Secrets of Gor Chapter Ten

 

“There is the matter of suitable compensation, of course. She broke my nose, and tried to blind our metal smith,” remarked the slaver, Hersius, as the Lady Donna gazed down at me.

 

I knelt as a slave does before a Free Woman, that is to say in tower position, resting back on my heels, with my back straight, my stomach flat, and my hands resting palms down, lightly on my thighs, head up, gaze forward, but not making eye contact with anyone. My thighs were together, not open, as a Free Woman was present. It is an insult for a slave to open her thighs before a Free Woman, the way she might typically do before a man. That is a sexual invitation, and would be rewarded with the lash from an offended Free Woman. 

 

Men on the other hand expect the thighs of a slave to be parted, suggesting availability, and a desire to please. 

 

“Compensation?” enquired the Lady Donna, pleasantly.

 

“My nose,” said Hersius again.

 

The Lady Donna wore the full robes and gowns of a dignified Free Woman, which is usually wise when meeting with slavers. She wore, too, the multitude of layers of veiling commonly expected of women in Vonda. Such was the extent of her veiling and robing that I would not have recognised her, save for her voice. 

 

It was now late afternoon by my reckoning, and I remained in considerable pain from the branding. My life was over as far as I was concerned. I now bore a kef brand on my thigh, and would be marked for life. I had lost. I knew what I must do, what the honourable course of action must be. I had to take my own life. Anything else would shame my family. If I took my own life, my father, my mother, and my brother would not think of me as a natural slave. 

 

“Ah, yes, your nose,” said the Lady Donna. 

 

There was no mistaking I was a slave now. The brand marked me as that, quite clearly. 

 

I did not move as I held the tower position. Earlier that day I had been severely whipped, but, crucially I think, before the whipping grew so severe that I would be unable to stand again, let alone walk, the order had been given for the whipping to cease. I was not, after all, the property of the slaver house, and if the whipping caused me irreparable damage they could be held liable for damage to private property. That would be a black mark against their name, for masters do not wish to think that their property might be damaged while under the care of the House of Andronicus. Nevertheless I screamed myself raw for the second time this day. The lash had been as painful as the brand, though in a different way. Despite my resilience, I never wished to feel it again.  

 

“She kneels well,” said the Lady Donna, glancing down at me again.

 

“She fears the whip,” remarked Hersius. “She was no longer rebellious after her whipping.”

 

“Of course.” The Lady Donna nudged my thigh with the toe of her slipper. “I am not pleased with you, girl.”

 

I didn’t dare look at her without permission. It had been made clear to me that I would be lashed again if I did. The whip had been painful beyond belief. 

 

“The compensation,” said Hersius again. 

 

“Did I not mention to you that she is a highly spirited slut, and that due care and attention should be taken at all times?” said the Lady Donna. “Were you not paying attention at the time?”

 

“Yes,  but…”

 

“Are you telling me that my girl was capable of breaking your nose, nearly blinding your metal smith with a hot iron, and then rampaged through your supposedly secure slaver house with impunity, causing havoc, despite all your precautions?”

 

Hersius looked uncomfortable now.

 

“I am sure the other slaver houses in Vonda will find this tale most amusing. I imagine the reputational damage will be considerable.”

 

“Kind Lady,” said Hersius, in a more appealing manner.

 

“What other mistakes does this house commonly make? Should you perhaps have your city licence suspended for a time while you improve the security of your establishment?”

 

“Kind, gentle Lady,” said Hersius again, his voice sounding like an appeal. 

 

“Yes, I am kind and gentle, and so I will set the compensation to myself at the sum of two silver tarsks, which I think is reasonable in exchange for a promise never to mention this incident again.”

 

“That is…”

 

“My final offer,” remarked the Lady Donna, fixing Hersius with a stern gaze.

 

“Of course, as you say, gentle Lady. Two silver tarsks.”

 

“I am not pleased with you at all, Cassie,” said the Lady Donna again as she gazed down at me. “This is not a good start.”

