I lay down in the cage, on my right side, in the straw, facing the back wall of the warehouse.
How vulnerable we were, as slaves!
But, had we been free women I did not doubt but what we would have been abandoned, left in the house, on the Street of Chance, to perish in the flames.
The marks on our thighs, our collars, had saved us. We had been saved, but as what we were, only that, animals.
“That one,” said a voice, a woman’s voice. I did not place the accent. It did not sound pleasant.
“That one?” asked a man.
“Yes,” said the woman’s voice. “I would see her.”
I felt a stick poke me. “Turn about,” said the man’s voice. “On all fours!”
I turned about, and went to all fours, my head down, frightened. I would have a bruise on my back.
My hopes of obtaining a handsome, rich master, from amongst the clients of the gambling house, had perished, as had the house, in the furious, vengeful fire, set by guardsmen.
No one with money would buy here, I suspected, not in such a place, not in such a market.
I had no doubt I smelled, of the straw, and the dung of tarsks.
Too, it was a woman’s voice.
“Let us see her,” said the woman.
I heard the gate at the end of the long, low cage unfastened. “Out,” said the man. “Stay on all fours.”
I made my way to the end of the cage, and emerged, out, onto the stained, straw-strewn floor.
I kept my head lowered.
“She must be cheap,” said the woman.
“She is, they all are,” said the man. “We had the lot for next to nothing.”
“Twenty tarsks,” said the woman.
“Surely not,” said the man.
“No more,” said the woman.
“She is not bad slave meat,” said the man. “Shall I put her in examination position?”
There are various examination positions, but the most common is to stand the slave with her feet widely spread, and her hands clasped behind the back of her neck, or the back of her head. The spreading of the feet makes movement difficult, and the position of the hands keeps them out of the way as the slave is examined. They shall not interfere, nor will there be an impediment to the buyer’s vision as the slave is considered. This position also lifts the slave’s breasts nicely. Too, the girl is expected to stand erect, her shoulders back, which also accentuates the breasts, and her belly is to be sucked in, this calling attention to the width of her love cradle, the narrowness of a pleasant, trim waist, and the lovely flare of her body, as it rises to the beauty of her bosom. She may be handled rather as the buyer pleases, must open her mouth upon request, that her teeth may be examined, and so on. Sometimes the slave cries out startled, or in misery, for she may be tested for sturdiness of body, for firmness, for responsiveness, and such.
“No,” said the woman.
“Shall I have her on her back or belly, and have her squirm for you?” asked the man.
“No,” said the woman.
I hoped that the woman might be a slave, buying for a master. I turned my head a little, and my heart sank. I saw no bared ankle, perhaps encircled with a locked ring, nor some loops of binding fiber, suitable for binding a girl, but the hem of a robe, a rich, scarlet robe, and glimpsed the toes of small slippers, yellow, beneath that hem.
It was a free woman!
“What do you want her for?” asked the man.
“Work,” said the woman. “Is it true that slaves are lazy?”
I thought that a strange question for a Gorean free woman. Was she a stranger, from some unusual city, away from civilization, unfamiliar with some sorts of animals, ones such as I?
“They had better not be,” said the man. “Too, the switch, the whip, encourages diligence.”
It suddenly occurred to me that the woman, seemingly unfamiliar with such obvious things, might not be Gorean. Certainly I was unfamiliar with the accent. Perhaps she might buy me and free me?
Then I realized how foolish was such a thought.
I was on Gor.
“Twenty tarsks,” said the woman.
“Not enough,” said the man.
“Show me something else, cheaper,” said the woman.
“There is nothing cheaper,” said the man. “She is the cheapest.”
“Twenty,” said the woman.
“Forty,” said the man.
“What was she?” asked the woman.
“A gambling-house girl,” said the man.
“What is that?” asked the woman.
“A serving slave, a display slave, a lure slave, such things,” he said. “They encourage men to drink, to eat, to spend, to wager, to linger at the tables, to draw further cards, to cast the dice just one last time, and such.”
“The gambling,” she said, “is not then done with lives, those of men and animals.”
“Not in any obvious sense,” said the man.
“I see,” she said. And it sounded as though she dismissed the bouts of the spinning wheel, the shaken box, the buying of chances, the drawing of cards. The blood shed in such games is largely unseen, doubtless, but, I fear, it is there.
I did know that men bet on tarn races, which could be dangerous at the rings, sometimes a body broken, a limb lost, a wing torn away, and that some cared for arena sports, sword games. Tharlarion races were regularly held at Venna, and other towns. Sometimes, interestingly, fortunes were wagered on kaissa matches.
“I suppose,” said the woman, “that a gambling-house girl, one purchased for such a work, would be likely to be of interest to men.”
“Very much so,” said the man.
“Good,” said the woman. “Such a slave upon occasion might prove useful.”
I did not understand what she meant.
If she were buying for a brothel, or tavern, it did not seem she would be here, in this market.
“Surely,” said the man. “I could let her go for fifty tarsks.”
“Fifteen,” said the woman.
“Forty-five,” said the man.
“Actually,” said the woman, “I would prefer a barbarian.”
“She is a barbarian!” said the man. “Bring a lamp!” he called.
I was pulled to my knees, and my left arm was seized, and held up. “The barbarian scarring,” said the man, indicating my upper left arm. “Many barbarians are so marked, not all.” Then he put his hand in my hair, and yanked my head up, and back. “Get your mouth open,” he said, “widely, more, more!” I closed my eyes against the light of the lamp, so close to me, held by his fellow. I felt its warmth. My mouth hurt, held so. “See?” said the man.
“I do not understand,” said the woman.
“The teeth,” he said.
“I see,” she said.
“They are in lovely condition,” he said.
“No,” she said, “the two specks, there and there.”
“Of course,” said the man, “many barbarians have such things, not all. It is one way of recognizing the barbarian.”
“What are they?” she asked.
“I do not know,” he said. “Some think they are a decoration, a thing of vanity, like a beauty mark, to call attention by contrast to the exquisite beauty of what is not blemished, others consider them an identificatory device, a subtle one, by means of which a slave may be recognized.”
“She is clearly a slave,” said the woman.
“Obviously,” said the man.
