feel the weight of the coffle chain on both the front and back ring of the coffle collar. It was the only collar I now wore. When I had been aligned in the house, awaiting my chaining, I had been hooded. Therefore I was not only ignorant of the number of girls in the coffle, but of the construction of the coffle, as well. Sometimes the most beautiful girl is first on the coffle, sometimes last. Sometimes the coffle is arranged merely in order of height, the tallest girl then placed first.
Interestingly, as I was hooded, I was very little self-conscious in this march. Had I not been hooded I would have been terribly, miserably, self-conscious. Naked slaves are sometimes seen in the streets but that is usually only the case with a new girl or one being punished. Clothing, of course, is at the discretion of the master, whether or not it is to be permitted, and, if so, its nature, whether say, a modest tunic, or a camisk, or slave strip. A new girl, sent into the streets naked, is well apprised of her bondage, and may soon be depended upon to be at her master’s feet, zealous to improve her performance and service a thousandfold, that she may be granted a garment, some garment, even the brief, disgraceful tunic of a slave, perhaps hitherto scorned. We are, as it is said, not permitted modesty, no more than a she-sleen or she-tarsk, but we will do much for a garment, however scanty. So much we are in the power of our masters! As I could not see, interestingly, I was concerned very little that I might be seen. Too, I was with others, as bared and helpless as I. In the hood, and with others, I had a sense of anonymity.
By now, I was sure we had been in the streets for at least twenty Ehn. Even coffled we must have been marched for better than a pasang. We had, so far, as far as I could tell, attracted no particular attention. I gathered then that such sights, a coffle of nude slaves, were not uncommon in the streets. Not uncommon, too, might be a line of roped verr, a string of tethered kaiila, or such. Our house was on the Street of Brands but, as I was given to understand, this is more a reference to a district or a part of a district than an actual street. To be sure, apparently several slave houses were in the same vicinity. One also heard of a Street of Coins, of which a similar observation would seem warranted. This, too, seemed to refer more to a particular district, than a particular street, one in which several money houses were to be found. In passing, I will note something of interest, at least to a barbarian. On your world pieces of paper, even with impressive printing on them, are seldom accepted in exchange for actual goods. The Gorean thinks generally in terms of metal, copper, silver, and gold, something obdurate and solid, which can be handled, split, quartered, shaved, and weighed, or else in terms of actual goods. It would be dangerous to try to buy a sleen or slave, or a sul or larma, from a Gorean for no more than a piece of paper. On the other hand, notes are exchanged amongst various coin houses, or banking houses, without difficulty. Sometimes the wealth of a city has been transferred from Jad to Ar, or Ar to Jad, in the form of a piece of paper, sewn into the lining of a robe. In such a way wealth can be exchanged, even back and forth, without a tarsk-bit changing hands.
We continued our march.
We did not know our destination, or destinations. Would you explain such things to sleen or kaiila?
I did note that the footing was now less smooth, less polished, more irregular. Too, more than once I felt dampness, or grime. In this part of the city, wherever it was, it seemed the shopkeepers, or residents, were less scrupulous in their housekeeping. It is understood that the streets in a Gorean city, local bridges, and such, are the responsibility of those in the neighborhood, not of the city or state. The responsibilities of the city and state tend to be limited, mostly to protection, civil and municipal, and arbitration. Whereas a city will often have a coinage, so, too, may private citizens. For example, the golden tarn disk of the banker Publius may be more valuable than that of Ar itself, or, at least, that of the Ar of the occupation, when someone named Talena graced the throne of Ar. Charity, care of the simple, the needy, and such, is handled privately, usually by clan lines, or caste councils. As the city or state is managed by men, and is armed, it is feared. Goreans prefer to be governed as little as possible. The city or state, on the other hand, which has properties, farms, and such, as well as it support from taxes, often supports public festivals, concerts, performances, and contests, competitions, for example, of strength, speed of foot, archery, javelin casting, riding, singing, drama, poetry, dancing, and such.
I occasionally heard men and women about. Conversation. Some bargaining. One fellow was hawking tastas, which is a confection, mounted on a stick. Sometimes female slaves are referred to as tastas.
I could hear the chain on its rings as we moved.
