Barbarian of Gor Chapter Thirteen

We had dined on a couple of rabbits that we had purchased from the Inn Keeper’s cold room before setting out that day. Felix skinned, diced and cooked them in a pot with some herbs and root vegetables whilst Laetitia watched with interest.

 

Laetitia knelt as a free woman commonly kneels, in elegant tower, which seemed incongruous with the garment she now wore, let alone the steel collar that was locked so perfectly around her throat.

 

Felix seemed to barely look at her as he prepared the evening meal. Was this an indication that the felt she had shamed herself by allowing herself to be collared?  Or simply a desire to not embarrass her with unwanted stares? His frustrations would be all the more intense as he understood that the fate of his city hung in the balance. I was speculating of course. At some point I would have to speak to him about it. 

 

“You cook well, Felix,” said Laetitia as she ate her portion of the rabbit with impeccable table manners, despite having to use her fingers. “Considering you only had a single pot and a campfire.”

 

Felix simply nodded. Perhaps he didn’t care for the compliment from a slave girl. I really couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. He looked everywhere but at her, though when he did look at her there was no mistaking where he looked. The valley between her modest breasts drew the eye automatically. And there were a couple of small tears in the rep cloth just above her left hip. It was a cheap garment and she had snagged it in a thorn bush when she had gone to fetch water. Somehow the tears added to the garment’s allure. 

 

And of course there were her bare legs. There was no ignoring those. Put a girl in a really short skirt and you create the illusion that her legs are far longer than they might otherwise appear to be.    

 

Laetitia sensed of course that something was wrong, but she didn’t understand what that something was.

 

I watched as she ever so daintily wiped her greasy fingers on the grass. “Walking for so long has given me an appetite, Captain Adamus,” she said.

 

“Well, we have another long day ahead of us tomorrow, Laetitia. You will sleep well, I think.”

 

“Yes, I think I will.” A thought occurred to her. “I understand you hold the key to my collar, Captain?”

 

“To the collar you wear, yes.” Adamus smiled. “It is hardly your collar, Laetitia. You don’t actually own it.” He winked as he said that. It was obviously meant as a harmless jape. He was teasing her. 

 

The girl laughed. “Forgive me. It was a figure of speech. No, of course I don’t own it.”

 

“I can’t think of a single girl who ever wore a slave collar who owned the slave collar, can you?” said Adamus. His voice remained pleasant, but I didn’t care much for the drift of the conversation.

 

“Well, no,” said the girl. “But then it is usually slaves who wear slave collars, and they own nothing.”

 

“An astute observation,” said Adamus. “Slaves wear slave collars and a slave owns nothing, not even her name.”

 

“Could I see the key, Captain?” she asked.

 

“Of course.” He reached into his belt pouch and produced the key. It was small, intricately shaped, and would fit a complex lock. Even the cheapest of slave collars boasted secure locks. Goreans do not compromise when it comes to locks on their property.  

 

“So small,” she said as she gazed at the key in his hand. “If you would be so kind.” And then she turned her head slightly and gathered up her long glossy dark hair and lifted it up from the nape of her neck to expose the locking mechanism. She knelt there for a moment, readying herself for the collar to be unlocked. “Captain?”

 

“Laetitia?” 

 

“Could you please unlock the collar from my neck?”

 

“Why?”

 

Laetitia seemed puzzled by the question. “So I can sleep well tonight.”

 

“Rest assured, you will sleep well tonight. It’s been a hard day.”

 

“I will sleep better with a bare neck.” She continued to expose the nape of her neck where the lock could be seen. “It’s difficult to forget that I wear it. I think a girl is always conscious of its weight.”

 

Trakkar would agree with that point. Even experienced slaves remain conscious of their collars as they go about their duties. 

 

“And what if we are surprised in the night by visitors? What if we wake to see men arrive; the very men who are searching for you? How good will your disguise be then if you don’t wear a collar?” Adamus toyed with the key between his fingers. “How could we pass you off as a kajira?”

 

“The chance is slight, Captain.”

 

“But not altogether impossible.”

 

“It will be uncomfortable to sleep in a steel collar.”

 

“Slaves routinely put up with discomfort,” said Adamus. “Besides, you need to grow accustomed to the collar.”

 

“I don’t like to wear it. I don’t want to wear it tonight.”

 

“Which brings me to another subject,” said Adamus as he returned the key to his belt pouch, ignoring her softly spoken protest. Laetitia seemed surprised again. She still wore the slave collar, despite her request. It hadn’t been removed from her neck. Why hadn’t it been unlocked? Why didn’t she have the key? She lowered her hair and smoothed it back down about her shoulders. As I have observed before, her hair was straight, long, dark, and very glossy. Even by the standards of Gorean Free Women, her hair was exceptionally long. She probably had the luxury in the palace of having it brushed repeatedly by chamber slaves until it shone with vital health. She could be proud of that hair. It would certainly add to her shelf price.

