42

[Dept of PMM Castle Life]

Following some two weeks of these discussions, which seemed to me at the time, at any rate, to be a waste of training time, Virginia Kent, who had feared men, had come to weigh seriously, if not to accept, certain of the theories of Flaminius, Phyllis to fight them and reject them as hateful slanders, and Elizabeth to regard them as an entertaining and stimulating hodgepodge of sophistry, reality, nonsense and propaganda. All three girls, in the last week, were taught certain standard answers to certain standard questions put to them by Flaminius, whether they agreed with them or not. These questions, to which simple, standard, memorized answers were to be promptly volunteered, were put to them over and over, until they, even Phyllis, responded without thinking. Certain of these questions and answers, suggesting their nature, would be:
Q: What are you? A: I am a slave girl.
Q: What is a slave girl? A: A girl who is owned.
Q: Why do you wear a brand? A: To show that I am owned.
Q: Why do you wear a collar? A: That men may know who owns me.
Q: What does a slave girl want more than anything? A: To please men.
Q: What are you? A: I am a slave girl.
Q: What do you want more than anything? A: To please men.
There is, beyond these, an entire set of questions and answers, some of them considerably more detailed, and involving standard responses to simple questions pertaining to such matters as history and psychology.
The truly sinister aspect of even this portion of the girls' training did not become evident to me, or to Elizabeth, until the entire next week was spent again before the mirror, seeing themselves as slave girls, and repeating, aloud, these questions and answers, as though putting them to themselves; as though, with Flaminius gone, it was they themselves, the girls, who were putting these questions to themselves, and responding with almost hypnotic automatism; it was probably easiest on Elizabeth, who knew that she was playing a part, that she would be, sooner or later, carried to safety, but even Elizabeth, more than once, awakened with a cry in the night, clutching me, whimpering, "No, no, no." The sixth week of the training was spent, as several of the former, before the mirror, but this time repeating over and over, aloud, "I love being a slave girl. I love being a slave girl." At last, after this cruel and almost interminable repetition, utilizing simple psychological principles, intended to brand into the girls' psyche the identity of a Pleasure Slave, the girls began the period of exercises, many of which would, for certain periods of the day, be carried through the next months. During the next weeks and months the lessons of Flaminius were never again touched upon, except occasionally, for her amusement, by Sura, who would suddenly cry to one of the girls, at the same time brandishing the slave goad, such a query as "What do you want more than anything?" to which the girl, to her shame and astonishment, would find herself crying out in fear, "To please menl" Then Sura would say, "Then learn what I am teaching you," and they would respond, fearing the goad, "Yes, Mistress!"
In the hours that Virginia and Phyllis were not in training, and the training hours are only five Ahn a day, they were, particularly in the beginning, intensively drilled in Gorean. Elizabeth, on the other hand, usually assisted Caprus in his office. Later, when the girls became reasonably proficient at Gorean, they were permitted the freedom of the House baths, which they enjoyed, and the liberty to move about the House rather as they pleased, saving that they must be locked in their cells by the eighteenth bar. The foods given them also changed with the advance in their training, and the desire to have varied, tasty fare, and sometimes a small bowl of Ka-la-na with their supper, drove them to perform well. Further, each must eat the same, so pressure was brought on each to come to a given level, for the food of all remained the same until each had attained the desired next level of training. By the end of the twelfth week of their training they were eating well, and by the end of the fifteenth, very well, generally low-calorie foods, nourishing, a good amount of protein, diets supervised as carefully as those of racing tarns or hunting sleen; Elizabeth was the only girl who had, so to speak, a compartment of her own, with a door that might be shut, rather than simple bars, and so the three girls often, when possible, would come to the compartment, for some moments of privacy. At these times they would, as well as possible, converse in Gorean; Elizabeth taught them much; she did not permit them to know she spoke English; I would often leave the compartment at these times but sometimes I would remain. Elizabeth led them, to some extent, not to fear me, leading them to believe that she had so well served me that she had, to some degree, engaged my affections. I think she did not realize how true her words were.
In the beginning, when moving about the house, the girls had been permitted only the garb customarily worn in the sweat and motion of the training, a rectangle of silk, about a foot long, thrust into a silken string knotted about the waist; Virginia and Phyllis would not even leave their cells so clad until Elizabeth called upon them, so clad herself, ordering them forth; Phyllis had been tearfully furious that she should be so seen, Virginia terrified; but, on the orders of Elizabeth, who spoke with authority, they followed her forth, frightened, but heads high and shoulders back, and soon they were delighting in the sights of the house, for they had seen little but the kennels, the training room and their cells; it had been a good day for them; each was female and Elizabeth had taught them that this was a permissible thing to be.
