Ubara of Gor Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Sisters of Mercy

“This feels right, Emma. It feels like the natural order of things – the way nature intended.”

Simon was walking me through the dusty, hot, dry streets of Schendi towards a slaver house with which Yishana routinely did business in these waters. I walked barefoot three paces ahead of Simon, clad in my usual white loin cloth and carrying a large backpack strapped to my shoulders. It was mostly empty now but I knew that on the way back it would be loaded with steel collars and various other items Simon had been sent to purchase.

Schendi is the central most port in the equatorial jungle region of known Gor and home to the League of Black Slavers which I suppose makes it one of the major slaver cities outside of Port Kar. It is a palisaded city of perhaps a million inhabitants constructed around a natural harbour eight pasangs wide and three pasangs deep that serves as the exit point of the Kamba and Nyoka rivers. To travel up the Nyoka River from the harbour there is a bypass that is similar to a lock system on English canals. This bypass provides calm waters to allow easy shipping until the natural flow of the Nyoka can be reached. Throughout the city most of the buildings are constructed from wood with wooden ventilation shafts on the roofs which can be opened or closed for fresh air as stone buildings are rare compared to the cities of central Gor. Due to its location on the equator, Schendi does not really experience a winter as we perhaps know it. During what would be winter in the southern hemisphere it instead has a 'dry' season. The term is a little misleading as it is not really dry during this time but is actually a season with comparatively less rain than the rest of the year. There are thought to be two dry seasons and two rainy seasons each year. As I walked ahead of Simon I passed men of the city, nearly always black in skin colour, dressed in the popular fashion of an ankle length, loosely sleeved robe with a matching aba which is a kind of hood that covers the back of the neck against the blazing sun. A cap is often worn over the aba with its two golden tassels that signify a citizen of the harbour city. Foreign visitors to the city may wear the aba for protection against the worst of the sun, but rarely do they wear the tassel-tipped cap which would it seems be considered presumptuous by the locals. The air in the city was heavy with the smell of pungent spices offset by the smell of the aromatic flowers and an array of rotting vegetation that blows in from the surrounding jungles. It is a smell that takes some getting used to, and one that I found overwhelming at first. The smell also has a strong element of rain water as Schendi tends to experience sudden short downpours without warning.

Walking alongside us were three recently enslaved women fastened together in a simple chain coffle arrangement about their right wrists, their eyes wide with fright as they tried to come to terms with what had happened to them. Since being taken as plunder out at sea they had endured the usual fate of being stripped, gang raped and then chained in the hold as livestock. Yishana often sold her newly acquired slaves in Schendi if she was in the area as prices were generally good at this central harbour port. Her ship too was tolerated in these confines of the harbour thanks to her policy of never troubling vessels that flew the flags of the League of Black Slavers who dominated Schendi. Pirates need safe harbours to resupply and offload goods. Schendi was better than most.

None of the slaves had names, but I knew them as the former free Ladies Carolina, Consuella and Loella. I think they had shared the Homestone of Cos, but that was common enough because Yishana liked to attack Cosian ships above all others. Simon had been instructed to sell them at the slave house for whatever the current market rate was. I of course was not for sale. I was in effect a ship girl now, and I was coming along simply to act as a porter.

Aside from a few casual glances at the naked women, Simon paid them little attention. Slave flesh was common enough both on board ship and in the city so that another three naked girls mattered little in the scheme of things. He had however been talking to me as we threaded our way through the narrow streets of the city.

I’m ashamed to say I felt more self conscious than usual, and this was on account of the fact that I was a conspicuous minority in Schendi. The population of the city was black to varying degrees, and rarely did I see a Caucasian walking the streets. Coming from Earth where racial animosity is prevalent and racism exists on both sides of the divide, this made me keenly nervous, as I was not used to being a minority in any town or city that I visited. On Gor of course, as I’ve said before, the colour of a man’s skin is far less important than it is on Earth. I wouldn’t say Goreans are particularly tolerant or welcoming, but on the whole they don’t tend towards racist feelings. If they dislike or distrust you it's probably because you don’t share their Home Stone and not because your skin is a different colour than theirs. Even so, old habits die hard and although I’ve always thought of myself as an open minded person who deplores racism, I felt unsafe walking through a black city where I stood out so much. When I did see white skin it was more often than not a slave girl. White skinned slaves are rarer this far south and like anything that is rare they are correspondingly more expensive and sought after. There is therefore a thriving and profitable business in importing white slave girls into Schendi. Whenever my path did cross that of a white slave, our eyes naturally enough caught each other’s gaze for a moment before we walked past one another. It was as if we shared some commonality simply because of our skin colour. I also noticed I was the subject of much attention because I was white. Again this wasn’t racism in the way we understand it, but rather the attention that might be given to an exotic or rare commodity of any kind. Black men stopped to appraise, evaluate and no doubt appreciate my sun kissed limbs as Simon urged me on towards the market quarters. Ordinarily I might bask in such attention, but here in Schendi my nerves made me keep my eyes downcast. I was afraid what these men might do if I looked back and they decided they really wanted me. And if I felt nervous, then the coffle of three women were absolutely petrified with fear. Early on one of them had actually wet herself – a trickle of urine had run down her inner left leg, forcing Simon to drag her to a city water fountain where he instructed the girl to clean herself up .

