Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

 

Day 14 on the journey to the Northern Forests

 

I had never seen so many slaves before, at least not in one place. Everywhere I looked there were kajirae going about the marketplace, shopping for their masters, or simply scurrying past, barefoot, on errands. They all wore collars, short skirted tunics - sleeveless, of course, like my own – and seemed comfortable in their surroundings. What I rarely saw was Free Women. There was one – a lone woman who hurried past with short, quick steps, bundled up in her layers of robes and veils, but she did not walk with the usual confidence of the Free Women I would see in my own city of Vonda. No, she seemed only too aware of how heavily outnumbered she was by kajirae in this city. A lone Free Woman in the midst of eighty or so kajirae is a strange sight to behold. Some of the kajirae watched her hurry past, and they laughed amongst themselves, sensing her vulnerability perhaps. Surprisingly, the Free Woman made no attempt to admonish these laughing kajirae. Perhaps she had tried in the past, but had quickly learned how futile any such interaction might be. For the men in the market square gazed at her in much the same way that the kajirae did – as an oddity, one rarely seen, and one only barely tolerated.

 

“An interesting sight, don’t you think?” asked Sadric. The market place stood in the shadows of several large residential cylinders that were linked together by multiple walkways on various levels reaching high above the ground. As was common in most cities, the walkways had no hand rails, meaning a man or woman would fall to his or her death if their feet strayed too far either side. The cylinders were a glorious sight, painted in vibrant colours with bright pennants flying from various levels, but the walkways were probably best avoided by anyone who might suffer from vertigo. 

 

“I have never seen anything like it, Master. Is she afraid of the slaves?”

 

The Free Woman seemed noticeably nervous around them.

 

“I think so. Look.” Sadric pointed to a couple of kajirae who followed the Free Woman, deliberately imitating and mocking her short quick steps, as she was unable to take long strides in the tight confines of her ankle length gowns. They waddled comically after her, laughing, calling out in a way that would earn them a terrible whipping in Vonda at the very least.

 

“Beautiful, gracious Mistress!” cried a slave. “You are in such a hurry! Tarry awhile. Grace us with your presence!”

 

The Free Woman stumbled and lost a few apples from her shopping basket. She wanted to leave the busy market square sooner rather than later.

 

“She is probably too ugly to be enslaved,” said one kajira to another. “What do you think, Master? Perhaps she has a hair lip and drools?” The girl called out to a passing man. I noticed that like all the men here, he had two yellow cords, each eighteen inches long, thrust over his belt. 

 

“Perhaps,” replied the man as he regarded the Free Woman. “But leave her be. She is a Free Woman. For what that is worth.”

 

And that was it. No whipping. No defending the Free Woman beyond those few words. 

 

I saw the Free Woman’s way blocked by a scurry of slave girls who pretended to be busy directly in front of her. The Free Woman was trapped between market stalls, with more kajirae scurrying towards her from the other end of the market street.

 

“Please let me pass,” she cried. “I command you! Leave me be! Filthy sluts!”

 

The slaves began laughing.

 

“Let her pass,” said a man, though his voice made it sound like he was irritated he had to intervene on the behalf of the woman – almost as if she was a nuisance that he could do without today, and he was only reluctantly helping her pass because he was expected to do so. 

 

The slaves made a big show of separating just widely enough that the Free Woman might slide with difficulty through their ranks. She almost tripped as a kajira ‘accidentally’ stuck out her foot, which annoyed the man even more.

 

“Behave!” he snarled. “Or I will lay a whip down around you all.” But still, it sounded like he had better things to do with his time, and this was a great inconvenience to him. 

 

It was like a game to the kajirae, and they pretended great concern for the Free Woman as she cried and slid through the ranks of girls who now accidentally jostled her as she tried to pass. One girl pinched the woman’s thigh with her fingers when the man wasn’t looking, making the woman yelp, and then she was through and she hurried on back to her home, where she could no doubt close and bolt the doors.

 

We stood close to the centre of the market place, close to a large bronze statue of a fallen, half crouching Free Woman, her upper gowns torn from her body, exposing her luscious breasts. She looked startled, terrified, one hand flat on the ground, the other arm bent at the elbow, as if she was about to lift herself from the ground, only to think better of it as a bronze figure of a man loomed over her, snarling in anger. In his hand were two cords, and on the ground, fallen from the woman’s face, was her broken mask of authority. The plinth was inscribed with the words ‘The Liberation’.   

