Kajirus of Gor Chapter Ten

 

It’s difficult to assess the period of time in which I lived, ate, and trained within the slave kennels of the House of Diamandis, for in those early days I suffered from acute culture shock as I made the difficult transition to the new reality that now governed my life. You lose track of the days and nights to begin with, as everything is new, and everything you say, do, or don’t say, or don’t do seems to be punished with the whip. Sometime later I began counting days in my head and managed to keep track of perhaps thirty of them. So more than a month, by Earth standards, had passed before I was summoned to a Free Woman’s chambers.

 

Yes, a Free Woman, not Iona pretending to be one. 

 

An actual Free Woman of Gor. 

 

I suppose there is only so far a training slave can go, in her pretence at being free.   

 

“You will serve Lady Kelapina in her office. She is a Free Woman, not a slave playing a role. Beware of disappointing her,” said Iona one night as I practised softly massaging her back as she lay on her belly on a wooden bench.

 

“Her office, Mistress?”

 

“She is a slaver. This is a slaver house. She has an office.”

 

I suppose I should have considered the possibility of the slavers themselves being women. Iona was a woman, but she was also a slave. I had perhaps thought the slavers themselves would be exclusively men, for the guards were all men. I don’t know why, but the thought of a woman being a slaver seemed strange to me. 

 

“Are many of the slavers women, Mistress?”

 

“Only three. And one of them has left the city. Only two remain. She will assess you. Do not disappoint her.”

 

I didn’t know what to expect. To date the only Free Women I had seen were those mysterious individuals who briefly assessed my body as I stood on display on a sales platform. I didn’t really count Chelsea Savannah Frick, for she was an Earth woman, and therefore incalculably different to the women of Gor. At least, that’s how I thought, back then. I now know that although there are cultural differences between the women of Earth and Gor, and many of those are significant, Goreans are the descendants of transplanted Earth men and women, and we share the same genetic makeup. In a sense, women are women, and men are men. These so called planetary differences are nothing more than social conditioning.

 

My impression at this time was that Gorean Free Women were fierce, uncompromising, very dominant, and perhaps a little cruel. You must understand I had never seen a Free Woman interact with a man before. I had only seen their approaches towards me, a silk slave in training.

 

In a similar fashion, my sole experience of Gorean slavery, aside from the untrained male slaves who shared my kennel pens, was Iona, and she too seemed dominant. Again, I had not yet seen a Goran kajira express her needs and feelings, her abject submission, before a man of Gor. 

 

I was blinded, perhaps, to the true role of women on this planet. And I had yet to experience the nature of male dominance towards the fairer sex. 

 

I was ordered to wash myself and then Iona perfumed my body with a scented sponge. It was a pleasant smell of sandalwood and spicy high notes that were vaguely familiar from good quality aftershave for men. I was given a clean white tunic that was sleeveless, and Iona combed my hair which had not been cut since I had come to Gor. 

 

“Do not come back to me with fresh whip marks on your back, Roland. If you do, I shall add whip marks of my own.”

 

“Yes, Mistress.’ I had no doubt she would. And yet, Iona’s handling of me had softened slightly in the last week or so. She was still forceful and strict and would not hesitate to use her switch, but she wasn’t wantonly cruel for the sake of it. Provided I obeyed, provided I showed submissive respect, provided I acted every inch the Gorean silk slave, she acted reasonably towards me. I later learned that the common cruelty of Earth is less evident on Gor. Gorean men in particular do not have the Earth mindset of inflicting pain and suffering for no reason. They will punish you harshly, yes, but there is usually a reason for doing so.

 

I gazed down at the slender figure of Iona as she stood before me, inspecting my clean, scented body. “You know what to do? How to act? What to say, and what not to say?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

 

“Good.” She almost seemed proud of me. She touched my thigh with her whip. “Take pride in this accomplishment, Roland. I recommended you, not Dexter.”

 

I smiled. That was almost a compliment. 

 

“Not Dexter?”

 

“Dexter is not ready to serve a Free Woman of this house. He would be whipped.”

 

Score one for me, for all that was worth. But I immediately felt stupid for smiling, for taking a moment of pride in my so called accomplishments. All it meant was that Iona felt I was a more servile man than Dexter. Way to go, me. 

 

I must stress again that until now Iona was the only female slave I had encountered, and my view of her naturally enough was that she was anything but submissive. Perhaps I felt that this was typical of slave girls in general, at least in front of male slaves. 

