But, alas, some men, I fear, purchase girls largely for self-regarding, social reasons, for example, to impress others with their wealth, good fortune, or taste. But then, too, on Earth, do some men buy a certain car, or a certain house, or a certain painting, and such, largely to impress others?Too, on Earth some men will, in effect, purchase wives, so to speak, though the “exchange of coin” is less obvious. These women, as I understand it, are referred to as “trophy wives.” There are differences, of course. On Earth, it is the women who sells herself and, accordingly, keeps her own purchase price, so to speak. That is not the Gorean way, of course. I am happy to report that there is no Gorean expression which would be exactly equivalent to “trophy slave,” but I am forced to admit, in all honesty, that the concept, in effect, or certainly a similar sort of concept, is not unknown on Gor. In Gorean there is an expression which would rather literally translate as “display slave,” and it seems that that is much the same idea, namely, that the woman’s value is seen to lie more in the ranges of a decoration, an appointment, an appurtenance, or such things, than in herself, than in the heats, services, devotions, and loves of a whole woman, a living, breathing, loving, passionate, needful female. The palanquins of rich men are sometimes followed by strings of back-braceleted, briefly tunicked, neck-chained display slaves. When the slave is walked before the master, her head and eyes remain forward. She is not to look to the left or right. She is, after all, under the eyes of her master.
I suppose I am beautiful enough to be a display slave, but I do not think I would like it.
When the slave is walked before the master she may or may not be on a leash. It is up to the master.
Most often she is not leashed.
In this way the master may remain rather in the background. Perhaps he is just a fellow going in the same direction? But if the slave is accosted he will probably show up promptly enough, leash in hand.
She will then be leashed and there will be no doubt as to whose slave she is.
One might mention, in passing, that the “concept of the leash” may figure, as do a number of other concepts, in reference to bondage. Just as one might refer to a slave as “marked meat,” or as a “collar slut,” or a “vulo,” or a “tasta,” or as one might ask someone if a certain girl now wears a collar, or is garbed in the slave tunic, or has bared arms, or a bared face, or in whose bracelets or chains she finds herself, so, too, one might speculate that she is probably on a leash by now, or assert that she is on a given leash, say, so-and-so’s leash, or inquire of a slave her master, by inquiring, “Who leashes you,” “On whose leash are you,” “Who holds your leash,” and so on.
“Too,” continued the leader of the black-tunicked men, “the slaves may also serve as shields, if we are attacked, either by he whom we hunt, or by other beasts.”
“Take me to the surface!” cried Gito, leaping up, hurrying to throw himself on his knees before the leader of the strangers. “Take me to the surface!”
“You are free to leave,” said the leader of the strangers.
“Along?” quavered Gito.
“I have no intention of sparing men to conduct you to the surface,” said the leader.
“You are not going to stay here another night?”
“Yes,” said the leader.
“In the morning you will leave this place?”
“Yes, to conclude our hunt.”
“What of me?”
“You may remain here.”
“I will accompany you, of course,” said Gito. Then he returned to his place by the wall, crouching down there, watching the portal.
We expected ten men to return, answering the summons of the reed whistle, but only nine came in.
“Where is Emmertich?” demanded the lieutenant.
“Is he not with us?” asked the squad leader, looking back.
“He was following,” said a man.
“He may have taken a wrong turn,” said the pit master. “The passages can be confusing.”
“He will report in soon,” said another man, uneasily.
“He may be lost,” said another.
“He was only paces behind me,” said another. “Is he not here?”
“No,” said a man.
“Let us have supper,” said the leader of the strangers. “We shall then rest. In the morning we have much to do.”
“I shall set a guard,” said the lieutenant.
“Two men,” said the leader.
“Yes, Captain,” said the lieutenant.
“Loose three slaves to serve,” said the leader of the strangers.
“Of course,” said the pit master.
“That one, which seems to be your favorite,” said the leader, indicating Fina. “And this one,” he said. Tira, who was blond, whimpered, kicked.
He looked us over. None if us dared to meet his eyes.
“And this one,” he said, identifying another. I cried out, kicked.
35
I think it may have been some stray sound, not even identified, which awakened me.
I was at the wall, chained there again, by the left ankle. My hands, which had been unbound that I might serve, were now again bound behind my back.
None of those whom I had served, deferentially, I naked, collared, head down, at their very elbows, those morose, black-tunicked men, had so much as touched me. No hand had stolen forth to caress my flank, nor grip my hair, pulling me to them, if only to thrust their face to my throat, my hair about, to take in the scent of one whom they knew must serve them in any fashion they might desire, a female slave. I fear I served clumsily. They frightened me. I almost dropped a dish. But none paid me attention. I was miserable, and alone in my fear. Then, later, happily, we were returned to our chains and bonds.
Sometimes there is a sense of security, being on a chain, even back-braceleted or back-thonged. There is less than to fear. We have been put where men want us, and as men want us. How could we help then but be pleasing? Unless perhaps we were insufficiently quick, if approached, to kneel and put our heads down to the stone? Certainly I felt safer on the wall chain, bound, unnoticed, out of mind, than I had serving, trembling, fearing I might make a mistake, amongst those morose, terrible visitors. Should I be pleased that I was one of the three chosen to serve? Doubtless that spoke well for my attractions, such as they might be. But, too, I had been terrified. The visitors were not, I was sure, normal Gorean men. I feared them, far more than the normal Gorean male. I was not sure how to behave with them. The normal Gorean male, for example, will accept a slave’s obeisance and her humble kissing of his fee, but these men, I feared, might punish her for having approached them too closely. I did not know how to behave with them. They seemed unpredictable. In my collar I felt confused and frightened. I did not know what they might do to a slave.
Let me pause for a moment.
I think it is important to do so.
Please forgive me.
In this book, which is an unusual book, I think, and certainly violates many of the little rules and regulations, in their doctrinaire plenitudes, which so constrict the contemporary theory of the novel, beyond which many seem not to see, I have tried to tell the truth, even truths which may seem to some unfamiliar and strange.
Truth is a strange thing.
There is a danger in seeking it, for one might find it.
That one does not like a truth does not make it false.
How few people understand that!
But there are many sorts of truths, as there are flowers and beasts. Some truths are hard and cold, and sharp, and if one touches them one might cut oneself and bleed. Some truths are like dark stones which do little more that exist unnoticed; others are green with a glow of life, like moist grass rustling in the morning sun; some truths are like frowns; and some are like smiles. Some are friendly; others hostile; and, in both cases, their nature is just what it is, not what they may be said to be. Politics is not the arbiter of truth; it may be the arbiter of comfort, safety, conformity, and success, but it is not the arbiter of truth; the arbiter of truth is the world and nature; they have the last say in these matters.