 

We were in Tharna, once a female dominated city that had been ruled by the cruel Silver Masked women, before Tarl Cabot had led an uprising in the year 10,117 CA. Since that day Tharna has not been kind to Free Women, and there are few of them left. 

 

The City of Tharna has a fierce reputation amongst circles of Free Women from other cities. We all knew of it, but few of us would even consider going there. It was a tale told quietly to scare one another at afternoon salons – a tale by which we might gasp in dismay at the thought of what would be done to us if we found ourselves within that city. But too, I think sometimes we would discuss Tharna to secretly fantasise what about might be done to us within that city. 

 

“You have never been to Tharna before?” asked Sadric.

 

“Of course not, Master. I was not alive during the reign of the Silver Masks, and I would not dare travel there since the revolution.”

 

“Since the liberation,” said Sadric.

 

“Is that what it was?” I moved closer to him as a pair of chattering slaves passed by. “A liberation?”

 

“Indeed. For both men and women.”

 

Tharna was once like any other Gorean city, but, over many generations, unusually for Gor, a strange evolution of customs evolved leading in time to a system of female dominance becoming the cultural norm within the city walls. As this happened, women improved their station in life, gaining social and economic power and, since the women of Tharna also controlled the education and conditioning of the city’s children, they began to exercise this power to condition future generations of young boys and girls to accept female domination as the expected norm, elevating the position of women even further. After several generations of this, Tharna eventually became a gynocracy: a city ruled exclusively by women. And as the position of women rose, the position of men consequently fell. Men began to see themselves as crude beasts, inferior to women, and were taught from an early age to despise themselves, for they were not given the grace and design that a woman enjoys from birth.

 

“It was a sick city, diseased and dying,” said Sadric. “It went against all the laws of nature. Men had surrendered their birthright and women hated them for it.”

 

The city in those days was ruled by a cruel Tatrix. She wore a gold mask shaped like a beautiful but cold face and her Robes of Concealment were also gold in colour. The other women in the city wore similar masks though their masks were made of silver. Free women walked unattended, with no need for bodyguards, for no man dared to so much as touch a woman. 

 

The city in those days was said to be grim and dismal, lacking the usual joy of other cities. The streets were quiet, with men scared to speak loudly or out of turn, for fear of a woman’s wrath. The cylinders were squat ugly things, broader than those in other cities, and painted in drab uniform greys. There were no inns or paga taverns, only the occasional place to purchase kal-da, which is a hot drink made from diluted ka-la-na wine mixed with citrus juices and stinging spices. Caste colours, usually worn proudly, were only present as a small patch on the shoulder of a uniformly grey tunic.

 

And then came the revolution that overthrew the rule of the Silver Masked women.  

 

“A glorious day it was,” said Sadric. “And now look! Tharna is alive and full of health.”

 

We all know of the changes, for Tharna is now once again controlled by men, and the men have not forgotten their period of subjugation at the hands of their Free Women. The biggest change is of course the status of women in Tharna. Today there are almost no Free Women in the city, and almost all of the slaves are native-born in the city, for Tharna rarely imports slaves or sells them. Following the liberation of the city, the women were rounded up and given six months grace in which they could seek out a man and beg Free Companionship, but with the warning that if the man refused to accept the offer of companionship, he was legally entitled to collar the woman if he found her of interest. At the expiration of the six months, any woman lacking a Free Companion was then fair game and could be collared and enslaved by any man who set eyes on her. As you can imagine, few women were Free Companioned, and over the decades since 10,117 CA, that number has grown smaller and smaller with each passing year, as companionships were not always renewed.  

 

“Only a fool would take a woman of Tharna as a companion, when he could instead take her as a slave. But I suppose there are still some fools in the city, for there are still a few Free Women.”

 

“But so few?” I said.

 

“Very few. And as you saw, Cassie, only grudgingly protected by their menfolk. Many decades have passed since Tarl liberated the city, but not so many decades that memories have grown dull. The kajirae sensed this long ago, and now in Tharna it is the Free Women who must tread carefully.”

 

I had been told that slavery in Tharna is said to be the strictest of all cities, save perhaps Port Kar, and yet wherever I looked I saw collared women who seemed happy. How could this be?

