Slaver of Gor - Chapter Sixteen

 

 

Beth led me from the tent, her hand gripped tightly in my hair – a restraining technique made easy by the long length of my hair and her superior height.

 

“There is no need for that!” I said, as I stumbled beside her. 

 

“Would you prefer me to leash you, 293? I could put you on a girl leash?”

 

“No.” 

 

She led me to the coffle chain where there was an open ankle shackle lying on the grass. The other girls watched with smiles on their faces as Beth sat down on the grass and motioned for me to extend my ankle, which I did. The shackle ring was then slipped around my left ankle and locked in place with a turn of a key. One key served to open all the shackles on a coffle chain, obviously. 

 

“Is that comfortable?” asked Beth. It wasn’t sarcasm on her part; she genuinely was expressing concern.

 

“Reasonably so,” I said. The metal was rounded and so wouldn’t chafe against my skin. It was tight enough that it couldn’t be slipped, but not so tight that it would compress my skin. 

 

“You understand that although you haven’t been branded or formally enslaved, you are from this moment on subject to full slave discipline,” said Beth. “I can and will switch you.”

 

“I assumed as much,” I said with a look of disdain. “But as I am not a slave, then I should have a garment to wear.” I glanced at the other girls who were as naked as me.

 

“Clothing will be permitted once we obtain some. We had to leave in a hurry and finding slave tunics wasn’t high on our priorities.” Beth crouched down beside me as she spoke. “Now listen. I am not going to single you out for harsh treatment, 293, if that’s what you think. Some slaves might be cruel to their former mistress, but I am not one of them. You denied me sex for over three years, while dressing me provocatively in front of men. You have no idea what torture that was. I will never forget or forgive you for that, but I think, in your own stupid, foolish way, you imagined you were doing me a favour.”

 

“I was, Beth!”

 

Beth laughed. “How little you know of the collar and what it does to a woman. Perhaps you will understand in time. Aside from keeping me chaste, you weren’t a particularly cruel mistress. You only whipped me the once.”

 

“It is important to whip a slave upon first buying her,” I said. “It was nothing personal. It’s just the best way to enforce discipline at an early stage.”

 

Beth smiled. “I will remember that advice if you are ever branded.”

 

“Julian will ransom me. He would be insane to sell me on an auction block. I would fetch little more than eighty-five copper tarsks.”

 

“Cheap slave,” said Beth.

 

“That is a good price for an untrained girl!” I pouted. Beth of course had sold for three silver tarsks. Beth was a trained girl. I was not.

 

“There is a saying, 293, that a tarsk in the hand is worth three in the bush. Maybe our master will take the easy money now, rather than money he might receive if he makes it to Argentum. The road there will be dangerous.”

 

“That would be a foolish thing to do.” I reached out with my fingers and touched the ankle chain. The metal felt warm from the rays of the sun. “The sums involved are very different.” It felt strange to wear an ankle chain instead of being a woman who locked an ankle chain on a girl. I understood of course just how secure such a thing was, but until now I had never experienced it myself. 

 

“Perhaps. I don’t know what our master will want to do with you. You weren’t really part of his plan to escape.”

 

“He will return me to Argentum. You can’t frighten me by suggesting ridiculous alternatives.” Why was Beth being so irrational? No man would sell a woman for less than a silver tarsk when he could obtain sixteen times that sum in ransom. The possibility of me being put on an auction block for sale was completely ridiculous.

 

“You seem very sure of that, 293.”

 

“Why do I have to be called that! I have a name!”

 

“Do you wish to argue the point with our master? He might send me to fetch the whip.”

 

“He is not my master!”

 

“Well, he certainly seemed to master you in the furs, 293.” She smiled. “From what I heard, you were a complete slut.”

 

I reddened, wondering what he had told Beth, or what she had in fact seen.

 

“It appears my former mistress has unusual needs of her own. Needs that perhaps might ripen and blossom with a collar and a brand.”

 

“That must never happen.”

