"Dina!" called a man.
I was struck by a soldier past whom I hurried. I gathered the man had called before, and I had not heard him. The soldier had struck me for I had been tardy in responding to the first man. I brushed the silk of the girl who danced between the tables. The music swirled about me.
I knelt before the man who had called.
"Are you deaf?" he asked.
"Forgive a miserable girl, Master," I begged. "I did not hear you."
"Give me meat," he said.
I lifted the platter to him and he thrust the eating prong into a slab of meat, hot with Turian spices. It was the last piece on the platter. He looked at me.
"I will fetch more meat immediately, Master," I said.
"You are the meat I want, Dina," he said.
"It is not yet time to serve the wine," I whispered. This is a common Gorean idiom. I was reminding him, timidly, that the time of general pleasure had not yet arrived. I, and several of the other girls, had not yet been released from our serving duties. There were still courses of the banquet to be served to our masters. In the time of desserts and wines we would crawl to their tables, slave girls.
"Fetch in the prisoner," called Borchoff, captain of the keep of Stones of Turmus.
This afternoon I had been upon the heights of the keep, carrying water to the men on the parapets. I had stood there, looking out over the wall, at the vast fields about. It was more than eighty feet to the ground.
"Is it your intention, Dina," had asked a soldier, coming up behind me, "to dash yourself to the ground?"
"No, Master," I said to him. "I am not a free woman. I am a slave girl." I backed gently against him, and lifted my head, turning it to him. I felt his hands on my arms.
"Attend to your duties, Slave Girl," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
I had been summoned more than once to his couch.
I poured him a cup of water from the small verrskin bag over my shoulder.
It was hot on the parapet. The stones were hot to my bare feet. I wore a brief, one-piece, brown work tunic. It was all I wore, with the exception of the collar. We wore such tunics when engaged as work slaves. The tunics of work slaves are usually brown or gray.
I looked above me at the posts mounted on the walls. Between them was slung fine wire, gently bending and swaying in the slow breeze of the hot afternoon. Such wire is tarn wire. It is used to prevent the descent of tarns into the courtyard of a fortress. It is common in Gorean defenses.
I looked again over the wall.
"Master," I asked.
"Yes," he said.
"I see dust there," I said, pointing to the road beneath, winding toward the fortress.
"They have him," said the soldier beside me.
Two tharlarion, ponderous and stately, made their way toward the keep. They were mounted by two warriors, with lances. More warriors, eight men from the keep, followed, bearing spears. Between the tharlarion, fastened by neck chains, running to the stirrups of the two beasts, strode a man. He was dark-haired. He wore chains. His wrists were fastened behind his back.
"Who is it, Master?" I asked.
"We do not know," said the soldier. "But word had come to us that he had been making inquiries concerning the keep, its defenses, and such."
"What is to be done with him?" I asked.
"He has been brought in," said the soldier. "Doubtless he will be branded, and enslaved. I do not envy him."
I watched the man. He walked proudly. I knew there were male slaves on Gor, but I had not seen them. Most Gorean slaves are female. Male 'captives are commonly killed.
"Bring water to the men, Slave Girl," said the soldier.
"Yes. Master," I said. I took the cup back from the soldier, and hurried on along the parapet, to serve others.
When I was descending the stairs and had come to the courtyard between the walls, the gate had been opened, and the party, with their prisoner, had entered. The gate then closed behind them. Borchoff, captain of the keep, came to inspect the prisoner. I, curious, stood idly by, watching, the emptied water bag over my shoulder, my ankles in the dust of the courtyard.
The man was tanned, dark-haired, very dark-haired, large, strong. He wore chains. His hands were manacled behind him. He stood proudly between the two beasts, bearing easily the weight of the two stirrup chains attached to his capture collar.
It pleased me to see a man captive. He wore heavy iron manacles and could not hurt me. I approached more closely. His guards did not stop me.
"What is your name?" asked Borchoff of the man.
"I do not remember," he said.
He was struck by one of the guards.
"For what purpose," inquired Borchoff, "were you attempting to ascertain the nature of our defenses?"
"It has slipped my mind," said the man.
Again he was struck. He scarcely flinched, though the blows were cruel.
Borchoff turned away from the man, to converse with the lieutenant, one of the men on the tharlarion, pertaining to the details of the prisoner's capture.
I approached the prisoner more closely. None stopped me. He looked upon me. I blushed hot red. My body was not much concealed in the brief one-piece work tunic, and I wore a collar. Gorean men have a way of looking at a woman which is like stripping them and putting them to their feet. I felt naked. I put my hand to the thin brown cloth, clutching it, as though to close it more, but I only moved it more tightly about me and higher upon my thighs. I felt, under his gaze, that every detail of my body must be clear to him. I shrank back.
Borchoff turned about, briefly. "Taunt him," said he, "Dina."
"I warn you, Captain," said the prisoner. "Do not do to me the insult of the taunting slave girl."
"Taunt him," said Borchoff, to me, then turning away.
The prisoner stiffened in silent rage. Suddenly I felt very powerful. He was helpless. And, too, almost overwhelming me, I felt a sudden fury against men, for what they had done to me, even to the collar and brand. And this man was Gorean, and he had, a moment before, looked upon me as a master upon a slave girl.
"Yes, Master," I said to Borchoff, captain of the keep of Stones of Turmus.
I approached the prisoner, looking up at him. He looked away. "Does Master fear a slave girl?" I asked. I touched him with my finger, tracing idly on his shoulder. I smiled to myself. The only men I knew who would fear a slave girl would be men of Earth. A slave girl would confuse and frighten them. They would not know what to do with one. They would doubtless attempt to indoctrinate her swiftly with masculine values, and turn her into an imitation man. She would then be safe for them. They would doubtless proceed in this matter regardless of her feelings, oblivious of her integrities, for they would not be truly interested in fulfilling her nature, whatever it might be, but in avoiding the responsibilities of their own. Women and men are identical; this the defensive thesis of weak, fearful men. It is simple. If women are not women, then they need not be men. Why do many men fear manhood? I do not think it would be so terrible.
"You are large and strong, Master," I said to the prisoner. "And you are handsome, too," I said.
He looked away, angrily.
"Why do you not take me in your arms, and kiss me as a slave girl?" I whimpered. "Do you not find me attractive?"
He said nothing.
"Oh," I said, "you wear chains." I kissed at his arm. He was more than ten inches taller than I, and must have weighed twice as much. I was very small next to him.
"Let Dina give you pleasure, Master," I whispered. "Let Dina please you." I bit at his tunic, which was torn, with my teeth. "You should let Dina please you," I said, "for soon you may be branded, and then you will be only a poor little slave like Dina." With my teeth I tore away his upper tunic, stripping him to the waist. He had a mighty chest. I caressed his flanks, and licked and bit at his belly. "Male slaves," I said, "may be slain for so much as touching a slave girl." I looked up at him. "Dina is sorry that you will soon be a slave, Master," I said.