Players of Gor coc-20, page 16
part #20 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
"Can you see the veil?" one of the men in the audience asked her.
"Of course," she said. I saw that the female had an active wit. She had not fallen into his trap. There was laughter. She seemed highly intelligent. I supposed, then, other things being equal, that she might be capable of attaining at least the minimum standards of slave adequacy. I wondered if she were attractive. It was not easy to tell, robed and veiled as she was. It would have been easier to tell had she been in slave silk, or nude in a collar.
Boots, I saw, had followed this small exchange from the stage.
"Nine thousand pieces of gold, then," called the Brigella to Boots.
He returned his attention to the stage.
"Eight thousand?" she asked, hopefully.
Boots, with a great flourish, shook out the magic veil and displayed it shamelessly, so cruelly tempting her, awing her with its splendors.
"How marvelous it is!" she cried. "Oh! Oh!"
"Well," said Boots, seemingly folding the cloth, "I must be on my way."
"No, no!" she said. "Five thousand? One thousand!"
"Oh, curse my poverty," cried Boots, "that I cannot take advantage of so golden an opportunity!"
"I must have it," she wailed to the audience, "but I do not know what to do!"
Many were the suggestions called out to the bewildered Brigella from the audience, not all of which were of a refined nature. This type of participation, so to speak, on the part of the audience is a very familiar thing in the lower forms of Gorean theater. It is even welcomed and encouraged. The farce is something which, in a sense, the actors and the audience do together. They collaborate, in effect, to produce the theatrical experience. If the play is not going well, the audience, too, is likely to let the actors know about it. Sometimes a play is hooted down and another must be hastily substituted for it. Fights in the audience, between those who approve of what is going on and those who do not, are not uncommon. It is not unknown, either, for the stage to be littered with cores and rinds, and garbage of various sorts, most of which have previously, successfully or unsuccessfully, served as missiles. Occasionally an actor is struck unconscious by a more serious projectile. I do not envy the actor his profession. I prefer my own caste, that of the warriors.
"May I make a suggestion?" inquired Boots.
"Of course, kind sir," she cried, as though welcoming any solution to her dilemma.
"Disrobe in private," he suggested, "and while disrobing consider the matter. Then, if you decide, in your nobility, to deny me even the briefest of peeps, what harm could possibly have been done?"
"A splendid suggestion, kind sir," she said, "but where, in this fair meadow, at the side of a public road, will I find suitably privacy?"
"Here," said Boots, lifting up the veil.
"What?" she asked.
"As you can see," said Boots, "it is as opaque as it is beautiful."
"Of course," she said.
"You can see it, can't you?" he asked, suddenly concerned.
"Of course! Of course!" she said.
"Then?" asked Boots.
"Hold it up high," she said.
"Boots obliged. "Are you disrobing?" he asked. The men in the audience began to cry out with pleasure. Some struck their left shoulders in Gorean applause.
"Yes," called the Brigella.
She was quite beautiful.
"I shall mention this in my complaint to the proper magistrates," said the free woman from her position near the stage.
"Are you absolutely naked now?" asked Boots, as though he could not see her.
"Totally," she said.
"A silver tarsk for her!" called a fellow from the audience. The Brigella smiled. It must have been he, then, who had expressed a interest in her.
"A silver tarsk, five!" called another fellow.
"A sliver tarsk, ten!" called another.
These offers clearly pleased the Br9igella. They attested her value, which was considerable. Many women sell for less than a silver tarsk. Too, the fellows bidding all seemed strong, handsome fellows, all likely masters. There was not one of them who did not seem capable of handling her perfectly, as the slave she was. I suspected that this Brigella was not destined to long remain a member of the troupe of Boots, Tarsk-Bit.
"Do not interrupt the play," scolded the free woman.
"And not a tarsk-bit for you, lady," laughed one of the men.
The Lady Telitsia of Asperiche stiffened angrily and returned her attention to the stage. "You may continue," she informed the players.
