was foolish! I am sorry! I will obey, unquestioningly instantly. I am a slave. I beg for the privilege of serving masters and mistresses to the best of my ability!”
“I see you have felt the whip,” said the beast.
“Yes, Master,” I said, “in the house of Tenalion of Ar!”
I had no wish for that experience to be repeated.
Soon the Lady Bina had returned.
“Please do not whip me, Master!” I said.
“But you have not been pleasing,” he said.
I was then whipped.
When I was released from the ring I fell to the floor, on my belly, my hands still bound.
“Have you anything to say, Allison?” inquired the beast.
“Yes, Master,” I wept. “I am on my belly. I beg for the privilege of serving masters and mistresses, unquestioningly, instantly, as they might please, in whatever manner they might please.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said, recalling my training. “I thank Master for my whipping. I hope that it has improved me.”
“Has it?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Go downstairs,” said Grendel to the Lady Bina. “Return the whip. But buy one. We should have one here.”
She left.
“You will not need a whip, Master,” I said.
“That is for me to say,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
I later learned that the beast had indeed learned how to treat slaves, and that he had learned this on another world, a steel world, the former world of Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One.
He was, of course, a beast, only a beast. I wondered what it might be to have a human master. That I thought might be even more frightening, for the human would be of one’s own kind, selected for according to the radical, dimorphic relationships of master and slave over countless generations, one well aware of, and sensitive to, the psychology, the needs, the fears, the vulnerabilities, the tricks, the wiles, the vanities, the pettinesses, the weaknesses, the helplessnesses of his natural prey and possession, the female slave.
How terrifying, I thought, it would be to belong to a Gorean male, a natural male, one by whom one would be uncompromisingly exploited and mastered, as, of course, in one’s secret heart, one would wish to be.
I thought of the Metal Worker, in the Sul Market. How arrogant and hateful he was! How I loathed him!
My wrists were freed by the beast.
“What are you going to do now, Allison?” he asked.
“Prepare supper, Master,” I said.
I made my way toward the tower of Six Bridges.
I was wary, as I did not wish my laundry to be soiled.
There was a reason for my fear.
All this was before the incident of the blind Kur.
I had had no idea, of course, when I and my sisters were transported to Gor where we would be sold. I was delivered to the house of Tenalion of Ar. Had others been, as well? I did not know. The house was large. And in a city the size of Ar there are many slave houses, many markets. The most famous is the Curulean. And, of course, there are hundreds of cities, mostly small, even in known Gor, and each would presumably have its emporium for collar-girls.
Still, upon reflection, though one supposes the catch from the sorority, the harvested items in that particular “slaver’s basket,” so to speak, would be distributed about, it is also plausible, upon reflection, that it might be more convenient to the masters, from the point of view of transportation, that several, if not all, might be disposed of in one location, or a limited number of such locations. From such a location, or locations, they might then be distributed variously. In this way, the wholesaler, so to speak, need not march coffles about, bundle his beasts into closed slave wagons, ankles chained to the central bar, ship them bound hand and foot in tarn baskets, and so on. Such things may be done by retailers.
I had hopes, of course, at least at first, that I might meet some of my sisters in Ar.
Surely that was a possibility.
Ar is large, but the number of laundry troughs, with their flowing water, is limited. So, too, is the number of wells and fountains, where water may be drawn. Kajirae, as is well known, though I think we are no different in this from many of our sex, delight to chat, gossip, observe, speculate, exchange views, recount anecdotes, waft rumors about, and so on. And the foremost gathering places for this sort of thing, for kajirae, at any rate, as they are not allowed in the baths unless they are bath girls, are the laundering troughs, those to which they are permitted access.
In any event, I had hoped, at least at first, that I might, at the troughs, or fountains, or in the markets, or on the street, encounter some of those I knew from the sorority, but I had not done so.
Then later it seemed to me that it was just as well, and perhaps better, that we not encounter one another again.
I assumed they would not have been freed. They were comely, and it is said that only a fool frees a slave girl.
How could I bear that they might look upon me now, in my shame and degradation, now no more than a barefoot, tunicked, collared slave? And what of them? How could I bear to look upon my former sisters, shamefully garbed, their necks clasped in the circlet of bondage?
Yet I knew I would be thrilled to see them so, owned, but, too, so free, so natural, so alive, so basically and radically female.
But how could I bear to have them see me, as a slave?
It was no dog collar now buckled, and locked, about my neck, as at the party, but, on my neck, now, a true slave collar, marking me as what I now was, a true slave.
Yet somehow, though I scarcely dared admit it to myself, I had never felt so healthy, so alive, so excited, so meaningful, so female, as here. I suppose this had something to do with the air of Gor, and the food, fresh, wholesome, tasty, and uncontaminated. But even more, I thought, it had to do with the culture, and the ethos, in which I found myself. These were so natural, so open, so innocent, so honest, so real. Here I could be what I always sensed I was. Here it seemed I had found myself. I found I loved what I was. And there was no doubt about what I was, no confusion, no uncertainty, no ambiguity. I was slave. Here, in a collar, I felt myself a thousand times more free than I had on my own world. Forgive me, Mistresses, if you are reading this, but it is true. I must speak the truth, for I wear a collar.
Whereas the Lady Bina was extremely intelligent, she was not always well informed, nor always realistic, and, I fear, she was not always wise.
She thought very highly of herself, and justifiably.
But she knew very little of Gor, or, I suppose, of any other complex human world.
From what sort of world, I had often wondered, had she been derived.
She was certainly well aware that she was unusually beautiful.
Indeed, she seemed to believe that she might well be the most beautiful woman on Gor.
For all I knew she might be, but, too, I had little doubt that there were thousands of other quite beautiful women who entertained the same suspicion, if not conviction. It was rumored that the former Ubara, Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus, the current Ubar of Ar, until disowned, might have regarded herself, or been regarded by many, as the most beautiful woman on all Gor. To be sure, given all the veiling of free women, and the dispersal of the population, who can speak practically of such things? Perhaps the most beautiful woman on all Gor is in some tiny village in Torvaldsland or herding bosk on the plains of the Wagon Peoples. Too, I had little doubt there were thousands of fellows about who thought that their companion or slave was the most beautiful woman on all Gor, for any woman, even ones whose appearance might frighten tharlarion, may appear beautiful when seen through the