 

For a moment my imagination ran wild and I pictured Laetitia chained to one of the cement shelves with my other slaves. She would be chained with the white silk girls, of course – a slim figure in contrast to some of my more voluptuous beauties - but her long glossy hair would mark her out as different. So, maybe a display shelf? I forced the image from my mind. I really did need to spend an ahn or two with a slave girl. I needed to get my focus back. 

 

“Another subject, Captain?”

 

“Yes, your posture. Slaves do not kneel in tower before men. Tower is reserved for kneeling in the presence of free women. A small detail, but if someone saw you like that it would arouse suspicion.”

 

“And how should I kneel?” her voice sounded a trace bitter. And I think she already knew the answer to her question. Women know how slaves kneel before men, and they often resent it. 

 

“How do you think slaves kneel before men, Laetitia?”

 

“In nadu.” 

 

“Show me.”

 

There was silence for a moment. No one spoke. “If I must.” She looked away as she parted her thighs. Her left hand reached down to ensure the short hem of the tunic still covered her adequately.

 

“Don’t do that,” said Adamus. “Don’t reach for your tunic when you kneel.”

 

Laetitia blushed as she moved her hand away. The fabric settled back just a little. It wouldn’t take much now for her dignity to be further compromised. 

 

“Hands on your thighs, palms down.”

 

Laetitia seemed annoyed, but she did as she was told. 

 

“Straighten your back, lift your chin, and smile.”

 

“Smile?!”

 

“Slaves are pleased to serve men. It is what they live for.”

 

Laetitia sniffed and forced a smile to her lips. She wasn’t enjoying this. 

 

“We’ll have to say she’s new to the collar,” I said.

 

“No, that won’t do.” Adamus rose to his feet. “Tell Stannis that we have a slave who is new to her collar and he will suspect there is a very good reason why she is only now wearing it. This disguise will only work if it seems she has been a slave for a long time.” 

 

I must have looked as surprised as Laetitia when Adamus put his hands on her and adjusted her posture. “Stomach in, push your breasts forward and feel your femininity, Laetitia. You are female. It will be in your DNA.”

 

The girl gasped as Adamus adjusted her shoulders, and further straightened her posture. Now she knelt like a slave. 

 

“We need a name for her. We can’t use the alias she had as a free woman. Sally Reeve will have remembered it,” I said.

 

“What would you like to be called, Laetitia?” asked Adamus. 

 

“I haven’t given any thought to the matter.”

 

“What sort of slave are you? A Luta? A Bina? A Pepita?”

 

“None of those names.” She wrinkled her nose. “Hardly those!”

 

“Lana, then? Jini?”

 

“They are slave names! And common slave names, too!” She seemed slightly offended. 

 

“Lorna? Kayra?”

 

I noticed her eyes momentarily flicker as she heard the name, Kayra. Something had registered with her at a subconscious level. She had heard her name. Her true slave name, according to Trakkar. 

 

“That’s it,” I said, interrupting the suggestions. “She’s Kayra.”

 

“Kayra, yes…” Adamus regarded her. She remained in nadu with her palms flat upon her thighs. “I can see that. I can see she’s a Kayra. Of course.”

 

Laetitia said nothing. But she had shown an instinctive reaction to the name Kayra, almost as if her subconscious recognised it as hers. Do free women have secret slave names that they are unaware of until they hear them spoken aloud? The eminent slaver, Trakkar, thinks so. He believes every girl has a preferred slave name buried deep within her very being. He also believes that the right name bestowed upon a girl will speed her journey to a full and glorious submission. If she is allowed to be the slave she recognises, then she will be that slave. It’s an interesting theory. Does the wrong name hinder a girl’s development in bondage? 

 

“I name you Kayra,” I said. There was a flush to her features. Yes, she somehow instinctively knew the name was right for her.

 

“Kayra…” she said.

 

“Name yourself,” said Adamus.

 

“I am Kayra. My name is Kayra. That is who I am.”

 

The words sounded rather charming coming from her lips. 

 

“I would like to break posture,” she said.

 

“No.” Adamus dismissed the suggestion.

 

“I can’t kneel like this all night!”

 

“Slaves do. You will get used to it. Consider it useful training for your role.”

 

I saw Felix looking at her, at the deep valley between her modest breasts, at her collared throat, at her bare legs, and at the hem of her skirt that barely concealed her sex now that her thighs were widely spread. And then Adamus’s gaze warned him away. 

 

The men began to converse about things that had nothing to do with Laetitia. About sport, and war and politics, and even a few passing anecdotes about Free Women we had known, and how difficult it was to understand them at times. She knelt there feeling a sense of alienation as we discussed matters that were frankly alien to her. When her body began to relax, and when her spine was no longer straight, and her breasts were no longer thrust forward, Adamus would say, “posture,” and the girl would struggle to restore her former position.