"These men are slavers," Elizabeth confided to them. "They have seen women before." Later, in the eighteenth week of their training, they were given brief silken slave livery, sleeveless, fastened by the loop on the left shoulder. Virginia and Phyllis were given white livery, Elizabeth red. It was at this time also that Virginia and Phyllis had been given their lock collars, white-enameled, and that the slave anklets, the identification bands, had been removed from their left ankles. Elizabeth, at the beginning of her training, had simply exchanged her yellow collar for a red one. She had already been a lock-collar girl.
By the twentieth week of their training the girls could converse rather adequately in Gorean, and Virginia and Phyllis continued to improve. Elizabeth, of course, was totally fluent in the language. Elizabeth's accent was interesting, for it was, in effect, Tuchuk; the accent of the girls was that of Ar. I noted, however, that Sura had insisted that the girls not refine their accents overly much, for it must remain clear they were barbarians; further, Virginia and Phyllis were encouraged to slur and lisp certain sounds, it being thought appealing in female slaves; on the other hand Sura, who did not slur and lisp these sounds herself, did not insist on it, for some reason, with the girls; accordingly Elizabeth, Phyllis and Virginia, not being forced to do so, did not adopt this affectation. I learned independently, from Ho-Tu, that this particular form of speech defect was, however, no longer in style; perhaps if it had been Sura would have been more adamant.
Once Virginia had, in our compartment, with Elizabeth and Phyllis, shyly looked up at me, and asked if I knew the name of the blond guard, he with blue eyes, who came upon occasion to observe the training.
"Relius," said I.
"Oh," said she, dropping her head.
"The fellow with him often," I volunteered, "is Ho-Sorl."
"The ugly one?" asked Phyllis. "The one with the black hair and the scar on the side of his face?"
"I do not think he is ugly," I said, "but I think you mean the same one as I. He does have black hair and there is a scar on the side of his face."
"I know him," said Phyllis. "He keeps looking at me. I detest him."
"I thought," said Elizabeth, "you were dancing to him this morning."
"I was not!" snapped Phyllis.
"And yesterday," laughed Elizabeth, rocking back, clapping her hands, "when Sura asked him to stand forth that one of us might approach him to administer the First Kiss of the Captive Slave Girl, it was you who first sprang to your feet."
"I have scarcely ever seen anyone move so fast," commented Virginia.
"It's not true" cried Phyllis. "It's not true"
"Perhaps he will buy you," suggested Elizabeth.
"No!" cried Phyllis.
"Do you think we will be sold at the Curulean?" asked Virginia of me.
"It is apparently the plan of Cernus," I said.
"I wonder," said Virginia, "if someone like Relius will buy me."
"Perhaps," said Elizabeth.
"I doubt it," said Phyllis. "You are too skinny and your face has pocks."
"I am not ugly," said Virginia. "And I cannot help it that I do not have a body like yours."
Phyllis tossed her head, sniffing.
"I was afraid of men," said Virginia, her head down. "But now I find I am curious about them. I did not know what to do, or how to act with men. But now I am a slave, and I am being taught. I am being shown what to do. I am not so afraid of men now." She looked at Phyllis. "I want a man," she said.
"Slave!" jeered Phyllis.
"Don't you want a man?" asked Virginia, tears in her eyes.
"I will have nothing to do with men," said Phyllis.
"Oh yes you will, Pleasure Slave," Elizabeth assured her, "oh yes you will!"
Phyllis cast her a withering glance.
"I wonder what it would be like to be in the arms of a man," said Virginia.
"Like Relius?" asked Elizabeth.
"Yes!" said Virginia.
Phyllis laughed.
Virginia dropped her head. "I am ugly," she said. "I am unworthy of being sold at the Curulean."
"You're a slave!" laughed Phyllis. "Only a slave; Virginia the little slave."
"I am a slave," said Virginia. And she added, "And so are you."
"I am not a slave!" cried Phyllis.
'Pretty little slave!" laughed Virginia, pointing her finger at her.
"Never say that to me!" screamed Phyllis, leaping to her feet.
"Pretty little slave!" screamed Virginia.
