Interestingly, what counts as slave garments and what does not, is apparently a culturally influenced phenomenon. Goreans, unhesitantly, regard such things as the brassiere and panties, or panty hose, as slave garments. This may be because such garments have been associated with Earth females brought to Gorean slave markets, garments which are sometimes permitted the girls during the early portions of their sale, or, perhaps, independently, because they are soft, sensual and slave-like. Earth girls who don such garments might be interested to know then that that they are putting things on their bodies which on Gor are taken to be the garments of slaves.
The main purpose of slave garments, of course, is not particularly to clothe the girl, for she need not even be clothed, as she is an animal, but to, as I have suggested, 'set her off.' In this sense slave garments may be as resplendent and complex as the robes of an enslaved Ubara, to be removed by the general who has captured her upon a platform of public humiliation, or as simple as the cords on a girl's wrists and a piece of rope knotted on her throat.
Additional functions of slave garments, of course, other than those of displaying the girl and making it clear to all how desirable she is, are to remind her, clearly, that she is a slave, which is useful in her discipline, and, also, interestingly, to stimulate, intensify and deepen her sexuality. It is impossible for a woman to dress and act as a slave, and be enslaved, in full legality, and not, sooner or later, understand that she is really what she seems to be, a slave. The master, meanwhile, of course, keeps her under discipline, uses her frequently and often casually, and forces her to undergo the abuses proper to her degraded condition. At a given moment of tenderness, sooner or later, she yields herself to him, fully, and as his slave. This moment is usually accompanied with tears of joy, and love. This is experienced by the woman as a moment of marvelous liberation.
Gone then are the thousand frustrations and conflicts; released then, in a flood of tears and joy, is her fundamental womanhood; the hypocrisies are then at an end; the long shams are done; she melts into his arms, kissing and sobbing, his. But enough of the wonders, and astonishments and pleasures, of slave garments. Their nature, their varieties and types, and their meanings, are limited only, as you might expect, by the widely ranging imaginations of the lovely slaves and their strong masters.
Miles of Vonda and I continued to look downward, into the central room of the slave quarters, upon the confined inmates.
'The feast tonight,' said Miles of Vonda, 'would have been more pleasant, had it been served by these.'
'We must, for the time, deny them to ourselves,' I said. 'There is the work of men to be done.'
'When do you think the fleet of Ragnar Voskjard will arrive at the holding?' he asked.
'Tomorrow,' I told him.
We then looked, one last time, upon the fair slaves so securely incarcerated below us. I think he looked upon the auburn-haired beauty, in the bit of yellow rag. I myself regarded the small brunet, so frightened and exquisite, in the bit of red rag, curled pathetically, a slave, on the tiles below. I smiled to myself. 'It would not be unpleasant to own her.' I would teach her her condition well. We then left the balcony, locking the heavy door behind us.
Chapter 12 — WE BID WELCOME TO THE VOSKJARD'S FLEET; THE COURIER OF RAGNAR VOSKJARD; THE FLEET OF POLICRATES
'There must be fifty ships in the channel,' said Callimachus, snapping shut the glass of the Builders.
'Bring Kliomenes to the wall,' I told a man. 'And see that he is well attired, fit to welcome his friends from the west. Some there, doubtless from the crew of Reginald, or Reginald himself, may recognize him.'
'Yes, Jason,' said the man, hurrying downward from the wall. Kliomenes had spent a good part of yesterday, and the night, with certain other pirates, chained, in rags, at the windlass. His appearance on the wall, Callimachus and I had speculated, might allay suspicions in the advancing fleet.
'How many ships will the sea yard hold?' inquired a man.
'Surely fifty or better,' said Callimachus, 'but I doubt that so many will enter the holding.'
The _Tuka_, the _Tina_ and the _Tais_ had been removed from the sea yard.
'Is the Tassa powder ready, and the goblets of welcome?' asked Callimachus of a man.
'Yes, Captain,' he said, grimly, 'but there is far too little for so many.'
'The pits in the fortress have been prepared?' inquired Callimachus of one of his officers.
'Yes, Captain,' said the man. More than one hundred captured pirates had been drafted to this work, after which, in chains, they had been thrust, packed, with others, into cells below the holding.
'The fleet approaches,' said a man. 'Their identificatory signals emerge now upon their lines.'
'Run up the flags of welcome,' said Callimachus.
'Yes, Captain,' said a man, signaling to others.
'Have the fire jars been prepared?' asked Callimachus.
'Both those upon the walls, and those along the channel, my Captain,' said a man.
I saw the flags of welcome, narrow, triangular and yellow, run up on their lines.
A smoke bomb, trailing smoke, was lofted upward from a catapult on one of the lead ships. It arched gracefully upward and then fell into the marshes lining the channel.
'Return the signal,' said Callimachus.
In moments an answering smoke bomb, from a catapult on the walls, describing its graceful parabola, ascended and then seemed to pause, and then looped downward, to splash into the marshes.
We watched the oars of the approaching ships. There was no hesitation or vacillation in their unison.
'They approach with confidence,' said a man.
'Good,' said Callimachus.
There was a sound of chain near us and Kliomenes, his ankles shackled, was thrust to the parapet. He was clad in a scarlet robe. A yellow, tasseled beret was upon his head. 'Smile, Kliomenes,' I encouraged him. He winced. The point of my dagger was in his back.
In moments had the first of the galleys reached the vicinity of the sea gate. Kliomenes, at our suggestion, climbed to a place behind the wall where he might be the more easily seen. Crossbows, the fingers of men on their triggers, were trained on his back. He smiled. He lifted his hand, and waved. I did not think it would be necessary to kill him, at least immediately. From the stem castles and decks of the galleys below the shackling on his ankles could not be seen.
Cautiously, from behind the parapet, I surveyed the stem castle of the lead galley. Three individuals stood upon it. Only one of them was I certain that I knew, and he, interestingly, was masked. That one, however, in spite of the mask, was, in his way, not unknown to me. I had met him on the wharves of Victoria, late at night. He had wanted the topaz. He had tried to kill me. It was he who was the true courier of Ragnar Voskjard.
The other two men wore the garb of captains. Neither, however, seemed to me to possess the suggestion of power, or the presence, that I would have expected of Ragnar Voskjard. The Voskjard, I suspected, was not with the fleet. I had, indeed, earlier speculated from pirate strategies, that the fleet had been under the command not of the Voskjard, but of a lesser man. The Voskjard, I suspected, during the battle, would have contented himself with reigning in his holding. He would not have seen fit, I conjectured, to concern himself with the travail of personally conducting the immediate and pedestrian affairs of an unimportant battle which, in his opinion, would have had a foregone conclusion. Such a task might be left to subordinates. He himself could join the fleet later.
'Who is on the deck of the stem castle?' I asked Kliomenes.
'Reginald,' said Kliomenes, 'who was the captain of the _Tamira_.'
'Who else?' I pressed. I had never seen Reginald, though I had, to be sure, been on his ship. He seemed a tall, impressive man.
'The courier of Ragnar Voskjard,' said Kliomenes, 'he in the mask.'
'Who is the other man?' I asked.
'I do not know,' said Kliomenes.
'Is it Ragnar Voskjard?' I asked.
'I do not think so,' said Kliomenes.
