Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Forty-One



I stood waist-deep in the water.

Tula, Mila, and I rejoiced to have the opportunity to clean our bodies, to wash away, even in the chill, moving water, the sweat, grime, and dust of the trekking. Whereas the mistresses had occasionally availed themselves of the river to cleanse themselves, we had not been allowed to do so. We had been kept filthy, and roped. Free women, for whatever reason, are commonly cruel to slaves. Men are much kinder to us. They are our natural masters. They even like us, at least as pleasure objects and slaves. We had submerged our bodies fully several times, and washed our hair as we could. It was sopped and clinging, about our shoulders. We had removed our tunics at the water’s edge, and, kneeling there, had soaked and rinsed them, twisting what water we could from the cloth. As only small pebbles and gravel were about, we could do little more. Then, laying the tunics out to dry, we had waded into the water. Several of the men had come down to the shore, to watch. There was nothing furtive, or clandestine, about this. They enjoyed looking upon us, and so looked upon us. Similarly we were neither surprised, nor shocked, at this attention. As we were slaves, our bodies might be looked upon with the same freedom as those of verr or kaiila, though we were well aware that looking upon us would be likely to provoke interests and excitements quite other than those likely to follow upon the scrutiny of those other beasts.

“See how the men look upon us,” said Tula, pleased.

“Of course,” laughed Mila. “There are collars on our necks.”

How different we are, I thought, from those precious, glorious free women, at least of the high castes, in the cities, of whom I had often heard, who might faint with mortification should a sudden breeze disarrange a veil, or attack a fellow suspected of considering an ankle, or hire public avengers to respond to an inadvertent jostling in a public place. To be sure, it is probably a matter of degrees and extent. Free women on my former world, for example, while more open with respect to their bodies than their Gorean sisters, even to the extent of commonly forgoing facial veiling, would be unlikely to consider bathing naked before men. Certainly I would not have considered such a thing. It would have been unthinkable. But now I was on Gor, and, as Mila might have noted, there was a collar on my neck. I was now a collared beast, no different from other collared beasts, and might be bought and sold as such.

I wondered if anyone could be more woman, or female, if not in her collar.

Whereas there are doubtless terrors associated with the collar, there is also a certain freedom, from our own self-imprisonments. Certainly a thousand frustrations, fears, lies, and conflicts were avoided. I had the sense that wars were done and, in losing, I had won. I had come home to myself, and could not again leave myself, even if I had wished to do so, but I did not have that wish. I was choiceless, and would have it no other way. It would have been my choice to be choiceless. How free I then was! Everything was now objective, and natural. I was in my place, and I wanted to be there, for in it I was myself, and fulfilled. I loved being a slave. It was what I was!

We have our feelings and emotions, deep and profound feelings and emotions. I wonder if a woman can even have such feelings and emotions if she is not aware of how vulnerable and helpless she is, if she is not in a collar. They may do with us as they please. We are to be done with as they please. We are collared.

How helpless we are!

But we are not without our weapons, those of our wit and beauty. And such weapons are not inconsiderable.

Perhaps that is one reason free women hate us so.

Some men were watching.

We were slaves.

I recalled a man, one seen long ago, a man whom I had seen somehow, even so long ago, on a far world, as a master. I recalled I had lain at his feet in some large structure, stripped and bound. He had later looked upon me, appraisingly, in an exposition cage in Brundisium, and had then taken his leave, abandoning me, leaving me separated from him, behind bars, a chattel, caged. He had scorned me on the dock at Shipcamp. How I hated him! And I remembered how Donna had knelt beside Genserich and licked his thigh, beautiful, loving, obedient beast that she was. I would have loved to kneel beside his thigh, that master first seen on a far world, and so express my slave’s devotion, hoping not to be cuffed away, to the side.

How glorious, how wonderful, to have a master to serve!

He had no interest in me.

But other men would, I knew.

Had not Master Genserich or Master Aeson kicked my knees apart, that I might understand I was, in that camp, a pleasure slave?