Phyllis leaped upon her and in an instant the two girls were rolling and scratching on the stones, screaming at one another.
"Stop them!" cried Elizabeth. "Stop them!"
I spoke calmly. "Free men do not much interfere in the squabbles of slaves."
The two girls stopped fighting. Phyllis stood up, breathing heavily. Virginia rose to her feet, and stepped back. She brushed back her hair with her right hand. Both girls looked at me.
"Thank you," said Virginia.
"It is time that you returned to your cells, Slaves," said I.
Virginia smiled. Phyllis, not speaking, turned and went to the door, but there she turned once more, looking at me, waiting for Virginia.
Virginia regarded me. "You are a man," she said. "Does Master find the slave Virginia ugly?"
"No," I said, "the slave Virginia is not ugly. The slave Virginia is beautiful."
There were tears in her eyes. "Could such a man as Relius, do you think," she asked, "desire such a slave as Virginia?"
"Doubtless," I said, as though irritated with her question, "were the slave Virginia not White Silk the man Relius would have asked for her long ago."
She looked at me gratefully.
It is, incidentally, one of the perquisites of employment in the house of a slaver that a member of the guard or staff may ask for, and generally receive, the use of whatever Red Silk Girls he pleases. Elizabeth had not been bothered in this particular because she was, by general recognition, solely mine while I remained in the house.
"And," I said, rather loudly, looking at Phyllis, "were the slave Phyllis not White Silk she would have found herself used frequently, and well, by the man Ho-Sorl."
Phyllis looked at me in fury and turned, leaving the room. She walked beautifully, sinuous in her rage.
"The slave Phyllis," I said, rather loudly again, "has learned much from Mistress Sura."
Phyllis cried out and turned in the hall, her fists clenched. Then she spun about with a cry of rage and ran weeping down the corridor.
Elizabeth clapped her hands and laughed.
I glared at Virginia, who still stood in the room. "Go to your cell, Slave," I said.
Virginia dropped her head, smiling. "Yes," she said, "Master,"and then turned and left. She, too, walked beautifully.
"It is hard to believe," said Elizabeth, "that she once taught classics and ancient history in a college."
"Yes," I said, "it is."
"On Earth," said Elizabeth, "I do not think a woman would dare walk so beautifully."
"No," I said, "I do not think so."
The training of the slave girls progressed. It had begun, following the period entirely consumed with exercises, with such small things as instruction on how to stand, to walk, to kneel, to recline, to eat, to drink. Grace and beauty, followi~ng Sura, and I would scarcely dare dispute such an authority, is mostly a matter of expression, both that of the face and body. I could, week to week, see the change in the girls, even Elizabeth. Some of the things they were taught seemed to me very silly, but I, at the same time, found it difficult to object.
One thing of that sort I recall is a trick where the girl feeds the master a grape held between her teeth. She may or may not have her wrists braceleted behind her back for this particular feat. One leg is folded beneath her and the other is extended behind her, toes pointed, and then she lifts the grape delicately to your mouth. Elizabeth and I used to laugh heartily over this one, but I think it was effective, as I seldom got beyond the third grape.
"Observe," once had said Elizabeth to me, to my amusement, in the secrecy of our compartment, "the twelfth way to enter a room."
I had observed. It was not bad. But I think I preferred the tenth, that with the girl's back against the side of the door, the palms of her hands on the jamb, her head up, lips slight parted, eyes to the right, smoldering at just the right temperature.
"How many ways are there," I asked, sitting cross-legged in the center of the compartment, on the stone couch, "to enter a room?"
"It depends on the city," said Elizabeth. "In Ar we are the best; we have most ways to enter a room. One hundred and four."
I whistled.
"What about,"' I asked, "just walking straight through?"
She looked at me. "Ah," said she, "one hundred and five ways."