I knew one thing for certain, I did not want to be a slave girl in Schendi. And I hated myself for thinking that, for despite not being racist it meant I had some subliminal fear of being surrounded by people with a skin colour different to my own. Maybe I wasn’t as open minded and liberal as I liked to believe I was. Whatever, the problem was obviously only in my head as I saw no sign that we were any less welcome here than in a foreign city in central Gor.

“I was thinking last night how lucky we both are, Emma,” said Simon as he reached out to caress my ass cheeks with his right hand. “Can you imagine what our lives would have been like on Earth? I would have been working in some routine IT department, dealing with database queries, probably watching Netflix box sets every night and searching my Tinder app for girls to date. And the girls I would want to date would be petty, shallow, judgmental, only on the dating app to fuel their inflated egos in seeing how many positive swipes their best photos might get. What a waste of a life. I wouldn’t have been happy. And you, Emma, what would you have been – still a man, still desperately longing to be the girl you are today, also frustrated and unhappy, living a life that could never give you what you wanted.”

I said nothing as I walked. Simon talked a lot. It was almost as if he needed the reassurance of his own thoughts and words.

“I mean, you wouldn’t have even been happy even if you had been a girl on Earth. I know you now, Emma, I know that you’re a slut and I don't mean that as an insult, but rather that you are a true slave to your sexual needs. You ned to be dominated, owned, fought for and cherished. You're a natural slave, like so many Earth women are. There's no denying it. Freedom on Earth would have made you bitter and resentful of all the men who didn’t understand how to fulfil your deepest needs. You would be looking for a man who could enslave you, and of course none of them would be able to do so, not to the degree you wanted, and you would hate them for it without realising why you felt that way.”

Yes, Simon really did talk too much.

“But here on Gor we’re free to be the people we should be. I can be a man and you can be a woman. Nature on Gor supports us in that. We belong here. I see that now. We belong on Gor. Here we can both have what we need.”

Why did he feel it necessary to talk so much? All... the... fucking... time.

“There’s something else too. I’m no longer obsessed by you, Emma. I’m over you.” He stroked my ass again as I walked before him. “I thought you should know that. I think I went a bit crazy when we were together in Port Kar, and to be honest I'm ashamed of some of the things I did – some of the things I said. I was probably that way in the Sardar too – all that putting you on a pedestal and having stupid romantic delusions about you. For so long I wanted to save you. I thought you needed saving. I realise now how stupid that must sound. I thought you were special, but you know what, you’re not special, Emma, you really aren’t. I mean, yes, you’re beautiful, but even then I wouldn't say that makes you exceptional on Gor where there are so many beautiful slaves, bred over generations for their appearance. No, in fact you’re not even the most beautiful woman on board the Larl. I'm sorry, but it's true. I'd say you're probably the third most beautiful on the ship. There are so many beautiful slaves on Gor, Emma. You’re really not that special. And a man like me, a man on Gor with coins in his belt pouch, well, I can have any of you whenever I want, however I want. Stupid foolish romantic delusions have no place on Gor. I don’t need you to love me. I don’t need you to feel anything for me. If I want you, or anyone else on the Larl, I only have to snap my fingers. That’s how nature intended us to be. Me as a man, you as a woman. Not me wasting my time on Tinder, swiping left and right for hours, hoping the hot chicks will swipe back. Not having to wine and dine them and listen to their ridiculous notions in the hope I can get to kiss them at the end of the date. I met so many girls like you when I used to live on Earth. You’re all the same, yearning for the impossible. You belong in collars.” Simon paused, realising how silent I’d been through all of this since we entered Schendi. “Nothing to say?”

“Not really. What do you want me to say? Tell me, Master and I’ll say it.”

“You can stop the passive aggressive attitude, Emma. I know what you’re doing. You always were the sulking queen. You’re a slave. If I want sex, you give it to me. If I want conversation, you give me that as well. So say something.”

I let the silence linger for another second or two before I chose to say, “so who is more beautiful than me on the Larl?”

Simon laughed, as I knew he would do. “That’s what you want to say? That... is what you want to ask me?”

I shrugged and turned on the ball of my left foot to face him which in turn brought him to a standstill. With a clink of chain, the coffle of women came to a halt beside me too as if on cue. “You have a different topic in mind?”

