Late that night the men went to their furs and tentings. Eta and I put away the extra food; we cleaned the goblets and cleared the side of the fire of litter and debris. She gave me a thin blanket of coarse cloth; it was rep-cloth; I might huddle in it at night. "Eta!" called a man. She went to him. She slipped within his bit of tenting, onto his furs. I saw her pull away the rag she wore and I saw him, in the moonlight, enclose her in his arms. I was suddenly frightened. The bit of blanket about my shoulders I went to the cliff wall and looked upward at the sheer cliff above me. It shone in the moonlight. I scratched it with my fingernails. I went to the wall of thorn brush, a small, forlorn, white figure in the night, clutching the bit of rep-cloth blanket about me. The thorn-brush wall was some eight feet high, some ten feet thick. I extended my hand. Miserably I drew it back, bloody. I went back to where Eta had given me the rep-cloth blanket, and lay down on the hard ground. I shuddered, knowing that, as she had been summoned to the tenting of one of the men, so I, too, might be as helplessly summoned. The major duty of a slave girl, I suspected, was not to cook, or sew, or launder, but to give men lengthy, profound and exquisite pleasures, such as only a beautiful female could give a man, to be to him whatever he might wish, and to give to him all that he might command, and, to the extent of her beauty, ingenuity and imagination, a thousand times more.
I began to sweat. I was frightened of the totality and completeness of being a slave girl. I am a girl of Earth, I cried to myself. I am not a slave! I do not want to be a slave! I am a girl of Earth!
"Kajira," I heard.
Terrified, clutching the bit of rep-cloth blanket about my shoulders, I rose to my knees, then to a crouch. My captor stood before his tenting. I could see the furs within. Too, within, a small lamp burned.
I did not wish him to have to speak twice, for fear I might be beaten.
Holding the blanket about me, I went to him. He proffered me a cup and I, with one hand, holding the blanket about me with the other, drank its contents. It was a foul brew, but I downed it. I did not know at the time, but it was slave wine. Men seldom breed upon their slave girls. Female slaves, when bred, are commonly hooded and crossed with a male slave, similarly hooded, the breeding conducted under the supervision of their respective owners; a girl is seldom bred with a slave from her own house; personal relationships between male and female slaves are usually frowned upon; sometimes, however, as a discipline even a high female slave is sometimes thrown to a chain of work slaves for their pleasure. The effect of the slave wine endures several cycles, or moons; it may be counteracted by another drink, a smooth, sweet beverage, which frees the girl's body for the act of the male slave, or, in unusual cases, should she be freed, to the act of the lover; slave girls, incidentally, are almost never freed on Gor; they are too delicious and desirable to free; only a fool, it is commonly said, would free one.
My captor took the cup from me, when I had downed its contents. He threw it aside into the grass. He had not taken his eyes from me. I felt his hands at my shoulders. He parted the blanket, and then, lifting it from me, dropped it to my ankles.
He looked at me. I stood but inches from him. Then he took me by the left arm and thrust me within the low opening to his tenting. One could not stand upright within the tenting, for its ceiling was low. I half knelt, half crouched, on the furs within. There was little comparison between their depth and luxury, and my pitiful rep-cloth blanket. The tenting was striped on the inside; the small lamp was ornate; on the outside, interestingly, the tenting was a dull brown; among brush and trees it would be easy not to notice it, even if it were pitched but a few yards away. He slipped within the tenting, and crouched beside me. He unslung his gear, his sword belt, with weapon and scabbard, and the dagger belt, and, wrapping them in soft leather, put them to one side. He looked at me. I looked down. I felt very small with him. He held the lamp that I might, turning, examine the brand on my thigh; he held my leg with one hand, the thigh, turning it so that I might more clearly see the mark. His hand on my thigh frightened me. It was so strong. I looked at the brand. It was very meticulous, and clean, and deep, and lovely and delicate; it was incredibly feminine; it was as though my femininity had been literally stamped upon my body; it was as though I had been certified a certain sort of thing, which thereafter, no matter what I wished, or what I might be told, I could never deny; never had I felt so soft, so feminine; I wore, burned in my flesh, one of the most beautiful of brands; I wore, incised in my thigh, resembling a small, beautiful rose, the dina, the slave flower. I looked into the eyes of my captor. Never had I felt so weak, so vulnerable, so soft, so helpless, so feminine. There were tears in my eyes. I knew I belonged to the brute, as a slave girl. I saw him put the lamp to one side. I lifted my lips to his. I felt his arms close about me.