A good deal of the training of the slave girl, surprisingly, to my naive mind, was in relatively domestic matters. For example, the Pleasure Slave, if she is trained by a good house, must also be the master of those duties commonly assigned to Tower Slaves. Accordingly, they must know how to cut and sew cloth, to wash garments and clean various types of materials and surfaces, and to cook an extensive variety of foods, from the rough fare of Warriors to concoctions which are exotic almost to the point of being inedible. Elizabeth would regularly bring her efforts back to the compartment, and the nights were not infrequent when I longed for the simple fare at the table of Cernus, or perhaps a bowl of Ho-Tu's gruel. One dish I recall was composed of the tongues of eels and was sprinkled with flavored aphrodisiacs, the latter however being wasted on me as I spent, to Elizabeth's consternation, the night lying on my side in great pain. Elizabeth was, however, to my satisfaction, taught a large number of things which, to my mind, were more apropriate to the training of slave girls, including a large number of dances, dozens of songs, and an unbelievable variety of kisses and caresses. The sheer mechanics of her repertoire, theoretically outfitting her to exquisitely pleasure anyone from an Ubar to a peasant, are much too complex and lengthy to recount here. I do not think, howevecr, that I have forgotten any of it. One thing that I thought was nice was that Elizabeth had asked Sura about the dance she had begun to perform but could not finish, when we had first come to the house of Cernus, the dance which is accompanied by the Tuchuk slave song. Sura, who seemed to know everything, taught the rest of it, song and all, to her, and to the other girls. For good measure she also taught them the independent dance, sometimes called the Dance of the Tuchuk Slave Girl, which I had once seen performed at a banquet in Turia.
"Know that you are beautiful," Sura had once said to them. "Now I will teach you to dance."
... (several pages not dealing with training are here passed over)
The girls too would have special reason, as I would, to recall it. For them, it was the first time since the beginning of their training that they were permitted to leave the house. Normally, late in training, girls are permitted the sights of the city, that they may be stimulated and refreshed, but such had not been the case with Elizabeth, Virginia, and Phyllis, who had known nothing of Gor save the House of Cernus, was a powerful inducement to be diligent in their lessons. Further, as Ho-Tu pointed out, their sale was not to be until the late summer; thus there was plenty of time to use the sights and scenes of Ar, judiciously mixed with review and practice, diet and rest, to bring them to a height of vitality, interest, and excitement before putting them on the block. Timing in such matters, following Ho-Tu, is extremely important. A bored, jaded or overstimulated girl does not perform as one whose appetites, whetted, stand at their peak.
At any rate, regardless of the reasoning, or the stratagems of Slavers, Elizabeth, Virginia, and Phyllis were permitted to attend the first day of the races, under, of course, suitable guard.
We met in Sura's training room and I, who was to be in charge of this expedition given that I would let no other guard Elizabeth, was given a leather sack of silver and copper coins by Ho-Tu, for the expenses of the day. Each of the girls would wear brief silken slave livery, sleeveless, the disrobing loop on the left shoulder. Elizabeth wore red, Virginia and Phyllis wore white. Each of the girls was also issued a light slave cloak, the hem of which fell a bit above the hem of her livery, but which had a hood. Elizabeth's was red with white stripes, Virginia and Phyllis' white with red stripes. To their consternation, before being permitted to leave the training room, Virginia and Phyllis, beneath their livery, had locked on their bodies by Sura, the iron belt. The other two guards, who arrived carrying the slave bracelets and slave leashes, the latter of light, gleaming chain, were Relius and Ho-Sarl. Virginia seeing Relius, merely lowered her head; Phyllis, seeing Ho-Sorl, seemed beside herself with anger.
"Please," she said to Sura, "let it not be he."
"Be silent, Slave," said Sura.
"Come here, Slave," said Ho-Sorl to Phyllis. She looked at him angrily, and went to him.
Relius, who had walked over to Virginia, placed his large hands on her hips. She did not raise her head.
"She wears the iron belt," said Sura.
Relius nodded.
"And I will hold the key," said Sura.
"Of course," said Relius. Virginia did not raise her head.
"This one does too," said Ho-Sorl, a bit irritably.
"Of course I wear the iron belt," said Phyllis, even more irritably. "What did you expect?"
"I will hold the key to her belt as well," said Sura.
"Let me hold the key," suggested Ho-Sorl, and Phyllis blanched.
Sura laughed. "No," she said, "I will hold it."
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From Tribesmen of Gor
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From Explorers of Gor
These questions are found within Explorers of Gor, chapter 5:

"What are you?" he asked.
"A slave girl, Master," she said, her neck in the loops of the whip.
"What is a slave girl?" he asked.
"A girl who is owned," she said.
"Are you a slave girl?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Then you are owned," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Who owns you?" he asked.
"Ulafi of Schendi," she said.
"Who trains you?" he asked.
"Shoka of Schendi," she said.
"Do you have a brand?"
"Yes, Master."
"Why?"
"Because I am a slave."