“No, no, since you ask, very well… you’re beautiful Emma, obviously I desire you – that hasn’t changed.” He ran his hands over my body in appreciation. “And you’re a very hot fuck, I’ll admit that. You know how to give pleasure.”

“So?”

“So, there happen to be two women on board the Larl who are sexier than you. It's just my opinion. Does that bother you?”

“No. I'm just curious.”

“Curiosity is not becoming in a...”

“Oh don't say that! Please! I hate that phrase!” I rolled my eyes and looked to the side where I saw a narrow alleyway that tapered into shadow. “The number of times men have trotted out that fucking saying...”

Simon laughed. “Point taken. I used to think it was dumb when Brinn kept saying it too.”

“It's not Naomi, is it?” I screwed my eyes and sniffed.

“Well, um, why do you think it might be Naomi?” Simon suddenly looked uncomfortable. He didn't realise I was so good at reading him.

“Figures. So it's Naomi. Number one or number two?”

“Number two. But what made you think she might be...”

“Because you haven't slept with her. You always were too timid to try and sleep with the women you really worshipped from afar.”

Simon scratched the back of his neck and shifted awkwardly. “Point taken again. I'll bear that in mind in future.”

“Number one? Which of the slave girls is this amazing fucking sex siren then?” I narrowed my eyes and watched his expression, and then I knew. “Oh God, it's not a slave girl, is it? It's bloody Yishana, isn't it? You've got a thing for the Ubara of the Black Coast? That is so you Simon...”

“Well, she would be every man's dream to Master in the furs. I mean, the way she carries herself – so haughty and commanding - she's just begging a strong man to throw her into the furs and fuck her hard. Brinn would want to...”

I rolled my eyes again. “Right! Sorry I asked! Really am!” I folded my arms and sniffed.

“Does it matter?”

“NO!”

“I think it matters...”

I said nothing as I watched a number of local men and women pass by.

“Emma?”

“What?”

“Now that I'm free again, now that I have her trust and respect on board ship for saving Tijani, I'm going to make a play for her. She hasn't got a Free Companion, and...”

I couldn't help it. I began laughing. And Simon did not like that one bit.

“What's so funny?”

“Yishana is never going to take you as a Free Companion. You're never going to even see the inside of her cabin now that Tijani freed you. She will never see you that way. You will always be a slave to her. Yes, Tijani freed you, but don’t think that means anything to Yishana. She has no respect for you, Master. She never will have.” I could see my words had an effect on Simon. I could see the look of anger in his eyes. I should perhaps have been more circumspect in my comments, and yet he had insisted I speak my mind.

“You don’t know her, Emma.”

“I know her well enough. I know what she says to me when we’re alone. The Mistress speaks quite freely in front of her slave. You know that's true, Master. You were often there too. Chained to her couch. Her slave boy. Did the Mistress conceal her thoughts from you when you lay on her couch?”

“No.” Simon knew that was the case. But the look in his eyes now... I was pushing him far too hard.

“You were her slave for a long time, Master. She will never see you as anything more. It doesn't matter that you're now free.”

“I’m a man, Emma. I’m a Gorean man. I will make her see me as that.”

I shrugged. The matter didn’t really interest me to be honest. “She is the Ubara of the Thassa. I think you would be better served turning your attentions elsewhere.”

It was then I noticed Simon reaching into his belt pouch. I knew as I saw him withdraw a thick gag that I had overstepped the mark and once again my mouth had gone too far.

“Please no…” I saw him unravel the leather strap of the gag.

“I think you’ve said enough, Emma. Time for you to be quiet now.”

“I won’t speak again, Master. I promise. The gag is stifling… I find it hard to breathe, and the day is so hot…”

“Open your mouth, Emma.”

I complied, dreading what I knew was to come. The thick wadding of the gag was thrust into my mouth, filling it, choking me. Then the straps were drawn back behind my hair and buckled tight. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I began to breathe through my nose to the best of my ability, already tasting the bitter wadding that pressed down on my tongue. Why had I goaded Simon like that? I was so fucking stupid sometimes. 

“Anything more to say now, Emma?” asked Simon as he inspected his handiwork. I shook my head, pleading with my eyes for him to unbuckle the straps, but no, he simply turned me round and pushed me forwards along the street. The fastening of the gag had been noticed by the men and women in the surrounding area. Several of the free women chided me as I passed by, only too happy to see a pretty slave girl disciplined. The worst part of any public display of discipline is it often gives other people an excuse to act in a way that they wouldn’t do otherwise. And so it was that one of the women of Schendi picked up a stick and smacked me across the thighs as I passed her by., I winced, feeling the sharp pain, but was unable to cry out due to the gag. Two more slices of the stick followed before Simon warned the woman away. But still she cursed at me in some native dialect I didn’t understand. A slave under discipline seems to invite that attention.