 

“I am sorry, Mistress.” I didn’t look at her. She hadn’t given me permission and I feared being whipped again. 

 

I felt betrayed. I still had no idea why the Lady Donna had done this, why she had been complicit in my branding, why she had taken away my freedom. I had trusted her. And now I had a kef on my left thigh that would be there even after I died, and that would be fairly soon. I could not live with the shame of being a slave. I would take my own life.

 

“You have updated her papers?” asked the Lady Donna. 

 

“Yes. We have yet to give her slave wine. That can be done before you leave.”

 

“Do so, now.” The Lady Donna stepped aside and waited while Hersius fetched a flask of the liquid. 

 

“Open your mouth, Cassie,” said Hersius. 

 

I did as I was told. The slave wine is bitter and disgusting, but I drank it, holding my breath as best I could to minimise the foul taste. It is created from the Sip root and serves to render a woman infertile. Within a day, I would be incapable of being pregnant. Another betrayal on the part of the Lady Donna. She knew my one hope for the future was children. It didn’t matter. I would be dead soon, anyway.

 

If possible, I would kill her before taking my own life, but I thought the chance was remote. The Lady Donna was far more experienced than me when it came to fighting, and I doubted I could surprise her with a bladed weapon. But still, if the opportunity presented itself.

 

“How long before she is infertile?” asked the Lady Donna.

 

“It varies from slave to slave. We normally recommend waiting twenty ahn before putting a slave to use, but usually the slave wine takes effect within half a day or less.”

 

“I wouldn’t want any accidents when she’s walking the street,” remarked the Lady Donna. “You know what men are like.”

 

“Of course. Slave rape is a common enough occurrence in the back streets, though she would be safe enough on the main thoroughfares. Usually it is the fault of the slaves, as they put themselves before men and beg use.”

 

“They are sluts,” remarked the Lady Donna.

 

“They are, indeed.”

 

“Stand up, girl. Bracelets position.”

 

I stood with my wrists crossed behind my lower back, still looking straight ahead as the Lady Donna inspected her new slave.

 

“She needs firm exercise and diet,” she remarked, running a hand across my rump. “Too much lazy living when she was free.”

 

“I agree,” remarked Hersius. “Her figure will be trim in three weeks if you follow the instructions we have offered.”

 

“Do you wish a garment, Cassie?” asked the Lady Donna.

 

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

She handed me a small folded cloth which was of course a brief slave tunic, white and clingy. It was of course better than being naked. I pulled the garment down about my body about as far as it might go. I was aware that my nipples were only too obvious through the thinness of the material. 

 

“She has good breasts,” suggested Hersius. “Diet and exercise does little to improve those, so her natural shape is important there.”

 

“I think it is time to take you home, Cassie.”

 

We left the slaver compound and entered the streets of central Vonda. I walked slightly ahead of the Lady Donna, un-leashed, as she preferred to watch me for any sign of disobedience. Men gazed at me of course as I walked, and Free Women glared. The slave tunic does much to enhance the beauty of a slave, as does the collar about her throat.

 

“Do you like the attention, Cassie?” 

 

“No, Mistress.”

 

But that was not completely true. Now and then I noticed a man staring particularly intently as I walked past him, and I could read the lust on his face as he considered what he might do to me if he had the chance. Occasionally I felt something of a thrill as I was walked this way, past men who seemed to be strong and virile. It was hard not to notice them now that I wore a collar and a brand. Slavery makes a girl more aware of her sexuality, and she becomes more responsive to the gaze and attention of a man.

 

“Can you imagine them touching you?”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

 

“Such a slut.” The Lady Donna indicated that we would stop at a nearby street café. We took our places out on the pavement in the open air, with the Lady kneeling beside a vacant table. I knelt close to her, no doubt expected to see to her needs. I watched and listened as she ordered Bazi tea for one, and, after some reflection, a sugared pastry for me.

 

“You have suffered an acute shock this morning. The sugar rush will help. I suppose you hate me now?” she asked as she sipped her tea and motioned that I could taste the pastry.

