Slaver of Gor – Chapter Eight

 

 

“What is your name?” I said to the slave. 

 

“Lady Phillina.” She then screamed as I lashed her once with the whip.

 

“Wrong! You do not know your name, because you haven’t been told it yet!” She was naked, of course, freshly branded and collared as per the court judgement. I let her scream from the pain of her first whipping as my colleague, the Lady Rosalita, paced about her in the assessment chamber of the Slaver House.

 

“Keep your hands behind your head,” she snapped, prodding the girl with the switch she carried in her right hand. “Do not break position!”

 

“Please…” Tears were running down the cheeks of the former Lady Phillina Makri of Argentum. I had never liked her, to be honest. But no, I know your suspicious minds – I had nothing to do with her enslavement. How could you think that of me? Lady Thamaya was a one-off.

 

Well, this year, at least.

 

The former Lady stood, of course, in display position. I think it was a shock to her just how much the whip could hurt. It probably even obliterated the searing pain in her freshly branded thigh.

 

If that was at all possible.

 

The caste of slavers have a saying, that women do not seem to truly comprehend the magnitude of the whip until they feel it for the first time on their own back. I have not, myself, felt the whip, but I suspect the saying is true.

 

“Did you truly think yourself free?” sneered Lady Rosalita. “With a body like that?”

 

The Lady’s words were a little awkward for me, as she was drawing attention to Phillina’s impressive looking breasts. They were much like my own, in fact. Worryingly like my own. 

 

“You have the figure of a slave,” said Rosalita as she stroked each breast with the tip of her switch. “It is unmistakeable. You belong in a collar.”

 

“She wasn’t enslaved because of her body,” I said. “It was conduct unbecoming.” I felt the distinction was an important one. A woman is never enslaved because of her body. If that were the case, well…

 

I felt uncomfortable that Rosalita associated the woman’s sweetly curved body shape with natural slavery. 

 

“Even so, we all know that a hormone rich body such as this affects the mind,” said Rosalita. “Some slavers theorise that there are always visual clues to a natural slave – the shape of her hips, waist, breasts, bottom, lips, and so forth. There is a ratio linking the measurements.”

 

“I don’t personally subscribe to those theories,” I said, thinking in turn of my own shapely hips, waist, breasts, bottom, and lips. “The mind is an independent organ.”

 

“It is subject to slave hormones in a woman’s body – the same slave hormones that ensure her body is pleasing to men. Thousands of years of evolution and natural selection have bred the female slave body. You see one before you now.”

 

I wondered what Rosalita’s body might be like beneath all her robes and gowns. It was impossible to tell, though I had seen her unveiled and I thought her lips would be very appealing to men. 

 

“What was the specific charge?” enquired Rosalita.

 

“Lewd behaviour in the furs of her free companion. He was shocked by some of her responses. Being a dutiful citizen of Argentum he detailed them to the courts and demanded an annulment of the companionship.”

 

“I didn’t understand!” wept the former Lady Phillina Makri. “How was I to know what responses were permitted! I had no experiences to compare with! I did nothing more than cry out and squirm a little.”

 

“Shameful,” said Rosalita, as she struck the girl on her unmarked thigh. She screamed again but held position. “A true free woman instinctively knows what is permitted on the couch! No one has to tell her!”

 

This is true of course. I myself know the differences, which is why I am a true free woman and not a natural slave. I did think the Lady Phillina Makri had made a poor choice in her free companion. Every Lady knew Pavel Otario’s extreme views on the subject of freedom of expression for women. She was asking for trouble submitting herself to that man for a year. I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him.   

 

As I think I have mentioned before, I rarely involve myself with the handling and training of new slaves, beyond their initial assessment when they arrive at our house. I am simply too busy and cannot micro-manage the many girls who parade, barefoot, through our pens. Rosalita takes a firmer hand in such matters than I do, but she has always enjoyed the practical side of slavery. 