 

Iona took me through a series of corridors and into an administrative area of the slaver house that I had never seen before. There she guided me to the chambers of the Lady Kelapina. I found her in a wide and spacious chamber, decorated with potted plants in ornate ceramic tubs, resting on a clean, tiled floor. There was a central mosaic on the floor of the chamber, and the walls were painted in warm Mediterranean tones. The Lady herself sat at a desk, surrounded by paperwork, and she was talking to a man of her caste who sat opposite her. Aside from a slight glance in my direction when I entered, neither of the Goreans paid much attention to me.

 

“Kneel and wait,” whispered Iona as she removed the leash from the slave ring on my collar, and coiled the thin leather around her wrist. I did as she ordered, kneeling with my thighs parted, in the manner of a silk slave. Iona then left. 

 

I was privy to the conversation going on, as Goreans think little of speaking before slaves. It strikes me that because of this, a slave would probably make for an excellent spy in an important household. 

 

“The lower levels, perhaps?” said the Lady. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the women I had seen in the private sales area – long flowing gowns that were loose enough to disguise and conceal the lines of her body, but she wore no hood – it was brushed back - and her veiling was lighter than I was used to seeing. I would later come to understand that the veiling of a woman differs depending on whether she is with strangers, with friends and associates, or indeed, in her own private home. Lady Kelapina’s veiling was less severe because she was in her own chambers, speaking with a man whom she knew. Even so, there were still veils. She would wish for some kind of curtain between her lips and the gaze of this man. But the veiling was not so severe that it was not possible to determine the outline of her bone structure, to make out the shape of those lips, and the curve of her chin and jaw line. 

 

“They haven’t been used for years,” said the man. “There is water damage from the monsoon rains that has never been cleared. But, yes, we could house another fifty or sixty girls down there.” He pointed at some schematics that lay on the table. It was a scroll, weighted down on both sides. 

 

“We will need the space. We will have little warning when the first of the Corcyrian women are delivered. Any news from the frontier?”

 

The man rubbed his chin. He seemed of two minds about what he had heard, and what he should disclose. “The official news is good, but I have also heard some troubling rumours from itinerant travellers. These rumours suggest the conflict may be more evenly matched than the official reports suggest.”

 

“Surely not” Lady Kelapina made some swift, decisive, markings on the scroll. “The army of Corcyrus has been severely restricted by our decrees for decades. It has been limited to a fraction of its former size before the Silver Wars.”

 

“Perhaps. I have heard stories of the Corcyrians training young men in secret in outlying farms and villages. On land belonging to their villas. It may be nothing, but I sense they have the capacity to call up unofficial reserves of young men who may not be totally ignorant of the art of war.”

 

“Bu they are not professional soldiers. They will simply be a militia rabble, poorly disciplined, eager to return to the safety of their homes when the fighting becomes fierce.”

 

“Perhaps that is true.” 

 

“So, little match for our legions.”

 

“Perhaps.” But it seemed to me that the Gorean slaver wasn’t reassured by Lady Kelapina’s words. 

 

“You’ll laugh at your foolishness when the first coffles of barefoot girls arrive in the city. When Lady Amicia delivers her first captives. She is well placed to select the very best plunder.”

 

“I suppose. Though, remember, Corcyrus has a new Tatrix, now. She is surprisingly popular, it seems, with her citizens. She does not follow the same appeasement policy of her predecessor, the Tatrix Oriana; she who superseded the unpopular Sheila who ruled during the time of the Silver Wars.”

 

“So they have a new Tatrix. A new woman serving as a figurehead on the throne. So what?”

 

“She seems… belligerent towards our peace treaty. Did you know this year’s levy has not been paid? It is nearly two months’ late.”

 

Iona had of course spoken to me about the matter of the Levy, so I knew it amounted to one hundred beautiful Corcyrian women, to be raised by public lottery each year.

 

“A misunderstanding, perhaps?” suggested Lady Kelapina. “An administrative error?”

 

“I am not so sure it is. This new Tatrix, Aliyyah Mercator, she has apparently told her people that no further Corcyrian women will submit to the collar of Argentum.”

 

“She is clearly insane.”

 

“Perhaps.” 

 

“At the very least, grossly overconfident. This year’s levy will be twice the usual figure if she breaks the treaty. And it will include intimate members of her court. Surely she knows this? Surely we have warned her?”

 

“She doesn’t seem to care.”

 

“Madness. She will be dragged screaming and naked from her throne room if she defies us, and she will be collared on the steps of her own palace, if she doesn’t seek clemency for her actions.”

 

“They say…”

 

“What do they say, Argastus?”

 

“It is of course but slanderous gossip, meant to demean her character, but I have it on authority that she was once but a common thief in Port Kar.”

