I looked down upon her. She was not unattractive. I had not planned to take a slave with me from Samnium, but I did not truly object to doing so. She could cook for me, and serve me, and keep me warm in the furs. It was late in Se'Kara. I would find her a useful convenience, a lovely one. Every man needs such a convenience. Then, when I wished, I could give her away, or dispose of her in some market.
"Do you think you were struck hard?" I asked.
"I do not know, Master," she said.
"You were not," I informed her.
"Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened, sensing what might have been done to her but had not been. To be sure, I had struck her harder than the first time, for she was now a slave, and slaves, of course, are whipped differently from free women, but I had not, truly, struck her with great force.
"Can men strike harder than that?" she asked.
"Do not be absurd," I said. "I struck you with only a tiny fraction of the force that an average fellow, if he wished, might bring to such a task. Too, I struck you only once, and in only one area, one less sensitive to pain than many others."
"I see, Master," she said, shuddering. She had then sensed what it might be to be a whipped slave girl. And whipping, of course, is only one of the punishments to which such a girl might be subjected. "I will try to be a good slave, Master," she whispered, frightened, understanding now perhaps some what better than before something of the categorical and absolute nature of her new condition.
"Who were you?" I asked.
"Lady Charlotte, of Samnium," she said.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"A slave, only a slave, yours," she said.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"I have no name," she said. "I have not yet been given one. My master has not yet given me a name."
"Your responses are correct," I said.
She sobbed with relief.
"Do you wish a name?" I asked.
"It is all within the will of the Master," she said. "I want only only what Master wants. I desire only to please."
"It will be a convenience for me to have a name for you," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are, «Feiqa' I said, naming her. "Thank you, Master," she breathed, elated, "Feiqa' is a lovely name. It is not unknown among dancers in the Tahari.
Other such names are "Aytul' "Benek', "Emine', "Faize', "Mine', "Yasemine' and " Yasine'. The "qa' in the name "Feiqa', incidentally, is pronounced rather like "kah' in English. I have not spelled it "Feikah' in English because the letter in question, in the Gorean spelling, is a "kwah' and not a 'kef'. The "kwah' in Gorean, which I think is possibly related, directly or indirectly, to the English "q', does not always have a "kwah' sound. Sometimes it does, sometimes it does not; in the name "Feiqa' it does not. Although this may seem strange to native English speakers, it is certainly not linguistically unprecedented. For example, in Spanish, certainly one of the major languages spoken on Earth, the letter "q' seldom, if ever, has the "kwah' sound. Even in English, of course, the letter "q' itself is not pronounced with a "kwah' sound, but rather with a "k' or "c' sound as in "kue' or "cue'.
I gathered my shield and weapons from the grass near us, where they lay with my pack. I slung my helmet over my left shoulder. I set my eyes to the southeast, away from the high gray walls of Samnium.
"Fetch my pack, Feiqa," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. She would serve as my beast of burden.
I watched her as she, unaided, struggled with the pack. Then she had it on her back. Her back was bent. "It is heavy, Master," she said. I did not respond to her. She lowered her head, bearing the pack. The wind moved through the trampled grass. She shivered. It was now late in Se'Kara. Already on Thassa the winds would be chill and the cold waves would be dashing and plunging to the bulwarks and washing the decks with their cold floods. I regarded the girl. In warmer seasons, or warmer areas, one may take one's time in making the decision as to whether or not a female is to be permitted clothing. Some masters keep their slaves naked for a year or more. The girl is then grateful when, and if, she is permitted clothing, be it only a bit of cloth or some rag or other. In this latitude, however, and in this season, I would have to see to the slave's garmenture. I looked back at the discarded clothing on the grass. She could take none of that, of course It was no longer proper for her. It was the clothing of a free woman. That sort of thing was now behind her. I could have her fashion something from a rough blanket perhaps, and find her something to wrap her feet in. Too, I might be able to find her something, which might function as a cloak. That she could clutch about her head and shoulders.
"Do you know how to heel, Feiqa?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. She was a Gorean woman, familiar at least superficially with the duties and obligations of slaves. To be sure, as a recently free woman, she might perhaps find herself astounded and horrified at some of the things that would now, even routinely, be required of her. I did not know. Certain things which are not only common knowledge to slaves but, even a normal, familiar part of their lives seem to be scarcely suspected by free women. These are the sorts of things about which free women, horrified and scandalized, scarcely believing them, sometimes whisper, fearfully, delightedly, among themselves. Some Earth-girl slaves brought to Gor, incidentally, do not even know how to heel. Incredibly, they must be taught. They learn quickly, of course, in the collar, and subject to the whip.
I looked back, again, to the walls of Samnium. It had been spared the savageries of the war, doubtless because of its relationship with Cos. I then set out to the southeast. I did not look back. I was followed by Feiqa.
2 There Are Hardships in These Times
I looked up from Feiqa, moaning in my arms, clutching at me. I had heard a tiny noise. I thrust her back, and away, she whimpering. I reached to my knife, and stood up, in the darkness. I stood on the lowered circular floor, dug out of the earth, packed down and tiled with stone, behind a part of a wall. It was the remains of a calked, woven-stick wall. It was now broken and charred. I could see the dark sky, with the moons, over its jagged, serrated edge. I could hear the whisper of other leaves outside. They were blown to and fro, like dry, brittle, fugitives, on the small, central commons between the huts.
We had made our camp here, in the burnt, roofless, half-fallen ruins of one of the huts. It had given us shelter from the wind. The village had been deserted, perhaps, judging from the absence of crockery, household effects and furnishings, even before it had been burned. It stood like most Gorean villages at the hub of its wheel of fields, the fields, striplike, spanning out from it like spokes. Most Gorean peasants live in such villages, many of them palisaded, which they leave in the morning to tend their fields, to which they return at night after their day's labors. The fields about this village, however, and near other villages, too, in this part of the country, were now untended. They were untilled and desolate. Armies had passed here.
"Is there someone there?" asked a voice, a woman's voice.
I did not respond. I listened. "Who is there?" she asked. The voice sounded hollow and weak. I heard the whimpering of a child.
I did not respond.
"Who is there?" she begged.