 

My day can be varied, and often I deal with legal matters. Men come to me to have papers of bondage drawn up, or filed with official seals in the cylinder of justice, and sometimes I am called upon to lodge papers pertaining to what we refer to as a secret slave.

 

A secret slave is a woman who has been legally enslaved, but continues to live her life as if free. In fact, in some cases she may not even be aware that she has been enslaved. At any point in time of course the papers can be presented to a magistrate and the woman can be taken into custody, stripped, branded and properly collared, but until then she can live her life in a state of anxiety, enjoying her last moments of apparent freedom before the collar is finally snapped about her throat.

 

“My name is Mikos, Lady.” He was a devilishly handsome man with a warm smile, and, I think, an outlander in origin.

 

“Argentum is my home now,” he confirmed, “and I have legal papers of citizenship if you wish to see them?”

 

I did ask to see them. I like things to be done properly, with studious background checks. I like to know who I am dealing with at all times.

 

“How can I help?” I had received Mikos, who I understood was a merchant, in my offices at the slaver house. A kajira served us soft drinks while we talked business.

 

“I have papers for a secret slave that I wish stamped, verified and acknowledged within the city state of Argentum. The girl in question lives in Vonda, and the papers are not valid within that city, but they are valid in every other city of Gor. As I reside here now, I wish the necessary steps taken in case she ever enters the city or its surrounding lands.”

 

“I see.” I took the papers that he had with him and examined them in detail. “Cassie?”

 

“Yes.” He smiled. “Formerly, the Lady Cassandra Assante of Vonda. A hot, natural slave, if ever there was one.”

 

The name meant nothing to me of course. I had never been to Vonda. The papers went on to detail every physical characteristic that might be used to identify her, and a thorough assessment of her slave responses from a brief but intimate physical examination. “The papers seem to be in order. I recognise the caste seals. I have no problems with them.”

 

“You can verify and authorise them within Argentum?” asked Mikos.

 

“Of course. Vondan law has no relevance here. She is not a citizen of Argentum, so her slavery will be recognised fully. Is she likely to travel to this city?”

 

“In all likelihood, no,” said Mikos with a sigh. “I regret I was bound by honour, but these things are done. And honour surmounts all.”

 

I had no idea what he was talking about, and it wasn’t really my business to pry. He was simply a paying client. 

 

“The papers will be verified and a scribe copy made and lodged with the city courts. You will be given a receipt for them which you may present to an Arbiter of Justice should the girl enter our jurisdiction. The receipt authorises an examination of the woman by a female physician to ascertain whether she is the girl in question in these papers.” 

 

It is worth noting that foreigners have little to no rights within Argentum, and it is the same elsewhere in other cities. The warrant of course could not be used on any woman of Argentum. But a foreign woman could be stopped by an arbiter if a claim was made against her by my client.

 

“I would warn you to be very sure you have the right woman,” I said, “if you make a claim for examination. If you are wrong, and the woman is not the slave in these papers, you yourself will be subject to possible legal penalties.”

 

“I will know her if I see her,” said Mikos with a smile. “I will never forget her if I live a thousand years.”

 

“Good, but I issue the warning, regardless. Inconveniencing the wrong lady, even a foreign one, could become a court matter.”

 

“And if he she is indeed the slave in the papers?”

 

“Well then, it is an open and shut case. She will be rendered into your care, in chains. Her legal status as a slave is absolute.”

 

I finished work early that day and headed home with some papers to work on in the evening. More and more I was thinking of my upcoming hearing with the Pudoris Concilio. I had no idea what I would be asked, and there was no way I could prepare a statement of innocence without knowing what might be said. The matter of the so-called marks on my wrist were absurd. They could not prove the marks were made by slave bracelets! Let them try! It was simply an opinion. I had a good grasp of the law and how it pertained to ‘conduct unbecoming’. It was one thing to have a witness, as I had arranged in the case of the Lady Thamaya, but this was just idle speculation. 

 

I gazed at my wrist and was pleased to see the bruises were fading. 