We have our power, our beauty, our wit, our intelligence, and may use it to our advantage. So, too, might a free woman. But how limited, and confined she is! Are not we, with our training, half-naked in our tunics, a thousand times more desirable, in our animal way, than the free woman? Does she not know that in any war of attractiveness, she is far outdone by the slave? When the heat of their manhood is upon them is it not we whom they seek, whom they buy, whom they bid for in the markets, whom they chain to their couch?

I wished that that master, who had had no interest in me, might now look upon me.

Some men were, why not he?

It would be pleasant to make him suffer.

How long ago it seemed that he had first looked upon me! At that time I did not even know that there was a world, Gor. I had, of course, heard rumors of such a world, but who had not? But, of course, it did not exist. And then I had found myself on a slave block, under torches, naked, being vended in Brundisium!

I wished he was watching me. How I would make him suffer!

I submerged my head in the water and lifted it up, almost immediately. I thrust my wet hair back about my head, and, keeping my hands behind my head, put my head far back, and lifted it to the late-afternoon sky, my back arched, the water streaming from my body, sparkling in its droplets falling to the river.

How I hated him!

I wondered if he were watching, from the shore, if he saw me, as I was now.

I hoped so.

I would make him suffer!

I thought that I had even now improved on my block measurements.

Was he watching?

I would make him suffer.

I thought I might go for even a silver tarsk, now, in open bidding.

Was he watching?

Let him suffer!

Now I would follow Tula and Mila to the shore, and don my freshened, still-damp tunic. It would cling nicely to my body. I would not notice that of course. Then I would fasten the disrobing loop, slowly, modestly, carefully.

I wished that he whom I hated might be on shore, watching me, not that it made any difference to me.

He had scorned me on the dock at Shipcamp, and I would scorn him here, but not, of course, to the extent of risking a beating.

I had apparently lost consciousness shortly after hearing certain words, following which I had sensed, rather as though I might be somewhere else, that the sleen had not attacked me, that it might have been soothed, that it might now be gone. Certainly I no longer felt the heat of its breath on my back, nor was I any longer half-choked in the stifling reek of it, emanating from that deep, cavernous, fanged maw. Then clearly the beast had been pacified, and was being fed. I heard its feeding, the voracious tearing of the meat, the sound of its gorging, and it was then, I think, that I lost consciousness.

Tula and Mila were with me when I opened my eyes.

They kissed me. “You are alive, Vulo,” had said Tula. Mila gave me water from a metal cup.

“There was a sleen,” I said.

“There is nothing to fear from it now,” said Mila.

“Unless you run again,” said Tula. “Then it might kill you.”

“The hunt is done,” said Tula.

“But you have been caught,” said Mila.

I was then very afraid.

But there would be little in this camp, I thought, from which my scent might be taken.

Might I not run again?

I was sure the sleen had been somehow set on my track from Shipcamp. They would take me back there. I had run. What, then, would be done with me there?

I must run again!

Once I was roped, and leashed, I would be helpless.

“There were two with the sleen,” said Tula, “the use master and another. They were hunting together. We thought them with the captors, but they did not attack with them. It seems they were guests, with the sleen, in the camp of the captors. Apparently the sleen escaped. It is fortunate for you it was recovered.”

I did not think it likely that the captors were from Shipcamp. I had seen none of them before. Indeed, I was not sure they had even known of the existence of Shipcamp. The two who had been with the sleen, on the other hand, must be from Shipcamp. I had been the quarry of their sleen. Their relationship to the captors, if any, was not clear to me. I suspected they might have fallen in with one another in the forest.

I had not even obtained a good look at the sleen’s use master, let alone his fellow, as by the time of his arrival, I was kneeling, bent down, my head to the dirt, my hands over my head, expecting the momentary attack of the sleen. I had not even raised my head, so terrified I had been, when the beast had been withdrawn, and had begun to feed, and I had lost consciousness.

“You may only be whipped,” said Tula.

“You are very pretty to be put to leech plants or fed to sleen,” said Mila. “Men hate to lose a pretty slave. They have many uses for them.”

