Outcast of Gor Chapter Twenty Eight

 

While there are many occupations on Gor that are physically tiring, I can confirm that selling slave girls in a city market is not one of them.

 

“Buy me, Masters! Buy Iona and place me in your collar!” cried Iona as she moved seductively on her knees on a stone plinth that protruded from the centre of a cement shelf in the market of Kadriya, in the Kadriyan district of Corcyrus. She wore a steel collar and a steel ankle ring with a smaller ring welded to one side of it. Through this smaller ring was threaded a steel chain, padlocked in place, the other end terminating, similarly padlocked, at the slave ring set into the cement shelf. “Teach a wanton slut of Argentum what it is to be a slave to the strong, proud, men of Corcyrus! Make me kneel before you! Make me beg to kiss your feet! Whip me, strong masters, for I was the woman of your enemy! Put me to your service and take your revenge on the men of Argentum!”

 

Iona was of course the lovely black girl with the distinctive areola around her nipples. She was naked except for – and this was a clever idea of mine, for it attracted much attention – a long length of silk ribbon that encircled her slim waist and was then tied in front of her in a long floppy bow with long trailing ends that hung between her thighs. The white ribbon bow would both conceal and draw attention to the delights of her sex, which the strands might obscure, unless brushed aside, but would do so in the shape of enticing gift wrapping . The whiteness of the silk, furthermore, indicated subtly that Iona was white silk – a virgin, not yet opened by men. I had ascertained her virginity with my hand. 

 

“The women of Argentum are hot and needy!” she cried to a passing man who paused for a moment to gaze at the unique signature ribbon, with its ends trailing between her thighs as she knelt, and then of course noticed the distinctive pigmentation around her nipples, which in turn drew his eyes to her lovely breasts. “We writhe like the sluts we are before true men! Touch me, Master! Taste me, Master! Make me please you!”

 

I had written the script myself, and had personalised it for each girl. I was already getting jealous looks from the other slavers operating from similar cement shelves in the market of Kadriya, and already one such slaver had sent a man to buy some lengths of white ribbon for his own girls. Sadly I couldn’t copyright the idea.

 

“Those are lovely breasts,” said the man.

 

“Indeed they are,” I agreed, moving from the wall where I leaned, a bottle of water in my left hand, as it was a hot day in Corcyrus. “You’re looking at the lovely Iona – only recently a Free Woman of Isurium, but now a hot slut who will serve the men of Corcyrus, crawling to and licking their feet.” I motioned to the girl. “Turn, Iona, on your knees, palms flat on the plinth, raise your buttocks, lean forward, move seductively.”

 

She did all of this. I had put her through the paces many times and, when she had proven reluctant at first, I had whipped her flanks with a slave switch. Immediately afterwards she had strived to learn the movements perfectly. 

 

I watched as the man touched her rotating derriere and stroked her flanks as she moved. She cried out, helplessly,  as he slipped a finger into her sex and wiggled it. 

 

“Not too deep,” I warned. “She is white silk. As they say in Newark – if you break it, you buy it.” 

 

There was a soft cry of dismay from Bina to the left of the plinth. She was similarly secured on the cement shelf with a length of chain that was padlocked to an ankle ring on her left ankle. She shared the left hand shelf with Naja, the hot looking red head. Both their ankle rings were padlocked to a central slave ring set into the cement. On the right hand side of the shelf, Bina’s mother, Clara, knelt, similarly chained to the other ring set into the cement on that side. She shared the ring with the blonde Scandinavian girl, that I had named Ornah. They would turn and present themselves to passing men, changing positions at times, touching themselves and crying out with supposed slave heat. My stock was drawing a lot of attention in the market. 

 

“How much is this girl?” asked the man. He inserted a second finger into Iona and felt her body buck as he moved his fingers around.

 

“She was a former scribe,” I said. “She can read and write and she serves beautifully in the furs. And of course she has yet to be opened for the use of men. I’m looking for twenty six copper tarsks, which I feel is a bargain for a girl as vital and responsive as the lovely Iona.”

 

Shortly after entering the city and making general enquiries as to the best places I might find reasonable housing and where I might be able to set up a small business, I proceeded to the Kadriyan quarter where I rented a shelf in the slave square. The slave square is a wide plaza surrounded by relatively low buildings. The facings of these buildings have cement shelves, each one wide enough for girls to be positioned and chained as display items. For five copper tarsks a week I had use of a double shelf display with a stone plinth jutting out from the centre. My ‘girl of the day’ could be chained on the central plinth which was large enough for her to move about on her knees, displaying herself. The plinth stood out from the basic shelves, jutting forward close enough that men might easily touch and caress Iona as they passed by. The position of the girl on the plinth also draws potential customers to then move closer and examine the other girls I had chained on the left and right shelves.