 

Beth then put us all through a demanding routine of stretching exercises, designed to loosen up our muscles, keep us supple and improve our postures. She demonstrated each exercise in turn and then stood up with a switch in her hand as we repeated them many times. Although the exercises seemed simple – some of them were nothing more than raising a leg from a prone position, for example, and holding the leg straight, away from the ground - they were more onerous than you might imagine. By the end of half an ahn I was feeling worn out with sore muscles that I didn’t normally exercise. I lay in the grass, wondering what the purpose of this was. 

 

“You all have traces of baby fat on your bodies, typical for free women, that slave exercises and calisthenics will improve. You were all lazy, slothful free women, I suspect,” said Beth as she walked from right to left in front of us. “Too much lying around on soft couches and drinking wine, and chattering about pretty shoes. Well, over the next few weeks there will be no wine or soft couches, you’ll never wear shoes again, but those muscles will firm up and your bodies will become trimmer. You’ll be a delight to the touch of your master. Who here wants to be touched by their master?”

 

No one said anything. 

 

“I see. No girl wants to be touched by a man? None at all?”

 

Again, none of us said anything. 

 

Until the girl, 115, suddenly broke the silence.

 

“I do, mistress.” She blushed and lowered her head quickly as the other girls, and myself, sneered at her.

 

“Slave!” I hissed. The other girls mocked her alongside me. 

 

“Good. Good, 115. Very good.” Beth smiled at her. “Just the one girl, then. I suppose the rest of you are still frigid free women.”

 

I sniffed disdainfully. Did she think we were ever going to beg for the touch of a man? How ridiculous.

 

“We shall revisit that question in due course over the coming days and weeks,” said Beth. “But for now, you may all have breakfast.”

 

We were served wooden bowls of slave gruel. I was ravenously hungry from the effects of the Tassa powder and not eating for more than a day, and so I scooped up the paste with my fingers and began to eat it. It was bland, but hunger drove me to finish my food quickly. 

 

“Bowls will be licked clean,” said Beth. She flicked her switch in the air as a warning. I shrugged and began to lick the inner surface of my bowl, scooping up every last bit of the nutritious paste. 

 

Slave gruel may look and taste unappealing, but it is protein rich food, and probably better for you than the typical array of rich dishes that a free woman might indulge her taste buds with. A kajira fed on slave gruel will have smooth, well moisturised skin, healthy teeth and gums, sleek hair and good bones. People often forget that.

 

Later in the day all the girls, including myself, except for 115, were set work to do. It was meaningless work designed to keep us busy and simulate what simple work chain slaves might have to do during the day. We were chained in pairs to prevent an independent escape, and made to fill sacks with earth and carry them from one side of the clearing to the other. We walked slowly, in part because of the chains between our left ankles, and also because of the weight of the earth filled sacks. Once we reached the other side of the clearing, we emptied the sacks and then returned to repeat the same task.

 

After two ahn of this I collapsed, sobbing, exhausted. The girl I was chained with was a peasant girl from a village and she had more stamina than I, but even she was nearing the end of her strength.

 

Meanwhile, 115 had been told to sit on a log, where she was chained to a spike that had been hammered into the ground. She had been given slave cosmetics and some strips of silk, and had been told to practice making herself look appealing to a man.

 

“Why isn’t she carrying sacks of earth with us?” I had asked.

 

“115 desires the touch of a man,” explained Beth as she watched us all work. “She is a different kind of slave to the rest of you. She is soft and feminine, in tune with the needs of her body. You are all frigid sows and will no doubt be sold as cheap pot and kettle girls, to toil way in factories. It is appropriate then that she learns feminine skills to enhance her appeal when she is permitted to crawl to the feet of a man, begging for his touch, while you all train to build up the stamina for the gruelling physical work ahead of you.”

 

I wiped sweat from my brow and glared at Beth. “I know what you’re doing,” I said. “I’m not stupid. I’m a slaver. I know what this is supposed to achieve. But I’m going to be ransomed. Julian is taking me back to Argentum. There is no point in me doing any of this!”

 

“Your sack is empty, 293,” said Beth, sweetly. “Go and fill it.” 

 

My arms and legs were shaking by the time Beth told us all we could stop. We drank water from a bucket and I felt like throwing up.

 

The other girls weren’t in much better shape than I was. As we rested, we watched 115, now adorned in slave cosmetics, perfumed, and with a wisp of translucent silk draped and tied about her hips, as she was permitted to crawl to the feet of Julian.

