"Step forth," he said, "keeping your hands lifted." She did so, and went to stand near the paper on the floor, her hands lifted.
"You will make a lovely slave," he said. Then he said. "You may lower your hands, and kneel." The woman always examines the papers of enslavement on her knees. "Slave Girl," said the man, speaking to me, "remove the towel from about her head and permit her to dry her hands upon it."
"Yes, Master," I said.
I removed it carefully, lest it contain a needle or other device of which I might be unaware. The lovely cascade of dark hair which was Elicia's fell down her back. "Yes," said the man, "a lovely slave." Elicia dried her hands and, miserably, broke the ribbon and seal and examined the paper.
"You are literate?" inquired the man.
"Yes," she said, acidly.
"Do you understand the document?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "It is an order of enslavement"
"You understand further, of course," said he, "that under Gorean merchant law, which is the only law commonly acknowledged binding between cities, that you stand under separate permissions of enslavement. First, were you of Ar, it would be my right, could I be successful, to make of you a slave, for we share no Home Stone. Secondly, though you speak of yourself as the Lady Elicia of Ar, of Six Towers, you are, in actuality, Miss Elicia Nevins of the planet Earth. You are an Earth girl and thus stand within a general permission of enslavement, fair beauty quarry to any Gorean male whatsoever."
Earth girls had no Home Stones. No legalities, thus, were contravened in capturing them and making of them abject slave girls.
"The first to capture you owns you," he said. "Prepare to be leashed as a slave." He unlooped the long leash at his belt, with its slip ring and snap lock.
"Wait," she said, extending her hand.
"Yes?" he said.
"Beware of leashing me in this city," she said. "I am truly of Ar!"
"Describe to me," said he, "the Home Stone of Ar."
She looked down, confused. She could not do so.
Young men and women of the city, when coming of age, participate in a ceremony which involves the swearing of oaths, and the sharing of bread, fire and salt. In this ceremony the Home Stone of the city is held by each young person and kissed. Only then are the laurel wreath and the mantle of citizenship conferred. This is a moment no young person of Ar forgets. The youth of Earth have no Home Stone. Citizenship, interestingly, in most Gorean cities is conferred only upon the coming of age, and only after certain examinations are passed. Further, the youth of Gor, in most cities, must be vouched for by citizens of the city, not related in blood to him, and be questioned before a committee of citizens, intent upon determining his worthiness or lack thereof to take the Home Stone of the city as his own. Citizenship in most Gorean communities is not something accrued in virtue of the accident of birth but earned by virtue of intent and application. The sharing of a Home Stone is no light thing in a Gorean city.
"You claim to be of Ar," said he. "Yet you cannot describe her Home Stone. Explain to me then in precise detail the ceremony of citizenship, or, perhaps, the performances enacted upon the Planting Feast."
"I cannot," she stammered.
"Shall I have you taken before the magistrates of Ar," he inquired, "to substantiate your claim of citizenship?"
"No," she mid, "no!" She looked at him, terrified. To claim a Home Stone as one's own when it is not is a serious offense among Goreans. Elicia Nevins shuddered. She had no wish to be impaled upon the walls of Ar.
"Mercy, Warrior!" she begged.
"Are you of Ar?" he asked.
"No," she said, "I am not of Ar."
"Read further in the bill of enslavement," said he.
Her hands shaking, she read further.
"Sex?" he asked.
"Female," she read.
"Origin?" he asked.
"The planet Earth," she read.
"Name?"
"Elicia Nevins," she read. The document designated her by her own name. She trembled. The document shook in her hand.
"Is that your name?" he asked.
She looked at me, and then she looked again at the war-nor. "Yes," she said, "it is my name."
"You are Elicia Nevins?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, "I am Elicia Nevins."
"Fate? he asked.
"Slavery," she read. She handed him the document with trembling hands.
"Prepare to be leashed," he said.
He looked aside, casually, as he returned the bill of enslavement to his tunic. In this moment Elicia, springing to her feet, ran to the side of the room and picked up the small dagger. I cried out. She whirled, holding the dagger. He closed his tunic, the bill of enslavement concealed within it. He looked at her, unmoved.
I do not think Elicia realized at this time that he had already begun her training.
"Get out!" she cried. "I have a knife! I will kill you! Get out!"
"You have finished your bath," he said, "and are fresh and ready. Adorn yourself now with cosmetics and scents."
"Get out!" she screamed.
"You seem slow to obey," he remarked.
She looked wildly about her, toward the open door leading from the chamber of her bath and couch.
"There is no escape," he said. "The outer door is secured with a small chain."
She fled through the door and ran to the outer door. We followed her, watching. We were then in the room containing the curule chair, the room in which she had first interviewed me, her new slave girl.
She pulled at the chain on the door, looped in rings, holding the bolt in place, and cut at the door with the knife, hysterically. Then she turned again, wildly, gasping, her hair about her face, viewing us. She fled then again into the chamber she had so recently vacated, and shut the door, throwing its bolts in place.
The warrior rose from the curule chair, in which he had taken his place, and went to the door. I stood back, startled. He kicked it twice, splintering it back, until it hung wildly open, on one hinge. The side of the door and the door frame had been splintered loose. With one foot he then brushed the door back. Within the room, miserable, brandishing her knife, stood Elicia.
"Stay away!" she screamed.
He entered the room, and faced her. I, too, slipped into the room, remaining much behind him.
"You have not yet complied with my command to adorn yourself with cosmetics and scents," he observed. "Are you disobeying?"
"Get out!" she screamed.
"Apparently you require discipline," he said.
"Get out!" she screamed. "Get out!"
He approached her swiftly. She struck down at him, and he took her wrist and, turning her body, suddenly, savagely, thrust her wrist behind her and forced it up high against her back. She screamed with pain. She was high on her toes. His left hand was on her left arm, holding her; his right hand held her right wrist, small, high behind her back. The knife clattered harmlessly on the tiles. With his right foot, he swept it to one side. He held her still for a moment. Her head was back. Her eyes were shut. Her teeth were clenched. Then, with his left foot, he kicked her feet from beneath her and she knelt at his feet, head down, her arm twisted high behind her, the wrist now bent, held between two of his fingers. She knelt near the bath. "You require discipline," he said.
"Please," she wept.
He released her wrist and arm, and taking her by the hair, thrust her on her stomach on the tiles, at the edge of the bath, her head over the water.
"I will buy my freedom!" she cried. "Let me pay you!"
He thrust her head under the water, under the foams of beauty. After a time he pulled her up, sputtering.
"I do not want to be a slave," she gasped, water running from her head.
Again he submerged her head, holding it under the water. After a time, a longer time, he again pulled her head up, freeing it of the water. She gasped. She spit water. She coughed. Water streamed from her head. Her eyes were blinded by water and foam.