Barbarian of Gor Chapter Twelve

 

We left the safety of the Inn an ahn later.

 

In contrast to her initial claim, it is only a collar, Laetitia had to be coaxed from her room when the time finally came. She stood at the edge of the doorway hyper ventilating. The reality that men and women would now see her like this had suddenly struck home, but rather too late. It is one thing to imagine how it might be to wear a slave collar, and quite another to actually wear it. Women never understand until the time actually comes. 

 

“They will not know who you are,” I assured her. 

 

Her eyes were downcast. She refused to look straight ahead for fear of seeing the way free men and women might now look at her. 

 

“Be brave,” I said. 

 

I had her walk before me. Step by step, her body shaking, she passed along the landing. 

 

“She is new to the collar,” I explained to a slave who was gathering used bedding from a nearby room.

 

“She’ll learn, Master,” said the slave. “We all do in time. Men see to that.”

 

“So we do.”

 

Laetitia was now only too conscious of how the tunic rides up on a girl’s thighs as she walks. She took small steps, not wishing to part her thighs too far. She gripped the hem on either side of her legs with her delicate hands. I could see from her cheeks that she was blushing.

 

“People will only see a slave,” I assured her. She tried to vocalise some words but failed. 

 

Adamus and Felix waited in the courtyard. Felix’s expression was one of shock mixed with embarrassment as he saw the young kajira emerge from the front door. It seemed to take his mind several seconds to process the reality that this was in fact the Tatrix’s daughter. Adamus, on the other hand, showed little sign of being surprised. 

 

Nothing was said. Nothing really needed to be said, and I could sense that Laetitia certainly wasn’t in the mood for any conversation. So we simply walked through the main gates in relative silence. Laetitia winced from time to time and walked slowly on account of the fact she was unused to walking barefoot. But once we got onto to grassland the way became easier for her and she was permitted to walk along the verge rather than on the paved road which proved kinder to the delicate soles of her feet. We walked for maybe half an ahn before Adamus spoke to her.

 

“You did well. I understand it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

 

“I was shaking.” She didn’t meet Adamus’s gaze. 

 

“So you were. But you were new to your collar, so it’s understandable. I am proud of you, Laetitia. You have paid a high price for your city. But you will need to call on your inner strength, for we need to walk as far as we can today. I fear Stannis’s outriders may reach the travel inn before nightfall.”

 

I walked behind Laetitia, and Felix took the rear. Despite my best intentions I couldn’t stop myself gazing occasionally at the girl’s bottom with its short rep cloth skirt high upon her thighs. She was a distracting sight as we travelled, and I sensed that Felix was having similar problems. Occasionally she would glance back towards me, perhaps to reassure herself that I was still there. She trusted me, it seems.

 

She trusted us all.

 

Gradually Laetitia’s discomfort grew less pronounced, though when we passed other refugees I noticed she kept her head down, refusing to meet their eyes.  

 

“Very good, Laetitia. You can’t go wrong acting demure in the presence of free strangers,” said Adamus. 

 

The weather was good up until mid-afternoon, after which it began to rain. To her dismay Laetitia discovered just how semi-translucent thin white rep cloth can be when it becomes wet. She walked through the rain with her arms crossed in front of her, and it became harder still to ignore her charms. The cloth stuck to her like a second skin, and every lineament of her body was now obvious to us. Felix was embarrassed and didn’t know where to look, but he still found himself looking. 

 

We had no time to take shelter. We had to put as much distance between ourselves and the Inn as possible. The further away we were when outriders found us, the more plausible our new deception might be. 

 

And we were all conscious that if it came to a fight we were now under powered, for Miss Sally Reeve of Brighton had taken my blade. In a way the loss of a blade to a woman was perhaps more shameful than being bound hand and foot and raped in the meadow grass. A sword is an extension of a man’s right arm and should not be easily surrendered to a duplicitous woman.

 

And talking of women, I felt I needed one. So did Felix. Our unwelcome obsession with Laetitia’s slim body in that wet rep cloth tunic was evidence of our growing needs. I felt sure that if I had the opportunity to put a slave to use I would feel more focussed going forward. I resolved to find an available slave as soon as possible. My mind needed some clarity.

 

It was with some relief that we made camp some distance from the road when nightfall was a mere ahn away. Despite our fears, there had been no sign of cavalry outriders in the distance behind us. Perhaps Sally hadn’t yet made contact with any of Stannis’s patrols? We could but hope. 

 

“My feet!” said Laetitia as she sank gladly into the grass. “I don’t think I can ever walk again.” Towards the end she was hobbling as the soft soles of her feet desperately tried to weather the terrain. “How do slaves walk barefoot all the time?”

 

“The soles of their feet toughen, Laetitia,” said Adamus. “As will yours in time.”

