Rask of Treve was popular with his men.
I saw, too, among the warriors, slave girls, collared, in brief rep-cloth tunics. They, too, seemed pleased. Their eyes shone. They crowded near. Laughing, raising his hands, Rask of Treve acknowledged the greetings of his camp.
I could smell roast bosk. It was in the late afternoon.
He untied my ankles from the right-hand saddle ring. He then unbound the strap that lashed my wrists to the left-hand saddle ring, but he did not untie my wrists themselves. My hands, then, were still bound, before my body. He then took me lightly in his arms and slid from the back of the tarn. He set me on my feet at the side of the saddle. He did not throw me to my belly or put his foot on the back of my neck, or force me to kneel.
I dared not look at him.
"A pretty one," said a voice. It was a woman's voice. She was incredibly beautiful. She wore a collar. Her garment was white, and came to her ankles, in classic folds. She did not wear the brief work tunic of the other girls. I gathered she was high girl in the camp and that I, and the other girls, would have to obey her. It is not uncommon, where several girls are concerned, to put a woman over them. Men do not care to direct us in our small tasks. They only wish to see that they are done.
I hated men!
"Kneel," said the woman.
I did so.
Some of the men murmured appreciatively.
"I see she is trained," said the woman.
I reddened. I hated men! But my body, subconsciously, had been trained to be attractive to them.
"She is a pleasure slave," said Rask of Treve, "though of a poor sort. Her name is El-in-or. Also, she is a sly girl, and a liar and a thief."
I was furious.
The woman took my head in her hands, and turned it from side to side. "Her ears are pierced," she said, in irritation.
Some of the men laughed. I did not care for their laughter. It frightened me. I gathered that, because my ears were pierced, they would feel free to do anything they pleased with me.
"Men are beasts," said the woman.
Rask of Treve threw back his great head, like the head of a larl, and laughed. "And you, Handsome Rask," said she, "are the greatest of the beasts." How bold she was! Would she not be beaten?
Rask laughed again, and wiped his face with the back of his right hand. The woman was again looking at me. "So, Pretty One, you are a liar and a thief?" she asked.
I put my head down, swiftly. I could not look her in the face.
"Regard me," she said.
I lifted my head, frightened, and looked at her.
"Is it your intention to lie and steal in this camp? she asked.
I shook my head fiercely, negatively.
The men laughed. "If you do," she said, "you will be punished, and promptly, and your punishment will not be pleasant."
"You will be beaten," said one of the girls nearby, her eyes wide, "and put in the slave box!"
This news, whatever it meant, did not much reassure me.
"No, Mistress," I cried. "I will not lie and steal."
"Good," she said.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
"She is dirty and she smells, " said Rask of Treve. "Clean her and groom her." "Is it your intention to put her in your collar," asked the woman.
There was a pause. I put my head down. "Yes," I heard Rask of Treve say. He turned away, and, with him, the others.
"Come with me to the tent of the women," said the woman.
I arose and, wrists bound, followed her to the women's tent.
The slave girl, with a touch of her finger, put perfume behind my ears. It was not the morning of my second day in the war camp of Rask of Treve. This was the day of my collaring.
I was not permitted cosmetics.
Kneeling within, slave girls preparing me, I looked through the tied-back opening of the tent of the women. Outside, I could see men, and girls, passing back and forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes. Today Elinor Brinton would be collared.
I had been coached in the simple collaring ceremony of Treve. Ena, the high girl, who wore the garment of white, had not been much pleases that I did not have a caste, and could not claim a familiar city as my place of origin. Accordingly, it had been decided that I should identify myself by my actual city, and by my barbarian title and name. In the ceremony then I should refer to myself as Miss Elinor Brinton of New York City. I smiled to myself. I wondered how often, on this rude world, I would have the opportunity to so refer to myself. The proud Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, seemed so far away from me. And yet I knew she was not. I was she. Miss Elinor Brinton, incredibly, uncomprehensibly, found herself kneeling in a barbarian tent, on a distant world, myself, being prepared for her collaring. The fact that New York City was of Earth, and that Treve was of Gor, would not even enter into the ceremony. Scarcely anything would enter into the ceremony save that I was female and he was male, and that I would wear his collar.
Yesterday, by slave girls, under the direction of Ena, who was high girl, I had been washed and combed, and then fed. The food had been good, bread and bosk meat, roasted, and cheese, and larma fruit. I, famished from my trials in the wilderness, fed well. I had even been given a swallow of Ka-la-na wine, which exquisite beverage I had not tasted since the time of my capture, long ago, by Verna outside of Targo's compound.
I had been frightened, but I had been well trained. I had not dared to speak. After I had been washed and combed, and fed, Ena had said to me, "You have the freedom of the camp, if you wish."
I had been startled. I had expected to be close-chained. She seemed amused, regarding my astonishment.
"You will not escape," she smiled.
"No, Mistress," I said.
Then I looked down. I did not wish to leave the women's tent.
Ena went to a chest, opened it, and drew forth a folded piece of striped rep-cloth, a rectangle some two and a half by four feet.
"Stand," she said.
I did so.
"Lift your arms," she said.
I did so, and to my pleasure, she wrapped the piece of cloth about me, snugly, and fastened it with a pin behind my right shoulder blade. She then fastened it again, with anther pin, behind my right hip.
"Lower your arms," she said.
I did so, and stood straight before her.
"You are pretty," she said. "Now run along and see the camp."
"Thank you, Mistress," I cried, and turned, and sped from the tent. I wandered about the camp. It was a war camp, lying in a remote, hilly area, covered with trees. I supposed it to be somewhere in the realm of Ar, perhaps to its northeast, among the foothills of the Voltai range. It was a typical Gorean war camp, though small. It had its compound where tarns were hobbled, and its cooking and washing sheds. There were many warriors about, perhaps a hundred or more, the men of Rask of Treve, and perhaps a hundred or more, lovely ones, in brief work tunics, busying themselves with their tasks, cooking, cleaning leather, polishing shields. Treve, I knew, was, nominally, at war with several cities. Strife is common among Gorean cities, each tending to be belligerent and suspicious of others. Rask of Treve, in his way, as other raiders of Treve, carried the war to the enemy. Earlier, I knew, he had despoiled the fields and attacked the caravans of Ko-ro-ba. He was now in the realm of Ar. He was a bold tarnsman indeed. I expected Marlenus of Ar, its Ubar, said to be the Ubar of Ubars, would give much to know the location of this small, palisaded camp. I enjoyed the smells of the camp, and its sounds. I watched two warriors practicing with their swift, short blades on a square of sand. The ringing of the metal excited and frightened me, the swiftness and cruelty of it. How brave men must be, I thought, to stand so to one another, so close, in combat so near, face to face, wrist to wrist, eye to eye, short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade to short, vicious, sharpened ringing blade. I could not have done this. I would have cried out and fled. What could a woman be but the prize of such men? For a moment I wished myself back on Earth where there was little for a man to do which could not be done as well, or better, by a woman. But then, as I watched the warriors at their practice, something deep in me did not wish this. Something deep in me, primitive, helpless, and vulnerable, rejoiced that I stood not on Earth, but on Gor, where there were such men. Suddenly my legs felt very bare, and my arms. I was suddenly frightened. What if they should finish their sport, and turn to look upon me, and command me to serve them? Would I not, as a woman, have to give them immediate response? Could I have helped myself, kept myself from yielding immediately and completely to them? When such men command, what could a woman do?