Vagabonds of Gor

2 A Copper Tarsk

She made the tiniest of stifled noises, her head pulled back, my hand held tightly, mercilessly, over her mouth.

She was kneeling. I was crouching behind her.

"Make no noise," I whispered to her.

I felt her face and head move the tiniest bit, as it could, indicating obedience.

I then removed my hand from her mouth and, from behind, my hand on her arm, drew her to her feet, and conducted her to the nearest of the small alcove tents in the paga enclosure. I had entered the enclosure from the Vosk side, under the railing. In a moment I had thrust her into the small tent. You cannot stand up within it.

I lit the tiny lamp in the tent. I lowered the flame so it was little more than a flicker.

"You!" she said, twisting about in the tiny space, on the silken carpet.

"Do not make noise," I warned her, softly.

She was pretty there, now naked, save for her collar, inside the canvas.

"Your silk is gone," I said.

"They removed it before they lashed me," she said.

"Turn about, kneeling," I said.

She did so.

It is common that clothing is removed before the administration of the discipline of leather. In this way the clothing is not likely to be cut or stained. Too, in a formal whipping, as opposed to an occasional stroke or two, perhaps called forth on a given occasion, not even as meaningless, fragile or symbolic a shield as slave silk is allowed to obtrude itself between the slave and the justice, or mere attention, of the lash. Similarly, in such a formal situation, even the hair of the slave is normally thrown forward, before her shoulders.

"Seven strokes," I said. "Yes," she whispered. "Count them," I said.

Tears sprang to her eyes, in memory of the lashing.

"One," she said, "for parting my silk unbidden; two, for putting myself to the dirt before a customer, unbidden; three, for speaking without asking permission; four, for not speaking clearly; five, for not answering directly; six, because I am a slave; seven, because it pleased the master to strike me again."

"In many cases," I said, "with a private master, I do not think you would have been beaten at all this evening. For example, a private master, though he might be particular about such things, is less likely than a public master, in public, to administer discipline for, say, speaking without permission. To be sure, if your speech is thought insufficiently respectful, or too bold or forward, or you have been recently warned not to speak, or it is obviously not a time in which he wishes to hear you speak, or such, you might be beaten. Similarly, a private master would not be likely to beat you for parting your silk before him or for putting yourself to his feet and writhing there piteously, in begging need, and such. Indeed, he would be more likely to be pleased. Indeed, with private masters many girls actually escape beatings by recourse to just such delightful strategies. Similarly, unclear or evasive discourse is not likely to win you a beating unless it is clear the master objects to it, and, in effect, will not accept it. Then, of course, you must speak with what clarity and directness you can. Your problem this evening, of course, is that you are a paga slave and that your master, Philebus, is before customers. You must do nothing to suggest to the customers that you are not helplessly subject, and absolutely, and perfectly, and completely, to Philebus. And you are, you know."

"Yes, Master," she said, wincing.

"But if your behavior should suggest that this is not the case it might be offensive to Philebus, and, indeed, to the customers. In such a case, you should rejoice you received such a light beating. You understand these things?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are not stupid, are you?" I asked. "No, Master," she said.

"Then why did you behave as you did?" I asked. I knew.

"Because of him!" she said. "Because of him!"

"Speak," I said, "but do so, softly."

"It is difficult to speak softly of such things!" she said, fire in her eyes.

"Beware," I said. "You are in a collar." She turned white.

"Now speak," I said.

"Let me speak with tenseness," she said. "But softly," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

She was trying to gain control over herself. "Speak, slave," I said.

"You saw that it was he, he, here, in the paga enclosure, he who so scorned and abused me at the Crooked Tarn!"

"Of course," I said.

"Surely you recall he would not even permit me to serve him, though I was naked and in chains, at the Crooked Tarn!"

"You were then a free woman," I reminded her.

"He preferred a slave to me, to me!" she said.

"But you yourself are now a slave," I said.

"You permitted me to serve you!" she said.

"Yes," I admitted. "But then I am a tolerant, broad-minded fellow," I pointed out. I smiled inwardly. I had enjoyed having the proud wench, so distraught and resentful in her chains, serve me. It is pleasant to take a proud free woman and teach her her womanhood.

"He shook me, and cruelly," she exclaimed, softly, tensely. "He flung me from him to the floor in disgust. Though I was free he held me in contempt!"

"He wanted a woman," I said.