 

I noticed he was no longer referring to her as lady. Had she told him that he could use her name? It seemed unlikely. But if she had objections she didn’t voice them. 

 

Felix built a camp fire and set up a cooking pot. The shock of walking with us dressed as a slave girl had lessened, and now Laetitia simply sat on the grass massaging her feet one at a time. She glanced up at me as I passed and smiled. This was the first smile of the day. To her relief, strangers on the road had not really bothered her. She was obviously the property of three tough looking men, and most travellers had far more important things to consider now than the presence of a common enough slave girl.

 

“Can the camp kajira help at all?” said Laetitia as a little of her earlier informality seemed to return. She wriggled her toes. 

 

“The camp kajira could gather firewood and tinder,” suggested Adamus, pleasantly. “And draw water from the stream over there.” He gestured with his arm at, first, the river and then some leather sacks that could be filled. 

 

“Your kajira will see to it,” she said as she rose to her feet.

 

Adamus approached me as Laetitia walked towards the edge of the trees and began to fill her arms with deadwood. “Tell me something. Is my vague understanding of Common Capture Law correct?’

 

I said nothing.

 

“So, then, you legally enslaved the daughter of the Tatrix of Corcyrus when you placed a collar around her throat?”

 

“I didn’t enslave her. She’s a Free Woman.”

 

“You’re an accredited slaver. What part of Common Merchant Law pertaining to captures in the wilderness am I misunderstanding?”

 

I looked away. “I didn’t think.” I couldn’t exactly add that I was extremely new to my apparent caste. “I just… did what I thought you wanted.”

 

“This wouldn’t have applied if I’d locked the collar around her throat?” asked Adamus.

 

“You’re not an accredited slaver. It wouldn’t be automatic. You would have to bring the girl to a city as a free captive, albeit collared, and have the enslavement made official. She would remain free until then.”

 

“So, the girl is actually a slave now? Technically speaking?”

 

“I think so, yes. I’m sorry. But no one else knows. She can carry on as she was before. It’s not as if she’s branded. We can simply pretend it never happened.”

 

“It doesn’t work like that, Roland. She is a slave. The Free Woman Laetitia of Corcyrus disappeared the moment you closed the collar locking mechanism. Does she know?”

 

“She suspects. Or rather she’s afraid of the possibility. She asks a lot of questions. Like many young girls, she’s not an expert on Common Capture Law. She understands precisely the laws of Corcyrus, but is vague on how merchant law operates in the wilderness. Why should this matter? There is no third party who could possibly know and insist she is a slave.”

 

“I’m concerned about Felix. He is Gorean, and unlike our more pragmatic Earth minds, I think he is putting two and two together. He said things to me that suggests he believes she is no longer free.”

 

“He follows your orders, though.”

 

“He does. To a point of honour. But if Laetitia is a legal slave that will weigh heavily on the man. A slave cannot represent the city of Corcyrus the way she is supposed to.”

 

“We’re hardly going to tell the Ubar of Torcadino that we enslaved the companion-to-be of his son. It doesn’t matter, Adamus.”

 

“Again that’s not the point, not as far as Felix will understand it. Goreans are very inflexible when it comes to the disparity between Free Women and slave girls. You and I don’t give a shit, but Felix may have problems with this situation.”

 

“I don’t see how. The fate of his city rides on Laetitia entering into companionship with the son of the Ubar of Torcadino. The importance of that is off the scale. He’s hardly going to sabotage it due to some technicality that only we know?”

 

“You would think so, wouldn’t you, but only because we’re Earth men and sensible enough to act accordingly. I don’t think you understand how Gorean men like Felix view the honour of their Home Stones. By accepting a collar Laetitia has disgraced her Home Stone.”

 

“That’s fucking stupid. You know it is.”

 

“And again that’s not the point. I’m telling you how a man like Felix thinks. He doesn’t believe we have a Free Woman travelling with us anymore.” 

 

“Fucking Goreans. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated with them?”

 

“Actually they’re very straight forward and predictable. It’s us Earthmen who can’t be trusted. But there’s a secondary concern, and that’s Laetitia herself. Are you familiar with the writings of the great slaver, Trakkar?”

 

“Some of them. Verbally, anyway. I can’t read or write. Trakkar has a brilliant mind. He is possibly the greatest slaver of his generation. His writings are gospel to my caste.”

 

Adamus nodded. “He understands the female psyche better than women understand themselves. During his lifetime he has conducted various experiments that support many of his scrolls. Years ago he abducted twenty women travelling to the Sardar on pilgrimage. Without them knowing, he split them into two groups. While nominally they appeared to all remain captives, ten of them were individually enslaved. The chosen women were present when papers of enslavement were drawn up and their personal details were meticulously recorded. But they were then permitted to dress again in their robes and they were simply treated as free captives in the same fashion as the other ten women. Both groups were confined at a remote location but treated well. At first their guards were not made aware that any of the women were actually slaves. The guards were kept ignorant of the fact. The ten secret slaves of course did not know one another and presumably did not dare admit to their peers that papers of enslavement had been drawn up, as the others seemed to be free.”

