Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 27
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
"Sometimes," she said, "I deny him, to win my way, to punish him, to teach him a lesson." She laughed, and threw a meaningful look at the other girls kneeling near her. One or two of them looked up at her, smiling.
"I understand," I said. "Does your master trouble you often in this regard."
"Not so much now," she said, angrily.
"You are aware that he can sell you," I said.
"He would not dare to do so," she said.
"But you know he has this legal power?"
"In a sense," she said.
"In the fullest of senses," I said.
"Yes," she said, drawing back a little.
"And you know that he can do with you as he pleases?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"Interesting," I said.
"Do you forget the proposed laws of respect!" she said.
"They were never enacted," I said.
"They should have been!" she said.
There was an angry mutter in the crowd.
"My master," she said, "is a kind, liberated, noble, enlightened master! He accepts such laws, or laws much like them, as much as if they had been proclaimed by the councils and promulgated by the Ubara herself!"
"The actual words of the Ubara," I said, "or at least as reported on the boards, where to the effect that slave girls should be obedient and try to please their masters."
"It is well," said a man," or Ar would have gone up in flames."
"I do not know of such things," she said.
"Are you pleased with your master? I asked.
"He is noble, and kind, and liberated and enlightened," she said.
"You seem deprived, and unfulfilled."
"I?"
"Yes," I said. "Are you content and happy?"
"Of course!" she said, angrily.
"How long have you been a slave?" I asked.
"Two months," she said.
"How came it about?" I asked.
"I was taken in the suburbs," she said, "by mercenaries, collected with others. The levy was unannounced."
I nodded. There had been many such, the soldiers appearing with their ropes, often late at night, bursting into houses, bringing their catches forth, in various states of undress and night wear, to the waiting wagons.
"You have had only one master?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "He was one who had sought my hand in the free companionship but whose renewed suits I had consistently scorned."
"And now you are his slave?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Or he is yours," laughed a fellow.
"If you say so," she said.
Again anger coursed about the circle.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"Lady Filomela," she said, "of Ar."
"You are a slave," I said.
"Filomela, then," she said, "of Ar."
"Of Ar?" I asked.
"Simply Filomela then," she said, angrily.
"And you may be given any name your master pleases," I said.
"Yes!" she said, angrily.
"Why are you not happy?" I asked.
"I am happy!" she cried.
"I see," I said.
"I am going now," she said.
"Really?" I said.
She turned about, to leave, but the men did not move to let her pass. Then she turned about, again, to face me.
"May I go now?" she asked.
"Come here," I said.
She regarded me.
"Now," I said.
She did not move.
I snapped my fingers.
She hurried angrily to stand before me. She was now close to me, and I had good feelings, feelings of energy, possessiveness and manhood, good feelings, powerful feelings, at her closeness, and she, on her part, looked up at me, and then, looking quickly away, trembled a little. Then she blushed. There was some laughter.
"You sense in yourself slave feelings?" I asked.
"No!" she said.
"Turn about, and keep your hands at your sides," I said.
With two hands I brushed her hair forward, putting it before her shoulders. I then checked her collar. It was a standard collar, of a sort familiar in the north, flat, narrow, light, sturdy, close-fitting. I did not bother reading the engraving on the collar, as it would be of no interest, her master being a weakling. The collar was closed at the back of her neck with a small, heavy lock. This is common. It was attractive on her, as such things are on any woman.
"You are collared like a slave," I said.
"I am a slave," she said.
"Clasp your hands on the top of your head," I said.
She trembled.
"Common kajira brand," said a fellow.
"Yes," I said.
"Please," she said.
"You are branded like a slave," I said.
"I am a slave!" she said, angrily.
I permitted the hem of her rather-too-long tunic to fall again into place. She was left-thigh-branded, high on the thigh, a bit below the hip, like most girls. I glanced to the four other girls kneeling to the side. They were apprehensive, frightened.
"Are you the leader of these others?" I asked her.
"We are friends," she said, evasively.
This was surely not impossible. Slaves girls have much in common, such as their brands and collars, their typical garmentures, their entire condition and status, the sorts of labors they must perform, and the problems of pleasing masters. It is natural then, given such commonalties, and abused and despised by free women, that they should often seek out one another's company. It is not unusual to see them together, for example, laundering at the stream side or long basins, or sitting about a circle, mending and sewing, or polishing silver. Sometimes they arrange their errands so that they may accompany one another. Sometimes, too, in the abundance of free time enjoyed by most urban slaves, they simply wander about, seeing the city, chatting, exchanging gossip, and such. To be sure, it would be remiss not to remark also that, as one would expect, some of the pettiest of jealousies, the most absurd of resentments, the vilest of acrimonies and the most inveterate of hatreds can obtain among these beautiful, vain, vital creatures, within the same house, where contests often rage, sometimes subtly and sometimes not, for the favor of the master, on which contests, needless to say, considerable shiftings in rank and hierarchy may hinge. And there can be intense competitions, it might be mentioned, not only for such treasures as the master's attentions and affections but for articles as ordinary as combs and brushes and prizes which, whatever may be their symbolic value, are often as small in themselves as a sweet or pastry. In this case, however, I suspected this was no typical grouping of slaves, of the normal sort, but a tiny covey of girls either with a natural enough suspicion in an Ar where the men of the city, betrayed and defeated, helpless and confused, were for most practical purposes, at least until recently, prostrate before the might of Cos. If one is in effect a slave oneself it is hard to be a strong master to one's female. It is much easier to rationalize one's weaknesses and struggle to view them as virtues.
