unknown on Gor.
She tried to press against him, but he pressed her back, with one hand.
'Yes, Master,' she sobbed. She was not now, without his permission, to so much as touch him.
'Let us be on our way,' said Marcus.
The girl moaned with need.
'Very well,' I said.
'Outside,' said Marcus to the girl, 'stand and walk well.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
She was flushed, and needful, but I did not know if this would be readily apparent outside, among the moving bodies, in the darkness, in the wayward shadows, in the uncertain light of campfires.
'You are sure you do not wish to remain in the tent for a bit?' I asked. 'Please, Master!' begged Phoebe.
'No,' said Marcus.
Phoebe was quite beautiful in the tunic. It was adjusted on her by a slave girdle, in one of its common ties.
The girl looked at her master, piteously.
'Let us be on our way,' said Marcus.
We left the tent, the girl following, bound, on the leash. She whimpered once, softly, piteously, beggingly, to which sound, however, her master, if he heard it, paid no heed.
3 The Camp
'Stones! Guess stones!' called a fellow. 'Who will play stones?'
This is a guessing game, in which a certain number of a given number of 'stones,' usually from two to five, is held in the hand and the opponent is to guess the number. There are many variations of 'Stones,' but usually one receives one point for a correct guess. If one guesses successfully, one may guess again. If one does not guess successfully, one holds the «stones» and the opponent takes his turn. The game is usually set at a given number of points, usually fifty. Whereas the «stones» are often tiny pebbles, they may be any small object. Sometimes beads are used, sometimes even gems. Intricately carved and painted game boxes containing carefully wrought «stones» are available for the affluent enthusiast. The game, as it is played on Gor, is not an idle pastime. Psychological subtleties, and strategies, are involved. Estates have sometimes changed hands as a result of 'stones.' Similarly, certain individuals are recognized as champions of the game. In certain cites, tournaments are held. I wiped my mouth with my forearm and rose to my feet. I was now much refreshed. 'Do not leave me, I beg you,' said the girl at my feet, on the mat. Her hands were about my ankle. 'I would kneel to you,' she said.
'You do not have permission even to rise to your knees,' I reminded her. She groaned.
'Paga! Paga!' called a fellow, with a large bota of paga slung over his shoulder.
'I belly for you!' said the girl, her head down, over my foot.
She held still to my ankle, her small hands about it. Her hair was about my foot. I felt her hot lips press again and again to my foot. She looked up. 'Buy me,' she begged. 'Buy me!' the marks of the rush mat were on her back. She was a blonde, and short, voluptuously curvaceous. She drew her legs up then, and lay curled on her side, looking up at me, her hands still on my ankle. 'Buy me,' she begged.
'Lie on your back,' I told her, 'your arms at your sides, the palms of your hands up, your left knee raised.'
She did so.
'Buy me!' she begged.
I could not walk away from her.
'Please,' she begged.
Her words puzzled me. Why would she want me to buy her? Certainly I had not accorded her dignity or respect, or such things. Indeed, it had not even occurred to me to do so, nor would it have been appropriate, as she was a mere slave. Similarly I had not handled her gently. Indeed, at least in my second usage of her, purchased with a second tarsk bit placed in the shallow copper bowl beside her, she had been put through fierce, severe, uncompromising slave paces. Once, when she had seemed for an instant hesitant, I had even cuffed her. 'I want to be your slave,' she said. 'Please buy me!'
I considered her. She was certainly a hot slave.
'Please, Master,' she begged.
'Are you finished?' asked a fellow behind me.
I looked again at the female, luscious, collared, on the mat.
'Please buy me!' she begged.
I considered my purposes in coming to Ar, the dangers that would be involved. 'I do not think it would be practical,' I said.
She sobbed.
'You are finished?' asked the fellow, again.
'Yes,' I said.
'Master!' she wept.
As I left, slinging about me my accouterments, I heard a new coin entered into the copper bowl.
Some peasants were to one side. Every now and then, presumably at some joke, or recounted anecdote, perhaps one about some tax collector thrown in a well, they would laugh uproariously.
A fellow brushed past me, drawing behind him two slaves, their wrists extended before them, closely together, pulled forward, the lead chains attached to their wrist shackles.
I was looking about for Marcus and Phoebe.
I glanced over to the walls of Ar, some hundred or so yards away, rearing up in the darkness. Here and there fires were lit on the walls, beacons serving to guide tarnsmen. The last time I had been to Ar, that time I had received the spurious message, to be delivered to Aemilianius, in Ar's Station, there had been no need of yellow ostraka, or permits, to enter the city. Such devices, or precautions, had in the interim apparently been deemed necessary, doubtless for purposes of security or to control the number of refugees pouring into the city which, even earlier, had been considerable. Many had slept in the streets. I had rented, at that time, a room in the insula of streets. One permitted residence in Ar received the identificatory ostrakon, for example, citizens, ambassadors, resident aliens, trade agents, and such, was a function of heir owner's possession of such ostraka. Others might enter the city on permits, usually for the day, commencing at dawn and concluding at sundown. Records were kept of visitors. A visitor whose permit had expired was the object of the search of guardsmen. Too, guardsmen might, at their option, request the presentation of either ostraka or permits. Ostaka were sometimes purchased illegally. Sometimes men killed for them. The nature of the ostraka, for example, taking different colors, being recoded, and so on.
I saw some fellows gathered about a filled, greased wineskin. There was much laughter. I went over to watch. He who manages to balance on it for a given time, usually an Ehn, wins both the skin and its contents. One pays a tarsk bit for the chance to compete. It is extremely difficult, incidentally, to balance on such an object, not only because of the slickness of the skin, heavily coated with grease, but even more so because if its rotundity and unpredictable movements, the wine surging within in. 'Aii!' cried a fellow flailing about and then spilling from its surface. There was much laughter. 'Who is next?' called the owner of the skin. This sort of thing is a sport common at peasant festivals, incidentally, thought there, of course, usually far from a city, within the circle of the palisade, the competition is free, the skin and wine being donated by one fellow or another, usually as his gift to the festival to which all in one way or another contribute, for example, by the donations of produce, meat or firewood. At such festivals there are often various games, and contests and prizes. Archery is popular with the peasants and combats with the great staff. Sometimes there is a choice of donated prizes for the victors. For example, a bolt of red cloth, a tethered verr or a slave. More than one urban girl, formerly a perfumed slave, sold into the countryside, who held herself above peasants, despising them for their supposed filth and stink, had found herself, kneeling and muchly roped, among such a set of prizes. And, to her chagrin, she is likely to find that she is
