where I could see something of the higher parts of the walls, and the roofs, of several small buildings, and the carved points of the palings of the stockade.
At the head of the walkway were two guards, who apparently recognized my captor.
I did not know his status at Shipcamp. I did not think he was a high officer, as there were few such, and most such posts were held by Pani. I did not think him a common member of the mercenary infantry, nor of the tarn cavalry. Yet he was recognized here, in an area prohibited to most, and had apparently experienced no difficulty in accompanying Master Axel into the forest. There might then be, I realized, groups within groups, or groups apart from groups.
A tug on my leash ring informed me that I was to follow my captor, who, to my relief, chose to avail himself of the wooden walkway.
As I climbed the steps of the stairway I wondered a little at the breadth of the steps. Then, to my unease, I realized the likely explanation for the width of the plankings. Such a footing would be suitable for conducting coffles of bound, blindfolded slaves.
I was soon at the height of the stairway, on the broad, wooden platform from which the stairway descended. At each side of this platform was a post to which was attached a slave ring. I was knelt near the post at the right and my leash was looped about the slave ring. My captor and the two guards then withdrew some paces, where they conversed together. In a few moments my captor had returned to my side, and the two guards were making their way toward the stockade.
My leash was unlooped from the ring. “On your feet, slave girl,” said my captor.
I struggled to my feet.
“Back on your knees,” snapped my captor, “and rise, properly.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
I then rose, gracefully, as I had been taught, and stood before him, gracefully, and submissively, my head down.
Men may require different things from a slave, but, unless one has reason to believe otherwise, or has been instructed otherwise, the slave is to be softly spoken, deferent, docile, obedient, and submissive, quite submissive, utterly submissive. She is not a free woman; she is a slave, a belonging.
“You are a poor slave,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
At the gate of the stockade, I think that signs of some sort might have been exchanged. In any event, the gate was opened.
I felt a tug on the leash ring.
Shortly thereafter I was at the gate. One of the guards regarded me. “The slut has good legs,” he said. “It is hard to see much more,” said the other.
“Do not fear,” said my captor, “the ropes will soon be off.”
I looked back, from this height, across the river. Even the great ship looked small. I could detect the “ready banner” on its line, like a tiny, fluttering scarlet thread in the distance.
“Enter,” said a third guard, who was within the stockade. “Nicely marked,” he said, as I passed.
My brand was the small, tasteful, but unmistakable “Kef,” the “staff and fronds,” beauty subject to discipline. There are many slave brands on Gor, but the “Kef,” is the most common. The joke is that it is the common brand for the common girl, but I knew that some of the highest, most expensive, and most beautiful girls wore it. In any event, it is a beautiful brand, and is commonly thought to muchly enhance the value and beauty of the goods it marks. “Kef,” I am informed, is the first letter in the Gorean word, ‘Kajira’. Whereas I now speak Gorean, as I must, as it is the language of the masters, I have not been taught to read the language. This sort of thing is not that unusual. Barbarian slaves, and illiterate slaves, usually extracted from the lower castes, are commonly kept illiterate. Would one teach a sleen, a kaiila, a verr, to read? Similarly, such slaves may be used to carry messages they cannot read. An additional security is that the message is often put in a sealed message capsule tied about the slave’s neck, the message being inaccessible to the slave, as she is back-braceleted. A slave may not be taught to read without her master’s permission. In any event, I am illiterate in Gorean. Does that not make me more a slave?
As I entered the gate, I could see, toward the rear wall of the stockade, something