“That is true,” said a man.
“Yes,” agreed another.
“Are you the lowest of the low?” asked the man.
“I do not know, Master,” I said.
“You are,” he assured me.
“Yes, Master,” I said. If I had had any doubt as to how I had stood on this world before, I had none now.
Dorna laughed.
The fellow in the chair still held, in the palm of his left hand, some tidbits of meat.
He took one of these between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand and held it out to me.
I took it, and ate it.
I looked up at him. I wondered if he would again touch me.
I took the next piece of meat.
“You take your food from men,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He then held another piece.
“See her being fed by hand!” said Dorna to those about.
I took the next piece of meat.
“Feed, little Earth beast!” laughed Dorna.
Suddenly the occupant of the chair turned toward Dorna and regarded her.
She turned white.
Her switch was taken from her.
Then the proud Dorna knelt beside me and, putting forth her head, angrily, in fury, was fed as I.
“You take your food from men,” the occupant of the chair informed the proud woman kneeling beside me.
“Yes, Master,” she said. That admission, I conjectured, had cost her much.
About us some men laughed, and some smote their left shoulders in approval.
In order that the matter be lost on no one, the occupant of the chair, of the last three pieces of meat, casting each to the floor of the dais, cast the first to the six-legged beast, which lapped it up instantly with its tongue, scarcely a scrap to such a maw, the second to me and the third to Dorna. Dorna and I, then, on all fours, from where we had retrieved that largesse which had been granted to us, cast to the floor of the dais, looked up at he who occupied the chair.
“May I rise, Master?” she asked.
Though a high slave it seemed she thought it wise, under the circumstances, to request this permission.
“Yes,” he said.
She leaped to her feet.
I remained on all fours, before the chair.
Dorna was regarding me with fury. She was not pleased to have been knelt beside me, and fed as I was, nor to have to have pursued a bit of meat thrown to the floor, just as I had, as one might expect of a low girl. And there were others about. It was not as though she were naked, and alone with him.
I saw that she was very angry with me. Surely she must blame me for her humiliation. Too, I suspected she might, for some reason, be jealous of me. Was it my fault if I might be more beautiful or desirable than she? Did she resent the interest of the men in me? Did she fear that I might turn the head of the fellow in the chair? Might that be it? Did she fear that she might cease to be his preferred slave, if, indeed, she was that? I did not think that she was likely to have been a bread slave, except insofar as every woman, being a woman, is a bred slave. Perhaps she had once been a high free woman. But now, of course, somehow, it seemed that she had come into the collar. Perhaps her life now was quite different from what it had once been. Perhaps once she had even possessed some sort of authority, perhaps even over certain men. But now, it seemed, she must obey men, strive to please them and hope to be fed. Perhaps she hated me because I was from Earth. It was not that uncommon for women of this world to hate us, I had gathered. Perhaps they regarded us rivals, or something? Perhaps we were resented because many men of this world seemed to prize us, though, to be sure, they kept us under strict discipline, as perfect slaves.
They wanted us that way, and saw to it that that would be the way we would be kept.
Little on Earth prepares a woman for Gor.
“Return to the foot of the dais, and stand,” said the man in the chair.
I backed down the steps of the dais, on all fours, and then, at its foot, rose to my feet.
“Bring slave wine,” he said.
My heart leaped.
Dorna, angrily, descended the steps of the dais behind the thronelike chair and went again to the table beneath the roofed defense work.
I was pleased.
I looked down, shyly.
I had been given slave wine in the pens, of course, but it was not mine to call that to their attention. Indeed, the matter was undoubtedly noted on my papers. Perhaps these men merely wished to make sure of the matter. Or perhaps they merely wished to have me drink slave wine before them, either for their amusement, or because of he effects of this act, which were not only practical but symbolic. The effect of slave wines, at least those now in general use, seems to be indefinite, but they are commonly renewed annually, perhaps largely for symbolic purposes. One removes the effects of such wine by drinking a “releaser.” The wines themselves could be sweetened, but normally served bitter, which taste, as I understand it, is closer to that of the original root, the sip root, from which they are ultimately derived. The “releaser” or, at least the wine in which it is mixed, the “breeding wine” or “second wine,” is sweet. The breeding of slaves, like that of most domestic animals, is carefully supervised. Slave breeding usually takes place in silence, at least as far as speech is concerned. Similarly the slaves are normally hooded. They are not to know one another. This is thought useful in reducing, or precluding, certain possible emotional complications. The breeding takes place under the supervision of masters, or their agents, with endorsements being recorded on proper papers. I was pleased, of course, because, just as I took my feeding to be an indication that I was to be kept, if only for a time, so, too, I would interpret my being given slave wine as constituting something of a reassurance of my desirability something in the nature of an indication that I might have been found, these men looking upon me, not without promise as a kajira, even though I was a woman of Earth.
Dorna handed me the goblet.
I could be every bit as good as a woman of this world, I was sure!
I did not even look at Dorna.
Who needed to look upon her?
I stood naked before the dais, and looked up at he who sat in the thronelike chair.
What could a woman of my world be before such men but their slave?
And they would have it so! Choiceless we would serve, docile, obedient, fearful, overwhelmed. They were our masters. Did they care what was in our secret hearts? Did they know we wished to be taken in hand, commanded, prized? Did they know we wished to be objects of such desire, that we wanted to be sought, tenaciously and powerfully, and relished? Did they know they had appeared in a thousand secret dreams, as our masters? Did they know that we were born for them, that we would be forever incomplete without them? I asked only, choicelessly, to love and serve such men.
“Drink the wine, slut!” hissed Dorna.
I did not look at her, but at the man in the chair. I felt suddenly very strong, and very powerful, though I was so small and weak. I had aroused the interest of these men as a kajira. I was sure of that. Let Doran fear then for her place on a chain! I would happily, eagerly, compete with her for the privilege of kneeling before such men!
I lifted the wine a little upward and toward the man in the chair. I then looked at him over the rim of the goblet. My eyes spoke to him, I think eloquently, over the rim of the goblet, telling him doubtless what he knew, that before him there stood a slave.
I then drank. It was terribly bitter. I shook with the bitterness. I clutched the goblet with both hands.
“Do not spill any,” warned Dorna.
Tears came to my eyes.
“Hurry, slave,” said Dorna. “More quickly!”
I lifted the goblet again.
It seemed more bitter than that I had had in the pens.
“Hurry,” said Dorna.
I could hardly take a sip.
“Hurry,” she insisted.
I looked to her for mercy, but in her eyes there was none.
“Drink, slut,” she said.
Then I tried to ruse the fluid, that I might be finished before I could fully taste it.
It was mostly gone then and I held to the goblet, and shuddered, and coughed.
There was laughter.
In the cup there now remained only a tiny bit. I could even see the bottom of the goblet through what remained.