 

The rental cost also paid for my own narrow doorway set into the wall beside the left hand shelf. Through that doorway was a narrow flight of stairs that led to a cement floored basement, approximately twelve feet by fourteen feet. The sides of the floor had iron slave rings set into the cement, and the floor was covered in reasonably fresh straw. It was where I would chain my stock at night for safe keeping. 

 

I set up business quickly. Although the coffle of girls had primarily been acquired to support my claim that I was a slaver, I also wished to make some money from them. I felt sure I had bought the girls very cheaply, and I stood to make a good return, even if I only sold two of them. 

 

“Twenty six copper tarsks is more than I feel she is worth,” remarked the man as he slipped his fingers free and wiped the oil of Iona’s body in her hair. “I could offer you ten.”

 

I laughed. 

 

“Ten is a reasonable price. There is a war, you know.”

 

“Apparently so,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “Examine her breasts more closely.”

 

The man gazed at those luscious black breasts, as I knew he would. He ran his hands over them and heard Iona cry out piteously as he played with her nipples. “She is very responsive to nipple stimulation,” he said.

 

“She certainly is,” I grinned, knowingly. “Do that for a few ehn and then touch her again.”

 

The man continued to stimulate her nipples and then slid his fingers back inside of her. She gasped, her body uncontrollably bucked, she gasped again, cried piteously, and pressed her sex hard against his hand. 

 

“Impressive,” said the man.

 

“I could go as low as twenty two copper tarsks,” I suggested, “but frankly she won’t be here on this plinth for very long. Other men have noticed her and have promised to return for a closer assessment.”

 

Iona couldn’t help herself now. She writhed against the man’s hand, mewling piteously, crouching on all fours.

 

“Imagine her in your furs. So heated,” I suggested.

 

“I shall think on it,” said the man. He gazed at Iona again, longingly this time, before he reluctantly departed.

 

“Good girl.” I stroked her flanks and slipped a candy into her mouth. “Good girl, Iona.”

 

My shelf space was adjacent to a series of three shelves that was being rented by a female slaver. That in itself wasn’t too surprising. I was only too familiar with female slavers, of course. The Lady Kelapina, in particular. But female slavers usually restricted themselves to administrative matters, or perhaps training within the House they were employed by. They rarely, in Argentum at least, conducted business in the flesh pots of the Argentum slave markets.

 

Her name was Lady Herminia Karras, of the Karras slave house, which was a grand sounding business, despite the fact it only consisted of three cement shelves and a plinth in the Kadriyan quarter. I, as a complete newcomer, was almost two thirds of the way towards running a comparatively sized business. I spoke to her as I chained my girls to the shelves and, on her suggestion, split up the mother and daughter, either side of the central plinth. She was running the market spot herself while her Free Companion, Mykola Karras, was away fighting as part of the army of Corcyrus. Many men, it seems, had either volunteered to carry a spear and shield, or were dutifully conscripted to do so via a citizen levy lottery. If your name came up in the weekly draw, you would be sent to the front. 

 

Lady Herminia was veiled and robed and I didn’t have the faintest idea what she looked like, but she made an effort to introduce herself as I set up my wares, and she seemed interested in my stock.

 

“The red haired girl will sell quickly,” she suggested, examining her as Naja knelt in obeisance. I watched closely how Lady Herminia’s expert hands moved. I would copy that form of assessment in future. She seemed not at all concerned that we were enslaving and marketing women, with whom she shared a common sex. That always surprises me – that Gorean women seem to have no sympathy for female slaves. It’s as if they look upon a slave and think to themselves, that could never be me. 

 

Lady Herminia was therefore doing her best to keep the family business ticking over until her Free Companion returned from the war. 

 

She currently owned and displayed seven girls, two of whom she claimed were once Panther Girls from the forests in the north. “They are tame now, of course,” she remarked, “though once they would have hunted men.” She indicated two dark haired girls who knelt together on one of her three shelves. She had dressed their bodies with enticing strips of leather, perhaps to attract the curiosity of passing men, to whom she might then explain their place of origin.

 

I had met huntresses, of course. Kulai and the other three Turian girls boasted such a title, but I knew little of the Panther Girls who made their home amongst the dark woodlands of the North.

