To be sure, there is nothing inconsistent in this possibility. I supposed that a woman might, in theory, believe that she, say, because she deserved it, or because it was appropriate for her, was destined to slavery by the Priest-Kings. Perhaps she would accept this in virtue of the supposed wisdom of Priest-Kings. Or, even if she thought this a mere whim, or even an arbitrary decision on their part, merely to demonstrate their power, she might reconcile herself to it, indeed, soon joyously submitting to, and accepting, what she takes to be her decreed fate. Some such belief, I supposed, might assist her in her adjustment to bondage. On the other hand, I think that any reference to the will of the Priest-Kings in these matters is both unnecessary and misleading. Incidentally, I have never personally known a slave on this world who brought the Priest-Kings into these matters. We do not want our bondage, our joy in servitude, our submission, our love, demeaned by attributing it to something alien, something other than ourselves, something outside of ourselves, such as the will of the Priest-Kings, if such should exist. It is too close to us, to intimate to us, to meaningful to us, to be cheapened in that way.
It depends not on Priest-Kings, you see, but on what we are, women.
“Our offerings have been accepted, our prayers have been heard,” he said.
Now it seemed that these Initiates or at least he who appeared to be chief amongst them was implicitly suggesting that the success of the expedition might well be attributed to their offerings, doubtless ultimately supplied by the faithful, and their prayers, uttered in the safety of their temple precincts. I looked up to see the faces of some of the raiders. Those faces, some of them so young, seemed solemn. Did they not think their own efforts had been efficacious in these matters? Who, after all, rode the mighty tarns, who did battle, who risked their lives, who, sword in hand, bestrode the corridors of burning palaces? And how must such words sound to the lovely captives? Surely they, if none others, must know who it was who gagged and bound them in their beds, and carried them off, surely they must know who caught them, and flung them down and put chains on them, who fought over them with curses, with sweat and steel, who carried them helpless though the smoke of burning houses to waiting tarns. Surely they were under no delusions as to who it was who fastened them on their backs over saddles, who thrust them naked into cage baskets.
“Let us again give thanks to the Priest-Kings!” cried the gaunt figure.
“Thanks be to the Priest-Kings,” said the crowd.
I noticed that one of the robed, shaved-headed boys, the one with the bells, was eyeing one of the captives. She was one of those in the lines. She was a small brunette. Her hands twisted a little behind her, in the shackles. She might have been a little younger than he. I did not think she was aware of his gaze.
I did not scorn the lad for noticing her. If anything, I was pleased he had. It made him seem a little more human. To be sure, I supposed that he had best watch his step. Too, she had best watch hers. Though she was now a free woman, she was a stripped captive, and would doubtless soon be a slave. If he became involved with her I had little doubt that it would not be he, but it would be she, particularly if she were a slave, who would be found at fault. In such a case I do not think any of her sisters in bondage would envy her. The seduction of such a fellow, I supposed, would count as a terrible offense, one perhaps endangering even the city itself. But perhaps he would leave the caste before it was too late, if it were not already too late, before, say, he took his final vows, or performed whatever act or acts it might be by means of which his entry into the caste might be effected. Perhaps, before he became much older, he would come to understand that there were two sexes, really, and that they are formed by nature, each in its own way, for the other. The caste of Initiates, incidentally, provides a socially acceptable refuge for men who may not wish, for one reason or another, to relate to women. It is probably a kindness for a society to provide mercies of this sort. This observation is not intended to reflect on the caste as a whole. It is my surmise, incidentally, that the great majority of Initiates, for better or for worse, abide by, and respect, the regulations of their caste.
The gaunt figure now lifted his grasping, crooked hands to the clouds. “Praise be to the Priest-Kings!” he again called.
“Praise be to the Priest-Kings,” repeated the crowd, a low murmur.
“May the blessings of the Priest-Kings be upon you,” said the gaunt figure.
“Praise be to the Priest-Kings,” said again the crowd.
The gaunt figure then turned a little to his left, to the crowd on his left, and made a wide circling gesture with his right hand. This was done in such a manner that I gathered that something of profound importance was to be understood as taking place. He then faced the crowd before him, directly, and solemnly repeated this gesture. This circular gesture, it seems, reminiscent of the circle surmounting the staff, the symbol of eternity, as the “sign of the Priest-Kings.” He was, in effect, blessing the crowd. I wondered if the Priest-Kings would be pleased to have such a fellow, and in such a manner, blessing crowds in their name. To be sure, why should they object? After all, what would it be to them?
The gaunt figure now turned to his right, toward my portion of the crowd.
“Head down, slave girl,” whispered the man behind me.
Quickly I thrust my head down to the stones. It behooves a slave girl to be careful of whose eyes she meets, and how she meets them. We must be careful of looking too boldly into the eyes of our superiors, in particular, unknown free men or women. Brazenness can be cause for discipline. We do not wish to be punished. This is not to deny, of course, the expected and appropriate meetings of eyes in thousands of contexts and times, as in attempting to read one’s fate in the eyes of the master, in examining them to learn if one is in favor or disfavor, in meeting them when commanded to do so, as when he examines us to see if we are lying, or when he wishes us to see the sternness in his eyes, that he is displeased, as in trying to read his will, that we may serve him better, as in looking up at him in rapture, squirming in his power, as in gazing into his eyes, on lonely beaches and in sheltered glades, with love. But if it can be dangerous for a slave to look too boldly into the eyes of a mere stranger, if such can invite a kick or a cuff, or even a whipping, imagine how wary one would be of meeting, and how one would fear to meet, the eyes of one such as the gaunt figure, the eyes of one seemingly unbalanced, eyes in which, it seemed, only too clearly blazed vanity, cruelty, and madness. I sensed, from the time involved, and from tiny movements, and adjustments, of those about, that the gaunt figure was now no longer facing us. He was though now, it seemed, with our part of the crowd. I lifted my head a little. He was again facing the center of the crowd.
“It is now time to demonstrate your gratitude to the Priest-Kings,” said the gaunt figure.
“Perhaps that might be done by filling up the golden bowls,” speculated a fellow, under his breath.
“Hush!” said a frightened free woman.
“The Priest-Kings love a generous giver,” said the gaunt figure.
“Certainly the High Initiate does,” said the fellow.
“Be quiet,” said the woman, terrified.
Half of the twenty or so Initiates went then to the raiders, moving amongst them, holding up the golden bowls. I saw coins, and jewels, and jewelry dropped into the bowls. The other half of the Initiates then began to move amongst the crowd. The crowd, too, or, at least, many of its members, put coins, usually single coins, or coins of smaller denomination, in the bowls. These were fetched from purses, from wallets and pouches. Most Gorean garments, other than those of artisans, do not contain pockets.