“Yes, Master,” I said.
“But you are learning to fit in, are you not?” he asked.
“Yes, Master!” I said.
“And you belong in a world such as this, do you not?” he asked.
“I fear so, Master,” I whispered. It made no sound.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And as what you are?”
“Yes, Master,” I said. It was true.
“Your ankles are tightly tied, are they not?” he asked.
I moved them, a tiny bit. How helpless I was! How tight the cords were!
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“Before her ankles are untied,” he said, “let her look upon my face.”
“Yes, Master,” said the slave at my ankles.
I half reared up, my hands bound behind me.
“Courage,” whispered the slave, rising to her feet. She went to the torch behind the beastlike figure and removed it from the holder. He approached me, his face in darkness. I moved back a little. I could feel the toils of the net beneath me. How terrifying to be a slave! How helpless we are! His face was now close to mine. The woman then brought the torch forward, so that it was, lifted, a little behind me, near the wall. In this fashion were the features of the pit master illuminated.
I screamed, and tried to scramble back, bound as I was. His hand, on the bound ankle, drew me forward, over the net, on the stones. I twisted and thrashed for a moment, and then, in misery, in disbelief, looking up, past the torch, toward the recesses of the ceiling, lay still. I felt his heavy, pawlike hand. It moved about. I shuddered. “She has smooth skin,” he said. He then put a hand to my hair and, by my hair drew me up, sitting, before him. In my hair his hand was tight. I did not complain. A slave is not a free woman. She does not expect to be handled gently. I did not wish to be cuffed. I kept my hands closed, desperately. He drew my head forward, closer to his. I could feel the heat of his breath on my face. I sobbed. I gasped. Burning tears forced themselves from between my tightly pressed eyelids. “Open your eyes, it said. I could tell that it was not pleased. His hand was now cruelly tight in my hair. I was well held. My ankles fought the cords on them. My hands were tied behind my back. I could not press him away, or even try to do so. I could not leap up. I could not run. He tightened his grip yet more on my hair and, instantly sobbing, I ceased to struggle. I held as still as I could. The least movement would have caused me excruciating agony.
“Courage!” whispered the female slave.
“Must a command be repeated?” he inquired.
“No, Master!” I whispered.
I then opened my eyes and now, for the first time, confirming the horror or my earlier, briefest glimpse, looking fully upon the features of the pit master.
It was in the power of this ting that I was!
A convulsive shudder overcame me.
I lost consciousness.
13
I awakened, kicked.
“Awaken,” said a voice, “weak-stomached slut.”
“I am awake, Master!” I wept.
“Oh!” I cried, again kicked.
I lay on the walkway, on the toils of the net, on my stomach. I was still bound, as I had been.
“Kneel,” said he.
“Master!” I begged.
But he did not qualify, or rescind, his order.
I struggled to comply. Twice I fell, groaning. I feared I might be beaten. Masters are seldom patient with us.
“Master!” I begged, again.
But he was silent.
Again I struggled to comply.
Then, sore, and gasping, I was successful!
A frightened slave girl now knelt before him, naked, and bound hand and foot.
It was I.
I dared not look again on that monstrous head, with its hideous features. The female slave, standing nearby with the torch, had said I need not look upon it, unless commanded to do so.
I kept my eyes down.
He was standing before me.
I could see his sandals.
I bent forward, from the waist, and, putting my head down, pressed my lips to his sandals, licking and kissing them.
And thus did I, a slave girl on an exotic world, seek to placate he who was to me in this place as master.
“Do the women of your world seek to placate thusly the men of their world?” he asked.
“Doubtless some, Master,” I said.
“But it is done rarely?” he asked.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“But it is not done rarely on this world,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said.
“And you are now of this world,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You lick and kiss well,” he said.
“Thank you, Master,” I said. I loved to render such obeisance to men. It seemed, somehow, so very real, and fulfilling to me. In such a humble act I acknowledged, and honored, not only the maleness of a given individual, of a given master, but, in a sense, all maleness, and the might of the mastery, and expressed, lovingly, in joy and tenderness, my femaleness. There is something profoundly symbolic in this simple act. I find it very moving. To be sure, it can be performed under many quite different circumstances and conditions. Sometimes one performs it in timidity, or even terror. Sometimes one may perform it as a way of pleading, even, for one’s life. And this thing to which I now addressed these attentions, I knew, might not even be human. It seemed to me, in effect, a monster. But it seemed to me, still, this way of rendering obeisance, to be a way of expressing even to it, even to what was perhaps some sort of monster, that I was a slave, and desired to be pleasing. I was, after all, subject to its domination, as I would have been to an individual master, one who had, say, bought me off a block.
He bent down and lifted me up, and then sat me back, my back against the retaining wall, separating the well-like enclosure from the walkway.
“Can you untie her ankles?” he asked the female slave.
“I do not think so,” she whispered. She has struggled futilely with the knots. They were, it seemed, beyond her strength.
The shape then bent down and, with its great hands, undid the knots. He did this easily.
I was then lifted to my feet. I stood unsteadily.
“We will show her the pool,” said the creature.
I did not look at him. I kept my eyes away from his visage.
“Yes, Master,” said the slave with the torch.
The three of us stood then near the wall. I was still unsteady. The walkway went all about the well-like enclosure. I could see other passages opening from it, here and there.
“Beat her!” called the free woman from the cage.
The pit master regarded her. The slave with the torch lifted it higher.
“She told me she was a free woman!” said the free woman.
“Did you tell her that?” asked the creature.
“No!” I said, frightened. “I did not tell her that!”
“Do you think you are a free woman?” he asked.
“No, Master!” I said.
“What are you?”
“A slave, Master!” I cried.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said, “only a slave, only that!”
“Did you let her believe you to be a free woman?” asked the creature.
“Yes, Master” I moaned.
“See!” cried the free woman.
“You should have informed her instantly that you were only a slave,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“She told me she was of the Peasants!” said the free woman.
“No!” I cried. “I never said that!”
“You permitted her to believe it?” asked the pit master.
“Yes, Master,” I whispered.
“You should not have done that,” he said.
“I am new to your world, Master!” I said.
“You must learn our ways more quickly,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You must be punished,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“And was she never even of the Peasants?” asked the free woman.
“No,” said the pit master. “She has always been casteless.”