But that wasn’t to be the end of it. I felt Simon take my right hand by the wrist and lock a steel shackle around it. “Since you wish to be displeasing, Emma, you can join the common coffle with the other girls.” And with that I was added to the chain coffle. I was in the front, which I supposed meant something, but the implication was plain. I had displeased Simon, and he wanted me to know it. I raised my right hand and felt the weight of the steel chain trying to drag it down. My fingers grasped the chain links to help support the weight as we walked in timed steps through the market place. Girls are commonly marched in time, with their steps falling in synchronisation. It is a form of discipline and on top of that men find it attractive. As the girl in front it was down to me to set the pace, something I was quite capable of doing with all my experience, but I knew the other girls would not be so skilled at walking. Until now Simon had turned a blind eye to their less than perfect walking sequence, but now that I had angered him he drew a switch and struck each one in turn as they failed to mimic my step perfectly. Luckily for all of them it was only another five minutes or so until we reached the slaver house.

As slaver houses go it wasn’t particularly impressive. A simple palisade building with a wide open front facing the busy street, which could be secured by twin hinged heavy iron gates. During the day the gates would be swung open, creating a walk in space where goods could be displayed, and at night the gates would be chained shut. A number of small enclosed offices were accessible at the back, and a hatch in the floor probably led to a cellar where the slave pens would be housed.

A heavy iron ring was fixed either side of the gates, and these rings served to display some of the house stock. Chained to each ring in turn were pairs of black native girls kneeling in nadu, their dark bodies glistening with sweat as they endured the midday sun. A short striped awning above each ring shielded them from the worst of the heat but even so it would be uncomfortable to be on display like that all day. They gazed at us with sullen eyes as we approached, wondering perhaps who these white girls might be. Three of the dark slaves had short cropped hair but the fourth had her hair braided and worn down around her shoulders. They were all beautiful of course or else they wouldn’t have been chosen to be on display.

“Is this the house of Mkufu?” asked Simon of the chained girls. He spoke in common Gorean which is as near to a universal language across Gor as is possible, but even so I could tell from the expressions that two of the girls could not understand him. Presumably they had been seized from somewhere in the dark interior. Often the tribes of the interior capture the women belonging to rival tribes and sell them to the slavers of Schendi for a fair price that works out as cheaper than the slavers venturing into the interior with capture nets and chains themselves. One of the girls that did understand Simon had some sort of tribal tattoos on her cheeks. To my mind they accentuated her beauty, giving her a pagan sensibility, though the more traditionally minded may have differing opinions on the matter.

“It is, Master,” said the girl without tattoos who could speak the common tongue. She then held out her hands, pink palms upwards and added, “I have been named Timita. Please buy Timita, Master. Timita begs to give you pleasure.”

Simon smiled at that. More than most men he particularly enjoyed the sight of beautiful women in chains begging him for his collar. I suppose all those fruitless years of swiping left and right on Tinder had left him very receptive to such things.

“What does the house ask for you, Timita?” asked Simon.

“For five copper tarsks I can be yours, Master,” said the girl. She indicated her right breast on which the number five had been written in some form of wax marker. It was a cheap price, but then black girls from the interior were commonplace in the markets of Schendi. In fact, slave prices tended to be cheaper here than in central Gor, with the exception of any girls deemed ‘exotic’ due to their skin colour. I would I suppose go for a premium price compared to the girls of the interior. I could see that Simon was quite tempted, for he could easily afford five copper tarsks but space on the Larl was at a premium, and Yishana had decreed that no man could bring girls on board without her express permission, something she rarely if ever granted. Otherwise everyone of her Askaris would have his own coffle of slaves taking up room on the deck. But still, Simon rubbed his chin in thought. He obviously liked what he saw and, sensing that, the girl, Timita, straightened her body and posed salaciously in front of him. Perhaps she assumed by the colour of his skin that Simon would be a wealthy Master and she might enjoy relative luxuries in his collar.

“I will think on it,” said Simon as she motioned for us to pass through the open bars of the house.

“You may try me for free, Master,” said Timita quickly. “Simply speak to the Mistress of the House. She will grant you half an hour in an alcove.”

“Oh?” Simon was now more than just interested. Such an offer wasn’t commonplace in central Gor, except perhaps for favoured customers who could actually be relied upon to make legitimate purchases, but here in Schendi it perhaps served as an enticement in a very competitive marketplace. After all it cost the house little to nothing if one of their girls was used. No doubt the offer would only be made to men who gave the air of having money.

It was cooler inside the single storey building with its open front where bowls of incense burned in the corners, masking the scent of rot that permeated other parts of the market. Poor hygiene and baking heat can create some unpleasant scents in a crowded equatorial city, and so shop keepers in Schendi would try to alleviate this with incense. The floor of the building was baked earth, almost as hard as clay, with worn reed mats strewn across its rough surface. Some wall racks displayed the paraphernalia of slavery with an assortment of shackles, collars and whips available for purchase. Other parts of the open space had a number of display rings to which slaves could be chained, but today there were only three girls attached to one of them. To my mind they were slightly inferior to the girls outside, which probably accounted for the pecking order of the display.