 

“I am a woman,” she said, “and so I am a natural slave. I beg the touch of a man.”

 

“Good,” said Julian. “But you are also a clumsy free woman who knows nothing of the ways of pleasing a man. Beth will teach you in time.” He gave her a piece of sweet candy that she ate from his hand, before being sent back to where we lay. Every one of us was red faced and sweating in the hot sun, except for 115 who simply looked beautiful. 

 

In the evening, Beth taught us to prepare and cook food by a camp fire. Three of the girls were already skilled in doing so, because they had lived in a village, but I and the others had never had to cook for ourselves before. 

 

That night we slept in the girl wagon, and because there were only seven of us, there was enough room to stretch out comfortably. We were each given a blanket, though the night air was warm and the roof tarp was raised in case it rained. Interestingly, I had learned that I was safe from my former slaves.

 

“You’re lucky the first girl is your mistress as well as ours,” said 229. “She has told us that we are not to hurt you.”

 

“Don’t blame me because you’re slaves!” I said. “I wasn’t the one who seized you from your homes, stripped and abducted you. All I did was purchase you from the soldiers responsible. It’s not my fault you’re all slaves.”

 

“You branded us,” hissed one of the girls. I shrank back, alarmed.

 

“And whipped us!” said another. It was getting dark, and I began to worry what might happen to me when Julian went to sleep in the tent. 

 

“It’s what any slaver would have done,” I said. “It’s nothing personal. You’re just livestock.”

 

“The first girl may change her mind in time,” said 229 with a hiss. “And then you had better not close your eyes and go to sleep, pretty little slaver.”

 

The slaves were monsters! They blamed me, unfairly, of course, for their reduction to slavery. 

 

The next day we had another half an ahn of exercises before Julian ordered us to be loaded into the wagon after we had eaten breakfast. We all knew Beth had shared his furs during the night. We had heard her scream of slave orgasm. I had ground my nails into the palms of my hands as I had to lie there listening to my former slaves copulate together. 

 

In the morning I felt stiff and sore from the heavy work the previous day, and from sleeping on the flat wooden boards of the wagon bed. To make matters worse, it had rained for an ahn and a half, and the girls sleeping close to the side of the wagon where the wind blew, received some of the rain, despite the tarp ceiling. I was one of them.

 

I lay on my side for the first ahn as the wagon rolled across the green pastures. Later, I raised myself up and peered over the side of the wagon to watch the countryside roll by. I had no idea where we were really. From time to time I saw settlements in the distance, but we avoided them. It was probably sometime around the twelfth ahn that we encountered a slaver caravan. 

 

Julian was still dressed in the stolen caste robes and so hailed the caravan of three wagon as it trundled by. I didn’t recognise any of the men driving the wagons, but I could see they had been busy. Nine girls sat and cried in the middle wagon – recent acquisitions. As soon as a war begins, slavers routinely arrive, to search for easy pickings and make deals with companies of soldiers. By and large the organised slave caravans are accorded safe conduct by roving bands of soldiers because those very same soldiers relied on the slavers to trade with them. 

 

From the snatches of conversation I could make out, the slavers were from the city of Samnium, and they had heard of the conflict brewing. Julian passed on news of the disastrous battle and they in turn appraised him that refugees were beginning to leave their poorly defended settlements and head north towards the high walls of Argentum for safety. 

 

I considered calling out to the slavers and identifying myself, appealing perhaps for caste sanctuary, but something about these grim faced men from Samnium, and the wretched faces of their newly acquired slaves made me decide not to. It was a feeling, nothing else, that they might not be the sort of men who would observe the rules of caste sanctuary with a naked female. 

 

The slavers made no attempt to buy any of us of course. At times like this we seek to buy slaves cheaply from soldiers who haven’t the ability to keep women until they return home many months later. Soldiers want to trade their women in quickly for coins that are easy to carry and spend. As Julian appeared to be a slaver himself, they were hardly going to insult him with an offer of thirteen copper tarsks per girl. I myself would easily fetch eighty-five tarsks on an auction block in Argentum with little to no training. You can see the profit margin involved, without even taking into account the uplift in block prices if a girl was given training in a slave pen. 