 

“Ridiculous. No such woman could rise to the position of Tatrix. Not even in Corcyrus.”

 

“You are right, of course. But still, the rumours persist.”

 

Lady Kelapina laughed in a mocking tone. “It is, as you say, artful slander meant to demean her position. Who would take her seriously, once such a rumour spread?”

 

“Her people seem to take her seriously. It is said she inspires much love and devotion throughout the city. Oriana was not popular with the rabble, despite our unofficial support of her regime. Some say the men and women of Corcyrus now feel they have a Tatrix they can be proud of.”

 

“She will not seem so grand or proud or regal when the white hot kef is burned into her left thigh and she cries the words of self-enslavement.”

 

“Of course. It is only a matter of time, I suppose.” Argastus turned round and glanced at me, kneeling, gazing down at the tiled floor. He seemed to dislike the sight of me for some reason. It was as if I was somehow an insult to his sex.

 

“I see you will be busy this afternoon,” he remarked, turning back to Lady Kelapina.

 

“An assessment, nothing more,” She said, in a brisk, business like tone, though she declined to meet his enquiring gaze.

 

“You have a potential buyer for him, then?” The man seemed curious.

 

“Perhaps.” Lady Kelapina looked up. “I know you don’t approve, Argastus, but you know as well as I do that we make far more money on a well-trained silk slave, then any squirming kajira. Business is business.”

 

“They’re pathetic,” said Argastus, with a sneer. 

 

“I don’t know.” The Lady gazed at me for a moment. “He seems strong. He is tall, handsome, I suppose. He has broad shoulders.”

 

“And submissive. Like all his people.”

 

“So, ripe then, for our collars,” said the Lady, with a veiled smile. “Surely you do not expect me to train Gorean men as silk slaves? Why take the hard road.”

 

“Business is business,” agreed the man as he rose from the desk. “I will leave you then, to your… assessment.”

 

“My assessment,” she said, as if the word was actually quite innocent.

 

Argastus refused to look at me as he left the chambers. And then, to my surprise, the Lady simply ignored me, and turned her attention instead to some paperwork. 

 

Time moved slowly as I continued to kneel there. But after ignoring me completely for a while, I began to notice Lady Kelapina occasionally raise her eyes to regard me as I knelt by the far wall. Her curiosity began to outweigh any wish to appear disinterested. Did she like what she saw? I had no way of knowing. The only fully trained silk slave I had encountered in this place was Farouq, and while he was clearly far prettier than I, there was something almost feminine about his mannerisms. Is that what a Gorean Free Woman looked for in a silk slave, or did she secretly prefer a man such as me?

 

When she happened to look at me again for the fifth time, I knew she was possibly more interested than she was letting on. After a time, she seemed to grow tired with the papers littering her desk. She brushed the remaining ones aside and stood up, casually smoothing down the lines of her dress with soft gloved hands. She stretched her arms slightly, allowing a small yawn to escape her lips as she then paced about the room to where a jug of water and some cups might be found. She poured a cup of water, lifting her veil to place the rim to her lips, and then turned back to regard me again.

 

“What is your name, slave?’

 

“Roland, Mistress, if it pleases you.”

 

She nodded. She didn’t seem displeased with my name. 

 

“You are to be assessed. There will be a display of your serves, but more than that, I will assess how you respond and comport yourself on the couch.”

 

My pulse quickened. The couch.

 

“You have not had an intimate encounter with a Free Woman before, have you, Roland?”

 

Of course I had. I was hardly a virgin. I had enjoyed many women.

 

“I have been with women before, Mistress,” I said, hoping I wasn’t breaking some rule by contradicting her.

 

She smiled beneath her veil. “I think you misunderstand.” She walked softly across the tiled floor, the petite toes of her slippers peeking out from the long folds of her gown. “No doubt you have shared intimacies with girls from your home world, but they are not Free Women. They are uncollared slaves. You understand the difference?”

 

It was then that I began to understand the distinction that Goreans draw between their own women and the women of Earth. 

 

“The girls of your planet court the collar. They dress in a fashion that begs enslavement, even going so far as to routinely pierce their own ears. They beg ravishment by their men, and are frustrated by the inadequacies of those men. They yearn for true masters. No, Roland, you have only known crude intimacies with uncollared slaves. Today, this afternoon, a Free Woman will make use of you.”

 

Despite myself, I began to grow excited. I had been without sex for a long time, and this was a very sexual planet. And it occurred to me then that by this definition, Miss Chelsea Savannah Frick might be classed not as a Free Woman, with all the rights and dignities that implied, but rather as an uncollared slave. 

 

Interesting. 