 

“Are you going to whip me if I speak the truth?” I eyed the pastry, but did not touch it, despite my hunger. I had missed out on breakfast, and the drama and terror of this day had increased my appetite. 

 

“No, here in this café you have permission to speak freely. Once we leave it you will be under normal slave discipline and will be punished if you displease me, so if there is anything you want to say, now is the time, while you can.”

 

“Why? Why did you do this to me?”

 

“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. You could be beaten for it.”

 

I gazed at the table, sullenly. I imagined gouging her eyes out, one at a time, with a blunt spoon. 

 

“But I will permit the one question. You’re referring to your branding?”

 

“Yes. How could you do this to me? We were friends.”

 

“I did it because we are friends. You should thank me.”

 

“Thank you?!” Was she mad? Did she even remotely think I wanted this?

 

“On Earth we have a myth that we call the Sword of Damocles. It originates from Greek legend, so there may be a similar tale in Gorean culture as your background dates back to that time. In the tale, Damocles was pandering to his king, Dionysius, telling him that he was truly fortunate as a great man of power and authority without peer, surrounded by magnificence. In response, Dionysius offered to switch places with Damocles for one day so that Damocles could taste that very fortune first hand. Damocles quickly and eagerly accepted the king's proposal. Damocles sat on the king's throne, surrounded by countless luxuries. There were beautifully embroidered rugs, fragrant perfumes and the most select of foods, piles of silver and gold, and the service of attendants unparalleled in their beauty, surrounding Damocles with riches and excess. But Dionysius, who had made many enemies during his reign, arranged that a sword should hang above the throne, held at the pommel only by a single hair of a horse's tail to evoke the sense of what it is like to be king: though having much fortune, always having to watch in fear and anxiety against dangers that might try to overtake him. Damocles finally begged the king that he be allowed to depart because he no longer wanted to be so fortunate, realizing that with great fortune and power comes also great danger.” 

 

I reached at last for the pastry and placed it between my teeth. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

 

“Your slave papers are your very own Sword of Damocles. At any moment they could spell your doom. I came up with a solution. I had you branded with a kef, and the brand is now recorded on all copies of your papers, or soon will be.”

 

She is mad, I thought to myself. How is that supposed to help me?

 

“I will not live like this. Just so that you know. I will take my own life.”

 

“Oh? Easy to say, Cassie. Possibly easy to do in the heat of your absolute terror, acting on impulse when your natural survival instinct is subsumed by your fear, but not nearly so easy to do in the cold light of day when you kneel in a café, biting small pieces of a sugared pastry.”

 

“You think I won’t?”

 

“I know you won’t. Not right away. Not now. Maybe if something truly terrible was to happen to you, but, no, probably not even then, for girls acclimatise to slavery swiftly. Did you know that? There is something hard wired in your brains that helps you adapt to bondage and submit sooner rather than later to the collar and brand. If you are not able to take your own life now, because your present circumstances aren’t horrifying enough to overrule your survival instinct, then you won’t be able to do so later when slavery and bondage becomes your new normal.”

 

“I will never adapt to slavery. I will kill myself in the next twenty four hours.”

 

“Then kill yourself now. Here.” The Lady Donna drew a sharp knife from her belt and placed it on the table in front of me. “Slit your wrists open. You know how to do that. You know to cut lengthways, and not across.”

 

I gazed at the knife and then gazed at her.

 

“You want to kill me first, don’t you? Good. Good girl. But understand this - if you try and fail, I will have you placed in a slave box, like Emma was placed in the hole in the Tahari. I’m sure Brinn has told you how that moment scarred her for life.”

 

I flinched. Yes, that was something to fear. Continual agony with no end in sight.

 

“So, pick up the knife if you want. End your life, Free Woman. Or try to kill me, and suffer for an eternity, with no end in sight.”

 

I picked up the knife, still gazing at her. “Is this a trick?”

 

“I want to prove to myself that you want to live.”

