'When I first saw you,' said my captor, 'I decided I would have you, when first you knelt before me, and said, 'Buy me, Master,' I resolved to own you. Then, later, when I looked upon you and you tossed your head and angrily looked away, I knew I would not rest until you were mine.' He smiled. 'You will pay much for that snub, my dear,' he said.
'What are you going to do with me?' I whispered.
He shrugged. 'I shall keep you for a time, I suppose,' he said, 'for my interest and sport, and then, when I weary of you, dispose of you.'
'Sell me in Ar,' I begged.
'I think rather,' said he, 'I will give you to a village of peasants.' I remembered the peasants, with their switches and sticks. I trembled. I knew, too, that such men often used girls, with the bosk, to pull plows, under whips. At night, unclothed, when not being used, they were commonly chained in a straw kennel with a dirt floor.
'I am worth gold,' I said. 'Sell me in Ar!' 'I will dispose of you as I please,' he said.
'Yes, Warrior,' I said.
I looked again up at him.
'Why did you not buy me from Targo?' I inquired.
He looked down at me. 'I do not buy women,' he said.
'But you are a slaver!' I said.
'No,' he said.
'Yes,' I cried. 'You are Soron of Ar, the Slaver,'
'Soron of Ar,' he said, 'does not exist.'
I looked at him with horror.
'Who are you?' I asked.
I shall never forget the words he spoke, which so terrorized me.
'Lo Rask,' said he. 'Rarius. Civitatis Trevis.'
'I am Rask,' he said, 'of the caste of warriors, of the city of Treve.'
14 I Must Submit
This was now my second day in the secret war camp of Rask of Treve. When his tarn had dropped, wings beating, into the clearing among the tents, they ringed with a palisade of sharpened logs, some twelve feet high, there had been much shouting, much welcome.
Rask of Treve was popular with his men.
I saw, too, among the warriors, slave girls, collared, in brief rep-cloth tunics. They, too, seemed pleased. Their eyes shone. They crowded near. Laughing, raising his hands, Rask of Treve acknowledged the greetings of his camp.
I could smell roast bosk. It was in the late afternoon.
He untied my ankles from the right-hand saddle ring. He then unbound the strap that lashed my wrists to the left-hand saddle ring, but he did not untie my wrists themselves. My hands, then, were still bound, before my body. He then took me lightly in his arms and slid from the back of the tarn. He set me on my feet at the side of the saddle. He did not throw me to my belly or put his foot on the back of my neck, or force me to kneel.
I dared not look at him.
'A pretty one,' said a voice. It was a woman's voice. She was incredibly beautiful. She wore a collar. Her garment was white, and came to her ankles, in classic folds. She did not wear the brief work tunic of the other girls. I gathered she was high girl in the camp and that I, and the other girls, would have to obey her. It is not uncommon, where several girls are concerned, to put a woman over them. Men do not care to direct us in our small tasks. They only wish to see that they are done.
I hated men!
'Kneel,' said the woman.
I did so.
Some of the men murmured appreciatively.
'I see she is trained,' said the woman.
I reddened. I hated men! But my body, subconsciously, had been trained to be attractive to them.
'She is a pleasure slave,' said Rask of Treve, 'though of a poor sort. Her name is El-in-or. Also, she is a sly girl, and a liar and a thief.'
I was furious.
The woman took my head in her hands, and turned it from side to side. 'Her ears are pierced,' she said, in irritation.
Some of the men laughed. I did not care for their laughter. It frightened me. I gathered that, because my ears were pierced, they would feel free to do anything they pleased with me.
'Men are beasts,' said the woman.
Rask of Treve threw back his great head, like the head of a larl, and laughed. 'And you, Handsome Rask,' said she, 'are the greatest of the beasts.' How bold she was! Would she not be beaten?
Rask laughed again, and wiped his face with the back of his right hand. The woman was again looking at me. 'So, Pretty One, you are a liar and a thief?' she asked.
I put my head down, swiftly. I could not look her in the face.
'Regard me,' she said.
I lifted my head, frightened, and looked at her.
'Is it your intention to lie and steal in this camp? she asked.
I shook my head fiercely, negatively.
The men laughed. 'If you do,' she said, 'you will be punished, and promptly, and your punishment will not be pleasant.'
'You will be beaten,' said one of the girls nearby, her eyes wide, 'and put in the slave box!'
This news, whatever it meant, did not much reassure me.
'No, Mistress,' I cried. 'I will not lie and steal.'
'Good,' she said.
'Yes, Mistress,' I said.
'She is dirty and she smells, ' said Rask of Treve. 'Clean her and groom her.' 'Is it your intention to put her in your collar,' asked the woman.
There was a pause. I put my head down. 'Yes,' I heard Rask of Treve say. He turned away, and, with him, the others.
'Come with me to the tent of the women,' said the woman.
I arose and, wrists bound, followed her to the women's tent.
The slave girl, with a touch of her finger, put perfume behind my ears. It was not the morning of my second day in the war camp of Rask of Treve. This was the day of my collaring.
I was not permitted cosmetics.
Kneeling within, slave girls preparing me, I looked through the tied-back opening of the tent of the women. Outside, I could see men, and girls, passing back and forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes. Today Elinor Brinton would be collared.
I had been coached in the simple collaring ceremony of Treve. Ena, the high girl, who wore the garment of white, had not been much pleases that I did not have a caste, and could not claim a familiar city as my place of origin. Accordingly, it had been decided that I should identify myself by my actual city, and by my barbarian title and name. In the ceremony then I should refer to myself as Miss Elinor Brinton of New York City. I smiled to myself. I wondered how often, on this rude world, I would have the opportunity to so refer to myself. The proud Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, seemed so far away from me. And yet I knew she was not. I was she. Miss Elinor Brinton, incredibly, uncomprehensibly, found herself kneeling in a barbarian tent, on a distant world, myself, being prepared for her collaring. The fact that New York City was of Earth, and that Treve was of Gor, would not even enter into the ceremony. Scarcely anything would enter into the ceremony save that I was female and he was male, and that I would wear his collar.
Yesterday, by slave girls, under the direction of Ena, who was high girl, I had been washed and combed, and then fed. The food had been good, bread and bosk meat, roasted, and cheese, and larma fruit. I, famished from my trials in the wilderness, fed well. I had even been given a swallow of Ka-la-na wine, which exquisite beverage I had not tasted since the time of my capture, long ago, by Verna outside of Targo's compound.
I had been frightened, but I had been well trained. I had not dared to speak. After I had been washed and combed, and fed, Ena had said to me, 'You have the freedom of the camp, if you wish.'
I had been startled. I had expected to be close-chained. She seemed amused, regarding my astonishment.
'You will not escape,' she smiled.
'No, Mistress,' I said.
Then I looked down. I did not wish to leave the women's tent.
Ena went to a chest, opened it, and drew forth a folded piece of striped rep-cloth, a rectangle some two and a half by four feet.
'Stand,' she said.
I did so.
'Lift your arms,' she said.
I did so, and to my pleasure, she wrapped the piece of cloth about me, snugly, and fastened it with a pin behind my right shoulder blade. She then fastened it again, with anther pin, behind my right hip.