"I was a woman!"

"But at that time not as a slave is a woman," I said.

She shuddered deliciously in her collar, sensing my meaning. But in a moment she had again addressed herself to her grievances.

"He used a slave in preference to me!" she said.

"And you watched in awe, as I recall," I said.

"Master," she said, reproachfully.

"And enviously."

"Master!" she protested.

"Perhaps you wished that it was you who was serving him rather than the slave in his power."

"Please, Master!" she protested.

"Continue," I said.

"And later, when you were kind enough to have me brought to your space at the inn, he was there, too!"

"Kind enough'?" I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said.

"I wanted a female to relieve my tensions, and as you were then free, a debtor slut, you came cheap."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Too, you were attractive," I said.

"Even as a free woman?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"And now," she asked, "as a slave?"

"Thousands of times more attractive," I said. "Good," she said, and her body moved excitingly, I think inadvertently.

"So do not speak of kindness," I said.

"Forgive me, Master," she said.

"Proceed," I said.

"And he was there, the rude brute, the monster!"

''I recall, ' I said.

"He spoke of me as "fat," "she said, "as "stupid," as a she-tarsk, as not being worth sleen feed!"

"I recall," I said.

"And he wanted me taken from his sight!"

"And he made you address him as "Master," " I said.

"Yes!" she said.

"Was he the first man you ever addressed as "Master"?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"I thought so," I said.

"But I was free, free!" she pointed out.

"And you are now a slave," I said.

"Yes," she said. She would now call all free men "Master," and, of course, all free women "Mistress."

"But I was then free!" she said.

"But yet you called him "Master," " I reminded her.

"Yes," she said.

"And he was the first to whom you, even though at that time free, addressed that title of respect and sovereignty."

"Yes," she said. "The brute, the monster!"

I looked at her in the light of the tiny lamp. She was very beautiful.

"Oh," she said, bitterly, "you may well wager that I never forgot the monster!"

"I am sure you did not," I said.

"Oh," she said, "I hate him! I hate him!"

"I see," I said.

"And then he was here, and I within his reach, though now as a slave!"

"I can well imagine your feelings," I said.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked.

"It is nothing," I said.

"I determined that I would present myself before him!" she said.

"Under the circumstances, as it turned out, you had no choice," I said.

She looked startled. "I suppose that is true," she said.

"It is," I assured her.

"I determined that I would show him a female, a female, indeed!"

"And you did," I said.

"Did you see?" she asked. "He did not even recognize me!"

"True," I said.

"Did you see his eyes, his expressions!" she laughed, softly.

"Certainly," I said, "and heard as well his moans of desire, his cries of anguish."

"Did I not move him, did I not excite him as a woman?"

"You certainly did," I said.

"I paraded," she laughed. "I moved. I parted my silk. I writhed. I danced!"

"And men came even to the railings to watch," I said.

"And did I not have my vengeance?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"He desired me mightily," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"And did he not exclaim that I was the most beautiful slave he had ever seen!" she said.

"That he did," I said.

"So enthralled I had him in the toils of desire that he was in pain!" she said.

"Indeed," I said.

"He did not ask for me to be taken from his sight this night!" she said.

"No, indeed," I said.

"And thus I proved my womanhood to him, and that he had been wrong in scorning me, in holding me in contempt, in casting me from him!"

"It was Temione, the free woman," I reminded her, "whom he had rejected, not Temione, the slave."

"But we are the same!" she said. "Do you really think so?" I asked. "Surely, in some way," she said.

"Perhaps, in some way," I granted her.

"He wanted me!" she said, "but he could not have me! I am too expensive, too desirable, for a mere courier!"

"Beware of playing a dangerous game," I said.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You could come easily enough into the possession, completely, of the courier," I said.

"I do not understand," she said.

"Whether he could afford you or not," I said, "does not depend on you. It depends on other things, for example, on the market, and how much he has, and is willing to spend. Too, it depends on Philebus, and what he will let you go for. He could sell you for a copper tarsk, you know."

"I suppose that is true," she said.

"To anyone," I added.

She looked at me, frightened.

"And then you would be theirs, completely."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Too," I said, "you are a paga slave, and thus, for a tarsk bit, or a copper tarsk, or whatever Philebus is charging, you could be put into his power for Ahn at a time."

"But he would not own me," she said.

