length of chain. One ankle ring is closed on the girl's ankle, the chain passed about the bar and then, on her other ankle, the second ankle ring is closed, securing her. I did not care. I did not even care that we were not permitted camisks in the wagon. Moments after lying down on the canvas, spread over the polished boards of the wagon, in spite of the movement and the bumping and jostling, I fell asleep. To be relieved of the agony of the harness and the strain of drawing the wagon was simply in itself, an exquisite delight. When I awoke, many hours later, I was stiff and sore in every muscle of my body. We were taken from the wagon and, chained outside, kneeling, were fed. In the two days since I had been captured, prior to our encountering the caravan, we had had only berries and water, and bits of small game, cooked by the guards and thrown to us in scraps. Now, chained, kneeling in a circle, we passed about, one to the other, a bowl of hot soup; then each of us was given a sixth of a round yellow loaf of bread, which we ate with our hands; then, before each of us, on the grass, he guards threw a large piece of cooked meat. I was famished and, burning my fingers, I clutched at it, and, half-choking, thrust it half into my mouth, tearing at it with my teeth and hands, the juices running at the sides of my mouth. I think few of my friends would have recognized the sophisticated, tasteful Elinor Brinton in the naked Gorean slave girl, chained, kneeling on the grass, thrusting meat into her mouth, tearing at it, her head back in ecstasy, feeding the juices of the men running on her body. It was only roast bosk, and half raw, but I devoured it. No delicate, sauced portion of filet mignon which I had savored in any Parisian restaurant compared to the hot, steaming chunk of bosk, half raw, running with juices, that I had seized from the grass of a Gorean field, beside the wagon of a slaver.
Following our meal we were taken to a nearby stream where we washed ourselves. I was reluctant to enter the water but, at a word from Targo, I immersed myself, shuddering, teeth chattering, in the swift, chill stream. In a few moments I became accustomed to the water, and soon was reluctant to leave it. I, following the other girls, washed my hair, as well as my body. Some of the girls, to my amazement, began to play, splashing water on one another. They were laughing. No one paid me attention, save that I, like the others, was always under the eye of a guard. I was lonely. I approached Ute, but she turned away. She had not forgotten that I had tried to shirk in the harness. When I was permitted I left the water and sat on the grass, my chin on my knees, alone.
On the bank Targo beamed. He liked to see his girls happy. I supposed, idly, that a happy girl was easier to sell. The guards, too, seemed in a good humor. They called out things to the girls which made them squeak and fume, and the girls, laughing, called back things to them, uncomplimentary I gathered, which made them laugh, and slap their knees in amusement. One girl splashed water on the one-eyed, grizzled guard and he plunged into the water and, to the laughter of all, gave her a good ducking. When she came up sputtering and he, shivering, soaking wet in his clothes, emerged from the stream, even I laughed. Then the girls were called from the water, to dry their hair. They knelt in a circle, laughing and talking.
They did not notice me. I had been forgotten.
When the grizzled, one-eyed guard returned to the bank, now clad in dry clothes, the girls cried out to him, pleading with him, and he leapt into the center of the circle and began, wildly, to regale them with some narrative, which seemed to require much gesticulation. It must have been hilarious, for they squealed in amusement. Even I smiled, to see him leaping about, his arms waving, his face first transformed with mock horror and then, at last, after a wild stroke, as though with a spear, transfigured with a mock triumphal ecstasy.
The girls howled with laughter, and slapped their left shoulders with the palms of their right hands. He bowed to them and, gravely, left the circle. They continued to slap their shoulders with pleasure. He shook his head regally, however, and would not re-enter the circle. I say Lana glance in my direction. Then, she leapt to her feet, to the center of the circle, and she cried out to Targo, oh so prettily, and held out her hands to him. He smiled, and said something to one of his ginning men. To my anger, the clothes that had been taken from me was brought to the circle.
Lana, not without some difficulty, drew them on.
How beautiful she was in my clothing! She wore them better than I!
Then Targo, protesting, was pulled by two squealing girls to the center of the circle. Then, Lana, imperiously, began to upbraid him. I did not care for her performance. The girls, however, seemed to relish it with uncontrolled glee. Lana walked about Targo, crying out at him and gesturing. And she addressed herself, too, to the other girls, as though laughing at them and mocking them. Her voice was as haughty and supercilious, as cold, as amused, as commanding, as that of an empress. She treated them all as though they might be less than the dirt beneath her feet. She had a way of lifting her head, putting her nose in the air, turning her face to one side, as though bored, and making a slight movement of her entire body and especially the right hand, as though she were irritated beyond all patience, but would try to control herself. The girls shrieked with laughter. Lana was an excellent mimic. I was furious. Then the two girls who had pulled Targo to the circle leaped on Lana and stripped her, throwing her to the grass before Targo. Another girl leaped up and pretended to beat her while Lana wiggled and squirmed and howled, in mock pain. Then, when she was released she crawled rapidly to Targo, shuddering, thrust her head to his feet, seized his foot and began to cover his sandal with kisses. The girls howled in amusement.
Several of them looked at me, to see my reaction. I looked away.
Targo clapped his hands twice and, once again, there were masters and slave girls.
A box of combs and brushes were brought. Then the girls, in pairs, began to comb and brush one another's hair. Several vied to comb and brush Lana's hair. I was given a comb.
Timidly I went to Ute. There were tears in my eyes. I could not even speak her language. I could not tell her I was sorry that I had shirked in the harness, trying to let others work for me. I could not even tell her I was desperately unhappy, that I was lonely. I could not tell her that I wanted her, more than anything, to be my friend.
In the stream she had rejected me, turning away from me.
