'Superbly fitting,' she laughed. 'But come early. You would not wish to miss the czehar music nor the performance of Milo.'
'You are retaining the czehar player and the actor then,' he asked.
'Yes,' she said. 'I promised him.'
'I shall come early,' he promised, 'and I do not doubt but what I shall be accompanied by Myron, my polemarkos.'
'I shall look forward to seeing you both,' she said.
'By the way,' said he, 'how will the supper be served?'
'By slave girls, of course,' she said.
'Good,' he said.
'Decorously clad,' she said. 'In long, white gowns.'
'I see,' he said.
'But their arms will be bared,' she said.
'Oh, excellent,' he smiled.
'Do not fret, Captain,' she laughed. 'The decorum of their attire will contrast nicely with that of the Hinrabian.'
'Which will consist of a collar and a brand?' he asked.
'Precisely,' she said.
'Excellent,' he said.
'Let her see the contrast between herself and higher slaves,' said Talena. 'Superb,' he said.
'After I withdrew for the evening, you may, of course,' she said, 'do what you wish with the serving slaves, and the Hinrabian.'
'Our thanks, Ubara,' said he, 'those of myself and my polemarkos, and, too, of course, those of our staff members, guards and accompanying officers.'
'It is nothing,' said Talena.
The captain bowed once again, and then withdrew.
In a few moments the dais, and then the platform, was cleared. The crowd had long ago drifted away.
The long chain of women had been permitted to kneel after the last additions had been made to it. An auxiliary guardsman had come back up the line making certain that the women knelt with their knees widely apart. The heavy chain came to the belly of each, and then lay over the right leg of each, as she knelt, passing back then to the woman behind her. Their wrists, held closely together, were before their bodies. When they were to move out they would pass through a certain station where a Cosian slaver's man, with a marking tape, would measure them for their collar size. This number then would be written by another fellow, with a grease pencil, on their left breast, for the convenience of the fitter. The left breast is the usual place for the temporary recording of such information, presumably because most men are right-handed. In the Street-of-Brands district over a hundred braziers would be waiting, from each of which would project several irons. They were all to be marked with the cursive Kef, as common girls. That is the most common brand for female slaves on Gor. Claudia Tentia Hinrabia had already been branded, of course, long ago, so she needed only be recollared. Her brand, if it is of interest, was also the cursive Kef. It had amused Cernus to have that put on her, such a common brand, she a Hinrabian. But I did not think she objected to it. It is not merely a familiar brand, but, more importantly, a particularly lovely one.
I heard, from several yards away, perhaps fifty yards away, the sound startling me even so, the crack of a whip. Several women in the chain cried out, and some wept. Yet I did not think the leather had touched any of them. To be sure, the fearsome sound of it undoubtedly informed them of what might befall them later, hinting clearly of the rigors of discipline, and the attendant sanctions, to which they were to be soon subject. The women then, with the sounds of chain, began to get to their feet. It was interesting to see the varying alacrities of their response to this signal. Judging by those nearest to me, those who seemed to be the most female were the quickest to respond. It was almost as though they, somehow, in some hitherto untapped portion of their brain, or in some hitherto concealed, or suspected but perhaps not explicitly recognized, (pg. 160) portion of their brain, were prepared for, and understood, certain relationships, relationships which might be exemplified by, or symbolized by, such things as the chains on her wrists, or the sound of the whip. By contrast certain others of the women, who seemed to me simpler, or more sluggish in body, or perhaps merely, at this time, less in touch with themselves, were reactively slower. Slavery, of course, is the surest path by means of which a woman can discover her femininity. The paradox of the collar is the freedom which a woman experiences in at last finding herself, and becoming herself. She is a woman, really, you see, not a man, and not something else, either, also different from a woman, and she will never be fully content until she finds her personal truth, until she becomes, so to speak, what she is.
'What is to become of us?' asked the blonde of me, she who had been the last to be added to the chain.
I stayed my hand. She shrank back.
'You may beg forgiveness,' I said.
She looked at me wildly.
I had not struck her, at least yet. She was, after all, a free woman.
The whip then, again, further ahead, down the line, cracked.
'I beg forgiveness!' she said.
'You beg forgivenessa€”what?' I asked.
'I beg forgiveness, Master!' she said.
I lowered my head.
I thought it well for her to accustom herself to such uterances.
She still had her hands lifted. She had lifted her wrists, as she could, in the manacles, to fend the blow which I had not struck.
'Put your hands down,' I said.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'Stand Straight,' I said. 'Shoulders back.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I regarded her.
She had tiny, fine hair on the back of her wrists. One could see it, in its golden fineness, extending toward the dark, clasping iron, beneath which it vanished. She was nicely curved. I thought she would bring a good price. I continued to regard her and she became acutely aware of my scrutiny. She stood even straighter, and more beautifully. Yes, I thought to myself, she is starting to understand. Doubtless in time she will do quite well at a man's slave ring. The whip cracked again, this time quite close, as the fellow with the device had been approaching, stopping here and there. Another fellow with him was checking the manacles and joining rings.
'The beads are on the string,' said the second fellow, he who was checking the security of the chain. This was an oblique allusion to the 'slaver's necklace,' as a coffle, of female slaves is sometimes called. To be sure, the women on this chain, as they were merely free women, had only been referred to, in rude humor, as «beads» and not 'jewels. I did not doubt, however, but what in a few months time these same women, properly disciplined, trained and brought into touch with their most profound and fundamental realities would also, in the same fashion as other female slaves, become 'jewels.'
'Bring the extra chain back through the coffle,' said the fellow with the whip. There was coil of unused chain near my feet, left from the coffling. We could probably have added forty or fifty more women to the coffle had we wished. My fellow guardsman lifted the far end of the chain and threaded it through the arms of the blonde. I then drew it forward and put it through the arms of the next woman. Then, in time, with the help of three or four other fellows, locating themselves along the coffle line, most of the weight being shortly borne by the wrist chains of the lovely «beads» themselves, we had doubled the chain, bringing it forward. In this way we distributed the weight of the unused length of chain over the wrist chains of the last forty women or so, this constituting no unusual burden to any one of them. We did not wish to cut the chain. Moreover it would be needed the next day. Coffle chains are usually adjusted, of course, to the number of women to be placed in it. To be sure, women can be spaced more or less closely on such a chain. A slaver's joke, one which free women are likely to hear with apprehension, has it that there is always room for another female on the chain.