 

“Some men relish the adventure that comes from hunting and binding such girls,” explained Herminia. “And the personal risk, too, of course. To have such a girl in your collar says much about you as a strong man.”

 

“They don’t look particularly threatening,” I said as I gazed at the two girls.

 

“They are tame now. Men have seen to that. Panther girls, once tamed by the whip, once opened fully to the sensations of their slave bellies, become exquisite slaves before masterful men. Or so I am told.” She put them through a number of slave paces, which they performed swiftly and with full obedience. I watched and I learned. 

 

I was surprised at how friendly Herminia was, considering I was essentially a competitor who might try to outdo and undercut her own stock. But then again I had fallen into the trap of thinking like a man of Earth might think, and in much the same way I didn’t fully appreciate the loyalty Goreans feel to their Home Stone, I didn’t take into account the loyalty Goreans feel to members of their own caste. I was apparently of the caste of slavers, and so I shared a caste with the Lady Herminia. To my surprise she therefore trusted me. Were she in any danger, she might even appeal to me for help, and I would be duty bound to render her help. A Free Woman who shares your caste or Home Stone is to be protected, cherished, respected. She understood this at an instinctive level, having been brought up that way, as are millions of Goreans in the central cities. I wasn’t a rival. I was a fellow caste member. As soon as I recognised that, her friendship made sense.  

 

Lady Herminia suggested, as our shelves were adjacent to one another, that we agreed to watch over each other’s stock if either of us wished to walk away for a time. Obviously there was little risk of shoplifting, as my girls, and Herminia’s girls, were all securely chained to iron slave rings set into the concrete, but potential sales might be lost if the girls were left unattended for a time. Also, Herminia pointed out that while my girls might perform adequately in my presence, displaying themselves according to the movements and sentences I had trained them with, once I was gone they might revert back to type and simply lie here on their shelves, scared, flinching away from the sight of men. A slave girl’s behaviour can be very different when there is no sign of a master or a whip. 

 

And so we agreed to watch over one another’s stock. She also gave me a little of her slave gruel – that powdered meal that can be mixed with water to make a nutritious, if very bland and unappealing, food stuff for collared girls. It was enough to feed my girls for perhaps three days, by which time I hoped that maybe one or two of them might be sold. 

 

I was beginning to warm to the concept of caste and Home Stone as being so important to Goreans. I have always considered myself to be honourable, at least to a point, so I approved very much of these two institutions that formalised such modes of behaviour. It felt good to know that I would be welcomed and befriended by men and women who shared my caste or Home Stone. This was ultimately an alien planet, but one in which I might, in time, find I belonged. 

 

“You must be hot,” I said to Herminia, that afternoon. 

 

“Oh, yes,” she said, with a melodious laugh. I wore just a simple tunic, but she had to endure multiple layers of body concealing gowns – the outer ones practically stiff brocade - gloves on her hands, a full set of veils, and a large hood drawn over her hair. The temperature that day was probably in the early thirties Celsius and Herminia would often linger in her own doorway, close to the narrow steps that led down to the small straw covered basement, where at least she could enjoy some shade. Our slaves, too, were hot, but at least they were naked. Herminia had given me some cream that I rubbed over their delicate bodies. The cream would block out the burning effects of the sun, she assured me. Rubbing cream into the lovely soft skin of a slave girl is a pleasurable experience, for both me and the slave girl in question. 

 

Bina, in particular, gasped as I smoothed the cream in and around her thighs. 

 

“I don’t want you to burn, precious little vulo,” I told her.

 

“Thank you, Master.” She gazed at me shyly and then withdraw along the shelf as far as her chain permitted. 

 

I had not yet put any of my slaves to use. That was always an option, of course, as I owned them. Iona was white silk, as were two of the others, and they all wore the pretty white ribbons around their waist, tied into large floppy bows, with the trailing ends dangling between their thighs. Bina was obviously one of the other white silk girls who had never been opened for the use of men, and I had expected perhaps that the blonde Scandinavian looking girl, Ornah, might be the other one, but no, it was in fact the stunning redhead, Naja. This surprised me, as it’s my experience that redheads are more often than not, sexually vital. If I had to pick out any girl in my coffle chain who was likely to have been opened before now, I would have guessed it would be the redhead, Naja.

 

But no. She seemed timid, shy, terrified by what she was being forced to do – performing on the cement shelf, calling out to men, enduring their touch. 

