knowingly implicated in some planetary felony, some broadcast treason, some subversive, global malefaction.”
“Good,” I said.
“I found her too simple, too petty, too shallow, too trivial, for such things,” he said. “She would lack the depth, the force, the power, for such calculations, such intrigues, and risks.”
“I see,” I said.
“She was only a meaningless, worthless little barbarian collar slut,” he said. “What conspirators would entrust matters of import to one such as she?”
“Indeed,” I said, annoyed.
“Only a self-centered, simple, shallow, naive little brute,” he said, “a trivial, selfish little beast, of inferior character, who would steal a candy from a sister slave, if it might be done with impunity.”
“You listened to Astrinax,” I said.
“He made clear to me what you were, in that pretty collar,” he said.
“I am different now,” I said.
“How I wanted to take you in my arms,” he said, “and teach you what it was to be a slave!”
“But you did not do so!” I said.
“Can you imagine the torture,” he said, “what it was to be with you, each day, day in and day out, Ahn by Ahn, so close, wanting to get my hands on you, wanting to seize you, and ravish you, again and again, to take your meaningless pettiness in hand, and make it cry out, and moan, and leap spasmodically, helplessly, in my arms, gasping, and begging for more, fearing only that I might, for my amusement, too soon desist in the depredations to which your body was subjected.”
“It was not only you who were tortured,” I said. “You speak of torment! What do you know of torment? What do you know of a woman’s slave fires, once men have kindled them, and forced them to burn? Can you imagine what it is to feel such things, not just in one’s belly, but throughout one’s helpless slave’s body? We cannot seize and command a master! We cannot exceed the length of our chains! We can only beg! And will men be kind to us, or not? It is up to them and not us, for we are slaves! Can you imagine what it was to be naked in a slave wagon, shackled within reach of you? Can you understand what it is to serve a master, to cook for him, to serve him food, to fetch and carry for him, and not be touched? Can you understand what it is for a woman to wear a man’s bonds, and not be exploited at his whim? Can you imagine what it is to be half stripped, and collared, only a slave, readied by an entire society for service and sex, and be ignored? Can you imagine what it is to be clad only in a tunic, or a camisk, as in the Cave, near one to whom you would beg to belong, and not be so much as touched?”
“It seems,” said he, “that we have tortured one another.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“If you are telling the truth,” he said.
“Master?” I said.
“You do not think I trust you, do you?” he asked.
“It would be my hope that a Master might trust his slave,” I said. “Surely she would be punished, if found untrustworthy.”
“And severely,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He looked away, angrily. I could not see his face.
“Slaves are not free women,” he said. “Slaves are meaningless. Why should one care for them?”
“Men are sometimes fond of their possessions,” I said.
I knew that some men, while professing to despise their slaves, scoffing at the very thought that they might find them of interest, would risk their lives for them, even die for them. How precious then must be a mere collar slut, marketable goods, to some men! Who then is slave and who is master? It becomes clear, of course, when the whip is removed from its peg.
One might risk one’s life or die for a free woman because she is free, or because a Home Stone is shared, or because it is expected, or because it is thought to be a duty, or a matter of honor, but why might one risk one’s life for, or die for, a slave?
What could be the reason?
She is no more than her master’s beast. She strives selflessly to serve her master. She is submitted. She is worked. She is owned. She is under discipline. She is dominated, and as a slave is dominated. She strives to be
