In all the appointments and furnishings, in all the garmentures of the diners, and such, in all that seemed so elegant, so nicely arranged, so well fitted together, there was only one oddity, or anomaly, in the room.
“You men are monsters,” laughed the new woman, she unknown to Ellen.
“How is that” smiled her benign companion.
“Come now!” she laughed. “I have been silent long enough!”
Ellen’s master indicated that she should continue serving.
“No, no,” said the woman. “Your name is ‘Ellen’?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
“Stop what you are doing,” said the woman, “and come here, and stand beside me.”
Ellen looked to her master, who indicated she should comply, and so, in a moment she had come about the table, and was standing beside the chair of the new woman, she unknown to her.
The one oddity, or anomaly, in the room was Ellen, for she was naked. She wore only a narrow band on her neck, a slave collar.
“You’re very pretty, Ellen,” said the woman.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
“Why have you not been given clothing?” she asked.
“I am to serve as I am, Ma’am,” said Ellen, head down. She fought to hold back tears. Why, indeed, wondered Ellen, had her master had her serve in this fashion, naked, before strangers, before his guests, one of them a woman? Surely this could not be a common thing. Then she feared that it might be a common thing, or that it would be a common thing, at least for her. Can he hate me so much, she asked herself. Does it please him, she wondered, to treat me so ignominiously, to so unmitigatedly subjugate me, to so completely and absolutely humiliate me in this fashion, forcing me to serve as a naked slave? Then the thought came to her that of course it pleased him, and richly pleased him. He would derive from it much pleasure. She remembered their past. Yes, he would indeed enjoy having her serve guests as his naked slave! And then she had a sense of the powers and pleasures of the master.
But then she wondered, and this frightened her even more. Perhaps her master had had her serve so for no particular reason that had to do with her personally. At least in the one case, she would have some importance to him. At least in that case, she would have his attention, and interest. But perhaps he had merely had her serve naked in order to show her off, to display her, much as any lovely object one owns might be displayed. And if that were the case there was nothing particularly personal in his decision. Perhaps she was in no way special to him, but was now only another of perhaps several properties.
But then she thought, no, he wanted me here, me, exactly. He is doing this to me, personally. He wants me to feel the power and might of his will, and what he can have of me, what he can, if he wishes, make me do.
How he must hate me, she thought.
But I would rather have him hate me than ignore me, she thought. I love him. I love him!
“At least you have been given a piece of jewelry,” said the woman. “It sets you off nicely. It is extremely attractive. It is a collar of some sort, is it not?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
“Bend down, here, near me,” said the woman, “so that I may have a closer look.”
Ellen complied, and the woman, then turned about in her chair, began to examine the flat, close-fitting, narrow band on her neck.
“Lower,” said the woman.
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
Ellen felt her hair, at the back of her neck, brushed aside.
“There is a lock here,” said the woman, surprised.
“Yes,” said Mirus.
“Can you remove the collar, Ellen?” asked the woman.
“She cannot remove it,” said Mirus. “To be sure, it may be removed by means of the key, or by means of appropriate tools.”
The woman indicated that Ellen might straighten up, but did not dismiss her. Accordingly, Ellen must remain where she was, beside her.
“Shame on you, Mirus,” smiled the woman, “for not giving this pretty little thing clothing, for making her serve us naked.”
“Do not concern yourself,” said Mirus.
“And for putting her in a locked collar!”
“It is a slave collar,” said Mirus.
“A slave collar?” asked the woman.
“Yes,” said Mirus. “She is a slave girl.”
“You have female slavery on Gor?” said the woman.
“And male slavery,” said her companion, lifting his wine glass to her, as though toasting her.
“At least you are consistent!” she laughed.
“Male slaves,” said Mirus, “are less in evidence. It is not unusual for them to be kept chained, and put to heavy labors, in the fields, the quarries, the galleys, such places.”
“Female slaves, on the other hand, like our pretty little Ellen here,” said her companion, “are usually set to less arduous labors, though perhaps to tasks commonly more repetitive and servile. They are useful for domestic labors. Too, of course, they can be used with great frequency for purposes which comport with their beauty.”
“You can’t be serious,” said the woman.
“They are slave girls,” said her companion.
“They must do as they are told?” she asked.
“Yes,” said her companion, “absolutely, and instantly.”
“Are you a female slave, Ellen?” asked the woman.
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
“Then you must obey in all things, absolutely and instantly?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Ellen.
“I thought that slaves were branded,” said the woman to Mirus.
“Not all,” said Mirus, “though it is recommended by Merchant Law. Turn your left thigh to our guest, Ellen. Look high, just under the hip.
“She is branded!” said the woman.
“Yes,” said Mirus.
“What a beautiful mark!” said the woman.
“It is the most common brand for a female slave on Gor,” said Mirus. “It is the cursive kef. ‘Kef’ is the first letter in the Gorean expression ‘kajira’, which means ‘slave girl’.”
“How beautifully it sets her off,” said the woman.
“It is recognized throughout Gor,” said Mirus. “It instantly, anywhere on this world, identifies its wearer as a female slave.”
So, thought Ellen, I have been given a common brand, that appropriate for any low girl! So that is how he thinks of me! That is how he rates me! But it is beautiful! And it is doubtless, if it is indeed the most common brand, worn by thousands, at least, of girls on this world. A common brand! But, of course, she thought, that is exactly the brand he would see to it that I would have!
He is that sort of master!
Ellen recalled that the first words she had been taught on Gor were ‘La kajira’ —’I am a slave girl.’ She had not understood at the time what they meant. How she had cried out with terror and misery when she had learned! It had occurred in the lesson where she was learning to bring a switch to a man in her teeth. She had had, of course, little doubt as to her nature and condition before that, but it had never been made so simply, so explicitly, clear to her. Perhaps it had been best left unsaid? Perhaps she was only being trained to be some sort of intimate servant? But surely that seemed unlikely, that the young man would have accorded her so exalted a status as “servant.” Not as his eyes had feasted upon her! Perhaps it was all a joke, or a dream? But then she heard the word, explicitly, and realized that slave was what she was, that that was now her absolute and incontrovertible identity, and that this identity, mercilessly imposed upon her, had behind it the full force of law.