“Too, you are a barbarian,” said Tula. “That is clear from your accent. And barbarians are stupid. It might be thought you did not know any better.”

“This time,” said Mila, meaningfully.

“And allowances might be made for you,” continued Tula.

“Once,” said Tula.

“Who were with the sleen?” I asked.

“Those two, across the camp,” said Tula.

Tula and Mila helped me to my feet, for I still felt unsteady.

“What is wrong?” asked Tula.

“Are you going to faint?” asked Mila, anxiously, tightening her hold on my arm.

“No,” I said. “No!”

“Do you know them?” asked Tula.

“One,” I said.

“Is he your master?” asked Tula.

“No,” I said, “he is not my master, and I am not his slave!”

“I only asked,” said Tula.

“You could do worse,” said Mila. “Look at those arms, the hands, the shoulders, the power, the virility of that body.”

“He could break one of us in two,” said Tula.

“He could nurture, protect, and master a slave,” said Mila. “I would be well pleased if his coin could take me off the block.”

“Not I!” I said.

“I would love to crawl naked and collared at his feet, cleaning them with my tongue, any time,” said Mila.

“Not I!” I said.

“Surely he is handsome,” said Tula.

“Not at all,” I said.

“I cannot even look at him,” said Mila, “without feeling my bondage.”

“It is he whom I fled,” I said.

“Then he is your master,” said Tula.

“No, he is not!” I said.

“Then you know he is your master, and you want him as your master!” said Mila.

“No, no!” I said.

“He is not the sleen master,” said Tula. “Thus he must have hired the sleen and its master.”

“You were the beast’s quarry,” said Mila.

“He came to seek you!” said Tula.

“Perhaps,” I said, off-handedly.

I feared I might fall, seeing him here, in the camp, so close, only some yards away.

Then I stood very straight, and stiffly.

“He is an oaf,” I said. “But, yes, doubtless he has come to seek me.”

“So far through the forest, and its dangers,” said Tula.

“He must want you very much,” said Mila.

I swelled with pride. Had it not been my knees, and not those of Tula and Mila, which Genserich or Aeson had forced apart, so that I must kneel in the position of the most owned and desirable of slaves, the pleasure slave? How vulnerable is a woman so positioned! And I had been unable to subdue or ignore the feelings which I had experienced, being so placed, so as a slave, before a man. How can one help being heated, and excited? How can one help being aware of the changes in one’s body, the readiness of one’s belly?

“Perhaps,” I said.

“But why, then, has he not put you in his bracelets?” asked Tula.

“I do not know,” I said.

“I do not understand,” said Mila. “He has paid you no attention. He has not even looked in our direction. I am not sure he knows you are in the camp.”

“Could there be no other reason you were sought?” asked Tula.

“Perhaps,” I said, falteringly. I suddenly realized that I might have been sought simply as a fled slave, only that. I was well aware of the security within, and about, Shipcamp, the guards, the prowling larls, and such. It seemed clear that there were secrets about Shipcamp which the Pani were concerned to protect. To protect the camp, deserters might be pursued, or fled slaves. Indeed, I had gathered that our captors’ interest in the mistresses might have some relationship to these matters. It seemed they had spied on Shipcamp, and the captors had been concerned to intercept them, presumably before they might report their findings.

“It is all very strange,” said Tula.

I did not think it so strange, but, if there were secrets concerning Shipcamp, I thought it best to remain silent.

“Where are the mistresses?” I asked.

“They have been sent out again, with the scarlet-clad slave and two guards, to gather wood.”

I recalled that their first errand with this object had been interrupted by the appearance of a collared sleen approaching the camp.

“There are boughs at the edge of the camp,” I said to Tula and Mila. These had been earlier gathered by the mistresses, but had not yet been strewn for the comfort of masters.

“So?” said Tula.

“They may not be suitable,” I said.

“The slave, Donna, will have seen to that,” said Tula.

“Nonetheless,” I said.

