She reacted angrily, but did not release the pouch.
'Do you think she might be more civil,' I asked, 'if she were stripped?'
'Yes,' he said, 'particularly if she were also branded and collared.'
'She would then learn softness, as opposed to hardness,' I said.
'It would be in her best interest to do so,' said Marcus.
'Yes,' I said.
She released the pouch and stepped back a little.
Her eyes were now wide, over the veil.
'Perhaps she is the sort of woman who is best kept in a kennel,' I said, 'to be brought forth when one wishes, for various labors.'
'Such women are all haughty wenches,' he said. 'But they quickly lose their haughtiness in bondage.'
'Please,' she said. 'Give me the coins.'
I did not release them.
'Give them to me!' she said, angrily.
'Would you not like to learn softness, as opposed to hardness? I asked. She looked at me, angrily.
'Women learn it quickly in bondage,' I said.
'It is in their best interest to do so,' said Marcus.
'Yes,' I said.
'Surely you have wondered what it would be, to be a slave?' inquired Marcus. She gasped. Only too obviously had she considered such matters.
'But then,' I said, 'you may not be attractive enough to be a slave.'
She did not speak.
I put the pouch inside my tunic.
'Oh!' she said, for I had then reached up and taken her hood in my hands. 'We shall see,' I said.
'Oh!' she said, startled.
Marcus held her from behind, by the arms.
I pushed back her hood and thrust it down. I then jerked away the veil, and surveyed her features.
'I think you, like most women, would make an adequate slave,' I said.
She squirmed.
'Hold her wrists together,' I said. I then tied them together, behind her back, with her veil.
She moaned.
She could not now readjust the veil.
'Please,' she begged. 'Let me veil myself. Slavers might see me!'
'You were not pleasing,' I said.
I then took the pouch of coins in my hands and lofted it to the group of lads some forty yards away. Their leader caught it. They then turned about, and ran. The woman looked at me, astonished, aghast.
'Your lips are pretty,' I said. 'They could possibly be trained to kiss well.' Tears sprang to her eyes.
'And lest you return home too quickly,' I said, 'we shall do this.' I then crouched down and tore off a bit of the hem of her robes, but not enough to offend her modesty, for example, revealing her ankles, and, using the cloth as a bond, fastened her ankles together, leaving her some four or five inches of slack, rather like a slave girl's hobble chains.
'She might even bring a good price in a market,' said Marcus.
'I am sure of it,' I said.
'Sleen!' said a free woman, bundled in the robes of concealment, heavily veiled, hurrying by. Doubtless she had witnessed, from a distance, the fate of her compatriot.
'The woman of Ar should be slaves,' said Marcus.
'Yes,' I said. I could think of one in particular.
'It would much improve them,' he said.
'Yes,' I said. Slavery, of course, much improves any woman. this is because of the psychological dimorphism of the human species, that the female's fulfillment lies in her subjection to, and subjugation by, a strong male.
'But do not confuse the men of Ar with the women of Ar,' I said.
'I do not feel sorry for them,' he said.
'I do,' I said. 'They have been confused, misled and robbed.'
'And not only of their goods,' said Marcus.
'No,' I said, 'but of their pride, as well.'
'And their manhood,' said Marcus, bitterly.
'I do not know,' I said. 'I do not know.'
'Their women belong at the feet of men,' said Marcus.
'So, too, do all women,' I said.
'True,' said Marcus.
Women taken in a given city, incidentally, are usually sold out of the city, to wear their collars elsewhere. In this fashion the transition from their former to their subsequent condition is made particularly clear to them. They must begin anew, as a new form of being, that of a lovely animal, the female slave. Also, given the xenophobia common on Gor, often obtaining among cities, the distrust of a stranger, the contempt for the outsider, and such, there is a special ease in a master's relating to a foreign slave, one with whom he has never shared a Home Stone. Similarly, of course, there is a special urgency and terror on the part of the slave, in finding that she now belongs helplessly to one of a different polity. She understands that it may be difficult to please such a master, one likely to be harsh and demanding, who may despise her, who may think nothing of subjecting her to cruel punishments, and that she must accordingly, if she would even live, strive desperately to be pleasing to him. They can thus, the girl's antecedents, like her name and clothing, stripped away, and his unknown to her, begin as pure master and slave. What, if anything, will then, from this basic fiat of their relationship, develop between them? Will she, in and of herself, alone, aside from the trivia of her now-irrelevant history, become his special, unique slave? Will he, on his part, in and of himself, alone, aside from his antecedents, his station, caste, and such, become to her a very special, very individual master, perhaps even her master of masters?
We then continued on.
'You are still troubled,' said Marcus.
'It is like seeing a larl tricked into destroying himself,' I said, 'as though he were told that the only good larl is a sick, apologetic, self-suspecting, guilt-ridden larl. It is like vulos legislating for tarns, the end of which legislation is the death of the tarn, or is transformation into something new, something reduced, pathological and sick, celebrated then as the true tarn.'
'I do not even understand what you are saying,' said Marcus.
'That is because you are Gorean,' I said.
'Perhaps,' he shrugged.
'But you see such things occurring in Ar,' I said.
'Yes,' he said.
'The larl makes a poor verr,' I said. 'The tarn makes a pathetic vulo. Cannot you imagine it hunching down, and pretending to be little and weak? Is the image not revolting? Why it is not soaring among the cliffs, uttering its challenge scream to the skies?'
Marcus looked at me, puzzled.
'The beast who was born to live on flesh is not to be nourished on the nibblings of urts,' I said.
'It is hard to understand you,' he said.
'It is long since I have heard the roar of the larl, the cry of the tarn,' I said.
'In Ar,' he said, 'there are no larls, there are no tarns.'
'I do not know if that is true or not,' I said.
'There are only women there,' he said, 'and men pretending to be like women.'
'Each should be true to himself,' I said.
'Perhaps neither should be true to himself, or to the other,' said Marcus. 'Perhaps each should try to be true to those who can be true to neither.'