 

I calmly placed the edge of the blade against my left wrist and held her gaze. “Then you are stupid. You think I won’t?”

 

“Occasionally I am wrong, but rarely so.”

 

I could not live with the brand. She had underestimated me. I would choose the path of honour.

 

“Good-bye, Donna. Tell my brother I died well.”

 

I hesitated. The knife blade pricked my skin. I couldn’t move it any further. 

 

“Not so easy, is it, little kajira?”

 

I tried again, but I couldn’t do it. 

 

“Put the knife away, slave.”

 

I placed the knife back down on the table.

 

“I wanted you to understand that, Cassie, so that we can move on. You are not going to kill yourself, because you believe the worst is over. You have a brand now. What follows is slavery, and part of you is not horrified enough by that prospect to want to die.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“A price I will have to bear for saving you, girl.”

 

“You haven’t saved me! You’ve made me a slave!”

 

“You already were a slave. All I have done is mark your thigh.”

 

“It is permanent!”

 

“No it isn’t.”

 

There was silence at the table for a moment. “What do you mean? It’s a brand. It won’t go away.”

 

Donna smiled and poured herself a little more tea. “What if I told you it would, and soon?”

 

“I would say you are mad. It’s impossible.” 

 

“Few things are impossible. You live on a world that was moved into its orbit around the sun by the will of the Priest Kings in an age so long ago that it is beyond mythical. Victor and I have worked for the Sardar for many years now. Our research is invaluable. It is fair to say we have earned a reward. I made a request for an item of Priest King technology that rarely leaves the Sardar mountains. It is a field kit, a medical kit, of sorts. Its purpose is to treat life threatening burns. It consists of a foam agent that can be applied to severe burns. You won’t understand the concept of nanobots, so I won’t try to explain them, but the foam contains nanobots and these microscopic particles are able to instruct your flesh to regenerate from the most severe burns imaginable, provided you are still alive. If it makes it easier, think of it as a magical spell. The foam was never created with the intention of healing a brand site, but it will work just as well in erasing a kef, as it would in saving the life of an agent of the Sardar. I have requested this foam, and it is going to be given to me. An agent of the Sardar is bringing it, as we speak. So you see, I can and will make your brand disappear.”

 

“But, why do this at all?”

 

“The Sword of Damcoles above your head, Cassie. The slave papers. At any moment they could be presented to the courts and you would be brought forward to answer to the allegation that you are the slave documented in the papers. Until now you would have had your toe and finger prints compared to the ones on the papers, and you would be recognised as a slave. But now the slave Cassie has been branded. The kef brand has been noted and witnessed by the House of Andronicus on your papers. Now all you need do is inform the court that a mistake has been made, that you are not the girl in question, and can easily prove the matter by having a court appointed physician check your thigh for a kef brand in private. Its absence means you will never need to show your finger prints. You will be safe.”

 

I must have looked astonished.

 

“Better the shock of what happened to you this morning, than living a lifetime in fear that one day your worst nightmare might come true. Now you need fear nothing from those slave papers, or, rather, once the brand is removed, you need fear nothing. And the agent will be here soon.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

 

“Because I know you, Cassie, you would have prevaricated, you would have put the moment off, possibly forever, or at least until it would be too late. Or you would have refused to go through with it. But also, I wanted you to know what it would be like to be a slave for real. Now you know. I told you this would be realistic.”

 

“You can really make this brand disappear?”

 

“With the nanobot foam, yes I can. Priest King science.”

 

Priest King sorcery.

 

“But in the meantime, there’s no way I can hide this from Simon.”

 

“You won’t need to. Your service as a kajira to me hasn’t even begun yet. One day and one night. You’re not going home, Cassie. Not until you have fulfilled what we agreed.”

 

I touched the steel collar about my throat. “There’s no need to go any further with this. Today was enough.”

 

Donna shook her head. “You’re long past the point where you get any say in when this ends. From the moment we step back out onto the street, this conversation ends and you will be treated from then on as the new girl to my household. Now, finish your pastry. We should be going.”