 

“I am not that sort of girl,” she wept, as a man had examined her quite intimately. “I am not that sort of girl.”

 

She would in time learn that she was that sort of girl. Men would give her little choice. 

 

Broadly speaking, Corcyrus resembled Argentum, at least in terms of architectural design, with its proliferation of cylinders in the centre of the city, surrounded by Romanesque buildings, in much the same way a modern Earth city is dominated with its skyline of tower blocks. I had rented an apartment in an insula, which is the Gorean term (and ancient Roman term, I might add) for a shared accommodation building, usually built from  stone, with the luxury of running water and extremely well-constructed sanitation. The typical dwelling place consists of a rectangular living space called a medianum from which all the other rooms can be accessed. These attached reception rooms are often different sizes at either end and are sometimes partitioned further into two separate rooms, though mine remained as one. Glazed windows allow light into these rooms, and they can be covered, at night, by stout wooden shutters. I should add that Gorean buildings rarely have windows at the ground floor that look out onto the street. This is for security reasons. The windows on the other side of the building would often overlook a garden or a shared courtyard. On the adjacent sides of the medianum were the cubiculi, usually two of them. Larger insulae could have private kitchens and latrines, with sophisticated plumbing and piped water, but I was keen to conserve my money, and so rented an apartment that used the shared facilities within the building. Skilled artisans often include  luxurious features such as ornate pilasters or columns decorating the exterior doors  and staircases leading up to the apartments. 

 

Like Argentum, Corcyrus was divided into many ‘quarters’ each with its own thriving markets, parks and spirit of neighbourly pride. Where Corcyrus differed from Argentum was in its comparative level of poverty. Where Argentum felt rich, Corcyrus struggled to emerge from the deprivations that had been inflicted upon it over forty years ago when it had challenged the combined might of Argentum and Ar on the battlefield and lost. The then Tatrix, Sheila, had been overthrown and a series of puppet Tatrixes, subservient to Argentum, had taken her place. Many women of Corcyrus had been taken away in chains – the beautiful ones, at least – and the soldiers of Argentum had looted much of the portable wealth that they could find. The city walls, too, showed signs of the city’s defeat. Here and there the original stone work was crudely patched with newer stone, indicating where the walls had once been breached. And yet, I sensed a greater civic pride in Corcyrus than I had done in Argentum. There was a renewed spirit of defiance, as its people began to hope that their subjugation to Argentum might soon be at an end. Everywhere I looked I saw the banners of the city proudly flying, and there were papers pasted to common walls, urging the citizens to defiance against tyranny. I couldn’t read these papers, of course, but the citizens were only too happy to read them to me. 

 

“It is my understanding that Argentum is winning,” I said to Lady Herminia, that first afternoon. 

 

“You have been misled,” she replied, turning in a rustle of stiff brocade that must have been very uncomfortable to wear in this hot weather. “Where did you say your slaves are from?”

 

“The town of Isurium.”

 

“And where does that lie?”

 

“Close to the river Agosta.”

 

She nodded. “Territory claimed by Argentum. And now it is a blackened ruin, looted, and its most beautiful women placed in slave steel, where they belong. What does that tell you about the progress of the war?”

 

“I was briefly in Argentum,” I said. “The people there are told of Argentum victories.”

 

She laughed, softly. “I’m sure they are.”

 

“Argentum has a much larger army. It has more money.”

 

“I am sure these things are true.”

 

“Why then would Corcyrus be winning?”

 

“We have our Tatrix,” she said, with pride. “Hai, Aliyyah Mercator!” 

 

“Forgive me, but your Tatrix is but a woman.”

 

“She is a woman, yes, but she is also a Tatrix.”

 

And that seemed a common feeling amongst the citizens of Corcyrus. Gorean men and women alike seemed to take great pride in their fiery Tatrix. They believed in her. She inspired them. 

 

“She will speak to the city, tomorrow night, on the marble steps of her palace, at a torch lit rally,” said Herminia. “You should come and see her.”

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“You will understand then why Argentum cannot win.” She regarded me for a moment. “You could accompany me, if you wished.”

 

I smiled. It was good to have a friend in the city. “I think I would like that, Lady.”