"Is she your leader?" I asked one of the girls kneeling to the side, one of those in a tunic of the wool of the bounding hurt.
"Yes," she said.
"No!" swiftly said another, one also in a tunic of the wool of the bounding hurt. "Our masters are our leaders!"
"Leaders?" I asked.
"Owners!" she swiftly said.
"What are you?" I asked the first kneel girl, sternly.
"Properties!" she said. And she added quickly, seeing my eyes still upon her. "And animals!"
"Yes!" said the girl beside her, she who had spoken second earlier.
"And what are you?" I asked the slave, Filomela.
"A slave," she said, not turning around, standing facing away from me, her hands clasped on her head.
"Turn about," I said.
She obeyed.
"And?" I asked.
She was standing quite close to me, in the posture I had dictated.
"A property, and animal!" she said.
I looked upon her, savoring her. She looked away. I also observed, carefully, her tension, the tonicity of her body.
"Straighten your body," I said.
She did so.
The line of her breasts was lovely under her simple garment.
"You seem uneasy," I said.
She did not respond.
One of the kneeling girls gasped.
It was not difficult to detect her discomfort, her uneasiness, attendant on the proximity of a male. I looked over her, letting this closeness work upon her. Others, too, now had moved in more closely about her.
"You are a slave?" I asked.
"Yes!" she said, tensely.
"Perhaps now you sense in yourself slave feelings?" I said.
She cast a frightened, pathetic, shamed glance at the other girls, those kneeling to one side.
"No!" she said. "No!"
"Spread your legs," I said.
"Please!" she said.
"Keep your hands as they are," I said.
"Ah," I said, "you are a lying slave girl."
She cried out in misery.
I stepped back from her.
"You may stand straight again," I informed her.
Quickly she stood straight. She kept her hands on her head.
"And what of you others?" I asked, looking to the other four. "Perhaps you sense in yourself slave feelings?
They did not meet my eyes but clenched their knees closely together, as though by this means to suppress and control their sensations. They hunched down, they made themselves small. I did not think that there was one there who, in proper hands, would not squirm well, yielding herself up in grateful joy to a master. "You may put your hands down," I informed Filomela, their leader.
"May I go now?" she said.
"You are charged," I said, "with drinking from one of the higher levels of a fountain."
"That fountain there," said a fellow, pointing back.
"Is it true?" I asked her.
She was silent.
"It is true," said a fellow.
"Yes," said another.
Assent to this was added, also, by others.
"Do you deny this?" I asked her.
She was silent.
"She is a slave," said a man.
"Let her testimony be taken under torture," said another.
The testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture in Gorean law courts. "Let us find a rack," said another.
The girl turned white. Perhaps when she was a free woman she had seen girls on the rack, though, of course, they would have been mere slaves.
"I drank from the high bowl," she said.
"Although you are a slave?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"I was thirsty," she said.
"Speak truthfully," I said.
"I was thirsty!" she said.
"Thirst may be quenched at the lower bowl as well," I said.
She looked at me, angrily.
"Perhaps you forgot?" I said. "You were, after all, recently a free woman." She did not answer.
I did not seriously consider the possibility, of course, that she might have forgotten the matter. Too, slaves are not permitted to forget such things. It is up to them to remember them. Too, obviously one could claim to have forgotten the most elementary duties, tokens of respect, and such. Accordingly, forgetfulness does not excuse the commission of such acts. A slave seldom forgets them more than once. The whip is an excellent mnemonic device. I did, of course, wish to accord her the recourse of pretending to forgetfulness, if she cared to take advantage of it. It might serve to mitigate the wrath of the men about, at least somewhat. After all, she did not seem to realize that her life was in danger.
She threw a look at the other girls.
"You did not forget then," I said. "And you must have known that free men were about. Your act then was intended as some sort of provocation, or insult, or insolency or challenge?"
"She knew herself observed," said a fellow, "and then with intent, and deliberation, drank from the third level."
"My master would permit it!" she cried.
"That is probably true," laughed a fellow, contemptuously.
"Kneel, errant slave," I said.
She knelt, in terror.
I looked down at her, and pointed the first two fingers of my right hand to the ground, and then opened them. "You do not know the meaning of that sign?" I asked.
"No," she said, trembling.
"Her master is indeed weak," said a fellow.
I supposed her master must be a low-drive male.
"Spread your knees, widely," said another.
Frightened, the girl complied.
"Take her in hand," I said.
A fellow on either side of her then held her, each by a lifted wrist.
I looked at the other girls.
They, too, at my glance, knelt with their knees spread, widely.
