number of purposes, one of which was made clear to us, particularly to those of us who were barbarians being trained, the hunting of fugitive slaves.
The newcomer turned about and lifted his arm, toward the forest.
I heard the snap of a whip coming from the forest. It is a sound well known to, and much feared by, the female slave. The coffle stirred, apprehensively.
“Ah!” said more than one man.
A line of slaves, perhaps twenty, with ropes and poles, emerged from the forest. They were not coffled. And they were, I was pleased to note, tunicked. It is said that a free woman might perish of shame if placed in a slave tunic, but, to a slave, such a garment, which she knows need not be accorded to her, may be a treasure, more precious to her than some assemblage of robes and veils to a free woman. Indeed, amongst slaves a tunic, in its way, constitutes a symbol of status. Certainly tunicked slaves commonly look down upon naked slaves. Whereas a slave might prefer to be naked before her master, that she might know herself the more his slave, almost any slave wishes to be clothed in public. To be sent naked about one’s errands, one’s shopping and such, is usually regarded as an instruction, if the slave is new, or, if she is not, as a sign that she is out of favor with her master, perhaps having failed to be fully pleasing in some way. In many ways may a slave be praised or rewarded, punished or disciplined. Among these ways clothing or its lack, as the nature of bonds, food, quarters, and such, may figure.
I suppose I am vain, but I never objected to the slave tunic. I thrill to see myself in it, displayed for perusal, exhibited as a slave. I think I have an excellent figure for such a scrap of cloth, such a mockery of a garment, my legs and such, though perhaps I am a little slender. But I do not think the men mind. I think I would rather be naked at the feet of my master, but, in public, I delight in the tunic. Perhaps free women would switch me across the calves, but I would still be pleased. Indeed, I do not think they would strike me, if they were not envious of me. Perhaps they, too, would like to be so exhibited, so proudly and shamelessly, for the perusal of men.
I suppose that many women, on my old world, were uncertain as to their desirability. That is probably to be expected, on such a world. I know I was. But then I found myself brought to Gor. I knew then that in the opinion of some men, at least, and those dealers in, and connoisseurs of, women, I was desirable. They bring us here to sell us. How desirable I am I do not know, but I know I must have met at least some basic criteria, criteria for marketability. I would hate for men to kill for me, but it pleases me that they would pay for me. It is nice to know that one has some value, if only a handful of copper coins. Free women may be priceless, but, too, I suspect some would not bring a tarsk-bit. Many Goreans believe that all women are natural slaves. I do not know if that is true or not, for who knows all women, but I know that I am a natural slave. I cannot be fulfilled without the collar. I belong at a master’s feet. I want to love and serve, choicelessly, in sweet abasement. We hope to be well treated. But we will be treated as the master sees fit, for we are slaves.
Are we so different from free women?
I do not know.
Surely the culture marks great differences between us. The free woman is a person, a citizen, and may possess a Home Stone; we are animals and properties, marked and collared as such, and we lack Home Stones, for such are denied to beasts. And surely our clothing, when we are permitted clothing, contrasts with that of free women, as a revealing tunic, or camisk, differs from colorful swirls of fine robes and veils. It is sometimes said that the free woman dresses to please herself, whereas the slave is dressed to please her master, and this is true, but, I think, overly simple. For example, if the free woman were to dress as a