 

By the close of business on my first day in my new career as a slaver of female flesh, I had sold precisely… zero girls. I wasn’t particularly worried. Aside from the fact I had only entered into this to appear respectable enough for the guards at the main gates to permit me to enter the city, I still possessed enough money to keep me going for a couple of months at a frugal rate of spending. If you are not familiar with the Gorean economy, let me explain that a common unskilled labourer typically earns one or two copper tarsks a day. A basic skilled tradesman of some kind probably earns four copper tarsks a day. A single copper tarsk is worth a number of tarsk bits; the exact number of which vary from city to city, usually in the range of four to twenty tarsk bits. In Corcyrus you would typically receive fourteen tarsk bits to your copper tarsk. 

 

While prices of items aren’t necessarily comparable with prices on Earth, I reckon that the buying power of a copper tarsk in Corcyrus is approximately similar to what you might buy for £50 in Great Britain. That meant the silver tarsk I was originally given was probably worth £5,000, and the full dowry had been worth £50,000. 

 

But as I said, prices can be radically different to similar items on Earth. Food is much cheaper, but finely crafted items that lack factory construction, are much more expensive.

 

In pricing Iona at twenty-six copper tarsks, I was selling her for one thousand, three hundred pounds. But bear in mind slaves are often cheaper to buy and sell than complex hand crafted goods.

 

A trained slave girl who sold for, say, two or three silver tarsks, would be worth in the range of £10,000 to £15,000. And generally speaking, low caste Goreans have a smaller disposable income after paying for living expenses, than the typical Englishman would. A highly trained girl is therefore a luxury purchase, perhaps, taking into account the smaller disposable income, equivalent then to two or three times the actual exchange rate price, because a Gorean has less money left over from his weekly pay than an Earthman would.   

 

Herminia, in contrast, had made a sale on one of her dark haired sluts.

 

“I let her go for sixteen copper tarsks,” she told me as she began unchaining her coffle from the shelf rings, and then chaining their ankle rings together. 

 

“What did you pay for her?”

 

“Nine,” she said. 

 

“A good day’s work,” I remarked.

 

“I think so,” said Herminia. She regarded me again. She was, perhaps, five feet three inches tall. I was used to towering above Free Women. Herminia was making ends meet with a small business in the market place. She had taken a seven copper tarsk profit, but would have to be frugal with that, for there was no way of knowing whether she might make another sale tomorrow.

 

I copied her and began to remove the iron padlocks that fastened the ankle rings of my girls to the shelf chains. As Herminia was doing with her stock, I then chained the ankle rings together. It is good practice to always observe tight security with your stock, even when the risk of them running away is next to nothing. 

 

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked as she chained her panther girls together.

 

“I don’t know. I’m new to the city. Take stock of my new home, I suppose.”

 

“I am hosting a small informal supper at my insula later this week,” she said. “There is room for one more at the table.” 

 

This was a very kind gesture, and shows again how strong caste ties are between Goreans. 

 

“This is very kind of you.” I placed the palm of my right hand against my upper chest to acknowledge her invitation. She was robed, veiled, hooded. All I could see of her were her sparkling eyes. 

 

“I will of course see you tomorrow, Roland. Good day.”

 

I watched as she herded her remaining six girls in ankle coffle down the narrow flight of stairs to her private basement cell. I turned back to my own work and similarly freed and coffled four of my slaves. The fifth, Clara – Bina’s mother – remained chained to the shelf. As I began to herd my four girls down my own flight of stairs, Bina looked anxiously towards her mother.

 

“Why is my mama not coming with me?” she asked. 

 

“Clara is coming home with me,” I remarked.

 

“No!” cried the young girl.

 

I ignored her pleas and took them down to the dark, straw filled basement where I locked the ankle rings of each girl to the slave rings at the side of the four walls. Bina was crying, fearing what might happen to her mother tonight. 

 

“Be quiet,” I said. 

 

When I locked the basement door securely, and when I returned to the market street, I found Clara shrunk back against the cement wall of the shelf area. 

 

“Please, no,” she said.

 

I unlocked the padlock that secured her closed ankle ring to the shelf chain. I helped her down from the shelf and gave her a thin rep cloth tunic that I had purchased from a nearby stall this afternoon, soon after purchasing collars for each of my girls. I watched as she pulled the flimsy, daring garment down over her body and desperately smoothed the sides where the garment was slit. 

 

“Please, no,” she said again. She glanced towards the now locked door that led to the slave basement. She would not be chained there with her daughter and the other girls tonight. “What are you going to do with me?” she cried.

 

“You are an intelligent woman, and you are not some foolish, ignorant, white silk girl. I think you can guess what I am going to do with you.”

 

And then, fastening a leather leash to her collar ring, I led her through the market and in the direction of my new insula.