"Do you wear a collar?"
"Yes, Master."
"What sort of collar do you wear?"
"A shipping collar, Master. It shows that I am a portion of the cargo of the Palms of Schendi." I thought the girl’s Gorean, though the responses were generally simple, had improved considerably in the last few days.
"What is the common purpose of a collar?"
"The collar has four common purposes, Master," she said. "First, it visibly designates me as a slave, as a brand might not, if it should be covered by clothing. Second, it impresses my slavery upon me. Thirdly, it identifies my master. Fourthly—fourthly—"
"Fourthly?" he asked.
"Fourthly," she said, "it makes it easier to leash me."
He kicked her in the side. She winced. Her response had been slow.
"Do you like being a slave girl?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. She sobbed. She was again kicked.
"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!" she cried.
"What does a slave girl want more than anything?" he asked.
"To please men," she said.
"What are you?" he asked.
"A slave girl," she said.
"What do you want more than anything?" he asked.
"To please men!" she cried.

From within Explorers of Gor, chapter 13:

During the night I had unchained her, save for the steel and chain on her left ankle.
She awakened me as I had instructed her. It is pleasant to be awakened in that fashion. I put my hands down to her hair, as she pleasured me.
During the night I had taught her some small things, some techniques, little, simple things, for her mouth and hands, and breasts, her hair, her lips, and feet, and tongue. They might help her, I thought, to survive in Pembe’s tavern. Most importantly I had tried to impress upon her the fundamental importance of submission, and that she was a slave girl. All else, for most practical purposes, follows from that.
I cried out, softly, and she looked up, pleased that she had made me do that.
"Finish your work, Slave," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
My hands knotted in her hair, tightly, holding her helplessly to me. Then I released her.
I pulled her up to me, and, in the dim light of the alcove, filtering through the red curtain from the slatted grilles in the roof of the main room, wiped her mouth with her hair.
"It is morning, Master," she whispered.
"Yes," I said.
I held her arms, as she looked down at me.
"Speak," I told her.
She then, whispering, said the following. I had taught it to her last night.
He is Master, and I am Slave.
He is owner, and I am owned.
He commands, and I obey.
He is to be pleased, and I am to please.
Why is this?
Because he is Master, and I am Slave.

I took her and put her to her back, beside me. I looked down into her eyes.
"Good morning, Slave," I said.
"Good morning, Master," she said.
Many Masters prefer this method of being awoken by their slave. The words the slave was taught in the quote above are sometimes referred to as the slave mantra, although I have never seen it called that title in a book.

Quotes Regarding Ranking Slave Girls
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In the camp, hitherto, my captor had confined me to degrading handouts, which he would place in my mouth, or make me reach for, kneeling, not using my hands. Eta now came forward. She held two copper bowls of gruel. Next to me, she knelt before my captor; she put one bowl down before me; then, holding the other bowl, she handed it to my captor; one of the men pulled my head up by the hair, so I could see clearly what was being done; my captor took the bowl of gruel from Eta, and then, saying nothing, handed it back to her. Now he, and his men, and Eta, looked at me. I then understood what I must do. I picked up the bowl of gruel, with both hands, and, kneeling, handed it to my captor. He took the bowl. Then he handed it back to me. I might now eat. I knelt, shaken, the bowl of gruel in my hands. The symbolism of the act was not lost upon me. It was from him, he, symbolically, that I received my food. It was he who fed me. It was he upon whom I depended, that I would eat. Did he not choose to feed me, I understood, I would not eat. My head down, following Eta’s example, I ate the gruel. We were given no spoons. With our fingers and, like cats, with our tongues, we finished the gruel. It was plain. It was not sugared or salted. It was slave gruel. Some days it was all that would be given to me. A girl does not always, of course, take food in this fashion. Usually she prepares the food and then serves it, after which, if permitted, she eats. Many men permit a girl, for most practical purposes, to eat simultaneously with him, provided he begins first and it does not interfere with her service to him. Thus he gets his girl, fed, more swiftly to the furs. Much depends on the man; the will of the girl counts for nothing. In some dwellings a girl must, before the evening meal, hand her plate to the man; he will then, normally, return it to her; if she has not been completely pleasing to him, on the other hand, she may not be fed that night. Control of a girl’s food not only permits the intelligent regulation of her caloric intake but provides an excellent instrument for keeping her in line; control the food, control the girl. Food control, for the man, also has unexpected rewards. Few things so impress a man’s dominance on her, or her dependence upon him, than the control of her food. So simple a thing thrills her to the core. It makes her eager to please him as a slave girl. I finished the slave gruel. It was not tasty, but I was grateful for even so simple a provender. I was hungry. I felt starved. Perhaps the brand had made me hungry. Furtively, I looked at the man over the edge of the copper bowl. He seemed so strong, so mighty. The ceremonial taking of food from the hand of the man, as. it had been done this evening in the camp, would prove to be somewhat unusual, though it would be reasonably common to be hand-fed, when it amused him, or thrown scraps of food. Among many men, it might be mentioned, however, the monthly anniversary of a girl’s acquisition as a slave would be marked by this, and similar ceremonies. A slave girl is a delight to a man; she is extremely prized and precious; that the day of her acquisition should be celebrated each month with special ceremonies and rites is not surprising. These numerous anniversaries are deliciously celebrated, as they may be with a girl who is only a slave, and seldom forgotten; should such an anniversary be forgotten, should it be such that it is commonly celebrated, the girl redoubles her efforts to please, fearing she is to be soon sold.