 

“Interesting,” I said. “A test group and a control group. And the purpose of this experiment?”

 

“The guards were told to treat the women as free captives, but crucially to begin to reward any captive with small treats if she began to show subtle signs of submission. Trakkar wanted to know whether either group would show a greater proclivity to female submission than the other. Theoretically both groups would be roughly the same. They would also lavish more attention on the women who began to adopt slave-like mannerisms. These were healthy, virile men and possibly of interest to the women who would be unused to such direct male attention in their previous lives. Gradually a pattern began to emerge. Of the control group of women who hadn’t been secretly enslaved, three of them, without any coercion, began the path to female submission. But of the other group, the ten women who were each secretly enslaved, eight of them began to act as slaves, and sooner than the three free captives did. They couldn’t help themselves, even though there was no coercion to do so. Trakkar concluded that just the simply knowledge that they were now slaves was enough to change their behaviour patterns. The knowledge that they were no longer free played heavily in their minds. Trakkar concluded that a woman who knows she is a slave becomes that slave, even if she is surrounded by men who are ignorant of the fact.”

 

“I hadn’t heard that tale before. It is interesting.”

 

“He repeated the experiment several times with other women. The results were all broadly the same. Slavery goes beyond legal parameters. It is part of the psyche of a woman. Laetitia may never be the same again.”

 

“If I freed her…”

 

“You would be confirming her worst fears that she is currently a slave. And after you freed her she would be a freed slave. That is not the same as being a free woman. The matter is complicated but quite simple in merchant law. The definition of a freed slave is not the same as that of a free woman. Such a woman, for example, is expected to offer full disclosure in the event of an offer of Free Companionship. To do otherwise is considered fraudulent, since  companionship is a formal contract between two parties. She would be enslaved again if the deception was discovered.”

 

“I imagine life for a freed slave would be difficult in her native city?”

 

“Very difficult. Such women often have to leave their city, but before they do their papers are stamped and annotated to explain that they were once enslaved. Such papers would be inspected by any city she travelled to, and her status confirmed on papers then issued by that city. Some cities go further still. Trakkar has often written that the identity of a former slave should be made obvious to free women. He successfully petitioned the scribes and magistrates in the city of Edginton, such that freed slaves must wear a strident ankle bell that chimes a particular note as they walk. That way they cannot seek to deceive true free women as to who they are.”

 

“Trakkar doesn’t approve of freeing slaves.”

 

“No, he does not. He believes a slave can never be free again in her mind. He believes it is a kindness of sorts to keep her in a collar.”

 

“He has more experience than I do.”

 

“I’ll tell you another story about Trakkar,” said Aamus. “He’s something of a celebrity figure due to his pronounced views on the subject of slavery and the nature of the female mind. He has made money not just through his caste work, but by public speaking in packed auditoriums in many Gorean cities. He commands a significant appearance fee and practically guarantees brisk ticket sales.” An amused smile appeared on Adamus’s face. “You might be interested to know that women outnumber men when Trakkar speaks publicly. Free Women seem to greatly admire his forthright views on the subject of slaves.”

 

“That is interesting,” I said. “I was under the impression that many of his theories relate to most free women being natural slaves.”

 

“Each Free Woman of course considers herself to be one of the exceptions to the rule.”

 

“How convenient,” I said.

 

“They approve of his no-nonsense attitude and often flock to his cause when he shames public authorities into adopting new laws pertaining to slave ownership, training, branding, chaining and so forth. Women are surprisingly interested in his views on natural slaves. He has toured entire lecture circuits on that specific topic alone. Furthermore, Free Women of means can pay him to speak privately at their dinner parties in Ar. These appearances are popular, and a fashionable hostess is often attracted to a service that Trakkar offers at these private appearances. During the evening he will watch the Free Women guests and make notes. Later, after the conclusion of the party, Trakkar will write up these notes and present the hostess with a detailed assessment of the female guests in attendance, specifically their likely proclivity and suitability for a collar, usually rated on a scale of one to ten, for her amusement. The report is professional, factual and detailed, but no names are ever mentioned. Trakkar simply refers to coloured bina – slave beads – one such bead representing each of the delightful female guests present that night. Anonymity is therefore preserved, and the professional assessment cannot ruin a woman’s reputation if shown to anyone else. Without specific names, there is complete deniability. Trakkar does provide the hostess with a small wooden box with a lock. Inside the box will be a number of pouches, one for each woman present that night. Specific initials will be marked on the outside of each pouch, and the pouch will contain a bina bead corresponding to the colour assigned to that woman for the purpose of the report. When she receives the box key with the reports, the hostess can match bina beads with the assessments if she chooses to, and enjoy the thrill of learning deep insights into each of her social circle friends.”

