"Did you enjoy your night in the girl wagon?" he asked.
"No," she said. "The steel was cold. I did not even have a rag to put between myself and the steel."
"To be sure, the nights are chilly," said Boots.
"I would like to have a blanket in the future," she said.
"There might be a shred of a blanket somewhere about," said Boots. "Perhaps you could beg for it."
"Never," she said.
"I gave you some time last night, while you were chained in the girl wagon," said Boots, "to consider your up-coming beating this morning. Did you give it much thought?"
"No," she said.
"Why not?" asked Boots.
"You would not dare to beat me," she said.
"Why not?" asked Boots, eager to be informed.
"Because of the kind of person I am," she said. "I am above being beaten. That is for low females."
"Such as slaves?" asked Boots.
"Yes," she said.
"I see," said Boots.
"As it turns out," she said, "I am right."
"How is that?" asked Boots.
"If you were going to beat me," she said, "you would have already done so by now."
"I have been giving my breakfast some time to digest," said Boots. "I would not wish to upset my stomach."
"Of course not," she said, ironically.
"But now," said Boots, "I think I will be all right."
"What?" she asked, half turning about.
"You have been a nuisance, Lady Telitsia," he said. "I think I will very much enjoy whipping you."
"You're serious!" she suddenly said, alarmed.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Wait!" she said, twisting in the ropes. "I am prepared to admit that in some legal sense I am a slave, and that I am theoretically subject to such things!"
"Very much more so than theoretically, my dear," said Boots.
"But I am too refined, too sensitive to be whipped!"
"Nonsense," said Boots.
"It is inappropriate to whip me," she said. "I am a lady of quality."
"You are only another slave," said Boots.
"Wait!" she cried.
"What now?" asked Boots, impatiently.
"I am bound," she wept, twisting in the ropes. "I am naked. I am tied in such a way that I cannot protect myself. I am exposed helplessly, utterly, to your mercy."
"Of course," said Boots.
"But it will hurt," she said.
"Have you ever felt the whip?" asked Boots.
"No!" she said.
"Then how do you know it will hurt?" he asked.
"I have seen girls beaten," she said.
"Perhaps it does not hurt much," said Boots. He himself, of course, earlier, at her instigation, when she was a free woman, had been flogged at the fair. This turnabout then must have been extra delicious for him, in addition to the simple, straightforward pleasure of giving her a good beating. To be sure, Boots had been beaten with a heavy whip, of the sort used on men, whereas she would find herself under only the familiar, common five-stranded Gorean salve lash. Still it is not without reason that that implement is much favored on Gor for the disciplining of females. Without permanently marking the girl it punishes with excruciating, terrible efficiency. The mere sight of wsuch a whip generally inspires terror in any female who has ever felt it.
"Do not whip me!" she cried. "It is not necessary! I admit that I am a slave! I am a slave! I will even obey!"
"Prepare to be beaten," said Boots.
"Mercy!" she cried.
"To quote someone I once heard at the fair," said Boots, "I do not choose to show you mercy."
The bound female groaned, hearing her own words.
"Prepare," said Boots.
"No! No!" she cried, springing to her feet, her bare feet raising dust, her bound wrists, of course, still tethered to the bar.
"Back on your knees, Lady Telitsia," said Boots, sternly, "or you will add blows to your beating."
Lady Telitsia, in misery, moaning, trembling, sank back to her knees, her wrists again now over her head.
"Would you like me to cross and bind your ankles?" Boots asked, kindly.
"No," she moaned.
I think she could see the shadow of Boots before her. Her back was illuminated by the morning sun.
"I do not want to be whipped!" she cried.
"It will be good for you to be whipped," said Boots. "It will be good for you to know what it is like. It will help you to understand that you are now truly a slave. Too, it will help to make you a more diligent slave, one more anxious to please."
"Mercy!" she wept.
" 'Slaves, " said Boots, " 'are to be shown no mercy'. I heard someone say that, also, recently, at the Fair of En'Kara. Perhaps you recall it?"
She sobbed, helpless in the ropes, awaiting her beating.
"Slaves are to be shown no mercy," she had said a few days ago at the fair. I recalled it. How uncompromisingly, how coldly, she had said it. Now she herself was a slave.
"Do you recall saying that?" asked Boots.
"Yes," she sobbed.
"Is it true?" asked Boots.
"Yes," she wept.
He then struck her, once, with the lash. She cried out, startled, in pain, in disbelief.
"Yes, what?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" she cried.
he then struck her again. "No, no!" she cried out. "Please do not strike me again, Master!"
"It will be done with you as your Master pleases," he said.
"Yes, Master!" she sobbed.
He then, with a few blows, concluded her beating. It was neither a long nor a severe beating. Still he had placed the blows diversely and had varied their timing. It was in its way a kindly beating, as Boots was a kindly fellow, but it was also, I think, an efficient beating.
When Boots had finished he untied the strap that had fastened her bound wrists to the wooden bar. She fell to her belly in the dust and reached out, her wrists still bound, to touch his ankles. She put down her head and, lying in the dust before him, pressed her lips, those of a slave, again and again, piteously, to his feet. Boots then turned away and went about this business. She then lay on her belly in the dust, collapsed, near the wooden bar to which she had been tied for her beating. I went to her and turned her over with my foot. She looked up at me. She was in misery and in pain.
"You are branded," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You wear a collar," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"What are you?" I asked.
"I am a female slave," she said, "a slave girl."
"Anything else?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "Only that."
"It is true," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I saw in her eyes that she now knew these things to be true, that she now truly knew that she was a slave girl, that and only that.
"What am I to do, Master?" she asked.
"Go to your Master," I said, "and beg him to forgive you for having been displeasing."
"Yes, Master," she said. She rose painful to her feet and went slowly, painfully, to where Boots was sitting cross-legged, near the small fire between the wagons. He was now in the midst of enjoying a second breakfast. Chino and Andronicus were with him. She knelt down near him, her bound wrists on her thighs. She dared not speak. After a time, Boots, sucking his fingers, removing the grease from fried tarsk strips from them, turned about. She quickly, under the eyes of her master, put her head down to the dirt. "Did you wish something, girl?" asked Boots.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You may speak," said Boots.
"I beg your forgiveness, Master," she said, her head still down, "for having been displeasing."
"Mend your way in the future," cautioned Boots, sternly. "Next time it may not go as easily with you."
"Yes, Master," she said, trembling.
Boots then helped himself to some more rolls and slices of fried tarsk.
Lady Telitsia, as it seemed she would be called now, at least for the time, then lifted her head and straightened her body. She remained kneeling, of course, in the immediate vicinity of her master.