"Why thank you, lady," said Boots Tarsk-Bit.
"Are you being insolent?" she asked.
"No, lady!" exclaimed Boots, innocently.
"She should be whipped," said a man.
The Lady Telitsia did not deign to respond to this suggestion. She could afford to ignore it, disdainfully. she was not a slave. She was a free woman, and above whipping. Too, she was perfectly safe. She was on the protected ground, the truce ground, of the Sardar Fair.
"Here I stand by a public road, stripped as naked as a slave," said the Brigella, confidently, to the audience, "but yet am perfectly concealed by this wondrous veil."
"Are you truly naked?" asked Boots.
"See?" she said to the crowd.
"To be sure!" called one of the men, one of the fellows who had bidden on her.
"Yes," she called out to Boots.
"But how can I know if you are truly naked?" inquired Boots, ogling her.
"You may take my word for it," she said, haughtily, "as I am a free woman."
"With all due respect, noble lady," said Boots, "in a transaction of this momentous nature, I believe it is only fair that I be granted assurances of a somewhat greater magnitude."
"What would you wish?" she asked.
"Might I not be granted some evidence of your putative nudity?" he inquired.
"But, sir," she said, "I have not yet decided whether or not to grant you your peep, that moment of inutterable bliss for which you will, willingly, surrender the wondrous veil to me in its entirety."
"Do not mistake me, kind lady," cried Boots, horrified. "I had in mind only evidence of an ilk most indirect."
"But what could that be?" she inquired, dismayed.
"I dare not think on the matter," he lamented.
"I have it!" she cried.
"What?" he asked, winking at the crowd.
"I could show you my clothing!" she cried.
"But of what relevance might that be?" asked Boots, innocently.
"If you detect that I am not within it," she said, "then might you not, boldly, infer me bare?"
"Oh, telling stroke, bold blow!" he cried. "Who might have conjectured that our problem could have succumbed to so deft a solution!"
"I bundle my clothing," se said, "and place it herewith beneath the edge of the veil, that you may see it."
There was much laughter here, at the apparent innocence of this action. This was extremely meaningful, of course, in the Gorean cultural context. When a female places her clothing at the feet of a man she acknowledges that whether or not she may wear it, or other garments, or even if she is to be clothed at all, is dependent on his will, not hers. Boots, in effect, in the context of the play, had tricked her into placing her clothing at his feet. This is tantamount to a declaration of imbondment to the male.
"Hold up the veil," said Boots to the Brigella.
"Why, good sir?" she asked.
"I must count the garments," said Boots, seriously.
"Very well," she said. "Oh, the veil is so light!"
"It is exactly like holding nothing up at all," Boots granted her.
"Exactly," she said. Boots then made a great pretense of counting the garments. The Brigella turned to the audience, as though holding up the cloth between herself and them. "He is so suspicious, and has such a legalistic mind," she complained. Meanwhile Boots thrust the garments into his pack.
"I trust that all is in order," said the Brigella.
"It would seem so," said Boots, "unless perhaps you are now wearing a second set of garments, a secret set, which was cleverly concealed beneath the first set."
"I assure you I am not," she said.
"I suppose even in matters this monumentous," said Boots, "there comes a time when some exchange of trust is in order."
"Precisely," said the Brigella.
"Very well," said Boots.
"I do not see my clothing about," said the Brigella to the crowd, "but doubtless it is hidden behind the veil."
"Then!" cried Boots.
"Yes," she said, "you may now, if you wish, infer, and correctly, sir, that behind this opaque veil I am bare."
"Utterly?" he asked.
"Utterly," she said.
"Oh, intrepid inference!" cried Boots. "I can scarcely control myself!"
"You must struggle to do so, sir," she said.
"Hold the veil higher," said Boots. "Higher, lest I be tempted to peep over its rippling, shimmering horizon, daring to look upon what joys lie beyond. Higher!"
"Is this all right?" she asked.
"Splendid!" said Boots.