 

“The answer is simple. What do slaves fear most?” asked Sadric.

 

His hand was on my bottom, stroking upwards under my ever-so short skirt. It was delightful!

 

“Many things, Master. The whip, obviously.” I placed the palms of my hands on his chest. “But you know that.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Oh, but we fear that so much!” I shook my head, enjoying the feeling of my long hair brushing my shoulders.

 

He laughed and nodded. “What else, slave?”

 

“Free Women, Master.”

 

“Yes,” Sadric smiled. “Free Women. So can you imagine what a relief it must be for your collared sisters in Tharna to have no reason to fear Free Women anymore? Because there are so few of them, and because those that remain live under the shadow of the collar, knowing that their companion might grow tired of their petulance and enslave them at any moment?”

 

To be mastered by a strong man, and to not fear Free Women? That was the life slaves had in Tharna! 

 

“The proportion of kajirae with personal masters in Tharna is the highest by far in any city of Gor. As there are so few Free Women, and so many slaves, men routinely own their own girls.”

 

“I had no idea, Master. There are so few Free Women?”

 

“There are possibly more than might be apparent, my lovely slut. Do not forget what happens to a Free Woman from another city when she passes through the gates of the city.

 

Of course. Sadric referred to the fact that Free Women from other cities, upon entering Tharna, must temporarily don collars, slave tunics and leashes, to be worn during their stay. They would still technically be free, but they would be indistinguishable from the city kajirae. Understandably, few women would ever agree to visit the city, but I suppose there might be a few who, for whatever reason, had to accompany their men folk on business. 

 

“Master, there is a third thing that slaves fear,” I said as I brushed close to him again.

 

“Oh?”

 

“We fear being freed.” I smiled softly as I gazed up at him.

 

“The paradox that is women,” said Sadric. “When you are free you fear the collar and brand, but when you are enslaved…”

 

“Then we grow to love our collars!” I said, pressing my face to his chest. “If the collar belongs to a strong man who gives us no choice but to wear it.”

 

“Can you remove it?”

 

“No, it is locked on me! I do not have the key. Only a man can remove it.”

 

“Indeed. And this one will not.”

 

“Beast!” I kissed him, lifting myself up on tip-toes.  

 

“But you will be freed by others, more foolish than me.”

 

“Yes.” I gazed up at him, begging a kiss, which he granted me. “I will!”

 

“And then?”

 

“Then I will be free again, of course. And I will despise you for allowing them to free me. For being so weak that you could not keep me in your collar.”

 

“Be careful what you say, Cassie,” said Sadric. “No man likes to be called weak.”

 

I tossed my head. “Of course. But a man who is weak is not truly a man, is he?”

 

“I warn you, girl!” He seized my wrists and held me before him. “Bide your tongue.”

 

“When I have killed your governor, you will be forced to free me, and when you do I will return in my fine gowns and veils and laugh at you for letting other men take me from you! Oh, how I will mock you!”

 

And then, without warning I was pushed up into a doorway, my short skirt thrust quickly up around my hips as Sadric parted my legs and took me for his pleasure. “Yes…” I cried out. My back was pressed against the rough stone wall, and so I lifted my legs and crossed my ankles around his waist as he entered me.

 

It was a short, savage, powerful coupling and after Sadric was spent, after he let my feet touch the ground again, he glared at me in warning. “Do not ever call me weak again. What you mistake for weakness is duty. That is all. Insult me again and I will have you whipped out here on the street. Now heel me, slave.”

 

And so I did, pulling the hem of my short skirt back down about my thighs as we ventured further into the city. 

 

I heeled my Master. 

 

For I wore his collar.

 

And it felt glorious.

 

We found Marissa where we had left her, chained safely by her collar to a public hitching post. She did not look happy We had been gone for several ahn, after all. 

 

“You left me here!” she pouted. The post had another girl chained to it as well. She had not been there when we had left Marissa on her own. 

 

I found it interesting that Sadric had wanted my company as he strolled through the streets of Tharna, but not Marissa’s. He had not put her to use in all the time he had owned me, and I think he had not used her before then either. He had often allowed Marissa to conduct herself as a Free Woman in veils and robes, despite her kef brand. The relationship remained a strange one as far as I was concerned. But since we had left Vonda, Marissa had worn a slave’s tunic and she had forfeited her treatment as a Free Woman. That is not to say Sadric was particularly strict with her. He treated Marissa as if she might be a Free Woman who was, for whatever reason, forced to wear a collar and tunic. 

