“I drew against the cords on my wrists and ankles. I was helpless. I had been tied by men who were obviously no strangers to the tying of slaves. I put my head back, miserably, and felt the metal of the collar rub against the wood. I was collared. My head fell forward, in misery. I was afraid, too, of what I had heard about the twentieth Ahn, which must be nigh. What was to occur then? Clearly it must have to do with me!
“So in the moonlight, in the abandoned stable yard, kneeling, tied to a slave post, I waited.”
From what she had told me it seemed clear that some sort of rendezvous was to take place at the village of Ragnar. Leaving a slave bound and alone, of course, is not that unusual. It may be used as a discipline, of course, but that is seldom the case. More often, it is used simply to impress upon her what she is, that she is a slave, subject to the will of her master. Often she does not know how long she is to be left bound, which muchly impresses upon her her helplessness and her dependence on the will of another, this demonstrating for her her vulnerability and utter subjugation. Perhaps he is supping in an adjoining room, and she must wait until she is recollected, or he has time for her. This may also be used as heating technique. Often they will beg to be unbound, rearing and twisting in their cords, that they may be permitted to please their master.
“I lifted my head,” she said, “and, looking up, I saw the leader, standing there in the darkness, a few feet from me. ‘They should be here soon,’ he said. ‘They?’ I asked. ‘They-Master,’ he said. ‘They,’ I whispered, obediently, looking up, pulling a little at the cords, and sobbed, ‘-Master.’ It was the first time I had truly, appropriately, used that word, not as an ingredient in an imposture, not as an element in a disguise, but in the sense in which it must be truly found on the lips of a slave. ‘Search parties emanating from Ar and leagued cities use many such places as the village of Ragnar, scattered over thousands of pasangs,’ he said, ‘in their endeavors to track and apprehend fugitives. Tarnsmen make wants known at such places, exchange informations, carry intelligences elsewhere, and so on. It was here, earlier today, that we conveyed to an agent of Ar, and he then to his superiors, that we had the Lady Flavia of Ar in custody, and, for a suitable consideration, were prepared to remand her to the proper authorities, here, at the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia of Ar!’ I cried. ‘Perhaps you are curious,’ he said, ‘as to why you have been marked and collared. There were two reasons. First, it had come to light that some months ago Talena of Ar, herself, being guilty of a violation of the couching laws of Marlenus of Ar, had been secretly enslaved. Amusing then that it was a mere slave who sat upon the throne of Ar, in imperial regalia. Accordingly it was determined then that the Lady Flavia, if apprehended, should be similarly enslaved, that she should not stand higher than the former Ubara. In no way was she to be deemed superior to Talena. Let the two of them then share the same fate, the collar. The second reason is personal. I found you annoying, and thus, in any event, I would have had you brought under the iron.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia,’ I insisted, sobbing. At that point, we heard the hovering beating of a tarn’s wings, and, looking up, I saw a tarn, with tarn basket, preparing to alight in the stable yard. I shut my eyes against the dust. ‘It seems,’ said the leader, ‘it is the twentieth Ahn.’ ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ I said. ‘I am not the Lady Flavia!’ The tarn, controlled by a tarnster from the basket, had alit several yards away, across the yard. In the basket there was the tarnster, and a warrior, and, to my surprise, a woman, a slave. The tarnster remained in the basket; the warrior lifted the woman from the basket and set her in the yard, and then leapt from it to the ground. He remained in the vicinity of the basket, and two of the leader’s men, not the leader, now come through the back of the Metal Worker’s shop, went to join him. At the same time the leader turned about, and, moving measuredly through the darkness, returned to the shop. He would remain indoors, it seemed, waiting for the identification to be confirmed. Perhaps he preferred to come under the purview of Ar as little as possible.
“The slave approached.
“She wore a brief, revealing tunic, cut at the sides, with a disrobing loop. Clearly she had been dressed for the pleasure of men. I was scandalized, but men do with slaves what they please. I surely would never have let my sandal slaves dress so, in a way so exhibiting their beauty, in a way that so blatantly proclaimed their bondage.
“The slave, who seemed marvelously figured, and would doubtless have been of much interest to men, stopped a few feet from me, almost as though startled. Then she seemed to recover herself and approached, and stood before me. I, terribly frightened, put my head down. She took my head in her hands and lifted it, and the moonlight, the clouds separated, fell full upon my face. Tears ran down my cheeks. My head was held still, so that she might examine my face with care.
“‘Please, please,’ I begged. ‘Now, Flavia,’ she whispered, ‘you are no more than I.’ ‘Please,’ I wept. ‘I remember my whipping,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I said. ‘You were very cruel,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Altheia,’ I begged. I recalled that when I, in my escape, had been descending the stairs in the cylinder, I had heard her, relieved of her gag, above, seemingly joyfully, gratefully, cry out the word ‘Masters!’ ‘I burned your robes,’ she said, ‘that they might not give your scent to sleen.’ I looked at her, with wonder. ‘Do you remember the drover,’ she asked, ‘at whom I, looking over my shoulder, smiled, and you, in fury, switched me home, and then whipped me?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. He had been a handsome scoundrel, large, well-built, virile, and masterful. ‘He recalled me,’ she said, ‘and searched the public shelves, zealously, and found me, and purchased me. He is now my master. I love him. I am happy.’ I said nothing. ‘I am a man’s slave,’ she said. ‘Are you a man’s slave?’ ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you are a man’s slave and do not know it,’ she said. ‘No!’ I said. ‘You would then be a woman’s slave?’ she asked. ‘No!’ I said, frightened. The thought came to me how dreadful that would be. Perhaps I remembered the treatment to which I had subjected my sandal slaves. I did not think it was that unusual. Whereas free women commonly despise female slaves and treat them with great contempt and harshness, men commonly prize them. Certainly they will pay valuable coin to bring them to the foot of their couch. The relationship between a male master and a female slave is often intimate and loving, though she is never permitted to forget she is only a slave. Too, is it not easier for a woman, in virtue of her sex, to win her way with a male, subject, of course, to the limitations of her collar, to placate him, to evade his whip or switch, to divert his wrath by pleasing him, with her softness, her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, and vulnerability. Many a master, as few a mistress, has been swayed from his purpose by the heartfelt contrition of a naked slave, weeping, covering his feet with her hair and kisses. Better, surely, for a woman to belong to a man than a woman. They see us in terms of desire and pleasure, in terms of love, service, and passion, not in terms of contempt, jealously, and reproach. When a man sees a woman in chains he is likely to exult in her beauty and revel in the mastery; considering how pleasant it would be to own her; when a woman sees a woman in chains, as on a selling shelf, she is likely to feel disgust, anger, hatred, indignation, and rage, and, oddly, envy and jealously. Perhaps she wishes it were she who wore the chains. In any event, a female slave may, and must supply a man with inordinate pleasures; which makes her precious to him, whereas a female slave is likely to fall forever short of the exacting services required by her mistress. ‘Perhaps,’ said Altheia, ‘you have not yet been conquered by a man, have not yet been subdued, have not yet learned to beg for his final, slightest touch, that you might, leaping in your chains, scream your irrevocable submission and surrender to the moons and stars of Gor?’ ‘Do not betray me,’ I begged. ‘You are wholly at my mercy, are you not?’ she asked. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘As I was once at yours,’ she said. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘friend Altheia, dear, beloved Altheia.’ ‘Squirm in your ropes,’ she said. I pulled against the cords. ‘You are well fastened,’ she said. ‘Yes, Mistress,’ I whispered.