“Beware of walking amongst the masters,” said Tula.

“You are a clever one,” smiled Mila.

“Or one very stupid,” said Tula.

“I will only be a moment,” I said.

“Beware of meeting the eyes of masters,” said Mila.

“I am not afraid to do that,” I said. To be sure, much depends on the time, the place, the situation, and the relationship. For example, eye contact between a private master and his slave is commonly as easy, pleasant, thoughtless, natural, welcome, and familiar as that between free companions. On the other hand in, say, the street, eye contact between a slave and a free person, say an unknown male, or, particularly, a free woman, is rare, unless commanded. Some men enjoy a certain amount of boldness in a slave; it is easy to put her to her knees again, and if it becomes too much, it is easy for the whip to take it out of her.

I took only a few steps, when I stopped, for the sleen, reclined, had lifted its head, and looked at me.

I remained very still.

The beast then put its snout down on its paws, and closed its eyes.

I realized then it no longer had any interest in me.

I continued to walk toward the heap of boughs. My small journey would take me, inadvertently, past two fellows, one, the sleen master, who was sitting cross-legged, and the other, his fellow, who was lying on his stomach. They were chatting. As far as I know neither had noticed me. But they would. I would see to it.

How I hated the boor who had scorned me in Shipcamp, and who ignored me now.

How I hated him, and wanted to throw myself before him, begging to be accepted as his slave. It was permissible; there was already a collar on my neck! In the cities, I had heard that even free women sometimes knelt before a given male, and begged his collar. Even free, they were women; and how much more a woman they would be in a collar! I recalled that long ago, on my former world, that I had felt the desire to throw myself to my knees before him, but I had turned, and fled away, in consternation.

Had I been a free woman it would have been easy enough to call myself to their attention. Might not the hem of a robe brush a foot? One might even loosen a sandal strap, and request its adjustment, that one need not bend down or go to one’s knee in public, unthinkable for a free woman. One might even, in seeming to stumble, kick dirt upon one in passing, an accident pertaining to which a free woman might legitimately express regret, or even, less pleasantly, trip against them, and then execrate them for being in one’s way, or such. Doubtless there are thousands of ways in which a woman may call herself to the attention of a man, even if one is an exalted free woman. After all, beneath all their veils and robes, they, too, are women. To be sure, few of these subtle stratagems, so to speak, would be at my disposal. For example, the hem of my tunic was high on my thighs, and I was barefoot. Too, I did not think it wise to initiate a physical contact with a free person. Too, it might be noted, realistically or not, that accidents are seldom accepted on the part of a slave. For example, if a slave should spill a beverage, or drop a utensil, while serving, let alone break a plate or a bowl, she may expect a whipping.

His hand whipped out and seized my ankle. I froze in place, frightened. “Master?” I whispered.

I could not even kneel, as I was held.

“Girl,” he said, “go to my pack, at hand, that with two black straps. Open it, fetch forth a flask, bring it here, and then approach those two fellows playing stones, and invite them to be our guests.”

I could not even say, “Yes, Master,” so startled I was, so commanded, but, when released, I hurried to do his bidding. We had not made eye contact. He had not even looked at me. Any passing bared ankle, it seemed, would have served as well. A moment later I had brought him the flask, which he accepted, without looking at me. He then rose up, to sit cross-legged, like his friend. Gorean males commonly sit cross-legged, whereas Gorean women commonly kneel. “Masters,” I said, kneeling, to the two fellows I had learned were Aeson and Genak, “those masters,” and I indicated the sleen master and his fellow, “invite your presence.” They looked to the side, and the sleen master’s fellow lifted the flask, invitingly. “Good,” said Aeson. They scooped the stones into a small bag, and rose up. “Paga?” called Genak. “Yes,” said the sleen master. “We have paga, too,” said Genak. “Bring it!” called the sleen master. Genak went to a case at the side of the camp, from which he drew forth four metal cups, and a large bottle which, in its net and sling, was half full, with some amber fluid. I rose up, and turned away, but was arrested by a sharp voice, which called, “Kajira!” Instantly I turned about, and knelt, waiting to be commanded, as the slave I was. “Stupid kajira,” said the voice, “do you expect us to serve ourselves?” It was Genak. “No, Master!” I said. “She is a barbarian,” called the sleen master. “Oh,” said Genak.

