"Surely master thinks so," he said. "I heard master himself conjecture that there were free women in Ar who would pay a thousand pieces of golf for me."
"And there are perhaps men," I said, "who would pay fifteen hundred."
"Yes, Master," he said, putting his head down, and clenching his fists. Then he looked up. "But master did not sell me, not offer me for sale," he said. "But surely I have been purchased on speculation," he said, "for resale?"
"Do not concern yourself with the matter," I said.
"Does master intend to keep me long in his possession?" he asked.
"Do not concern yourself with the matter," I said.
He looked at me.
"Curiosity is not becoming in a kajirus," I said.
"Yes, Master," he said. This was a play, of course, on the common Gorean saying that curiosity is not becoming in a female slave, or kajira. One of the traces of Earth influence on Gorean, incidentally, in this case, an influence from Latin, occurs in the singular and plural endings of certain expressions. (pg. 437) For example, "kajirus' is a common expression in Gorean for a male slave as is "kajira' for a female slave. The plural for slaves considered together, both male and female, or for more than one male slave is "kajiri'. The plural for female slaves is "kajirae'.
"Straighten your collar," I said to Lavinia.
Instantly, embarrassed, self-consciously, she lifted her hands to her collar. Then she looked at me, for a moment puzzled. To be sure, it was almost perfect. Then, shyly, with seeming demureness, but with a slave girl's sense of self-display, she, her chin level, her back straight, her shoulders back, centered the lock, with both hands, delicately, carefully, at the back of the neck. This lifted her breasts, beautifully. "Are you looking at her?" I asked the male slave.
"Forgive me, Master!" he said.
"To be sure," I said, "it is hard not to look at her."
"Yes, Master," he said, putting his head down.
Lavinia, too, lowered her head, smiling.
"As I mentioned earlier," I said, "you do not look well. This is doubtless because of having been well beaten. Indeed, from the marks, I suspect the staff of Appanius to have been cored with lead. I recommend you get up now and go to the alley. You may wish to heave there, once or twice. Then, return. In the back you will find water and a towel. Clean yourself. Then come back here and kneel again, as you are.
"Yes, Master," he said, rising to his feet.
For a moment Marcus blocked his exit, but then Marcus, with a looked at me, stepped aside.
"I should go with him," said Marcus to me.
"No," I said.
"Do you think he will come back? he asked.
"Certainly," I said. "I do not think he wishes to run naked about Ar. He is well known, and would doubtless immediately be in ropes." Nudity is often used on Gor as a uniform, so to speak, of prisoners and slaves. "Too," I said, "I doubt that he wants his throat cut."
"Probably not," granted Marcus.
"May I speak, Master?" asked Lavinia.
"Yes," I said. Let her tongue now be freed. It was acceptable to me.
"Would you do that?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She shrank back, white-faced.
"He might try to make it to the house of Appanius," said Marcus.
"He would be bound, and neck-roped, within two blocks," I said.
"Suppose he makes it to the house of Appanius," he said.
"Yes?" I said.
"If I am not mistaken Appanius would welcome him back."
"I think so," I said.
"He may wish to buy him back anyway."
"Perhaps," I said.
"For perhaps five thousand gold pieces, or more."
"Perhaps," I said.
"He might hide him," said Marcus.
"He would not be an easy slave to hide," I said. "And we have papers on him. Sooner or later I think we could get his throat to our blade."
"Oh, Maser!" wept Lavinia.
"What is wrong with you?" I asked.
"Let me stand surety for him!" she said.
"I do not understand," I said.
"If he runs, kill me, not him!" she said.
"No," I said.
She put down her head, weeping.
"He is not going to run," I said.
She looked up, red-eyed.
"Surely you are aware," I said, "that even were it not for the impracticality of escape, he would return."
"Master?" she asked.
"Can you not guess?" I asked.
"No, Master!" she cried in protest.
"Yes," I assured her.
She put her hand to her breast. "But I am only a collared slave!" she said. "And they are the most beautiful and exciting of all women," I said. "Wars have been fought for them."
She gasped. "He is so beautiful!" she wept.
"He is a reasonably handsome fellow, I grant you," I said.
"He is the most beautiful man in all Ar!" she said.
"Surely you do not think him as handsome as I?" I asked.
She looked at me, startled.
"Well?" I asked.
"Master jests," she said.
"Oh?" I said, not altogether pleased.
"Apparently Master wishes to beat his slave," she said, uncertainly.
"Why?" I asked.
"If I tell the truth," she said, "it seems I shall displease my master and be beaten, and if I should not tell the truth, it seems I must lie to my maser, and then, a lying slave girl, be beaten, or worse!"
"You think he is more handsome than I? I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!"
"But not more handsome than I?" inquired Marcus.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master."
"What does a slave girl know?" I said.
"True," agreed Marcus.
"Surely many women of Ar would agree!" she said.
"You are a meaningless and lowly slave," I said. "Be silent."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Besides," I said, "what do they know?"
"They are women," she said. "Surely they are entitled to form an opinion on the matter."
"Perhaps," I said, begrudgingly.
"Surely you believe that men are entitled to form an opinion on the beauty of women," she said.
"Of course," I said. "And it is important that we do so. In many cases, we must buy and sell them."
"But then," she said, "if men may form opinions on the beauty of women, so, too, surely, women may form opinions as to the handsomeness, or beauty, of men."
"Very well," I said. "Your point is granted."
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"But your opinion, even if it might be shared by some others, is still only the opinion of a lowly and meaningless slave."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"And it is thus of no significance," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Master," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Do not think poorly of Milo," she begged.
"I do not think poorly of him," I told her.
"Did you not see his "Lurius of Jad"?" asked Marcus.
"I thought it was rather good," I said.
"It was terrible," he said.
"You are just not an enthusiast for Lurius of Jad," I said. "Besides, you are angry that Phoebe liked it."
"Your friend, Boots, would not have liked it," he said.
"Probably because his Telitsia would have liked it," I said.
"Do not be jealous of Milo, if he is more handsome than you," said Lavinia. "Very well," I said, "a€”if he is."
"Excellent," she said. "If he is more handsome than you, then you will not be jealous of him, and if he is not more handsome than you, then, as there would be no need, you will not be jealous of him."
"Of course," I granted her. The logic here seemed impeccable. Why, then, was I not better satisfied? Whereas intelligence in a slave is commonly prized on Gor, it is not always without its drawbacks.
"Am I to be whipped?" she asked, suddenly.