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"Midice is first girl, is she not?"
"Yes," I said, "Midice is first girl."
Midice looked at me, and whispered. "Telima is only Kettle Slave. Why should she have an armlet of gold?"
I looked at her. Then, wearily, I rose to my feet. I drew on my tunic, and looked down at Midice, who lay there with her legs drawn up, looking at me. I could see the glow of the dim lamp on her collar.
I buckled about me the Gorean blade, with its belt and scabbard.
I went into the kitchen.
There I found Telima sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up, her head down. She raised her head and looked at me. I could see her barely in the light of the coals of the cooking fore, now a flat, reticulated pattern of red and black.
I slipped the golden armlet from her arm.
There were tears in her eyes, but she did not protest.
I unknotted the binding fiber about her throat, and took from my pouch her collar.
I showed it to her.
In the dim light she read the engraving. "I belong to Bosk," she said.
"I did not know you could read," I said. Midice, Thura, Ula were all, as is common with rence girls, illiterate.
Telima looked down.
I snapped the collar about her throat.
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She wanted to be first girl, but I had kept her primarily with my men. Beautiful, dark-haired, slender, marvelously-legged Midice was, in my house, first girl, and my favored slave. As Tab was my first captain.
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"Yes," I whispered, kneeling before her, my head down. I had seen that she, too, wore a collar. More importantly, about her forehead, tying back her dark hair, was a strip of rep cloth, brown, of the same material as the work tunic. I knew this meant that she had authority among the girls. Ena was high girl in the camp, but I suspected that Ute might be first among the work slaves. I began to shake.
"She is frightened," said the guard. "Does she know you?"
"She is known to me," said Ute.
I put my head down to the dirt before me. My wrists were still bound, fastened by the leather knots of the tarnsman, Rask of Treve. I was still unclothed. I wore only my bonds and, locked about my throat, a collar of steel.
"You may leave us," said Ute to the guard. "You have delivered the slave. She is now in my charge."
The guard turned and left.
I dared not look up. I was terrified.
"On the first day of my capture, at the first camp of my captors," said Ute. :I fell to Rask of Treve." She paused. "Suddenly, from the darkness, he stood before them. "Yield to me the female slave," he said. They would choose to fight. ‘I am Rask of Treve,’ he said. They then did not choose to draw their blades. With their own tarn goads, Rask of Treve drove their tarns from their camp. He then lifted me, bound, in his arms, and backed from the camp. ‘I thank you for the female slave,’ he said. And one of them said to him, ‘And we thank you, Rask of Treve, for our lives.’ Their journey back to the camp of Haakon of Skjern, afoot, will be long. Rask of Treve then brought me to his camp, where he made me his slave."
I looked up at Ute. "You wear the Kajira talmit," I said.
"The first girl of the work slaves," said Ute, "had been sold shortly before my capture. There had been dissensions, factions, among the girls, each wanting one of their own party to be first girl. I was new. I had no allegiances. Rask of Treve, by his will, and because, for some reason, he trusted me, set me above them all."
"Am I to be a work slave?" I asked.
"Did you expect to be sent to the tent of the women?’ asked Ute.
"Yes," I said. I had indeed expected to live in the tent of the women, not in a dark shed, among work girls.
Ute laughed. "You are a work slave."