 

“Women are happy to attend the dinner party under those circumstances?”

 

“How can they not?” suggests Adamus. “Why would a free woman possibly refuse? There can only be one reason – she is reasonably nervous of being studied by the watchful and analytical eye of Trakkar. Does she have something to hide from him? Some terrible secret known only to herself? Does she fear discovery? For surely there can be no risk. Trakkar’s report can only confirm her dignity and un-slave like demeanour. Trakkar is only going to confirm that she conforms to the standards expected of a free woman. Only a secret slave would have something to fear from him.”

 

“I see. So free women invited to such a dinner party have little real choice?”

 

“Precisely. The stigma in not accepting the invitation might ruin a woman. Tongues would talk.”

 

“And Trakkar simply observes the ladies during the dinner? Presumably they will all be firmly on guard throughout and let nothing slip through their behaviour.”

 

“You might think so. But wine is served by a kajirus.”

 

“Ah. The women might have expected a kajira to serve them?”

 

“Quite possibly. Imagine their surprise, after an opening round of drinks when they first arrive, to then find a virile and handsome looking kajirus in attendance, assigned to their table. He is always perfectly trained, but muscular and powerful looking. He will be close to the ladies as he serves them. And of course the glasses are constantly refilled.”

 

“Interesting.”

 

“At the conclusion of the dessert course Trakkar politely asks to interview each lady individually for five ehn. It is a verbal interview, nothing more. By now the ladies have perhaps foolishly flirted a little with the kajirus, being greatly excited by his presence. They will have drunk ka-la-na. Their blood will be up. Trakkar will sound kind as he speaks to each one individually.”

 

“His report on each bina bead will no doubt prove detailed.”

 

“I believe so. The hostess of course thinks she stands separate from all of this. It is her party after all. Trakkar does not interview her at the end of the evening, but of course Trakkar has probably spoken at length to her prior to the guests arriving, and he speaks again to her when the dinner party is concluded, and they can both relax prior to him taking his leave. And of course the hostess is giddy with excitement, wanting to know the scandalous truth about her friends, and she too has drunk perhaps a little too much ka-la-na, for the handsome kajirus is always swift to refill an empty glass. She will relax in Trakkar’s company for a little while as he tells her some amusing anecdotes concerning free women who turned out to be ripe for the collar. The kajirus probably kneels close by her side. He will be difficult to ignore. He is there, so close, and she could reach out and touch him if she only dared. And then Trakkar often makes the hostess an interesting offer. He offers to personally certify her as a Free Woman lacking in even the remotest of slave mannerisms. The hostess is no doubt intrigued. Such a certificate from Trakkar acknowledging her dignity, chastity and lack of sexual responses is a precious document that she could display with pride to her envious friends. A simple assessment is all that is required. It is to be respectful, of course, but possibly during the course of the assessment the hostess may unexpectedly be required to disrobe to her under slip before Trakkar, just so he can confirm a few minor details. The man is of course perfectly professional. It is no different than disrobing before a physician, he will explain.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“This is all done in private, in the Lady’s opulent chambers. She is caught up in the moment. She has had many glasses of wine. Her inhibitions are lower than they should be. She finds herself barefoot, clad in just under underslip before the famous slaver, giggling at the naughtiness of it all. Trakkar smiles, perhaps understanding what an exciting end to the evening it must be for her. He asks her to stand in certain ways. He tells her she is very graceful. Notes are taken. The kajirus is close at hand, assisting the Lady with her garments. Perhaps she breathes sharply as the kajirus unfastens certain of her hooks and bows. Oh, but his hands are so strong! And his fingers touch her skin so briefly when Trakkar apparently isn’t looking. The hostess is excited. Her pupils are dilated and her breathing is shallow. All this the slaver notes. The kajirus serves ka-la-na throughout and tells the hostess that she is the most dignified mistress he has ever served. The assessment concludes, and then days later the hostess receives her report on the bina beads. But she also receives another report in a plain white envelope. It is perhaps far more detailed than the report on the bina beads. It is an assessment of another woman – one not specifically named – but the hostess will clearly know who she is. The report will be brutally honest about her proclivities or otherwise for the collar. Trakkar is never wrong. She will learn the honest truth about herself in that letter.”

 

“She may be in for a shock?”

 

“Possibly. It may make for difficult reading.”

 

“She is not named in the document, of course.”

 

“No, not in that copy at least. The original of course will be filed away in Trakkar’s office. That will undoubtedly have a name, and an assessment number, stamped, recorded, and marked by the scribes of the central cylinders.”

 

Adamus gazed past me in the direction of the stream. “We should finish now. Our new kajira is returning with an armful of dry wood.”