 

After a while Laetitia tried to join the conversation. We had been talking about kaiila races when Laetitia asked, “Captain, if I may, what first brought you to our fair city?”

 

Now this was something I was interested in learning, too. Adamus was a blank slate to me.

 

“Corcyrus is a jewel of northern Gor. Why wouldn’t my weary feet eventually bring me to its great walls, Kayra?”

 

“You overly flatter our city, I think,” said Laetitia. “Our hearts are strong, but we are not really so great. We have suffered decades of poverty from the exacting tolls and taxes that Argentum forces upon us. Our wealth has been plundered, and many of our most graceful women were taken in the first decades following the conquest to be sold into slavery. We have been shamed, time after time. Our walls have had to be rebuilt, and even then Argentum has stipulated restrictions on how high they might be. When my mother came to power, Corcyrus was in a sad state.”

 

“That was before my time, Kayra. And before yours, too. You never saw it.”

 

It was my understanding that Laetitia was barely a year old when her mother was proclaimed Tatrix by the people. She had led a populist movement against the reigning puppet Tatrix of Argentum who had replaced Sheila, and who was not at all loved by her conquered people. 

 

“I have read extensively about our past, Captain. I am a proud daughter of Corcyrus. I will be strong like my mother. I will dedicate my service to our city.”

 

“I’m sure you will. Perhaps in time you can subtly influence the second son of the Ubar of Torcadino, and through him win favour for your city.” It was a sharp reminder that Laetitia’s life would be spent offstage from Corcyrus, and that she would in all likelihood never see her city again, or play any direct part in its fortunes. She would be the Free Companion of a man who was unlikely to even succeed his father, for he wasn’t the first born. What influence he would have with the current and subsequent Ubar was questionable. 

 

“So if I may, I will ask again, Captain. What brought you to Corcyrus?’

 

Adamus smiled. “I was travelling. I found Corcyrus, and Corcyrus found me. There is no great story to it, Kayra. I have passed through many cities. Corcyrus is the one I settled in. Your mother honoured me with a position in her personal palace guard, and the rest is history.”

 

“And you are of Earth, like Roland, here?” She glanced at me. I smiled back as I nodded.

 

“Of Earth, yes. Roland and I are both English.”

 

“May I ask how you came to Gor?’

 

“It’s a long story, Kayra, and one that involves memories of some pain. It is a story for another time.”

 

He was being evasive. We could all sense that.

 

“You may as well ask how Roland came to Gor,” Adamus said, twisting the question around to me. Laetitia looked up, expectantly.

 

“Not through choice Kayra.” The name did sound right. She was a Kayra. I could just feel it. “I suspect the same may be true of Adamus.” Had he been brought to Gor as a slave, as I had been? I thought back to my captivity and wondered whether Roland had been some woman’s silk slave? Had he too worn a collar and suffered the indignity of obeying a woman’s every command? 

 

“No, it was my choice,” said Adamus, offering the vaguest hint of his past. “I went to great lengths to come to this planet.”

 

“It seems you both harbour secrets and do not wish to share them with a young girl who has placed her life in your hands. I am sorry you feel you cannot share your pasts with me.”

 

“Your mother trust us both, Kayra. That’s the important thing,” I said. 

 

“I know. But I would like to trust you both too. It hurts me that you cannot share.”

 

“You hold position well,” said Adamus as a change of subject. 

 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” asked Laetitia.

 

“Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

 

“Occasionally, in the palace grounds, I have seen girls kneel like this before men. Guardsmen. But the position was often slightly different.”

 

“How so?”

 

“The girls knelt as I do now, but their palms faced upwards. Why is this?” asked Laetitia. 

 

Adamus smiled, as did Felix and I. Laetitia seemed to sense we were sharing an amusing insight that escaped her innocent mind.

 

“Show me,” said Adamus.

 

We watched as Laetitia turned her wrists so that her soft palms were revealed to us. Beside me Felix drew a sharp intake of breath. To the Gorean mind it meant only one thing. Laetitia knelt like that for sever al ihn. 

 

“Graceful and lovely,” said Adamus. He allowed himself a moment to observe the girl like that. “You turn your palms well.”

 

“Tell me why they do this?” said Laetitia again. “It was never explained to me.”

 

“How do you feel now?” asked Adamus.

 

“I…” Laetitia thought about this for a moment. “It feels…” her eyelashes fluttered a little as she perhaps understood the vulnerability of the gesture. “It’s…”

 

“Yes, I imagine it is. It’s a pleasing signal, Kayra. When a kajira places her palms up, on her thighs, she is begging full use by a man.”

 

Quickly now, Laetitia turned her palms face down again. She blushed furiously and fought back a semblance of tears as she understood she was being teased and tricked for our droll amusement.