“Not here,” she said, “surely.”
“Precede me,” I told her.
She turned and, I following her, walked some distance from the camp. Then, in a small clearing, she turned to face me. Her fists were clenched. “Return me to Earth,” she said.
“There is no escape for a Gorean slave girl,” I said.
“I will not accept being a Gorean slave girl!” she said.
“You have not been long on Gor,” I said.
“No,” she cried.
I shrugged and went to turn away.
“I am not a slave girl!” she said.
I turned and faced her. “How did you come to this world?” I asked.
She looked down. “I awakened one night. I found myself bound and gagged. My hands were tied behind my back. my ankles were tied to the bedposts. I could not free myself. I had been stripped. For an hour I struggled, helpless. Then, at two A.M. by the clock on my dresser, a dark, disklike shape, not more than five feet in thickness and eight feet in width, black, appeared before the window. It was a small ship. A man emerged in strange garb. The window lock was, from the outside, disengaged, perhaps magnetically or electronically. The window slide upward. The man swiftly used me. He then hooded me. I felt my ankles released and then crossed and bound together. I then felt myself being lifted through the window and thrust into the small ship. I felt a needle being entered in my back. I lost consciousness, and I remember nothing more until I awakened. I do not know how much later, in a Gorean slave pen.” “How were you sold?” I asked.
“I was sold privately to Hesius of Laura,” she said, “I then served his customers in his paga tavern” “How is it,” I asked, “that you think you are free?” “Is it not clear from my story?” she asked angrily. “I am a free woman of Earth!” “Once, perhaps,” I said. “Then you were taken by Gorean slavers.” “I was taken by force,” she said.
“All slaves are taken by force,” I told her.
She looked at me, angrily.
“How were you brought to this world?” I asked.
“As a slave,” she said.
“Where did you awaken?” I asked.
“In a slave pen,” she said.
“Are you branded?” I asked.
“In the pen,” she said. “I was branded.”
“I see that you wear a collar,” I said. She wore the collar of Hesius of Laura, a tavern keeper in that city.
She tried to tear the collar from her throat. She could not, of course, do so. It remained fixed upon her, snug, beautiful, gleaming.
She threw back her head, haughtily. “It means nothing,” she said.
I smiled.
“A slave collar,” she said, lightly, “Might be snapped on the throat of any pretty girl.” “That is true,” I said.
She reacted as if struck.
“You do not understand,” she said.
“What is it that I do not understand?” I asked.
“Gorean girls,” she hissed, “may be slaves! Not the women of Earth! Earth women are different! They are better, finer, nobler, more refined, more delicate! You cannot make them common slaves!” “You regard yourself as better than Gorean girls?” I asked.
She looked at me, astonished. “Of course,” she said.
“That is interesting,” I said. “To me you seem less worthy, more slavish.” “You needn’t play games with me,” she said. “The others are asleep. We can speak frankly. We are compatriots of Earth. If you wish, for your vanity, I shall play the role of a slave girl when they are about, but I assure you that I am not a slave. I am not a slave! I am a free woman of Earth, different from them, and superior to them! I am better than they!” “And so,” I said, “I should show you special consideration?” “Certainly,” she said.
“I should be particularly kind to you,” I said, “and you should, doubtless be accorded special privileges.” “Yes,” she said. She smiled. “Be cruel to them,” she said, “but not to me. Be harsh to them, but not to me. Treat them as laves, but not me.” “Why should I treat them as slaves?” I asked.
She looked at me, puzzled. “Because they are slaves,” she said.
“And you are not?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.
“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said.
I looked at her. She stood in brief, diaphanous yellow slave silk, that of the paga slave. Her hair was very long and dark. Her skin was very light. She was slender.” “I do not accept being a slave girl,” she said.
“Your legs,” I said, “are beautiful enough,” I said, “to be a Gorean slave girl.” “Thank you,” she said.
I strode to her and pulled away the bit of silk. She gasped, but dared not interfere.
‘“I walked about her. “You are beautiful enough,” I said,to be a Gorean slave girl.” She was silent.
“You were brought by slavers to this world,” I said. “You were sold. You have been branded. You wear a collar.” She dared not speak.
I examined her, candidly. “I congratulate the slavers on their taste,” I said. “Thank you,” she whispered.
I looked at her, standing in the clearing, the bit of silk at her ankles, beautiful in the light of the three moons.
She was now frightened.
“I am glad,” I told her, “that the slavers brought you to Gor.”
“Why?’ she said.
“Because,” I said, “it is a pleasure to own you.”
“I cannot be owned,” she said. “I am not a slave girl!”
“Are you aware that the men of Gor look upon the women of Earth as natural slaves?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.
“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said, her head high.
“You wear a collar,” I said.
“I am not a slave!” she said.
“You are an exquisite slave,” I said.
“No!” she cried.
“Quite exquisite,” I said.
“Return me to Earth!” she cried.
“There is no escape,” I said, “for a Gorean slave girl.”
“I know what you want,” she said. “I will purchase my passage back to Earth!” “What have you to offer?” I asked.
“Myself,” she said. She shook her hair. “Obviously myself!” She looked at me. “I will serve your pleasure,” she said.
“As a slave girl?” I asked.
She tossed her head. “If you wish,” she said.
“Kneel, Slave,” said I, not pleasantly.
Uncertain of herself, she knelt. She looked up at me. There was fear in her eyes.
“Am I playing a role?” she asked.
“No,” I told her.
She tried to leap to her feet, but my hand was in her hair, painfully. When she stopped struggling, I released her. She smiled. “I’m not a slave girl,” she said.
“Do you know the penalty,” I asked, “for a slave girl who lies to her master?” She looked at me, no longer smiling. She was now apprehensive. “Whatever the master wishes,” she said.
“For the first offense,” I said, “the penalty is not usually severe, commonly only a whipping.” She looked down.
“Will it be necessary in the morning to have you trussed and switched?’ I asked. “Why looked up, suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. “Why are you not kind and solicitous like the men of Earth?” she asked.
“I am Gorean,” I told her.
“Will you show me no mercy?” she begged.
“No,” I told her.
She put her head down.
“I shall now ask you a question,” I said. “I advise you to think carefully before you answer.” She looked up at me.
“What are you, Ilene?” I asked.
She put down her head. “A Gorean slave girl,” she whispered.
I knelt then beside her and took her in my arms, and put her back to the grass. “Slaves,” I told her, “are to be treated with great harshness and cruelty, and you are a slave.” She moaned.
She lay on her back on the grass, and looked up at me. “Am I to receive nothing?” she asked. “Nothing?” “You are to receive nothing,” I told her. “Nothing.” In half an Ahn she was wild, moaning, weeping, submissive in my arms. And when in another half an Ahn she yielded it was with the helpless, uncontrollable yielding of the