Shortly thereafter the four fellows were sitting together, drinking and talking. The strangers were from the basin of the Laurius. I also learned that there was a town there, on the Laurius, called Laura, which interested me, for it is a name I was familiar with from my former world, and, indeed, it had been given to me in Tarncamp. I was now Laura, if it pleased masters. In this camp, however, I was called Vulo. I knelt back from the men, as was fitting. I was to be unobtrusive, and yet at hand, to serve. The flask was finished in one round, but I replenished the small metal cups more than once, pouring from the bottle, it suspended in its carrying net, slung on its strap about my shoulder. It is easy to tip the bottle in such a net, which supports it, and the sling allows it to be carried about, from place to place. I was also interested to learn that the sleen master and his fellow presented themselves as from a small village near the mouth of the Alexandra, which I knew to be false. I was accounted for as having fled from a beached ship on the coast. There were secrets, indeed, I gathered, pertaining to Shipcamp. It apparently did not occur to the free persons, happily, to look into these matters by interrogating me. I would have tried to lie well, but had little doubt that two or three judicious questions might elicit responses from me in virtue of which the entire fabrication I was trying to construct would collapse. I would not know the names of ships, or captains, or types of ships, or what they carried, or what I might be doing on such a voyage, and so on. I did know my collar was a plain one. Normally a collar is engraved in such a way that the slave may be identified. A typical collar might read something like “I belong to Achiates of Jad.” Sometimes the slave’s name also appears on the collar, as in something like “I am Gail. I am the property of Publius Major of Brundisium.” In any event, my collar was unmarked. I did know that some of the slaves in Shipcamp, who were private slaves, had collars which did identify their masters. Most slaves hope one day to be the single slave of a private master. Few desire to be one of a hundred or more in a rich man’s pleasure garden, or to be a city slave, or a slave owned by a business, such as a mill or great farm.

As the conversation continued to wend its way about through a miscellany of apparently random topics, certain things began to become clear to me. One was that there seemed to be no relationship between the fellows who had captured the Panther Women and the sleen master and his fellow. They were not part of the attacking force, or somehow in league with it. Indeed, I suspected they might be only too willing to leave the camp, but that that option might not really be theirs. If they were guests, it seemed they were not the sort which might come and go as they pleased. Further, whereas the conversation seemed casual and pleasant, on the part of the sleen master and his fellow, I began to sense it might not be as idle as it might seem on the surface. Why should they, out here in the forest, be discussing tunes, czehars, flutes, kalikas, and such? Aeson and Genak, I think, drank more than the sleen master, and his fellow. The sleen master, as it was hot, opened his shirt, and it was then noted that about his neck, on a slender strap, hung a whistle. “That,” said Aeson, thickly, pointing to the whistle, “is how you control the sleen. It conveys the signals.”

“No,” said the sleen master.

“No?” said Aeson.

“No,” said the sleen master, who had identified himself as Axel of Argentum. “Tiomines, like most sleen, responds to verbal commands.”

“Which are secret, and pertinent, to the given animal?” said Aeson.

“Surely,” said Axel of Argentum.

“What is the whistle about then?” asked Genak.

“It is a tune whistle,” said Axel. “See the tiny holes. It is a pleasure to occasionally while away the time with it in a camp.”

“Play us a tune,” said Aeson.

“See how it is bent,” said Axel. “It is defective. I would have it repaired.”

“Try it,” said Aeson.

“Even when new,” said Axel, “not everyone could sound it, and it is now broken.”

“It requires strength to sound it?” asked Aeson.

“Yes,” said Axel.

“Nonsense,” said Genak. “Even a slave could sound so little a thing.”