I stood there with the other girls in the coffle, frustrated that I was unable to speak. My mouth was dry, painfully so with the thick wadding that pressed down on my tongue. All I could was mumble or moan and doing that simply earned me a black look from Simon. I confess I lost my dignity there and pressed my forehead to his shoulder in a visual form of begging, but he simply grinned, pleased that the discipline was working.

“Let the gag be a lesson to you, Emma. Be more pleasing in future.”

I showed him the open palms of my hands – a common form of supplication amongst Gorean slave girls, but that too earned me no reprieve.

We were only inside the slaver house for a minute or two before we heard the soft jingling of small bells sewn to beaded lengths of coloured string that served as a curtain to one of the office enclosures. A woman passed through this beaded curtain, brushing the floor to ceiling strands apart with her hands. I could tell from the colour of her gowns – blue and gold – that she was a slaver and obviously a prominent one within the house. She was veiled but wore no hood with her gowns so her long dark hair was discernible and enough of her face was visible to reveal her as a white woman. I was curious, for a white woman acting as a slaver is rare enough on Gor, but in Schendi it would be almost unheard of.

“Tal and greetings,” came a strangely familiar voice as the woman gestured in welcome with her open hands. “The slaver house of Mkufu greets its honoured guest. Be welcome here in Schendi.” She referred of course to Simon, hence the singular rather than the plural. As she spoke I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck prickle. What was it about her voice that made me take notice?

“Tal to you too, Lady,” replied Simon as he paced the confines of the single room. He didn't seem impressed by the state of the place, but then he had seen the grand holdings of Samos in Port Kar, so anything else was likely to disappoint. There are many slaver houses in Schendi, Mkufu just being one of the lesser ones. Of the others, Ushanga, Utajiri, Dhahabu, Fedha, Marashi, Hariri, Kovu and Ngoma, I know very little except to say their establishments would appear modest compared to the comparable houses in the central cities. “My name is Simon of the Sardar, and I represent Yishana, She who is Ubara of the Thassa and all who sail upon it.”

“Ah.” The woman nodded, knowing Yishana to be a valued customer. “Good. Very good. May I offer you palm wine?” She gestured to a simple low legged table on which stood a jug and some burnished copper goblets.

And then it partially dawned on me. Her accent wasn't Gorean. If I wasn't mistaken, it was English... but that was not quite all. There was something else I had yet to identify. But Simon had noticed the accent too and like me he was surprised.

“Your accent isn't Gorean,” he said as he studied the woman at length. “You're from Earth?”

“As are you, I think...” she said as she poured the first of the goblets. “How curious. Wine?”

There was... something... about that voice.

“Thank you,” said Simon as he took the goblet. “Lady, this is a bizarre turn of events. What is a woman from Earth doing working in a slaver house in Schendi?”

“I could similarly ask what a man from Earth is doing handling the business of the fiercest pirate Queen on the southern ocean? How did you come to be on Gor?”

“Lady, I asked you the question first.” Simon looked irritated. “I only know of one way for a woman of Earth to be free on Gor, and that involves a race of creatures I do not think kindly of. Who exactly are you?”

“My apologies. Let us begin again, and let me introduce myself in the proper fashion. I am the Lady Beatrice of Schendi, once of London, England, of the house of Anderson, now apprentice slaver of the House of Mkufu.”

And then it dawned on me, and the last time I had felt like this, the last time I had felt the same degree of shock, I had met my father in the walled villa of Elysium. This was insane. It didn't make any sense whatsoever, but immediately I knew that, even veiled as she was, I was looking upon my older sister, Bea – Bea Anderson, my sister who as far as I knew was working as an accountant in London. It was her voice. I knew it for certain.

My mumbled cry was incoherent through the gag. I was frantic, knowing I could not be understood like this, as I stepped forward without warning, half dragging the slave girl whose wrist I was chained to in my desperation to identify myself to my sister.

“Emma?!” snapped Simon as he saw me suddenly break discipline and begin mewling through the leather gag. “Behave yourself! It's your own fault you're gagged! I told you you should have been more pleasing!” 