"See!" said the one in silk. "My master has silked me!" He has put me in silk, as the slave I am! Do not hurt me! I am only a silked slave! That is all I have been given to wear. He is a man, a man!" The first girl in line, one of the three clad in the wool of the bounding hurt, did not dare to meet my eyes but drew the hem of her tunic up and back, higher on her legs, that more of her beauty might be bared. She, too, did not wish to face the wrath of masters. The other two in the wool of the bounding hurt quickly followed her example. They then all adjusted their tunics further in one way or another, one pulling down a bit on the «V» at her neck, the others pushing up the sleeves of their tunics to reveal more of their gracefully curved upper arms.
"Slaves!" chided the girl before me. She saw herself losing her grip upon them. "And what are you? I inquired.
"A slave!" she said.
I regarded her.
"a€”Master," she added.
"It is a serious thing you are charged with," I said.
She looked at me, angrily.
"You have drunk," I said, "from the wrong level of a fountain."
"What difference does it make," she asked, "what bowl of a fountain I drank from? It is a small thing!"
Anger coursed through the men present.
"It is not a small thing," I said. "Such things are symbols of rank and hierarchy, of difference and distance. They like at the foundation of a natural society, one in accord with the aristocracy of nature, a society in which there are places for both heroes and slaves. They speak of ordered arrangements. All are not the same. All are not leveled, nor must they pretend to be. Such a flat, crushed world, without difference and meaning, lies to the ruled and makes liars of the rulers. It imposes fraud upon one and hypocrisy upon the other. In an unnatural world, the same, as all cannot be the best, there is no alternative, if all are to be the same, then to reduce the best to the level of the worst, at least in pretense. Do you not think the intelligent, the strong, the aggressive, even the evil, will rule, under whatever forms are convenient? The larl, as a larl, must survey verr, or sleen will tend them, pretending to be themselves verr."
She looked up at me.
"You did not truly think it a small thing," I said, "otherwise you would not have done it."
She struggled a little, but could not, of course, free herself from the grip of the men. then, under my stern gaze, she again spread her knees, so that they were again in the position, precisely, in which I had instructed her to have them.
"You challenged the men of Ar," I said. "But you did not expect the challenge to be accepted. You expected them to yield to their defeat, perhaps pretending not to notice it."
She struggled again a bit, and was then again as she was before.
"But it has been noticed," I said.
"I saw girls drinking from the high bowls last month!" she said.
"That was last month," I said.
"You cannot punish me!" she cried. "You are not my masters!"
"Any free person can punish an errant slave girl," I said. "Surely you do not think that her behavior fails to be subject to supervision and correction as soon as she is out of her master's sight?"
"Take me to my master!" she begged. "Let him punish me, if he wishes to do so!"
"We will attend to the matter," I said.
"No!" she wept.
I looked at the others. "And you, too," I suggested, "are errant slaves."
"No, Master!" they wept. "No, Master!"
"You cannot seriously intend to punish me!" said Filomela. "I was a free woman!"
"That is where most slaves come from," I said. I turned to the other slaves. "Were you not all once free women?" I asked.
"Yes, Master!" they said.
"But I was of high caste!" said Filomela.
"What was your caste?" I asked.
"The Builders!" she said.
"But you are not now of the Builders, or of any other caste, are you?" I asked. "No," she said.
"What are you?"
"A slave," she said.
"Accordingly," I said, "you may be punished as what you are, a slave."
Suddenly she laughed, in hysterical relief.
"What is wrong?" I asked.
"It is a joke!" she said. "It is a game you are playing, to turn about and trick these fools, to humiliate these defeated, bedraggled beasts!"
"I do not understand," I said.
"You, and your fellow, are of Cos," she said. "I see it on your armbands! It is your business to pacify the men of Ar, to keep them down, to suppress them, to keep them helpless, futile, confused, domesticated, tamed, subdued! Surely you have your orders to that effect. You can succeed in this, Ar is defeated. She is helpless. She is crushed. The entire might of Cos backs your authority! Grind down the men of Ar, as you should. Continue to keep them, as they have been kept, intimidated herds of prisoners incarcerated in their own city, encouraged to view the wretchedness of their lot as the evidence of some new triumph. And it is your intention to use me to help you in this, by permitting me to insult them, by permitting me to mock their manhood, to reduce their virility. Of course! I now understand! So now disband this rabble and release me!"
She made as though to rise.
"Remain on your knees, slave girl," I said.
"You must let me go, you must order my release, you must take me from these brutes, you must scold them, speak to them of laws and such, or something, anything!" she cried. "Defend me, us! I demand it! Release me! You must! I beg it! The men of Ar have been defeated! No longer are they men! No longer are they mighty and masters! They are now nothing, they are all weaklings! You are of Cos! You must keep them that way! It is important to you to keep them that way! Arrest them if they dare think again of pride and manhood, tangle them in rulings, trip them with laws, lie to them, confuse them, put them in prison, do not let them understand themselves, or become themselves, if necessary, put them to the sword! Burn Ar! Destroy it! Salt its ashes! Do you not understand how dangerous might probe to be manhood in Ar? You must not permit it! And you can use women like us to help you in your schemes, protecting us, and using us to diminish men! Let us be your allies in the conquest and subjugation of Ar! Surely you understand me? You are of Cos! You are of Cos!"
