meat.
'You should not have taken such a risk,' I said.
'Eat,' she said. 'It will give you strength.'
'What would they do to you, if they found out that you had stolen the meat?' I asked.
'I do not know,' she said. 'I suppose they would only whip me. Perhaps they would cut off my hands:'
'Why would you take such a risk, only for me?' I asked.
'Are you not of Earth, Jason?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said. 'I am of Earth. How did you know my name?'
'I have heard you called that,' she said. 'Is it not the name you have been given?'
'Yes,' I said. 'It is the name I have been given.' I wore the name `Jason' now only as a slave name. Slaves have no names in their own right. They are only animals. They are called whatever their masters wish.
'Do you know of Earth?' I asked.
'Yes,' She said, ruefully, 'I know of it'
'What is your name?' I asked.
She was silent.
'What is your name?' I asked.
'It is a shameful name,' she said. 'Please do not make me say it.'
'Please,' I said.
'Darlene,' she said.
'That is an Earth-girl name,' I said, excitedly. I trembled in the chains.
'Yes,' she said.
'It is a beautiful name,' I said.
'It seems to well arouse the lust of Gorean masters,' she said.
'Why would they put such a name upon you?' I asked.
'To make it clear to all that I am no more than a slut and a slave,' she said.
I had heard that Earth-girl names were often used as slave names on Gor, often being given to the lowest, and the most exciting and sensuous of slaves.
'How cruel Goreans are,' I said. Then I said, 'I am sorry. Forgive me.'
'Why?' She asked.
'I did not mean to insult you,' I said.
'I do not understand' she said.
'You are Gorean, are you not?' I asked.
'No,' she said.
'Then what are you?' I asked.
'Only a poor Earth-girl slave,' she said.
I was stunned. 'Your Gorean,' I said, 'is flawless, superb.'
'The whip has taught me much,' she said.
I was silent, overcome with pity for her. How tragic, I thought; to be a girl of my own world, and be brought cruelly and helplessly to the world of Gor, to be made a slave.
'On Earth,' she said, 'my name was Darlene. It was then, of course, my own name, and not a mere slave name, put upon me by the whim of Masters'
'I must see you,' I said. I pulled at the chains.
'Eat, Jason,' she said. 'There is a little meat left.'
I finished the meat, her small fingers delicately placing it in my mouth.
'You have risked much, bringing me this meat,' I said, 'for one who is only a slave.' `
'It is nothing,' she said. 'You area man of my world.'
'You are a fine and brave girl,' I said.
'I am only a miserable slave,' she said.
'I must see you,' I said. 'Is these no way some light can be brought into this place?'
'There is a small lamp,' she said. 'But I would fear to light it.'
'Why?' I asked.
'You area man of Earth,' she said. 'I would be so ashamed to have you see me, a girl of Earth, as I am now.'
'Why?' I asked.
'I am clad only in the rag and collar of a slave,' she said.
'Light the lamp,' I said, kindly. 'Please, Darlene.'
'If I do so,' she said, 'please try to look upon me with the gentility of a man of Earth.'
'Of course,' I said. 'Please, Darlene.'
'I will light the lamp,' she said. She rose to her feet and went to the side of the room.
I heard the striking together of stones, probably iron pyrites, and saw sparks. Inwardly I gasped as I, in a flash of sparks, followed by darkness, caught a brief glimpse of the luscious, kneeling girl at the side of the room. She wore the scandalously brief shreds of a tattered slave rag, sewn of brown rep-cloth, torn open at her thighs, I assume deliberately, held but by a single, narrow strap over her left shoulder. Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. In the spark of light I had seen the glint of the collar, of close- fitting steel, about her throat. She was barefoot.
The stones struck together again, and again I saw her, kneeling oven a bit of moss, tinder, which she was intent upon igniting. She had dark hair, short but full, which fell about her face. Again I glimpsed the lusciousness of her curves, her collar, her bare feet. Had I been a slaver I thought surely I would have marked her down for inclusion on a cargo manifest.
Then she had the bit of moss lit and, into it, she placed a straw. This straw, burning then at one end, served to light the wick of a small, clay oil lamp. She then shook the straw, extinguishing it and, with her fingers, moved the bit of moss about, spreading it, and the tiny flame there dissipated into scattered glowing points which then, rapidly, disappeared. She took the lamp then in her hands and approached me, then crouched down and set it to one side, then knelt back, on her heels. I looked at her then in the tiny light of the lamp,, kneeling back on her heels, small, luscious, her beauty so full and sweetly curved, so poorly concealed in the tattered rag, the knees of her bared legs placed closely together.
She looked at me, in piteous protest.
How could any male, any with even a single drop of blood in his veins, any who still drew breath, look upon such a woman with gentility?
She shook her head. 'Please' she said.
I wanted to thrust apart her knees and, taking her by the hair and an ankle, throw her to her back, on the stones. I wanted to have her, ruthlessly, with cries of joy. I clenched my fists. I was chained. How I envied then the rude beasts of Gor, who have such women for their pleasure.
'Forgive me,' I begged her.
'You looked upon me,' she said, shrinking back, shuddering, 'as might have a man of Gor, one whom a woman knows is her master, one whom she knows she must obey.'
'No, no,' I protested. 'That is not true. No.'
'It is perhaps fortunate for me,' she smiled, relaxing, 'that you are closely chained.'
'Perhaps,' I smiled.
She laughed. She looked at me. She touched the rag she wore. 'I suppose it is difficult' she said, 'to respect a girl who wears the slave rag, the Ta-Teera.'
'No,' I said. 'Of course not.'
'Even one,' she smiled, indicating her collar, 'who wean the collar of a slave?'
'Of course not,' I said.
To be sure, it was not easy to respect a woman who wore only the scandalous and sensuous Ta-Teera, and whose throat was locked in the lovely, exciting collar of a slave. How could one see such a woman, truly, except as a slave? And how could one treat such a woman, truly. except as a slave? And the slaves of Goreans were true slaves. How natural then that they should treat them as what they were, their owned slaves.
'Of course not,' I said. 'I respect you deeply and fully.'