 

I should have felt more confident than I did, but the Pudoris Concilio scared me, as it did most free women. It was the masks and the solemn air of silence in that stone chamber with their high seats, looking down at the poor penitent. It unnerved me. I knew I wouldn’t be thinking clearly come the day I faced their cold, stern gazes.

 

When I feel tense or troubled, I allow myself the luxury of a massage from Beth. I returned home and summoned her to my private chamber where she undressed me slowly and prepared some oils and perfumes.

 

“Mistress wishes to relax,” said Beth with a demure smile as she laid out the things beside my couch.

 

“I do, Beth, I do. I can’t stop thinking about the summons to the Concilio. It’s gnawing at my stomach.”

 

“Poor Mistress,” said Beth in her soothing voice. She lay me down on my belly and made me comfortable. “I’m worried for you.”

 

“Thank you, Beth.” I lay face down a moment before her words sunk in. “Why are you worried?” I lifted myself up slightly on my forearms, feeling the sense of anxiety rise in my stomach again. “Do you think this will go badly for me?”

 

“I hope not, Mistress, but I worry.” She eased my anxious body back down onto the soft couch, onto the towels, and began rubbing oil between the palms of her hands to warm it. “I am sure you have nothing to fear, but…”

 

“But?” I rose up again on my forearms. I was no longer feeling calm. “What do you think will happen? What have you heard?”

 

“Slaves talk, Mistress, you know they do. The slaves I know in the market think a summons is very serious. I am so scared for my poor mistress.”

 

I moaned slightly, feeling fear grip me again. “ Beth, who says this? Who?”

 

“Just slaves, Mistress. But you should pay them no heed. What do they know?”

 

Slaves know a lot actually. They know all the comings and goings in the city, and they have eyes and ears everywhere. I clutched the edge of the couch with my fingers, feeling my muscles tense up. “I’m scared, Beth. I’m very scared.”

 

“I know,” she said soothingly as she began to massage my shoulder muscles. “I can feel how knotted your back is with tension. What are you going to do, Mistress, if they find against you?”

 

“That can’t happen!” I cried. “I haven’t done anything!”

 

“It is said that the ladies of the Concilio are prejudiced against free women who own silk slaves.”

 

I gripped the edges of my couch again and cried softly. “It’s not illegal! It’s not illegal to own a silk slave!”

 

“Of course, Mistress. We all know that. But still…”

 

“They have to prove conduct unbecoming! Speculation isn’t good enough before a magistrate.”

 

“That is reassuring, Mistress. May I ask a question?” Beth continued to massage my back, and as she did, I felt a little calmer than before.

 

“Of course.”

 

“The kajirae in the market say that if a woman is enslaved on such charges…”

 

“That’s not going to happen!”

 

“Of course not, Mistress. Please do not get up.” She pushed me gently back onto my belly. “But if she is enslaved, they say that she becomes the property of the court?”

 

“Yes, that is what happens,” I said nervously. It was true. Such a woman became a state owned slave girl. “She becomes public property. There is a monthly auction of state slaves to the general public.”

 

“That is what I thought, Mistress, and the woman remains in a state pen until the auction date?”

 

“Yes.” I gripped the edge of the couch again feeling my stomach churn once more. A slave pen! I knew exactly how awful the state slave pens in Argentum could be. My imagination ran wild as I pictured myself howling in pain from a kef brand on my thigh, a steel collar locked about my throat, and then thrown into a kennel pen like some animal. It was a horrible thought. 

 

“And I have been told that any slaves the Mistress once owned, they also become state slaves?”

 

“Yes, that is true.” I looked up, suddenly realising what this meant.

 

“So I would be in a state pen with you, Mistress? We would both be slaves together, on the same auction chain?” She smiled softly.

 

I trembled at the thought. “Yes, Beth, we would be chain sisters until the auction…”

 

“I just want Mistress to know that I would look after her.” Beth smiled softly as she stroked my hair. “I would owe her that for all the kindness she has shown me by keeping me in her precious collar.” 