But I didn't behave myself, I continued to speak, or rather mewl, for all the good it did me. The girls I was chained to in the coffle pulled back, pulling me back into position, and I fought to step forward again, howling at them through the gag as they tried to control my seemingly berserk reaction. For of course there was no way that Bea could possibly recognise her brother as she looked upon the slave girl Emma. I was a woman now – a lovely woman with a beautiful slave's body. How could she possibly know who I was? And yet I knew with certainty that this was my older sister, here on Gor. I had to lose the gag! Frantically I began to claw at the buckles at the back of the gag, something forbidden to slaves, and I tried to find a way to remove the leather straps that held the wadding in place. This was enough to send Simon striding over towards me. Before I knew it he was pulling my hands away from my hair as I struggled and fought against his grip. To his mind I must have gone mad, for slaves did not dare be so disobedient. But I had to speak! I had to let Bea know who I was!

And then I found myself lying on the floor where I had been struck down by Simon. I heard him shout for me to stay down. My right arm was twisted back where it was still chained in the coffle arrangement with the other girls. It was my sister! She didn't know who I was! I had to tell her!

“Stop this!” hissed the former Lady Consuella whose right wrist was chained to mine. “The Master will punish us all!” She pulled my arm back, wanting to be seen by Simon that she was not involved in my outburst. “I do not want to be whipped because of you!”

I screamed for her to let me go, but of course she couldn't understand the muffled sounds I made. No one could. But as Simon nodded, the other slave girls, eager to please him, held me down together. Cried and struggled, but the three of them working together easily restrained me.

“Good girl,” said Simon approvingly to the former Lady Consuella. I felt her grow emboldened and as her left hand took a grip on my hair, I felt my head pulled back until it was touching the reed mat on which I'd fallen.

“Is she new to the collar?” asked Bea, a copper goblet of palm wine in hand.

“No, quite the opposite. Emma is a trained pleasure slave of many years now. This outburst is unlike her.” Simon scratched his chin as she gazed down at me. “You'll be sorry you did this, Emma. That gag will stay on tonight and you can sleep in it.”

I struggled again and cried out. I had to speak to my sister! I had to make her aware who I was!

“Do you have any idea why she is acting like this?”

“Not really,” said Simon. “Perhaps it is because you're from Earth. She's an Earth woman too.”

Bea laughed softly. “She doesn't think that means I'd free her, does it? She can't be that naïve if she's been on Gor for many years. I am a slaver after all.”

“Yes, and you still haven't explained that,” said Simon with renewed interest. “Just how does an Earth woman become a slaver? Especially one in a harbour port of the Black Kingdoms?”

But Bea seemed to ignore Simon's question again, as she nudged my body with toe of her left foot. “Don't think we're the same, girl, just because we both originate on Earth. I am not sympathetic to your plight.”

That stunned me. My sister Bea had always been the kindest, most wonderful woman I'd known. She had been deeply concerned with social issues of the day, and so to hear her many years later telling me that she was unconcerned that I was a slave... that too didn't make sense. How could she say that? What had happened to her in the past seven or eight years?

“If you want I could remove the gag...” said Simon, perhaps sensing there might be some genuine reason why I was trying to speak.

“No need.” Bea regarded me again. “I've seen this sort of thing before. Earth girls hearing my accent and desperately pleading with me for salvation. In the first few years I felt sorry for them in their chains and collars... but time brings a fresh perspective on Gor, don't you think?”

“Well, yes, Lady, I found that too...” said Simon, intrigued.

“You're actually the first man of Earth I've met on Gor,” said Bea. “Was it much of a shock when you came here?”

“Yes. Very much so,” admitted Simon. His eyes now seemed very focussed on my sister. “I was shocked by the institution of slavery. It is such a core part of Gorean society. I had an Earthman's outlook towards it of course. A western orientated one too.”

“And then? As time passed?” Bea too seemed very focused on Simon, ignoring me as I lay on the floor in the grip of Consuella and the other two girls.

“As the years went by I realised I had been wrong, and that this was the natural order of things,” said Simon with a smile. “I realised I had been foolish to deny myself my birthright as a man. The fact is, I am the dominant sex. Women are weaker and belong in collars.”

“Some women,” said Bea, sharply, as she gazed at Simon.

“Many women,” offered Simon in a conciliatory gesture.

“But there are exceptions.”

“Indeed. Yishana for one. And there was a Lady in the Sardar. They were both Gorean women of course, and neither one is a slave. All the women of Earth that I've met on Gor seem to be natural slaves though. It is right that they are in collars. I didn't always think that, but my experiences lately have changed my perspective.”

“May I remind you I am of Earth,” said Bea with a measure of challenge in her voice.

“Indeed you are, Lady. I meant no offence. You are possibly an exception.” He smiled.

“Possibly?” Bea sipped her wine.

“Well, we have only just met. I do not know you, Lady Beatrice, and I have no idea what you look like under those concealing robes and veils, and I do not know how you might react were you to be stripped and chained to a slave ring, subjected to an intimate touch.”

“I assure you I would be frigid and unresponsive,” said Bea. “I am not like the Earth girls you might find in paga taverns. The fact that I am free proves that, does it not?”