 

It seemed then that the Lady suddenly realised an omission on my part. “You didn’t bring ka-la-na, did you?”

 

I knew that was the name for Gorean wine, and that it came in many different strengths. Commonly, Free Women drink ka-la-na during the day, in place of water, for a fermented drink is generally safer in a low technological era, but the ka-la-na served during the day to women is weak, low in alcohol. A Free Woman does not wish to appear drunk, or conduct herself in front of men while under the influence of strong wine.

 

“I wasn’t instructed to, Mistress.”

 

“An oversight. You will need ka-la-na for when you display your serves to me. No matter. I will have some brought to this room by a kajira.” She walked past me, and as she did so, the long hem of her gown briefly brushed my thigh. It was an exciting feeling, now that I knew that this slight woman was going to couple with me in some fashion. The touch of her hem against my bare skin seemed to be a prelude for what would follow.

 

Kelapina opened her heavy door and spoke softly to a man down the corridor, no doubt instructing him to send for a flask of ka-la-na.

 

“A girl will be here soon,” she remarked as she paced back towards her desk. 

 

“Yes, Mistress.” Iona had been the only one I had encountered so far. This other girl would no doubt be a serving girl as opposed to a trainer. It would be interesting to observe how she compared in her demeanour to Iona.   

 

I think the Lady Kelapina was acting aloof, disinterested, but from time to time I noticed the way she happened to glance at my body. I wore the slave tunic, but there was no mistaking my athletic build. I think she liked what she saw. 

 

“You understand, Roland, that if you do not perform well, I shall whip you?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

 

“Do not think I am an easy woman to please. I will no doubt find you clumsy, impersonal, unrefined. You are a man of Earth, after all. You will serve and act precisely in accordance with my instructions. Understand, that I am putting you to use. Any pleasure you may happen to receive from this encounter is largely irrelevant. It is my pleasure that is important.” She walked toward a small window that had heavy iron bars set into the stone work on the outside. Although it was no doubt a standard defence, it gave the false impression that this well-furnished chamber was in fact a prison cell. In time I would come to understand that Free Women routinely lived in quarters where the windows were narrow and often barred. Women on Gor live their lives under the threat of abduction. While such a thing is infrequent, it has been known for daring young Tarnsmen from neighbouring cities to conduct aerial raids with the intention of taking women for sport and pleasure. The woman, when taken, is usually caried high into the clouds, where she is secured, and her garments stripped from her body. The jubilant Tarnsmen will then often scatter those garments across the city streets before heading home with his prize now squirming, tied across his saddle. 

 

I watched as Lady Kelapina gazed out through her narrow aperture, watching the courtyard or street below. I had no idea whether the narrow window offered a vantage point to the city outside the slaver compound, or whether it faced inwards onto private property. The fingers of her right hand briefly touched the iron bars, and as she did so she looked to me like some rich captive in a gothic romance. 

 

There was a knock on the door that interrupted my train of thoughts.

 

“Enter,” said Lady Kelapina, without gazing round 

 

A guard in the corridor outside swung the door open and, as I looked up, a slave girl entered, carrying a flask of ka-la-na wine. 

 

How beautiful she looked! I stared in amazement as possibly the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in all my life walked gracefully into Lady Kelapina’s chambers. She was briefly attired in a soft silken tunic, with bangles about her ankles and wrists. Her breasts, her hips, the curves of her buttocks, all were emphasised rather than hidden by her sole garment, which after all was designed to draw attention to a girl’s body. 

 

Yes, Iona was a slave, but her fierceness, her dominance, robbed her of much of the sensual grace of this girl who had been trained to move as nature surely intended a woman to move. She wore a steel collar around her throat, and like Iona’s, it was surely locked in place. If you have never seen a Gorean slave girl before, then I’m afraid you’ve never seen the true potential of a woman. And now I gazed properly on my first sight of a submissive slave girl. My God – where had women like this been all my life? Why had I never seen a woman like this before on Earth? How had I lived so long in ignorance of what a steel collar and a kef brand could do to a girl’s body? 

 

If I sound like I was overcome with emotion, please remember that this was only the second slave girl I had ever seen on Gor, and the sight of her brought an involuntary gasp to my lips. 

 

And then, she in turn saw me. The girl almost spilled the wine she was carrying, as she let out a cry of surprise, and her hands fumbled with the flask, catching hold of it in time.

 

For I was looking at no ordinary kajira. I was now staring in shocked disbelief at my first sight of Felicity Emery as a semi-trained Gorean slave girl. 

 

Branded.

 

Collared.

 

And impossibly beautiful.