I felt myself prodded by a switch.
In many respects I did not know where I was, not only the district in which I might be, but even the city. I was sure, from the size of the house in which I had been trained, the city was large, at least by Gorean standards. It would take a large city with a substantial commerce to support a house so complex and impressive. I would learn it was Ar. Even were I familiar with the city, which I was not, I would have been thoroughly disoriented given the hood and the many twists and turns of the narrow streets. I was sure, of course, from my secret reading, that I was on Gor. I was still shaken by the comprehension that such a world actually existed. On it I found myself hooded, naked, and coffled, a slave. How could such a world exist and not be known, or, I thought, is it known? Perhaps it is known, but as a guarded secret, official or governmental, to be kept from the general public? Is it the will of the Priest-Kings, the alleged lords of this world, I wondered, that the existence of their world be known or not? Were the Gorean manuscripts intended to be hints of Gor, allusions to that world, a modality by means of which possibly alarming facts, facts for which a general population might not be ready, might be concealed under the veil of fiction? Or were such manuscripts somehow dangerously smuggled to Earth, against the will of, and without the consent of, Priest-Kings? I supposed, on balance, the existence of such manuscripts did not concern entities as mighty and mysterious as the supposed Priest-Kings. Doubtless they knew of them, but thought little of them one way or another. What difference might such thing make to them, the remote and disengaged gods of a world? But I now, at least, was in no doubt as to the reality of Gor. I felt it beneath my bared feet. I twisted my head a bit inside the hood I wore. I could not see. I was helpless. I jerked a little at the bracelets which held my hands behind my back. I, once Allison Ashton-Baker, once a member of a prestigious, wealthy sorority at an exclusive educational institution on the planet Earth, once a scion of the envied upper classes on my world, was helpless, and on Gor, a manacled, hooded, coffled slave!
“Oh!” I cried, suddenly pelted with gravel.
“Kajirae, kajirae!” I heard, a sing-song, mocking chanting of children. “Kajirae, kajirae!” Small stones, stinging, one after another, apparently from almost at my elbow, were hurled against me, and, from the disturbance in the coffle, the rattle of chain, and cries of surprise and pain, I knew I was not the only victim of this petty aggression. “Kajirae, kajirae!” they mocked, running beside us, now on each side. I cried out with pain, struck by a supple, barkless branch, a child’s makeshift switch. I heard the sound of such implements strike elsewhere, as well. “Please, no, Masters!” cried out more than one member of the coffle. They had addressed the word ‘Masters’ to children! Then I realized the children were doubtless free persons. “Please be kind, please be kind, Masters!” I wept, stung twice again. “Be off with you,” said one of the guards to our young assailants. “If you would beat a slave, buy your own!” There was laughter, from adults about. We tried to hurry, stumbling on. “Do not gaze upon such worthless, disgusting things!” I heard a woman’s voice say, perhaps admonishing a daughter, a child, one paused to look upon the coffle. Then we were beyond the children.
We continued on.
My body still stung.
The coffle was stopped, twice, before discharging one or more of its occupants, once when, apparently, a line of wagons was passing near us. They were probably produce wagons. We were pressed to the side, against a wall to our left. Some such wagons are driven by teamsters, others are conducted by small boys, with sticks. In the better part of the city such wagons move only at night, when they are less obstructive of traffic. I heard the creaking of wheels, their sound on the stones, and some grunting, and snorting, apparently of large beasts. These were draft tharlarion as I now realize, but I had not, at the time, seen such animals. Most Gorean streets are narrow, winding, and crooked. The boulevards, on the other hand, are spacious and straight, often with plantings. Many Gorean streets have no names, really, other than, say, the street of the “smithy of Marcus,” the alley “where Decius the cobbler has his shop,” and so on. The streets are familiar, of course, to those who live in their vicinity. Others may inquire their way, or fee a guide. The second time we were stopped we were ordered to the side, and ordered to kneel, our heads to the stones. The palanquin of a free woman was passing. It stopped. Perhaps the free woman had parted the curtains of the palanquin for a moment, to regard us. The palanquin then moved on.
“Up, beasts,” we heard.
We struggled to our feet.
We continued on, for another twenty Ehn, or so.
In what district of the city might we be?