 

With training, if I was subject to the discipline of the lash for failing to achieve minimum targets, I could perhaps sell for two to three silver tarsks. As much as Beth once did. And if a man invested some money in me, and paid for personal small group, or one-on-one training, well, I might fetch as much as five silver tarsks. I would then be a prize sale, auctioned late in the evening, presented on the block in silks, made to perform lewd sensual dances before a darkened audience. The bids would come thick and fast.

 

If I were assessing myself, professionally speaking, I would see the potential in my own body. My hair colour too is preferred by many men. I certainly wasn’t a pot and kettle girl! But then, none of the girls in this wagon were. I had hand-picked them all, and I have a good eye for slave flesh. All these girls were destined to sell for at least two silver tarsks apiece if I had kept to my original plan. 

 

I gripped the side of the wagon and saw a couple of the slavers drop down from their vehicles. The walked over to the flat bed where we knelt, crouched and sat.

 

“Display positions! Kneeling!” cried Beth. We rose together with a rustle of steel chains, kneeling with thighs spread, back slightly arched, hands clasped behind our heads. The slavers of Samnium wished to look at us. I felt uneasy about this. Why did they even bother? We weren’t for sale – not at the prices they might offer, anyway. Julian would never accept offers of twelve or thirteen copper tarsks for any of us. 

 

And yet, I was breathing somewhat nervously as the men of my caste walked around the flat bed wagon, observing each of us in turn on the boards. I recognised the way they were assessing us – the subtle movements of facial muscles and the twitch of an eye as they saw something about a girl that suggested promise or a good investment. One of the men paused by me and stared for some time. I flushed, embarrassed to be looked at in this way.

 

And then he reached out and felt my breasts. I held position, but only just. 

 

“You have good stock,” he said after a while. “You have a good eye for slave flesh.”

 

“Thank you,” said Julian from where he sat at the front of the wagon. “Do you wish to make an offer for any of them?”

 

There was silence for a moment as the men regarded Julian with surprise. Why had he said that? Surely he knew, as a fellow caste member, that any offer would be derisory, well below the price Julian would get back home. 

 

“They’re for sale?” said one of the Samnium men.

 

“Everything is for sale at the right price,” said Julian. He didn’t sound at all like a slaver. I swallowed, feeling nervous. There were four slavers and just Julian. 

 

“What might you be asking?” enquired the Samnium man.

 

“I’d consider offers in excess of a silver tarsk for any particular girl.” He paused. “Except for the auburn haired one.” He meant me. 

 

But his words did not make sense. A slaver would know that another slaver would never pay that kind of money out here in the wilderness. We bought girls from men for twelve or thirteen copper tarsks – girls who might then be worth seventy copper tarsks, without training, back in Samnium or Argentum. 

 

“Is this a joke?” asked the Samnium man. 

 

“Is what a joke?” asked Julian. 

 

Whatever might have been said next remained unsaid, for there was a sudden cry of warning from one of the Samnium wagons. We looked up into the sky and saw the silhouette of a tarnsman, hovering high above us. 

 

Instantly, the Samnium slaver ran back towards his lead wagon. A single tarnsman was unlikely to swoop and try his luck with so many wagons, and, presumably, several armed men, but he had seen our location, and he would undoubtedly report it. 

 

“Good day, caste brother,” said the Samnium man as he rolled the first wagon past us. “And good luck.”

 

The tarnsman hovered for a few ehn as the Samnium caravan headed south-west, and then, taking the warning to heart, Julian urged our own wagon east. 

 

Overhead, the tarnsman wheeled abruptly and flew north. 

 

“Julian…” I crawled as far along the flat bed of the wagon as my ankle chain permitted. “Julian…”

 

“What is it?” he didn’t turn round from where he held the tharlarion reins. 

 

“We’re heading east.” I had always possessed a good sense of direction.

 

“What of it?”

 

“Argentum lies to the north-west!”

 

Julian said nothing. 

 

“Julian, please, Argentum lies to the north-west!”

 

“We are not travelling to Argentum. Now return to your coffle chain, 293 and remain quiet for the rest of the afternoon.”