Her face went white. Some patrons bring whips or quirts to the tavern. If they are not pleased, the girls are informed; a slave ring, with thongs, is fixed in the edge of every table; we strive to wait the tables well. I smiled to myself, seeing Narla hurry down the ramp to fetch his paga; on the slave ship she, in her deck cage, had once insulted me, demeaning my beauty and referring to me as a Below-Deck Girl. It was not my fault that my hair had been shaved off, nor that I was not blond or auburn-haired, like herself. Those hair colors tend to bring higher girl-prices. I thought that I, when my hair was again dark and glossy, would surely be her equal or superior in beauty; and I had little doubt that I could bring a master more pleasure.
I knelt before the table on the second balcony, placing the tray on the floor and quickly, deferentially, placing its contents on the table, the assorted meats and cheese, the sauces and fruits, and wines and nuts.
'Do Masters desire more from Yata, their slave?' I asked.
'Leave, Slave Girl,' said the woman's voice, that of a free woman, kneeling in her robes and veil at the table with her escorts, who sat behind it, cross-legged. Free women came sometimes, escorted, to the Chatka and Curla. Her voice had not been pleasant. 'Yes, Mistress,' I whispered, picking up the tray and, head down, withdrawing. The men I thought, had she not been with them, might indeed have wanted more from Yata, their slave. Often, to the irritation of other patrons, they had kept me at their table, binding my wrists at the slave ring, keeping me for later.
I went to the balcony railing and looked down. I was some twenty-five feet or more above the wooden flooring. Dancers in the Chatka and Curla, and there are several, move between and among the tables; sometimes a dancer, if she is indeed superb, is displayed solo in the center of the scarlet wooden flooring, within the painted, yellow ring of the slave circle.
Men came and went. I stood there, on the high balcony, with the tray beneath my arm.
I had not been contacted. I did not know why this was. For all I knew I was merely another lowly paga girl. I served as the others did, fully, no differently.
I looked about at the decor of the tavern. It suggested the plains of Turia, or the lands of the Wagon Peoples. There were scenes of hunting, of caravan raiding, of girl taming; scenes were fixed there of the great bosk herds and the strings of the wagons of the fierce plains nomads; in one place there was fixed a painting of the walls and towers of Turia, and riders of the Wagon Peoples on hills, looking toward the city. The dress and costume of the paga girls, too, was intended to suggest the common garb worn by the enslaved beauties who well served the mounted, lance-bearing riders of the lofty, silken kailla. In such a garb a girl was given no place to conceal a weapon and was well displayed, in her captive curves, to the eye of her master.
Below on the first level two men began to shout and fight, squabbling over first master rights to their waitress, Lyrazina, an exquisite little collared blond from Teletus. She crouched, shrinking back, terrified, almost at their feet. Strabo, the floor master, at a sign from Aurelion, the proprietor and master of the Chatka and Curla, hurried to the combative couple, thrusting them apart. They seized at him, and I heard clothing tear. Another man from the tavern, a fellow who did odd jobs about, as Bran Loort did in Ar at the Belled Collar, leaped to the fray. Two more customers joined in.
'Fight!' cried patrons. A girl screamed.
Sometimes I had thought, in the midst of such a diversion, one might flee the tavern. But this was not possible. Whereas most taverns are open and a girl might simply slip out the door and run, there is little prospect of her flight's being successful. She wears only a collar and a brand, and a bit of silk, and she flees into a society that will promptly return her to her owner, unless it chooses to keep her for itself. Escape is not, on the whole, a realistic possibility for slave girls on Gor. Indeed, girls are often sent, unattended, in a brief rep-cloth tunic on errands for their masters. They return to their masters, for there is nowhere else to go; also a girl who is well mastered will often undergo great privations and hardships to return to the brute whom she cannot help loving with every slave inch of her. Slave girls are often hopelessly in love with their masters. But the Chatka and Curla did not resemble most paga taverns in their openness. It was not possible there for a girl to even step outside for a breath of air as it is in most taverns. There are double iron gates, and only the free may come and go as they please. Another deterrent to the escape of slave girls, of course, is the severity of the penalties connected with escape attempts. Whereas the first penalty is commonly only a severe beating, the second one often involves hamstringing, or the cutting of the tendons behind the knees; this cripples the girl and makes her generally useless save as a pathetic example to her sisters in bondage of the foolishness of attempted escape.