She now stood with the veil raised high above her head with her arms spread. This lifted the line of her breasts beautifully. Women are sometimes tied in this posture in a slave market. It is a not uncommon display position.
"Ah!" cried Boots. "Ah!"
"The sounds you utter, sir," she said, "would almost make me believe, could I but see them, which, of course, I cannot, that your facial expressions and bodily attitudes might be those of one who looked relishingly upon me."
"Yes," cried Boots, "it is my active imagination, conjecturing what exposed beauty must lie perfectly concealed behind the impervious barrier of that heartless veil."
"And I am a free woman," said the girl to the crowd, "not even a slave." There was laughter. All that she wore now, in actuality, not in the context of the play, of course, in which she was, by convention, understood to be utterly naked, was her collar, concealed by a light scarf, and a circular adhesive patch on her left thigh, concealing her brand.
"Ah!" cried Boots.
"I had best not permit him more than the briefest of peeps," she said, to the audience, "lest he perhaps in rapture go out of his sense altogether."
Boots pounded his thighs.
"Imagine what it might be if he could truly see me," she said.
"Let me, dear lady," said Boots, "hold the veil. Though it be as light as noting itself, yet, by now, your arms, if only from their position, must grow weary."
"Thank you, kind sir," she said. "Do you have it now?"
"Of course," said Boots, as though astonished at her question.
"Of course," she said, lightly. "I just did not wish you to drop it."
"There is little danger of that," he said. "I mean, of course, I will exercise considerable caution in its handling."
He now held the cloth up between them.
"Have you given some thought to the matter of whether or not you will permit me the peep of which we spoke so intriguingly earlier?" he asked.
"Keep holding the veil up high," she said. "Perhaps I will consider giving some thought to the matter."
Suddenly, with a cry of apprehension, looking down the road, Boots snapped away the cloth and whipped it behind his back, seeming to stuff it in his belt, behind his back. "Oh!" she cried in horror, cringing and half crouching down, trying to cover herself as well as she could, in maidenly distress. "What have you done, sir? Explain yourself, instantly!"
"I fear brigand approach," he said, looking wildly down the road. "Do not look! They must not see the wondrous veil! Surely they would take it from me!"
"But I am naked!" she cried.
"Pretend to be a slave!" he advised.
"I," she gasped, in horror, "pretend to be a slave?"
"Yes!" he cried.
"But I know nothing," said the Brigella, in great innocence, to the audience, "of being a slave."
There was laughter.
"What you know nothing of," said the free woman to her, "is of being a free woman, meaningless slut."
The Brigella at one time or another had doubtless been a free woman. Accordingly she would presumably know a great deal about being a free woman. On the other hand she did not dare respond to the free woman, for she was now a slave.
"Would you rather be apprehended by the brigands?" inquired Boots of the Brigella. "They might be pleased to get their capture cords on a free woman."
"No!" she cried.
"Kneel down," he said, "quickly, with your head to the dirt!"
"Oh, oh!" she moaned, but complied.
"That way," he said, "they make you for a mere slave, perhaps not worth the time it might take to put you in a noose and the time it might take to transport you to a salves point, and me for a poor merchant, perhaps not worth robbing. Here they come. They are fierce looking fellows."
"Oh," she moaned, trembling, "oh, oh."
"Do not look up," he warned her.
"No," she said.
"No, what, Slave?" he said, sternly.
"No, Master!" she cried.
There was laughter. He now had her kneeling naked at his feet, addressing him as «Master». In the Gorean culture, of course, this sort of thing is very significant. Indeed, in some cities such things as kneeling before a man or addressing him as «Master» effects legal imbondment on the female, being interpreted as a gesture of submission.
There was now great laughter for, strolling across the stage, swinging censers, mumbling in what was doubtless supposed to resemble archaic Gorean, in the guise of Initiates, came Tarsk-Bit's Lecchio and Chino. In a moment they had passed.
"Those were not brigands," cried the girl, angrily, looking up. "They were Initiates!"