I put my head down.
"You were captured, I understand," said Ute, "southwest of the village of Rorus."
I did not speak.
"Accordingly," said Ute, "you were still seeking my village of Rarir."
"No!" I cried.
"From whence," said Ute, "you would have sought the island of Teletus."
(pg. 287) "No, no!" I cried.
"And on that island," she said, "you would have presented yourself to my foster parents, as my friend."
I shook my head in terror.
"Perhaps they might even have adopted you, in my place, as their daughter," suggested Ute.
"Oh no, Ute!" I cried. "No! No!"
"Your life would then have been quite easy, and pleasant," said Ute.
I put my head down, in terror, to her feet.
By the hair, Ute, bending over me, yanked my head painfully up. "Who betrayed Ute?" she demanded.
I shook my head.
Ute’s fists were excruciating in my hair.
"Who?" she demanded.
I could not speak, so terrified I was.
She shook my head viciously.
"Who?" she demanded.
"I did," I cried. "I did!"
"Speak as a slave!’ demanded Ute.
"El-in-or betrayed Ute!" I cried. "El-in-or betrayed Ute!"
"Worthless slave," I heard a voice behind me say.
I turned, as well as I could, and saw, to my dismay, Rask of Treve. I closed my eyes, sobbing.
"It is as you said," said Rask of Treve, to Ute, "she is worthless."
Ute removed her hands from my hair, and I put my head down.
"She is a liar, and a thief, and a traitress," said Rask of Treve. "She is utterly worthless."
"Yet," said Ute, "in a camp such as this, we may find uses for such a girl, there are many menial tasks to which she might be well applied."
"See that she is worked well," said Rask of Treve.
"I shall," said Ute, "Maser."
Rask of Treve strode from where I knelt, leaving me with Ute.
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The morning following their capture, as I had been, they, and the others, were collared. They, like I, had spent their first night in the tent of the women. Following their collaring, however, as I had been, they were sent to the shed. When Rask had collared Inge he had shaken her blond head with his large hand. He seemed fond of her. And she had dared to put her cheek against his hand. How shameless she had become! Once of the scribes, she was now only a wanton, shameless slave girl! I wanted to tear her hair and eyes out! How pleased I was, and how startled she was, and the others, when Rask sent them to the shed, where they would be issued work tunics and find themselves work slaves in the camp!
How Inge and Rena rejoiced when they found themselves forced to their knees before Ute!
(pg. 294) But Ute did not even let them rise.
They looked at her with horror.
"I am Ute," Ute told them. "I am first girl among the work slaves. You will obey me. You will be treated precisely as the other girls, neither better nor worse. If you do not obey me, exactly and promptly, in all things, you will be beaten."
They looked at her, scarcely comprehending.
"Do you understand?" asked Ute.
"Yes," said Inge.
"Yes," said Rena.
"The slave, El-in-or," said Ute, "stand forward."
I had been hiding in the background. Ordered by Ute, I came forward.
I saw Inge and Rena exchange glances of pleasure. I was frightened.
"This is one of my girls," said Ute, "as you are. You will not be cruel to her."
"Ute!" protested Inge.
"Or I will have you beaten," said Ute.
Inge looked at her, angrily.
"Do you understand?" said Ute.
"Yes," said Inge.
"Yes," said the Lady Rena of Lydius.
"El-in-or," said Ute, "take these new slaves and get them work tunics, and then return them to me, and I shall assign them their duties for the day."
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I threw the switch to the red-haired girl. "Keep order in the camp," I said. I turned to Ilene, and pointed to the red-haired girl. "She is now first girl in the camp," I said. "Until my return you are to her as her slave."
"Yes, Master," said Ilene.
"Come here," said the red-haired girl.
Ilene went and stood before her.
"To your knees, Slave," said the red-haired girl.
Ilene fell to her knees.
"Kiss my feet, Slave," said the red-haired girl
"Yes, Mistress," whispered Ilene and, fearfully, did so.
"You two," I told the other two paga slaves, the dark-haired girl and the blond one, "come with me."
I strode toward the perimeter of the camp. At its perimeter I turned. I looked back at the red-haired girl, Ilene, in her yellow silk, was still kneeling at her feet. "Keep order in the camp," I told the red-haired girl.
She slapped the switch into the palm of her left hand. "I will," she said.