The most interesting attempted escape which I know of, however, took place in a locked tavern, not unlike the Chatka and Curla. In it, a clever slave girl, taking advantage of just such a diversion as now rocked the Chatka and Curla, neck-thonged a free woman from behind and dragged her, helpless, to an alcove. There, intimidating and overpowering her, shestripped the free woman, and bound and gagged her. Then, in the confusion and noise of the brawl, she, pretending distaste at the activity of the ruffians involved, went to the gate, was released, and made away. She was free only a few hours, however, for, as an unescorted free woman, guardsmen swiftly went to her protection, prepared to help her safely home. In a few moments, they questioning her, it became clear to them that something was amiss. A free woman was found who thrust back her robe and veils. Her ears had been pierced. The free woman, then, as the guardsmen looked away, tore down her robes to. the shoulder, revealing the collar, which bore, of course, the name of her master. She was swiftly returned to him for a severe beating. The most interesting portion of this tale deals with the free woman who had been left, stripped, bound and gagged, in the alcove. In leaving the tavern the disguised slave girl, to cover her retreat, placed a discipline sign on the alcove occupied by the helpless free woman. It read 'Take me, Masters.' Sometimes a girl, as a punishment, is placed helplessly in an alcove, free for the use of all. Several of the men, patrons of the tavern, willing to oblige the tavern's proprietor, entered the alcove and, untying her ankles, well used the helpless free woman, they in the darkness not knowing the loftiness of her condition. This caused a great scandal in Ar. The slave who had so abused her was to be tortured and publicly impaled, but, to the amazement of the citizens of the city, the free woman herself spoke on the slave's behalf, and begged that she be only put lengthily under the leather. It was done in this manner, to satisfy the desires of the free woman; to the astonishment of all in the court, when the chained slave girl crept on her knees, head down, to render gratitude to the free woman, the free woman had knelt beside her and kissed her, and then turned away. Thereafter the free woman had seemed strange and restless. She began to take to walking upon the high bridges. Once, when a tarnsman snapped by, pursued by guardsmen, mounted, too, on tarns, she had torn the veils from her face and, boldly, supplicatingly, had lifted her robes, revealing her left thigh to the hip. The tarnsman, circling about, took mercy upon her and it is said she cried out with joy as his braided leather rope dropped about her and tightened on her body, jerking her, its prisoner, from the high bridge. The tarnsman, with his captive, escaped. He had returned to Ar later, when his city was at peace with Ar. With him was a beautiful slave girl who had once been the free woman of Ar. Much was she abused and spat upon by the free women of Ar in their fury but she did not seem unhappy. She had made her choice. Rendering love and service to a master had not seemed obviously inferior to her to the reduced sexuality and the squabbling competitiveness which had been expected of her as a free woman. Freedom and love are both estimable values. Some women choose freedom; others choose love. Let each make what choice seems best to her.
I felt a knotted, double strand of leather looped about my left wrist and pulled tight.
'Master,' I said.
It was the fellow who had earlier opened the Kalmak and kissed me. I was not displeased to see him, nor to be on his thong.
'Come to the alcove,' he said. I placed the tray I carried on a rack. The fight continued below. I was pulled by the leather thong on my left wrist toward an alcove in the wall of the level of the high balcony. There was shouting below. Several had now joined the fight. I heard the musicians begin to play, on Aurelion's orders, to attempt to pacify the crowd, to distract it. A dancer, I supposed, had been sent to the center of the floor. Usually such fights are stopped by the separation of the combatants and the awarding to each of a girl for the night. I supposed Lyrazina would be given to one, and an even more exquisite beauty to the other, thus contenting both. But if this strategy was to be successful, it did not seem to be yet successful. I heard glass break below.
'This one,' said the man, indicating an alcove.
He released the thong on my wrist and stood behind me. I climbed the five steps into the alcove and crawled within.
It occurred to me that none had noted him conducting me to the alcove. All eyes had been on the fight below.