“Well, there is that...” Simon sipped a little of his wine. “Of course the matter is possibly inconsequential. It may be that you are plain looking, and therefore of no value to a slaver.”

“I am not... plain looking...” said Bea with a sharpness of tone.

Simon shrugged. “It is base speculation on my part. The veil of course provides a layer of mystery. All things are possible under the veil. It serves to protect women of course from the awkward attentions of men if the woman happens to be beautiful, and hides the shame of a woman who is not. You might fall into either category. It is impossible for me to tell.”

“On Earth I was considered pretty by many men,” said Bea, and that was the truth. My sister never lacked for attention from potential boyfriends in the wine bars of London.

“But you are not on Earth now, are you, Lady? On Gor the competition is somewhat higher? A pretty girl on Earth might find herself ignored by men on Gor when surrounded by beautiful slaves. It is understandable that such a woman might retreat to the security of the veil. Veiled and mysterious she could carry on a pretence that she might compete with the true beauties if she so chose to.”

“I believe you are taunting me, Simon of the Sardar,” said Bea with a chuckle. “I believe you hope I will be challenged sufficiently that I might allow you a glimpse of my features beneath these veils?”

“I commend you for your suspicious nature, Lady Beatrice. You ascribe to me a devious mindset that is hardly honourable.”

“And are you then an honourable man, Simon of the Sardar?” Bea paced around Simon as she spoke. “Or are you a man who would take advantage of a free woman so far from her home world?”

“I try to act honourably, though I have failed at times. I am ashamed to admit it, but I have learnt from my past mistakes and moments of weakness.”

“That in itself is an honest admission. So, you suspect I may be plain looking?”

“I cannot rule the matter out,” said Simon as he enjoyed the flirtatious banter. “You might for example have crooked teeth.”

“That would be terrible,” suggested Bea in mock solemnity. “I wouldn’t dare smile. Not with crooked teeth. Imagine a life without smiling. Thank heavens for the Gorean veil.”

Simon nodded. “Or perhaps an unflattering chin. It is all conjecture.”

“I can see why I would be prone to wearing a veil before you if I was indeed so unattractive, Simon of the Sardar. But what if I was in actual fact pretty? What then?”

“Why then I suppose you would wear the veil at all times to avoid the distasteful attentions of men who might prove dangerous.”

“Dangerous men? Well yes, if I was pretty I would want to avoid the attention of such men on Gor. But are you a dangerous man, Simon of the Sardar?”

“Well, you are the slaver, not me,” suggested Simon with a smile. “Perhaps I should be wary of you? Presumably the palm wine I drink now could have been laced with tassa powder?” He motioned with the goblet. “I believe it is the stock in trade of your caste?”

“Mmm, I am familiar with tassa powder of course. We do indeed have some here. By now you would have ingested enough to put you to sleep for the rest of the day if that had been my intention. And when you woke, well, such a burly figure of a man could easily find himself chained to an oar on board a galley setting sail out of Schendi. I could possibly get…” Bea thought about it for a moment, “three copper tarsks for you.”

“Hardly worth the effort,” suggested Simon.

“Oh, I don’t know. Three copper tarsks is three copper tarsks more than I have made in this last hour. Business is slack at the moment. And of course there is also the matter of whatever you have in your money pouch.”

“Surely a Lady such as yourself of good standing with the caste of Slavers is not a common thief?” Simon pretended an air of utter disappointment.

“Of course not. Which is why there is no tassa powder in your palm wine. Such a subterfuge would be bad for business if word got out.”

“So it appears I can trust you to the same degree you can trust me, Lady.”

“Well, that correlation has not really been proven, Simon. The fact I haven’t drugged you doesn’t automatically infer I would be safe from you if you chose to take an interest in me. Assuming I was of course pretty.”

“Which you might not be,” said Simon again.

Bea sighed. “It’s so difficult for you to know, isn’t it? What with the layers of veils and all...”

“A suggestion, Lady, if I may?”

“Oh?” Bea tilted her veiled head and nodded. “A new suggestion? I am intrigued by this fresh train of thought. Please proceed.”

“You are very kind. It occurs to me that we are both of Earth and no one else is here, save some slaves of no particular consequence.”

“It appears so.” Conceded Bea. “Slaves do not count obviously. Whatever do you have in mind?”

“As our own customs on Earth are somewhat less stringent than the native Gorean ones, it might be acceptable for you to offer me a glimpse of your unveiled features for a moment or two in a way you most certainly would not do if I was native to Gor. That way a determination on the matter could be arrived at. The mystery would then be resolved.”

“Hmm. But perhaps a woman might wish to remain mysterious? Maybe that contributes to her allure?”

“A certain degree of mystery to begin with is indeed alluring, but men on Gor are prone to distractions after a time, and in a slaver city there is no shortage of delicious distractions.” Simon turned his head to regard the coffle of slaves of which I was one.