"I am sorry," said Boots, apologetically. "I mistook them for brigands."
She leaped to her feet, covering herself with her hands, as well as she could. "You may now give me the veil, sir," she said, angrily.
"But you have not yet given me my peep," protested Boots.
"Oh!" she cried angrily.
"Consider how you are standing," said Boots, "half turned away from me, half crouched down, and holding your legs as you are, and with your hands and arms placed as they are, such things seem scarcely fair to me. Surely you must understand that such things constitute obstacles uncongenial, at the least, to the achievement of a peep of the quality in question."
"Oh! Oh!" she cried.
"It is a simple matter of bargaining in good faith," said Boots.
"Sleen!" she cried.
"Perhaps we could get a ruling on the matter from a praetor," suggested Boots.
"Sleen! Sleen!" she cried.
"I see that I must be on my way," said Boots.
"No!" she cried. "I must have that wondrous veil!"
"Not without my peep," said Boots.
"Very well, sir," she said. "How will you have your peep? What must I do?"
"Lie down upon your back," he said, "and lift your right knee, placing your hands at your sides, six inches from y our thighs, the palms of your hands facing upwards." He regarded her. "No," he said, "that is not quite it. Roll over, if you would. Better. Now lift your upper body from the dirt, supporting it on the palms of your hands, and look back over your shoulder. Not bad. But I am not sure that is exactly is. Kneel now, and straighten your body, putting your head back, clasping your hands behind the back of your head. Perhaps that is almost it."
"I hope so!" she cried.
"But not quite," he said.
"Oh!" she cried in frustration.
"Sometimes one must labor, and experiment, to find the proper peep," he informed her.
"Apparently," she said.
Boots, the, it seemed always just minimally short of success, continued dauntlessly to search for a suitable peep. In doing this, of course, the female was well, and lengthily, displayed for the audience.
She was incredibly beautiful. The men cried out with pleasure, some of them slapping their thighs.
"Disgusting!" cried the free woman.
I myself considered bidding on the Brigella. She was incredibly, marvelously beautiful.
"Disgusting!" cried the free woman.
"It is you who are disgusting," said one of the men to the free woman.
"I?" she cried.
"Yes, you," he said.
The free woman did not respond to him. She stiffened in her robes, her small hands clenched in her blue gloves. How antibiological, petty, and self-serving were her value judgments.
"Look," cried Boots to the Brigella, in his guise of a merchant. "Someone is coming!"
"You will not fool me twice, you scoundrel, you cad!" she replied from her knees.
"I think it is a woman," said Boots.
"What?" she cried, turning about, half rising, and then collapsed back in confusion, in misery, to her knees. She looked up at Boots, wildly. "It is Lady Tipa, my rival, from the village," she said. "She cannot be allowed to see me like this. What, oh, what, shall I do? Where can I hide?"
"Quickly," cried Boots, "here, beneath my robes!"
Swiftly, on her knees, wildly, knowing not what else to do, the girl had scrambled to Boots. IN a moment she was concealed beneath his robes, on her knees, only her calves and feet thrust out from beneath their hem.
"I see, sir," said the newcomer, who was understood to be the free woman, the Lady Tipa, but was presumably Boots's Bina, usually the companion and confidant of the Brigella, "that you well know how to pout a slave through her paces."
"Why, thank you, noble lady," said Boots.
"I did not get a good look at her as I approached," said the Bina. "Is she pretty?"
"Some might think her passable," said Boots, "but compared to yourself her beauty is doubtless no more than that of a she-urt compared to that of the preferred slave of a Ubar."
The Brigella churned with rage beneath Boots's robes. She dared not emerge, of course.
"What is wrong with your slave?" asked the Bina.
"She burns with desire," said Boots.
"How weak slaves are," said the Bina.
"Yes," said Boots.
"I am looking for a girl from m y village," said the Bina. "I was told, by two fellows, peddle4s, I think, whom I take to be of the merchants, that she may have come this way."
"Could you describe her?" asked Boots.