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The red-haired girl, first girl in the camp, she who held the switch, was not up, stretching like a she-panther, yawning like a she-larl. She, though a former paga slave, pulled the skins of panther girls about her body. I had torn the skins at her left thigh, that she might not forget she wore a brand. She was a strong, lithe girl. Ilene, I knew, feared her. And well she might, for she was first girl, and held the switch.
Slowly, stiff-legged, the red-haired girl walked across the wet grass to the dark, dew-stained tarpaulin, to pull the pegs.
It was dawn, time for the prisoners to arise, to be fed and watered, and then, when I wished, to take up their burdens.
"Do not sell Ilene in Port Kar," said Ilene, snuggling up against me. "Sell another girl in Port Kar," she whispered, "not Ilene."
"Do you see her?" I asked Ilene, indicating the red-haired girl.
"Yes," said Ilene, "she is an excellent choice for the block in Port Kar, Master."
"Do you really think so?" I asked.
"Yes," said Ilene.
"Do you ask that it be she who is sold in Port Kar?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," said Ilene. She kissed me happily.
"Go to her," I said.
"Yes, Master," said Ilene.
"Speak to her," I said.
"I will," said Ilene. "I will!" she kissed me. "I will tell her that she is to be sold in Port Kar."
"No," I said.
She looked at me.
"You will go to her," I said. "You will then inform her that you asked me to sell her in Port Kar. You will then ask her to give you ten switches. You will them ask for your duties of the day."
Ilene looked at me, protest in her eyes. Then, fear and tears came into her eyes and she sprang up.
She ran to the girl.
"I asked for you to be sold in Port Kar," she said.
"Aren’t you a pretty little slave with the master," said the red-haired girl/
Ilene trembled.
"And what did he say?" she asked.
"I am to ask for ten switches, and then for my duties for the day." said Ilene.
"I see," said the red-haired girl.
Ilene stood before her.
"Remove your garment, pretty slave," said the red-haired girl.
Ilene did so.
"Go to that tree," said the red-haired girl, indicating a slender-trunked tree at the edge of the camp clearing. Ilene went to it. "Hold to that branch, pretty slave," said the red-haired girl, indicating a branch over Ilene’s head. Tears in her eyes Ilene grasped it.
There was the swift hiss of the switch and then the slap of its strike.
Ilene screamed with pain and fell, releasing the branch. She clutched the base of the tree’s trunk. She looked over her shoulder at the red-haired girl. "Please," she wept.
"Hold the branch, pretty little slave," said the red-haired girl, not much pleased with her.
Ilene regarded her with horror.
I strode to the tree and, with two short lengths of binding fiber, tied Ilene’s wrists to the branch.
She was weeping in pain.
"Let me beat her," said the blond girl, one of the panther girls, in her ankle ring.
The red-haired girl went swiftly to the girl who had spoken and struck her twice. The blond girl, tears in her eyes, shrank back in the coffle, shoulder stinging, and hid herself among the other girls.
The red-haired girl then strode to Ilene.
The Earth girl must now endure nine strokes. The red-haired girl was excellent with the switch. She knew well how to beat a slave.
Ilene would not soon forget her beating.
It took more than two Ehn to deliver the next five strokes. Ilene did not know when, or where on her body, they would fall. She would stand there, her wrists bound over her head, apart, on the branch, waiting. Then suddenly there would be the hiss, and, somewhere on her body, the swift, lashing fall of the switch.
The red-haired girl had handled the psychological dimension of the beating beautifully.
Even when she was not being struck Ilene would sometimes cry out. "No! Don’t hit me!" Sometimes, waiting, unstruck, she would cry out as though she had been struck. She jerked, trying to free her wrists. She twisted helplessly, but could not free herself. Then, shaking her head, weeping, she began to writhe and beg incoherently for mercy. She, of course, as a slave girl, would receive none.
"Be silent, Slave," said the red-haired girl.
"Yes, Mistress," wept Ilene.
"Suppose," said the red-haired girl to the slave, "it was not a switch, but the five-strap Gorean slave whip?"
Ilene closed her eyes.
"Suppose," said the red-haired girl, "it was not I who disciplined you, but, with such a whip, a male."
"Yes, Mistress," wept Ilene, her head down.
"Rejoice," said the red-haired girl, "that you are only switched, and by a woman."
"Yes, Mistress," whispered Ilene, her face stained with tears. The red-haired girl had thrown Ilene’s long dark hair forward, that it not provide any shielding from the switch.