“And I thought you were a gentleman,” said Bea with a pretend sigh of disappointment. “Already I bore you with my veiled features...”

“By no means, Lady. In truth I am even more intrigued. But the mystery cannot endure indefinitely.”

“How is the palm wine?” enquired Bea with a smile as she changed the subject.

“To be honest, I wouldn't recommend it.”

“Neither would I. I fear the jungles of Schendi are not renowned for their wines. The taste is sufficient to hide the effects of tassa powder in quantities capable of putting a strong man to sleep though.”

“I shall bear that in mind in future when I accept drinks in slaver houses from charming women and there are no other customers about to observe what might then transpire.” Simon nodded in appreciation for the advice. “Is there much of a trade in male slaves in Schendi?”

“Only occasionally when some jungle Ubar decides he's going to divert the course of one of the great rivers and he needs 10,000 workers to dig through the steaming rain forest. But at times like that we buy male livestock in bulk. Drugging one man at a time would be time consuming and we'd never fill our quotas by the deadline so have no fear on that score.”

“You are an interesting slaver, Lady Beatrice.”

“I am, aren't I,” said Bea with amused enthusiasm. “I should win an award.”

“One of the girls chained at the front...”

“Yes?”

“Timita is her name. She works hard to attract potential buyers. I thought you should know.”

“Good. And the other girls?”

“Rather quiet.”

“I'll see about changing that.” Bea sniffed. “They should be calling out to passers by – exhibiting themselves, flaunting their slut bodies. Perhaps spending a night in close chains will improve their sales pitch tomorrow morning.”

“You care nothing that they are of your sex and they are slaves?”

“No. This is Gor. The fact I share their sex means little to me.”

“Excellent.” Simon seemed pleased to hear it. “You really are a remarkable woman. I'm really quite impressed.” Simon's eyes narrowed and his voice faltered as he then noticed Bea casually move her right hand to where one of the pins secured her outer veil in place. She toyed with the pin for a moment, perhaps sliding it a little out of place before she stopped and regarded Simon with a curious gaze. I could almost feel Simon holding his breath in anticipation.

“Is something wrong, Simon of the Sardar?” enquired Bea sweetly.

“For a free woman you certainly know how to tease a man...”

“Mmm.” She let her hand fall from the pin that was now loose and barely holding the veil in place at the right hand side. “To tell you the truth I hated having to wear the veil when I first came to Gor, but strangely now I feel almost naked without it. When in Rome...”

“I have a theory.”

“Oh?” Bea refilled both goblets of wine.

“I suspect you may not be as frigid as you claim. I suspect you may actually have quite the healthy sex drive for a woman.”

“For a free woman,” corrected Bea.

“I did not mean to infer any other kind of woman. May I ask you a personal question?”

“You may ask. Whether I reply or not remains to be seen.”

“Have you had sexual intercourse since coming to Gor?”

There was silence as Bea said nothing.

“That is a shame,” said Simon with a shrug. When Bea still didn't say anything, he went on to add, “Gor is a vibrant sexual world. You are missing out, Lady. But perhaps it is not your fault. Perhaps you are understandably cautious on a world where you must rein in your feelings at all times. I take it you experienced sex on Earth?”

“I did, yes.”

“How fulfilling was it?”

“You ask a lot of personal questions.” Bea turned and walked to where Simon's coffle of slaves knelt. I had long since given up struggling and so now I too knelt there in nadu with the others. My hair, I suspected, was probably a mess from the cat fighting I had endured. “You have been instructed to sell these slaves?”

“Three of them. They are new to the collar. But not Emma. She is here to carry back the goods I've been told to buy.”

Bea nodded. “A shame – I could easily sell a white skinned pleasure slave.” I knelt there as my sister – my own dear sister – professionally assessed my body with her hands!

“Emma is a ship girl. The others are cargo. Plunder. You know how Yishana operates.”

“Indeed I do. She brings me good stock. Sometimes fine breeding. For untrained girls I can offer ten copper tarsks each.”

“Fifteen,” suggested Simon.

“As I said earlier, business is poor at the moment. Even for white skinned girls.” Bea regarded them. “Their training will cost me two copper tarsks each. I'll offer twelve a piece.”

“Make it thirteen because we're both from Earth.”

“Twelve, and I'll permit you to be my gentle escort tonight at a cafe in the centre of Schendi that offers wine of a better vintage than this. You never know, you might even get a brief glimpse behind my veil before the night is ended...” Bea didn't turn around as she said that, but I could see the expression of delight on Simon's face that he quickly controlled.

“I think Yishana will accept twelve tarsks for each girl,” said Simon quickly.

“Well then, Simon of the Sardar, we have a deal. Meet me here when the sun sets and I'll have the coins for you. And then we'll explore the safe parts of Schendi together.”