Axel laughed and slipped the whistle, on its strap, over his head. “Let us see,” he said, motioning me to him. I approached him, and knelt, the large bottle supported in its net, the sling running from my left shoulder to my right hip. As I am right-handed, I would guide the neck of the bottle with the left hand, and lift and tip it with the right hand. Axel handed me the whistle. It was bent. It did have tiny holes in its barrel. It was not large. It was about two horts in length, perhaps a little longer.

“Blow it,” said Aeson.

I did not think it would be difficult to sound it. I was uneasy about calling attention to myself, when its blast was heard. To be sure, I had been commanded. Master Axel, nor the others, seemed concerned that its blast might be heard outside the camp. We were deep in a lonely, and unsettled, wilderness. And certainly the area about the camp had been routinely scouted, and guards posted.

I blew very softly on the whistle, hoping that whatever sound it might make would be scarcely noticed. Surely it would be enough for them to hear even a tiny note. If they wanted some great blast let it be sounded by some free person, not one whose body was subject to the lash. But no sound came from the device.

“See?” said Axel.

“Blow harder,” said Aeson.

I then tried, again and again, to sound the whistle, but I heard nothing.

“Even when new,” said Axel, “it required strength to sound it, and it is now broken.”

As he extended his hand, I gratefully returned the whistle to him, and rose up, backed away a pace or two, and again knelt, where I had positioned myself for the masters’ convenience. The bottle in its net was now light, as the liquid was mostly gone.

“I doubt I could sound it myself,” said Axel.

Then he put the whistle to his lips, and, as far as I could tell, exerted great force on the tiny device.

“Let me try,” said his fellow, whom I had resolved to hate with all my might.

It pleased me considerably that even he, so large a man, was unable to bring any sound from that recalcitrant, small object.

The whistle was then handed about to Aeson and Genak, but each, to their surprise, and chagrin, fared no better.

I glanced to the side, and noted that Tiomines, the hunting sleen, had awakened. His head was up, and those two large, pointed ears were erected. He growled, a noise more puzzled than anything else.

“The sleen is restless,” said Aeson.

“Steady, friend,” said Axel soothingly to the beast, which then, again, put its head down on its paws, and closed its eyes.

Axel slipped the whistle, on its strap, again, about his neck.

“The instrument is worthless,” said Aeson. “Throw it away.”

“Better to repair it,” said Axel.

“Buy another,” said Genak.

“I like it, I am fond of it,” said Axel.

“Paga!” said Aeson, looking to me.

I rose up, to serve him. There was little left. No more than a quarter of a cup for each was practical.

I made it a point to stand quite close to the sleen master’s fellow, he who had accompanied him on his hunt, the hunt in which I had been the prey, which had ended with my capture.

How I hated him!

But might he not have sought me?

Was it only as a fled slave that he had sought me? I did not know. Did his neglect of me in the camp seem too studied? Why was he here? How was it that he, who had first looked upon me, on a far world, and had looked upon me as a man looks upon a slave, the first time to my knowledge that I had been so looked upon, so obviously, and had doubtless figured in my selection for Gorean bondage, had been in Brundisium, and in Shipcamp, and was now here in the forest? Surely he must remember me, I thought. Am I so little, so meaningless to him, that I am only another item of cargo, another naked woman dragged to a sales block? Is this all a coincidence? Does he truly not remember me, me, in whose dreams he has so often appeared, with his insolence and arrogance, and authority, with his whip and chain?

I recalled the dock in Shipcamp.

Had he truly not recognized me, kneeling at his feet, he who had brought me to a collar, yet a collar I coveted?

So he despises me, I thought; so he scorns me, I thought. So then let him find himself where he is, within inches of me, no longer a free woman of Earth, but now, thanks to him, no more than a collared, barefoot, tunic-clad Gorean kajira, a beast who may be bought and sold, one which now, thanks to him, exists only for the service and pleasure of men. Let him feel my collared presence and, should he heat, and squirm, and sweat, let him keep well in mind that he does not own me!

I stepped back, with a swirl of the tiny tunic.