"He would have use rights over you," I said. "Perhaps you remember how he snapped the whip?"

"Yes!" she said. That is a sound, of course, that a beautiful, half-naked slave is not likely to forget.

"I expect," I said, "that you would serve him, in those Ahn, dutifully enough."

She shuddered.

"It is well for you to remember," I said, "that the last word in these matters, in the nature of things, belongs not to the slave but to the whips, and the masters."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I heard men outside. It was toward morning.

"I hate him!" she said, suddenly. "I hate him!"

"No, you do not," I said.

"What?" she said.

"You love him," I said.

"That is absurd!" she said.

"You have loved him since the first moment you saw him, at the Crooked Tarn."

"Absurd!" she said.

"It was then, even when he spurned you, and scorned you, that you first wanted to be his slave."

"Absurd!" she whispered.

"You wanted to be subject to his animality, his power, his authority, totally."

"Do not joke," she said.

"I watched you as he handled the slave. I could see your jealousy. I could smell your desire."

"Please," she said.

"You wished it was you," I said.

"No, please, no," she said, frightened.

"You wanted even then to wear his chains and be subject to his whip, to belong to him, and to belong to him in the most complete and perfect way a woman can belong in a man, helplessly, hopelessly, selflessly, as his total slave."

She regarded me, frightened. Her breast heaved. Her small hand was before her mouth.

"And that is why you displayed yourself as you did in the parade of slaves, and after, far beyond what was required by the occasion, or your legal master, Philebus. You were attempting to seduce the courier, to lure him to your conquest. You were begging to be bought, as the slave you are. You were begging to be taken to his tent, bound and on his leash. You were begging to be his, and his alone."

She put her head down, weeping softly.

"Even in your freedom you had addressed to him the word "Master," " I reminded her.

Her small shoulders shook.

"Do not weep," I said. "It is a natural and good thing that you long for a master. You will not be complete until you have one."

"Why are you saying these things?" she asked, lifting her head, red-eyed. "You risked your life to protect me from him, when he was going to whip me."

"I do not think he was going to whip you," I said, "though I expect he is quite capable of it, and would unhesitantly do so if it seemed appropriate, or upon various occasions, if it pleased him."

"Why then did you interfere?" she asked, puzzled. "Why did you call attention to yourself when obviously there was something between you two, and you would be in danger, if recognized."

"Do you truly not know?" I asked.

"It was to protect me, surely."

"No," I said.

"Why then?" she asked, wonderingly.

"Because," I said, soberly, "you were serving me."

"That is what you said," she said.

"And that was the reason," I said.

"It was so tiny a thing," she asked, "a point of propriety, of precedence?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You risked so much for a mere point of honor?" she asked.

"There are no mere points of honor," I told her. "Turn about. Put your head down to the carpet. Clasp your hands behind the back of your neck."

I amused myself with her.

Afterwards I put her gently to her side. She looked up at me, turning her head, as, with a bit of binding fiber, I tied her hands behind her back. "I am binding you," I said, "that your master, and others, may think you were used in all helplessness." I then jerked her ankles up, crossed them, and bound them to her wrists. She winced.

"I am helpless," she said.

"You are more helpless than you know, slave," I said. "But your true helplessness is not a matter of such things as a bit of binding fiber, serving to hold you, however perfectly, in a desired position at a given time, but your condition, which is bond."

Tears sprang to her eyes.

"You are owned," I said. "You are a property. You are subject to the will of others."

She sobbed.

I think she understood then, perhaps better than before, something of the true helplessness of the slave. She could be taken anywhere. She could be bought and sold. She could come into the ownership of anyone.

"What does your master charge for paga, and girl use?" I asked.

"A copper tarsk," she said.

I dropped it to the carpet, beside her.

I withdrew from my wallet two scarves.

"I am to be gagged," she said.

"It will be better," I said.

I folded one scarf over several times, forming a narrow rectangle, several folds thick. This I placed beside her. I then rolled the other scarf into a tight, expandable ball. This I thrust into her mouth. It, in its expansion, filled the oral orifice. I then secured it in place with the first scarf, which I knotted tightly behind the back of her neck. She looked up at me, over the gag. She squirmed. She was pretty.

I then blew out the lamp and, after reconnoitering, withdrew from the tent.

I recalled the copper tarsk I had left in the tent, on the carpet, beside her. That had been fitting. With it I had paid for paga, and for her use.