 

I, on the other hand, was treated purely as a slave. He left me in no doubt I was a slave. Sadric was young, but he knew how to master a woman. 

 

“You are well?” asked Sadric as he gazed down at Marissa.

 

“I’m bored,” she said. “I’ve had nothing to do all afternoon, except watch people coming and going.”

 

“That sounds relaxing. I see you have a friend.” He indicated the other slave who stood, chained to the post alongside Marissa.

 

“Tal, Master,” said the girl.

 

“Tal, lovely one.” His eyes roved over the girl’s body and he seemed to like what he saw. I moved closer to my Master and placed my hand on his upper arm, possessively, making it clear to the girl the arrangement here. Our eyes met and we stared hard at one another for several ihn, not blinking.

 

“You could have taken me with you!” said Marissa.

 

“I could have.” 

 

“When am I to be given robes and veils again?” Marissa’s feet were bare and dusty. Her hair was worn loose, just as a slave would wear it. Anyone who looked at her would assume she was a slave. The slave chained beside Marissa now seemed to pick up from the conversation that Marissa must in fact be a foreign Free Woman forced by law to wear a collar and tunic while in the city.  

 

“I have told you why you are travelling with me as a slave. It would complicate our journey if you were dressed as a Free Woman. A man travelling with two kajirae attracts less attention and can move more quickly. Think of our mission. Think of your duty to the Sardar.”

 

It was telling that I had never heard Marissa speak the word ‘master’ when addressing Sadric. Did she truly believe she was a still a Free Woman? Even though a kef was branded deep into her left thigh? 

 

“You shouldn’t leave me like this! Anything might have happened to me!”

 

I don’t think Marissa had been in any particular danger. She wore a private collar, and the hitching post was in a public square. Goreans are usually respectful of other people’s property. It was unlikely, for example, that a passing man might have taken advantage of Marissa’s beautiful body. Well, not in a public place, anyway. Had Marissa been secured in some narrow side alley, perhaps well away from the main thoroughfares, things might have been different, but here in the public square she would be left unmolested. 

 

Sadric lifted a third length of collar chain from the hitching post and, before I realised what he was doing, locked it with a sharp click to my own collar ring. I was now secured to the hitching post, too.

 

“Master?” The length of chain was as short as Marissa’s was, meaning I could not move far from the ring. 

 

“You have some more company, now, Marissa. I’ll be gone a few more hours. Perhaps you and Cassie can take time to get to know each other better.”

 

“You can’t leave me again!” cried Marissa. “Not again!”

 

Sadric’s response was simply to tidy the tunic about her body, pulling the hem down her thighs a little further, and adjusting the v shape of the neckline so that her breasts weren’t quite so exposed. “I shall bring you back some candy.”

 

“Where are you going, Master?” I asked.

 

“Hush.” He touched my lips with his finger, motioning me to silence. “A little curiosity can be tolerated, but I do not have to account for my affairs to a slave. I will be back in a few ahn.”

 

And then he left, walking away from the market square. 

 

I glanced at Marissa. This was the first time I had been left alone with her, without Sadric being close by. “I think it’s about time you tell me what is going on,” I said. “Why does he treat you as a Free Woman, when you have a kef brand on your left thigh?”

 

“It’s none of your business,” she said. “I’m a Free Woman. You’re a slave.”

 

“You have a kef brand. I don’t see that you’re free. I know some of your story. My Free Companion, Simon, claimed you as a slave in Port Kar. He told me that much. He sold you the same day.”

 

Tears began to form in Marissa’s eyes as I said that.

 

“Yes! He sold me!” She clenched her fists. “I hate him! I hate them all! He claimed me, and Samos did not stop him. I risked my life for Samos and he just turned his back on me!” 

 

Marissa began crying again. By the Gods, did she never stop crying? The girl was sorely trying my patience. 

 

“My life is a nightmare now! I was branded! I have a kef on my thigh! I wear a collar!”

 

“So you are a slave?”

 

There were more tears from Marissa when I said that.  

 

“I want to know the full story.” I took hold of Marissa by her upper arms and turned her towards me. “Enough of this sulking and pouting and crying. It is pathetic. You will tell me what happened after Simon left you in the slaver house, and you will tell me now.”