Aeson rose up, took the empty bottle, in its net, from me, wished the sleen master and his fellow well, and wandered away. Genak lay down where he was, and was soon asleep.

“Tal,” said the leader of the attackers, who now stood over the sleen master and his fellow.

“Tal, noble Genserich,” said Axel.

“I trust you enjoy the hospitality of the camp,” said Genserich.

“We have just been drinking with two of your fellows,” said Axel.

“I know,” said the leader.

“We must be leaving presently,” said Axel.

“You realize,” said the leader, “that you will spend the night on a chain.”

“Why?” asked Axel.

“To protect you,” said the leader. “There are dangers in the forest.” He then turned away.

I, too, expected to spend the night on a chain, or roped helplessly, as I had been on the trek to Tarncamp from the coast. But I was a slave. Such things are not unusual where a slave is concerned. Some believe that a slave is chained at night, or caged, or kenneled, that she not escape, but others believe it is largely to prevent her theft. I think the explanation is even simpler; it is to remind her that she is a slave.

I stood a few feet away.

“I must see to Tiomines,” said Axel. He then rose up, and went to the sleen.

I looked to his fellow, who was sitting, cross-legged, regarding me. I boldly returned his regard.

What had I to fear? He did not own me.

He indicated, with a slight movement of his right hand, that I should approach. I did so. But I remained standing. Let him consider that.

“Why did you stand so close to me?” he asked.

“Surely Master does not mind the proximity of a slave,” I said.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

“Do you?” I asked.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Surely you know,” I said.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said. “Perhaps you recognize the name?”

“No,” he said.

“Perhaps you remember me from a large store, in a great city, on a far world, when you first laid eyes upon me?” I said.

“No,” he said.

“Or from an exposition cage in Brundisium?”

“No,” he said.

“Or, say, from a wharf, a dock?” I said.

“That is it!” he said.

Could he really not remember that it was he who had brought me to the collar?

Had it not been for him I would not now be on this world, half naked, with a marked thigh and an encircled neck, at the mercy of masters.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked.

“Margaret Alyssa Cameron,” I said.

“That was your free name,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then it is no longer your name,” he said.

I was silent.

“Is it?” he said.

“No, Master,” I said.

“Surely you are aware,” he said, “that as a slave you have no name, any more than any other beast, save as masters might choose to name you.”

I remained silent.

“That is true, is it not?” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“What are you called?” he asked.

“Here I am called ‘Vulo’,” I said.

“Amusing,” he said.

“I have been named ‘Laura’,” I said.

“I know,” he said. Of course he would know. That was the name under which I would have been hunted.

“Master has captured me,” I said.

“You have an accent,” he said.

“I am a barbarian,” I said.

“Your accent may improve later, and, in time, might even be lost,” he said, “unless a master would prefer for you to retain at least a trace of it, as a charming feature.”

I was very angry, standing before him.

“Those of your sex,” he said, “commonly have an excellent aptitude for the acquisition of languages.”

“May I withdraw?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “That is because, over countless generations, you have been traded about, exchanged, captured, carried off, and so on, with the result that you must learn, and quickly, the language of your possessors, your captors, masters, and such. Those with the highest skills in such matters would be the most likely to survive, to please, to be used for the purposes of reproduction, and such.”

“How is it,” I asked, “that Master accompanied Master Axel of Argentum in his hunt?”

“I was bored,” he said. “I thought the pursuit of a foolish slave might provide something in the nature of a diversion.”

“Only that?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “What else?”

“It made no difference that it was I?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “Why should it?”

“You would have followed any,” I asked, “as easily, as willingly, as diligently?”

“Of course,” he said.

I turned out my hip, and straightened my shoulders, as I had been taught in my training. A girl has powers.

“I think, rather,” I said, “Master finds this slave of interest.”

“Does your body mark well under the attentions of a slave whip?” he asked.

“Master does not own me,” I said.

