What is it about the collar, and finding oneself owned, as a beast is owned, which so transforms us, which puts us so piteously and helplessly at the feet of masters? From the school I could remember the moans and cries, the scratchings and beggings, of slaves. I must never let myself suffer so, must never permit myself to become no more than the negligible, pleading toy of an imperious brute. But, resist it as I could, and dread it as I might, I feared it could be done with me, and would be done with me. I was kajira! But, I wondered, are free women, really, so different? How many, I wondered, in their loneliness, sob and twist within their coverlets, moan, and pummel their silken, tear-dampened pillows with frustration?
It was late.
In the house I had been taught something of the pleasing of men, and the guards, under supervision, as is customary, had tried me out, testing me, and seemed pleased with my responsiveness, rudimentary and incipient though it might have been. The last time I had begged him not to leave me, but he had thrust me from him, laughing. Certainly by the time I reached the block, I had some understanding of what I was, and what would be expected of me. The guards in the dungeon were more merciful, and I, and the others, sometimes vied to please them.
I twisted about in the leaves, under the moons.
Surely my body was telling me of my need of a master. I supposed, in time, it would beg for a master.
I remembered one man beyond the others, beyond all others.
But he had not put me to his pleasure.
How foolish that a girl should desire a certain master, that there should be one to whose feet she most desired to press her lips.
Does she not know she is a mere slave, an object, a utensil for a male’s pleasure, for any male’s pleasure?
I would never see him again.
In the exposition cage I had been dismissed. We were now somewhere, far to the north. Brundisium was far behind us. I did not know our destination, save that it was spoken of as Tarncamp.
I would never see him again.
I wept, an unwanted, neglected, barbarian slave.
I pulled a little at the ropes. It was meaningless, of course. I had been tied by a Gorean male. I was helpless, utterly so.
I heard the guard being changed, and then I fell asleep.
Chapter Twelve
I had, of course, put the thought of her from me, or, at least, intended to do so. Surely the only reason I had taken ship north was from curiosity, or an intriguing sense of possible adventure. Too, I had, somehow, not made my way to Daphne, of the farther islands, to rendezvous with one of the sky ships. I trusted it had made its departure successfully. If there is a blockade, it seems porous. It is almost as though the attention of the guardians of the clouds, if they exist, is intermittent, or differs in its severity, from time to time. It is pleasant, of course, to scout the offerings of the slave world, to consider them, and make selections, limited, of course, by the number of capsules in the slave hold. How innocent they are, and how naive, and unsuspecting. Some are vain, pretty little things. Some are unusually beautiful, and sophisticated. It is hard to be sophisticated, of course, when one is kneeling, head down, and one’s throat is clasped in the slave band. I suppose that many never think of the block, though I am not sure of this, or what, turned about and exhibited, they might bring. I suppose few consider themselves as they might be, as a belonging, suitably marked, fittingly collared, though it is hard to be sure of this, as they are obviously slaves. Perhaps, being slaves, they consider such matters frequently. It is hard to know. In any event, it is pleasant to pick slave fruit, to net shapely slave beasts, and bring them to market. We commonly veil and protect our free women. Those of the slave world display them for our assessment, and acquisition. Perhaps if they realized they were slaves, they would collar them themselves, and then protect them better. It is hard to know. At any rate, I had surely not come north to track a slave, a meaningless slut, even a barbarian. That would be unthinkable. She was nothing to me. Who would want her? She was cheap goods.