As earlier suggested, it is the whole slave, all of her, every bit of her, that is for sale.
It is the whole slave, all of her, every bit of her, the whole she of her, that men want, and buy.
I lay at the ring.
He had permitted me to retain no particle of dignity. To be sure, I was not entitled to any, as I wasa slave. No choice had been mine. He had had all from me. To be sure, I must yield it at so little as the snapping of fingers. I was a slave.
Would the brunette regard me with reproach? I did not meet her eyes. She rose to her feet and went to one side. I heard from one side, the gentle sound of some links of chain.
Surely I must reproach myself, but I could not bring myself to do so. It was not merely that I was a slave, and thus will- less in such matters, and that I must obey, and with perfection, and such, but rather that I felt fulfillment, a calmness, a contentment.
I felt metal anklets, linked, being snapped about my ankles.
“The knots, Master,” said the brunette.
The pit master rose from the table and undid the ropes tying my hands before my body.
Metal wristlets, linked, were snapped about my wrists. These wristlets, by a length of chain, were attached to the anklets.
The rope tying my collar to the ring was undone.
I felt a metal collar clasped about my neck, over the kajira collar. This collar was attached to the same chain that ran from the linkage of the anklets to the linkage of the wristlets. My ankles, wrists, and neck, then, were on a common chain. I was in sirik.
I knelt as the pit master checked the locks. Then he returned to his work at the table.
I looked up at the brunette.
How I had yielded to the beast!
But I saw no reproach in her eyes.
How grateful I was!
She must understand how helpless I was! Not only that I was a legal slave, but that I was, undeniably, in my body, my mind, my needs, a rightful slave, a full and natural slave.
It is what I am, I thought. I cannot help myself! Be kind to me.
But in her eyes there was not the least reproach. I was grateful for this, for resentment, pettiness, jealousy, and competition are common among slaves. In a sense, we are not all rivals for the favor of masters?
“May I speak, Mistress?” I whispered.
“Of course,” she said.
“Do you know my name?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “It is on your collar.” She might have just seen it. She might have noted it, earlier, even when the pit master, seemingly idly curious, before beating me, he not having concerned himself with the matter before, examined the collar. She could read then. I could not read. How low I was!
“It is a state collar, is it not?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do not tell me my name,” I said.
“No one then, truly, has told it to you yet?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
“Have no fear,” she said. “I have no wish to be thrown to sleen.”
A girl’s name, you see, if one is permitted to her, is given to her by men. It is, thus, from men that she must first hear it spoken. If there should be some inadvertence or error in these matters, she will be given a new name, one she will hear first from masters. A girl, such as the brunette, who knew my name would be careful not to be the first to speak it to me. Afterwards, of course, it does not matter. The name is then as familiar and common as that of any animal.
“Cage her,” said the pit master.
“On all fours,” said the brunette.
I went to all fours, in my chains.
The brunette went to the small cage and opened the gate. She indicated the entrance. “Enter the cage,” she said.
I crawled to the cage and entered it.
The gate was shut behind me.
I turned about, on my knees, inside. I put my head down, in the collar, when the pit master came to check the closure of the cage. Then he went back to the table. I lifted my head. I knelt there, behind the bars. The cage had a floor and ceiling of solid iron. The four sides, on the other hand, were open, save for the bars. The bars were stout and closely set. They must have been an inch in diameter and some three inches apart. I put my face against them. There was a tiny clink of chain from the linkage on my wristlets, they touching the bars. I looked up at the brunette. One cannot begin to stand upright in such a cage, nor can one extend one’s body fully within it. Within it one must kneel, or sit, or lie, one’s body curled up.
“Mistress,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why am I here?”
“For the same reason as the rest of us,” she said. “It is the will of men.”
“But what am I to do?” I asked.
“What you are told,” she said.
“Are there others here?” I asked.
“Others?”
“Men,” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
I regarded her, plaintively.
“Guards,” she said.
“Am I available to them?” I asked.
“At the discretion of the pit master,” she said.
I briefly closed my eyes.
“But these are not their quarters. They do report here from time to time. Doubtless they will be pleased to learn of your addition to our number.”
“That is what I am here for,” I asked, “for the guards?”
“Your availability to them is incidental,” she said. “The pits are, in effect, in this area, a prison, and one in which, for the most part, the lowest and most dangerous prisoners are kept.”
I shuddered.
“There is little danger,” she said, “if you watch your step.”
I swallowed hard.
“I do not know what will be your precise duties,” she said, “but I would expect that you, as the rest of us, will be given some corridors, within which you will discharge assigned tasks.”
“Tasks?” I asked.
“Bringing food to the prisoners, replenishing cisterns, emptying wastes buckets, carrying fresh straw, cleaning cells, that sort of thing. One cannot expect the guards to do that.”
“No,” I said.
“In many cities,” she said, “such work is performed by free women of low caste, but here it is done by slaves. Do you know why?”
“No,” I said.
“That a token be conveyed to the prisoners of the contempt in which they are held.”
“I see,” I said. I rather doubted that this token was likely to be interpreted by the prisoners in the same fashion that the judiciary of the city, or the free women of the city, whatever city this might be, had anticipated. It was my guess that a male prisoner might more enjoy a glimpse of a slave than the lengthy scrutiny of a free woman. To be sure, it might be different if the free woman were a prisoner or criminal, sentenced to the prison for a time, to serve there, perhaps denied her veil, perhaps being forced to reveal her ankles or even calves to the prisoners. They might enjoy that. But I recalled the pleased howling and catcalls of the prisoners above, those I had passed on my journey along the ledge. They had seemed vital and strong. I had felt myself relished, even to my terror. To be sure, I was not serving the. Also, there surely seemed a paradox here, for free men, outside of the prisons, and such, apparently delighted in being served by slaves, and the strongest and most powerful, it seemed, would have it no other way. It must be the principle of the thing then, I supposed, that in the prison it was imposed upon them, presumably as some sort of insult or disparagement, while in their freedom, on the other hand, it was something they would themselves relish and require.