 

“That… that is…”

 

“Because I understand how small and helpless Mistress would be in those pens. How fragile she might be. At the mercy of the other girls, you understand. They would know she had recently been free, and that she had been a slaver. I would be there for her, of course. I would look after my former mistress.”

 

Beth smiled sweetly again as she continued with my massage.

 

The daily routine seemed to continue unchanged in Argentum, despite the fact we had sent three cohorts marching out to confront the Corcyrians. Our city maintains thirteen cohorts in peace time, numbering just under 6,500 warriors. Of these, two cohorts are stationed in the north, facing down any potential aggression from the cities along the Vosk river; one cohort is stationed to our west, facing the Vosk delta, and a fourth cohort patrols the Issus river, which acts as a natural barrier to Corcyrus. 

 

Three cohorts are generally on leave at any one time. The remaining six cohorts are a pool of 3,000 men that can be deployed anywhere the city feels it is appropriate. Three of those six cohorts had now joined up with Blucher of Tarnburg’s free companies and were marching south-west against the Corcyrians. 

 

News travels slowly by merchant caravans, fee carts and passing travellers. The city officers of course received regular intelligence from fast moving tarn scouts, but this form of news was confidential and rarely shared with the populace, unless some mighty victory had been won, in which case we would enjoy several days of parades and state funded feasting. 

 

The early weeks leading up to a conflict is a time of normalcy when people go about their business as usual. There are always a few citizens who begin hoarding food, much to the disgust of other men and women, and it has been known for high born ladies to take a seasonal vacation in Ar for the duration of the conflict, but by and large you wouldn’t know anything much was happening, except for the murmur of rumours and conversation in paga taverns and cafés throughout the city.  

 

Every man becomes a tactical armchair general, and every woman a source of wild speculation. 

 

I tried to see Bryssius and find out what the officers knew, but he was busy and my scented letters went unanswered, much to my annoyance. Only a few days ago he was fussing around me constantly, and now that the prospect of war was in the air, I couldn’t get near him. 

 

I had hoped also to speak to him about my upcoming interview with the ladies of the Pudoris Concilio. Perhaps he might help me there? Perhaps he had influence with the courts to have the absurd summons cancelled? But these were things I would want to ask him in person, when he held my gloved hands and he saw the tears welling in my eyes. My appointment was now three days away and my anxiety was getting worse by the minute.   

 

 

 

“Amicia? It is Amicia, isn’t it? I’d recognise that beautiful gown anywhere. How lovely to see you again.”

 

The voice was both familiar and unexpected. I had been shopping in the main square. As I turned round, I saw the Lady Thamaya standing there, evidently back from some shopping of her own. I had of course assumed that by now she had been arrested by justices of the peace and marched to a state kennel pen to be enslaved, although, now that I thought about it, I had heard nothing yet from Thaddeus in respect of the twenty silvers he had agreed to pay me.

 

How was it that Thamaya was walking the streets of the market quarter without a care in the world? She had disgraced herself in front of both myself and the court appointed officer! Arbiters should have called upon her many days ago! 

 

“Are you lost for words, Amicia? How so not like you to be speechless. Normally we can’t shut you up, you chattering little bitch” said Thamaya as she moved closer now; her voice no longer sounding quite so pleasant and care free. “I know it was you.”

 

“What? I don’t…”

 

“Quiet, you bitch. I know… it was… you.” She was smiling, as far as anyone else could see, obviously sharing some trivial anecdote with a dear friend she had by chance encountered while out shopping. I felt her hand squeeze my left arm, holding me still. “You are going to suffer for daring to cross me.”

 

“Thamaya…” I tried to shake her hand away but she held firmly on. I would have to make an obvious scene in order to free my arm.

 

“WE look out for one another. All charges were dropped.” The way she said the word ‘we’, it sounded like an honorific, like she was referring to some august body of women. A cold chill suddenly gripped me. No… that couldn’t possibly be… no…

 

“Gloriam pudoris concilio, as WE say,” said Thamaya, coldly, “when we have a cheap little slut firmly in our sights… ”