He stood beside the furs, and slipped aside his tunic. "Remove the Ta-Teera," he said to me. I sat up, unhooked it, and slipped it over my head, putting it to the side. He joined me in the furs, throwing them over us both.
I could hear cries, it seemed from far off, from the circle of the torch, where the peasant boys sported cruelly with their captured beauties.
Then I was in my master's arms. I moaned with pleasure.
I felt my master's eyes upon me.
"Will you turn me over to the peasant boys?" I asked, apprehensive, in the darkness.
I did not want to be roped and dragged, a captured slave, to the circle of the torch. They would be furious that I had eluded them. I did not know what they would do to me.
"No," said he, in the darkness.
"Then," said I, breathing more easily, "I have escaped them."
"But you have not escaped me," he said.
"No, Master," I said, snuggling more closely to him, "I have not escaped you."
"You ran well," he said. "And you are bold. It took boldness, indeed, to hide, unbidden, in the furs of your very master. For such boldness a slave girl might be much beaten."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"But I do not disparage boldness in a slave girl," said he. "A girl who is bold is likely to think of marvels of pleasure for her master which a more timid girl would not dare to even contemplate."
"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.
"Too," said he, "the nature of your flight, and your selection of a refuge, indicates high intelligence."
"Thank you, Master," I said.
I felt his hands on the side of my head.
"You are extremely intelligent," he said, adding, "for a woman, and a slave."
"Thank you, Master," I said. What a beast he was. And yet I sensed that my intelligence was indeed far less than his, and that of most of the Gorean men I had met. Gorean males are unusual in their strength, energy and intelligence.
Sometimes this angered me. Sometimes it pleased me.
I did not feel inferior to most Gorean women I had met, either slave or free. Their intelligence, it seemed to me, compared much more closely, statistically, to that of Earth females. Of my master's girls, I felt that only Eta was my superior.
"I like high intelligence in a slave girl," said my master.
"Thank you, Master," I said.
Then I cried out, and held to him, my lips parted, for he had touched me.
"You leap like a she-tarsk," he said.
I bit my lip.
"That is because you are intelligent," he said. "I suppose you did not know that," he said, "for you are of Earth."
I gasped, and could not speak, for the sensation which he was inducing in me.
"Intelligent bodies," he said, "are far more responsive. Your very intelligence makes you the more helplessly a slave."
I clutched him.
"It pleases me to own intelligent girls, such as you," he said. "Intelligent girls make excellent slaves," he observed.
"Please, Master," I said. "I cannot resist you!"
"Be silent," he said.
"Yes, Master," I wept.
"It is more pleasurable to control and dominate them than stupid girls," he said. "They are more stimulating to own. They are greater prizes."
"Yes, Master," I said. "Yes, Master!"
"Too," said he, "one profits more from their ownership than from that of a duller girl. They are brighter, more skillful, more imaginative, more inventive. An intelligent girl can do many more things and do them better than a duller girl. She follows commands easily; she learns swiftly. Her performances, in their variety, intricacy and depth, can approach brilliance. She learns well, and continues to learn, in her intelligence and sexuality, how to please a man. Too, in her depths of emotion, feeling and sensation, these associated with her intelligence, she is easier to manipulate and exploit."
"Please, Master," I begged, "take me!"
"Remain immobile," he said. "Do not move so much as a muscle."
I gritted my teeth. "Yes, Master," I whispered. Every bit of me wanted to cry out and explode. I held myself absolutely rigid. I wanted to explode. I was not permitted to move.
"Too," said he, "an intelligent girl, a highly intelligent one, such as yourself, is capable of truly understanding her slavery. A dull girl has no true insight into the bondage relation. She knows she is a slave. She recognizes the institution, and is cognizant of its legalities. She is familiar with chains, and has worn them; she sees the whip, and has felt it. But does she truly understand her slavery?"
"Forgive me, Master," I said, barely able to speak, "but any woman who is a slave truly understands her slavery."
"Is this true?" he asked.
"In the belly of her," I said, "any woman who is slave knows her slavery. It has naught to do with intelligence, but only with being a slave and a woman. It is an indescribable, helpless feeling in the belly of us, being owned. One need not be intelligent to have this emotion, nor to respond, nor to feel."
"Perhaps," he said.
I wanted to scream. "Please, Master," I said.
"Do not move," said he.
"Yes, Master," I said, obeying.
I held myself rigid. Could the peasant boys have been more cruel?
"You do not think," he asked, "that the dull woman confuses slavery with the chains and the whip?"
"No, Master," I said. I moaned in helplessness. "I am not now chained," I said. "I am not now being whipped. But I could not be more a slave than now if I were chained to a whipping post and the lash being laid upon me. I am owned. I am completely in your power. I dare not even move. I must obey. This could be understood by any woman in my place."
"But perhaps," said he, musing, "your understanding of your slavery, in virtue of your intelligence, your sensitivity, is much more intense, much deeper and richer than would be that of a duller woman?"
"Perhaps, Master," I said. "I do not know!"
"Do you wish to be permitted to move?" he asked.
"Yes," I wept. "Yes! Yes!"
"But you are not yet permitted to move," he said.
"Yes, Master," I sobbed.
"It is pleasant to own a beautiful Earth woman such as you," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"To whom do you belong?" he asked.
"To you! To you, Master!" I said.
"But you are of Earth," he said. "How can you belong to a man?"
"I belong to you, to you, Master!" I said.
"In the past weeks," he said, "you have begun to disturb me."
"Master?" I asked.
"Do not move," he said.
"No, Master," I sobbed.
"I do not understand it," he said. "It is very strange. Today I grew angry with you, and you had merely behaved as a slave."
He referred to my yielding to the soldier in the morning.
"I am a slave, Master," I said. "I could not help myself."
"I know," he said. "Why then should I be angry?"
"I do not know, Master," I said.
He then touched me, and I cried out.
"Do not move," he said.
"Have mercy on your girl, Master!" I begged.
With his touch he had again brought my sensations to the point at which I wanted to shatter and writhe and scream, and yet I must remain at his side, immobile, absolutely motionless.
"You are not important," he said.