"Yes," he said. I licked and kissed at his shoulder in gratitude. Even though he had given me little opportunity to please him he had still, apparently, found me pleasing.
Women, I supposed, might be found pleasing by men in many ways. Perhaps that is one way for a woman to be pleasing, I thought, that the man does with her what he wishes, that he chooses, as he wishes, to please himself with her.
I kissed him, helplessly. He drew back a bit from me. I saw a chain snapped onto the common chain of the women.
At the end of this shorter chain there was an open collar. It was then put about my neck and snapped shut. I touched it. I was now on the same chain with the other women.
He stood up. I lay at his feet, on the floor of the slave wagon, on the blanket, chained. I had been well had. I did not know what he would do with me now. Perhaps it would amuse him to turn me over to the authorities now. I did not know.
"Do you still claim to be a free woman, Tiffany?" he asked.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you have the responses and reflexes of a slave," he said.
"I claim nothing," I said, vanquished and chained.
"Are you really free?" he asked.
"it doesn't matter now, does it?" I asked.
"Not at all," he said.
"What do you think?" I asked him.
"I think you are a slave," he said.
"I am not branded and collared," I reminded him, "except, of course, for the holding-chain collar."
"We will do something about that," he said, "outside of Ar."
I looked at him, startled. Quickly I scrambled to my knees before him, the palms of my hands on the floor of the wagon.
"Accustom yourself to calling free men "Master' and free women "Mistress,'" he said "Yes, Master!" I said.
"And you are low girl here," he said, "so you will address your chain sisters as "Mistress' as well."
"Yes, Master!" I cried.
"You are a mill girl now, Tiffany," he said.
"Yes, Master! Thank you, Master!" I sobbed, and put down my head, covering his feet with kisses of gratitude.
He then withdrew, taking the lantern with him. Durbar accompanied him.
I then lay down with my chain sisters. I tried to gather my thoughts. I had been captured, and this terrified me. Furthermore I now could entertain few realistic thoughts of escape. I did not think that any mysterious men would suddenly appear to free me, as at the camp of Miles of Argentum. Similarly these men seemed to be professionals in the handling of women. I did not think they, like Speusippus, for example, would be likely to use a wooden trunk for a slave kennel.
Furthermore I knew the security in the mills, behind those high, gray walls, was for most practical purposes absolute.
Similarly, there presumably I would be branded, collared and, if permitted clothing, put in distinctive garb. Thus, even if one did manage to get beyond the wails, one would presumably be apprehended swiftly and returned to the mill masters.
Similarly the mills had their own sleen, both for patrolling the yard at night and, if need be, trailing slaves. No, girls did not escape from the mills. Too, I was horrified at the thought of going to the mills, for they were one of the lowest and hardest slaveries on Gor. That would be the end of Tiffany Collins, I feared, a slave in a Gorean mill. On the other hand I had, honestly, and joyfully, kissed at the driver's feet for the mercy shown to me. Had he turned me over to the authorities I would doubtless have eventually been returned to Speusippus as his strayed Lita, and then conveyed by him, probably in chains, to Argentum, there presumably to be commended to the attentions of the impaling spear As it was, in the mill, in Ar, I should be hidden and safe. There, though a slave, I would be concealed, fed and protected. I did not think anyone would think of looking in a mill for the Tatrix of Corcyrus, and certainly not one in Ar. My feelings were thus mixed in this matter. I was relieved, too, in a way, of course, that I now no longer needed fear capture. It had happened to me. I must now abide its consequences. Too, no longer now need I forage for food and shelter as an ignorant, naked fugitive, often fearful, miserable, cold and hungry. I supposed it had been only a matter of time until someone had caught me. Perhaps it was just as well that it had happened as it did.
But whatever might be the pros and cons of this matter they were now mostly academic. I had again, as a matter of fact, fallen into the power of men. I lay in a slave wagon.
Their chain was on my neck.
I wondered, too, on what sort of creature it was that they had their chain. I did not think that I was the same Tiffany Collins as I had been earlier. The second fellow who had had me, the leader of the two drivers, had taught me much. I now knew, to some extent, what could be done to me. I did not think I was likely to forget it. I could be forced to yield myself to a man as a slave. This made me feel very helpless. Men are, I supposed, the masters. But, too, I remembered clearly that wild, surging, overwhelming sensation I had felt. I certainly, desperately, wanted to feel that again. Too, I sensed, it frightening me somewhat, but also exciting and intriguing me almost to the point of madness, that behind that sensation there might be others, indeed, that there might lie beyond that sensation almost indefinite vistas of kindred emotions and feelings. who, I wondered, has plumbed the depths of feelings' oceans or has successfully mapped the countries of love? I found that I, and this frightened me, wanted to submit to men and yield to then' as a slave. This was not a simple matter of sentience, incidentally, but involved an entire matrix of feeling, thought and emotion. I wanted to love and serve, to be fully pleasing not merely in a sexual manner but in all ways, to ask nothing and give all. But, too, it must be admitted that powerful physical feelings were also involved. I bit at the blanket and squirmed.
"Lie still," said a woman.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. "Forgive me, Mistress."
I must not let them make me a slave, I thought. I must fight these feelings, these sensations. I must try to be more like a free woman, I told myself. I must try to be inert and cold.
But what chance will I have, I asked myself, if I am branded and they put a collar on my neck, and I am subject to the whip, and to the uncompromising disciplines of Gorean masters?
I must not permit them to light slave fires in my belly, I thought.
But what can I do if they should simply choose to do so, I thought. Then they would be lit, and that would be all there was to it, I told myself. Then, Tiffany, poor girl, you would be a slave for certain. "You are already a slave for certain, Tiffany, and you know it, a voice seemed to say from within me, that voice which in the past had seemed to speak to me, too, though usually in the quarters of the Tatrix, as when it had ordered me, and I had complied, to kiss a whip or the slave ring. "Perhaps," I said to the voice, to myself. It was near dawn now. The wagon would proceed east on the Argentum road, reach the Viktel Aria, and turn south.
Then, in time, it would arrive in Ar. Soon I would be enslaved, legally. I would be, totally, legally, a slave on Gor.
I found myself looking forward to the collar and the brand. They were now unavoidable. I would have no choice in the matter. They would simply be put on me. I hoped I would look well in my collar. I hoped I would look well in my brand. Most women are stunning in them, and I did not think I would be different. I wondered if I were truly a slave.