“What a vain little piece of collar meat you are,” he said. “How are you different from hundreds of others, similar, and better? You are scouted, observed, researched, inquired about, filmed and photographed in various lights, at various times of day, in various locations, against various backgrounds, engaged in various activities, in various garmentures. These pictures and reports are assessed. Points are assigned. You are even examined while asleep in your own bed. You are stripped and photographed, variously. Your measurements are taken, in detail, your bosom, waist, thighs, wrists, ankles. In this way, in your sleep, as you are gently sedated, you are measured variously, for example, your neck for the collar, your wrists and ankles for wrist and ankle rings, and so on. Then you are reclothed, and in the morning, you awaken, refreshed, and know nothing of all this. If you are found satisfactory, your name is entered on an acquisition list. You are then, unbeknownst to yourself, a Gorean slave girl. It only remains then that you be harvested, perhaps months later. Thus, small, vain kajira, you see there is nothing of particular interest or nothing special about you.”

“I see,” I said. I wondered if he were trying to convince me, or himself.

“You pose prettily,” he said.

“Am I to understand that Master finds me of no interest?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “of no interest.”

“Master does not want this slave?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “The slave is common meat, even inferior stock.”

“Yet I was selected,” I said.

“It seems so,” he said.

“I have been found of interest by others,” I said.

“Oh?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “Master.”

“Why are you standing,” he suddenly said, angrily. “Kneel, put your head to the dirt!”

Instantly, I knelt, my head to the dirt. How pleased I was!

“You should be lashed!” he said.

“You do not own me,” I said. “You do not own me!”

He rose up, angrily, and kicked dirt upon me, and turned away. I remained as I was. I recalled that it had been my knees and not those of Tula or Mila which had been forced apart by the boot-like sandal of Genserich, leader of the captors, or his seeming lieutenant, Aeson. I knew I was slave enough to be of interest to a man. I have made him squirm, I thought. I have made him cry out. I have made him sweat. Let him be restless. Let him turn and roll angrily in his sleep. Let him see if he can cast from his thoughts the image of a certain dark-haired, collared barbarian. It was for her, was it not, that he essayed the dangers of the forest. Surely there was no simple diversion in this. He may not even have been authorized to leave Shipcamp. Were there not Pani guards set at the perimeters to prevent such departures? He may have followed me even from Brundisium. He may have sought me in Tarncamp, and then, later, encountered me in Shipcamp. How arrogant the masters are, I thought. So we are nothing to them, are we! Are we truly to suppose that one slave is no different to them from another? Do they think slaves are unable to recognize interest, heat, passion, desire, possessiveness, need, drive, the lust to own, to collar, and master? Emotions, I was sure, despite any denials which might be proffered, had seethed within him. Had I not glimpsed, be it only for a moment, the eruption of his interest, scarcely controlled, hinting at the volcano of his wanting? Now, scornful Master, I thought, I have power. I am near, and you want me, but you cannot have me! At night you will even be on a chain! Now you are mine! I can tease and taunt you as I want, and I need fear nothing from you. Not only was I not his, but he and Axel of Argentum, his fellow, were prisoners here, it seemed, as much as I. He had scorned me. Now it was my opportunity to scorn, and torture, him.

I then became aware, lifting my head a little, that Donna, two guards, and the four prisoners, the Panther Women, Darla, Tuza, Emerald, and Hiza, had returned to the camp. The prisoners were struggling, bent over. Each, on her back, bore a large bundle of firewood. It pleased me to see the proud Panther Women laboring, as might common slaves.

I heard a panther roar, from somewhere in the forest.

“Get up,” said Tula to me.

“I have not been given permission to rise,” I said.

“It is all right,” said Tula. “We are in the keeping of Donna. She is first girl. We may bathe.”

I rose to my feet and looked about, and saw him whom I hated across the camp. I smiled, and tossed my head, and turned away. I am sure he saw me, but he had given no indication of that. I wondered if he were truly indifferent to me. Could that be? Might I be wrong? I did not think so. I thought he wanted me, and could not have me. I was pleased.

I then accompanied Tula to the shore of the Alexandra, where Mila was waiting for us.