I went to Ute, and she turned and looked at me. Timidly, fearing that she might turn away again, I indicated that I wished to be allowed to comb her hair, if I might, if it might please her for me to do so.
She looked at me, coldly.
Sobbing, I fell to my knees before her, unable to speak to her, and put my head to her feet.
They she was kneeling before me, and lifted my head. There were tears, too, in her eyes.
'El-in-or,' she said, and kissed me.
I wept, and kissed her.
Then she turned, still kneeling, and permitted me to comb her hair. When I had finished, she took the comb, and combed mine.
My two favorites among the girls were Ute and Inge, who was of the scribes. These two names are, in sound at least, German names. Neither of the girls, however, spoke German, of which I had learned a few words, or French, which I can speak with some fluency. Both were Gorean girls totally. Neither, of course, knew English. Many Gorean names are apparently of Earth origin.
Almost immediately Ute, and Inge, as well, began to teach me Gorean. It took many days to reach the banks of the Laurius.
We encountered four more caravans, and, at each, Targo put forth his display chain. I was fourth on the chain. I wished Lana would be sold. I hoped that Ute and Inge would not be.
With these caravans there were slave girls, who would sometimes come to look at us, with their masters. How I envied them their freedom, unchained, to run and laugh and walk as they pleased. How beautifully they were in their brief slave tunics, with the loop on the left shoulder. How smug they were, in their lock collars, on the arms of their masters, regarding us. How they looked down on us, kneeling on the grass, fastened in the display chain, naked, unbought girls. Strangely I gave little thought to the possibility that I might be sold. Once, however, after I had lifted my head, smiled prettily, and uttered the ritual phrase of the inspected slave girl, 'But me, Master,' my heart nearly stopped. The man had not continued on. He was still regarding me. Further, with horror, I realized that he was regarding me with some interest. I could tell by his eyes. I had a terrible, sinking feeling. I turned white. I wanted to get up and cry out, and run, dragging wildly at the chain. Then, to my unspeakable relief, he was no longer in front of me, but was inspecting the next girl. I hear her 'Buy me, Master.' I began to shudder. He also stopped before another girl, the ninth on the chain. When he had traversed the chain, he returned to stand before me. It was as though I was made of wood. I could not meet his eyes. I was terrified. I could not even repeat, 'But me, Master.' He was then further down the chain again, before the ninth girl. He purchased her. Targo sold two girls that afternoon. I saw moneys exchange hands. I saw the ninth girl released from the chain. I saw her kneeling before her buyer, back on her heels, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, as though for binding. It was the submission of the girl to her new master. He put slave bracelets on her, fastening her wrists together, and put a leash on her throat. I saw him lock the leash to a ring on the side of his wagon. She wanted to touch him, but he cuffed her away. She seemed timid, but happy. It had been a long time since she had been owned by a master. I wondered what it would be like to belong to a man. I shuddered. The girl knelt in the shade of the wagon until the caravan moved, and then, getting up, leashed, walked beside the wagon. She turned once, lifting her braceleted wrists. We waved to her. She seemed happy.
Twice we stopped at palisaded villages, those of simple bosk herders. I liked these stops, for there we would have fresh bosk milk, still hot, and would have a roof over our heads for a night, be it only of grass. These villagers would always spread fresh straw in the hut in which we would be chained for the night. It smelled clean and dry. I loved to lie on it, after the canvas spread over the hard boards of the wagons.
Ute and Inge, and Ute in particular, were patient, indefatigable teachers. They taught me Gorean for hours a day and, of course, I heard nothing but this language. I soon found myself saying things in Gorean without thinking about it. I was taught the language as a child is taught, who has no language at his disposal. Accordingly I learned the language directly and immediately, fluidly, not as an architecture of grammatical cases and a series of vocabulary lists in which foreign terms stood matched with English terms. Ute and Inge, not knowing English, could not have presented me with an abstract structure of transformations and linguistic equations if they had wished. Knowing no English themselves, they had no choice but to teach me a living language, in life, as practical and concrete as a tool, as expressive and beautiful as flowers and clouds. It was not long before I caught myself, upon occasion, thinking in Gorean. And, only some ten days after my lessons had begun, I had my first dream in which intelligible Gorean was spoken to me and I responded, spontaneously, without thinking, in the same tongue. Interestingly, it was a dream in which I had managed to steal a candy and blame Lana, and she was beaten for it. I enjoyed the dream, but then it seemed Targo was coming for me, with the straps swinging in his hand. I awakened in a cold sweat, but safely chained in the wagon, on the canvas. It was raining outside, and I could hear the rain beat on the squarish roof of red rain canvas stretched over our heads. I could hear the breathing of the other girls in the wagon. I snuggled down again on the folded canvas beneath my body and, with a rustle of chain, listening to the rain, soon feel asleep again. In the beginning my grammer was not particularly good, but Inge helped me improve it. After a time, I could even detect certain regional differences in the dialects of the girls and the guards. My vocabulary would gradually become far more extensive, but I was pleased with myself. In only a few days, under the intensive tutelage of Ute and Inge, I had, to my delight and surprise, learned to speak passable Gorean. There was a special reason, of course, why I was so eager to learn the language. I wished to make contact with men who could return me to Earth. I was certain that I could, with my resources on Earth, purchase swift passage back to my home planet. Once I noted, speaking to Inge, that Ute, regularly, made certain grammatical errors.
'Yes,' said Inge, matter-of-factly,' she is of the leather workers.' I then felt superior to Ute. I myself would not make those mistakes. I was Elinor Brinton.
'I will speak high-caste Gorean,' I told Inge.
'But you are a barbarian,' said Inge.
