Witness of Gor coc-26 Page 16

  I groped about the cell and touched with my finger the rim of the shallow bowl of water. I did not know if, in this place, at this time, I was permitted to use my hands to feed myself or not. At times we had been permitted to do so in the pens, and, at other times, we had not been permitted to do so. I did not know what the case was here. It is well, of course, not to be too sanguine in assuming permissions which one might not have. Many were the times in which I, and my fellow trainees, had eaten and drunk on our bellies, or on all fours. Sometimes we must kneel, thrusting our faces into feeding troughs, our hands braceleted behind us. Sometimes, when we had been chained under the tables of feasting guards and food was thrown to us, we might use our hands and at other times, we might not. Many times had I, whimpering, been hand fed, putting my face to a guard’s knee. Many times had I picked up morsels thrown to the floor with my teeth. And I did not know what the case might be here. So I went to my belly and drank, lapping the water. Given what I was, that seemed safest to me. The water was stale, and cold. I did not know how long it had stood in the bowl. I fed, too, similarly, on the meal, and the crust. The slices of dried fruit I would save for later. It is not so much that I feared I might be being spied upon, or I feared that oils, or traces, of food, or such, might be found on my fingers. It was not even so much that I feared I might be challenged, later, on the matter, and my reactions, my expressions, my body, in their subtlest nuances and movements, read, to determine whether or not I was lying. It was rather, more simply, because I did not know whether or not I had the permission.

  Let those who are such as I understand this. Let others not.

  Too, let those who have been under discipline understand this. Let others not.

  Then, from my belly, I had drunk and fed. The pieces of dried fruit I would save for later.

  I wrapped myself, kneeling, in the blanket.

  It was quiet cold in the cell now.

  I was very grateful for the blanket.

  I realized it could be taken away from me. I hoped it would not be. I did not want to lie on that stone floor, in the cold, my knees drawn up, my arms about myself, shivering, in only the tunic. Indeed, the tunic, too, I realized, could be taken from me.

  What lay in store for me?

  What did they want of me?

  What was I supposed to do?

  I did not know.

  I had thought there was nothing to fear.

  I had been mistaken.

  I put my hand out, in the darkness, and felt the rough, granular texture of the enclosing wall, of rock.

  In the cell were three vessels, one for food, one for water, and, a larger one, to my left, as I knelt within the blanket facing the bars, for wastes. The smaller vessels my have been discards from some kitchen. Both were chipped at the edges. The food bowl was cracked. The larger bowl, for wastes, was of some porcelaintype substance. None of these vessels was made of metal. There was no metal within the cell, you see, which might be used as a tool for, say, excavation. I had not even been given a spoon, not that such might have been availing. What could it have done other than scratch futilely at the enclosing stone?

  I knelt there in the darkness, the blanket clutched about me.

  I did not know where I was, or what was expected of me.

  I was helpless in the cell. I was well kept here. I was totally in the power of others.

  It was dark, and cold.

  What was wanted of me?

  I suddenly became very afraid.

  I felt then within me a sudden body’s urgency and cast aside the blanket and groped awkwardly toward the larger of the three vessels.

  In a few moments I had returned to my place.

  I had reached the vessel in time. That is important. One does not wish to be punished.

  I had learned to use such things, and drains, in the pens. If nothing like that was provided one waits, or, if permitted, uses the back right-hand corner of the enclosure, as one faces the rear of the enclosure.

  One of the early lessons one learns in the pens is that one is not permitted dignity or privacy. I recalled the guard from the pen who had been, for some reason, unlike the others, so cruel to me, he whose whip I had first kissed. Several times it had been he who, it seemed in anger, had elected to “walk me.” Several times I must squat at the drains and relive myself before him.

  Thought I was a slave I found this shameful, and embarrassing. Not before him, of all, he who was so precious and special to me, he who figured in my most helplessly lascivious and submissive dreams, he whose whip I had first kissed on this rude, beautiful world! Why did he hate me so? Why did he make me do this? Why did he wish to so grievously shame and humiliate me? Is this how he wanted to think of me, or remember me, as a foul, pathetic, meaningless little animal relieving herself upon command before him?

  One cleans oneself, if permitted to do so, and this permission, because of hygienic considerations is seldom, if ever denied, with what might be available. In this cell, as was presumably intended, I had done it with straw and water. That is not that uncommon. The straw is left in the vessel. We are trained to clean ourselves well, incidentally. If we do not, we are whipped.

  The slave is not a free woman; she must keep herself, as best she can, fresh, rested, clean, and attractive.

  I now sat back in the cell, my back against the wall, wrapped in the blanket.

  The blanket was warm, but, within it, I felt very bare, in the skimpy tunic.

  Within the blanket, with the finger tips of my left hand, I felt under the skirt of the tunic. The tiny mark was there, my brand. Within the blanket I felt very soft, and vulnerable. Within the blanket I touched my throat. No collar was there.

  I suddenly pressed back against the wall.

  For the moment I dared not breathe.

  The shape which had so terrified me but a bit ago was again at the bars. It was like a darkness among darknesses. It was standing there. I smelled it, too, now, a heavy beast smell. I heard its breathing. It thrust its snout against the bars. I heard a low, rumbling, warning growl. I pressed back even further. Then it was gone, padded away.

  I gasped, shaken.

  When I was sure it was gone I went again to my belly, and to the food bowl. I put my head down and, delicately, bit off part of one of the pieces of dried fruit. I then ate it, treasuring it, even that small part, bit by bit, little by little, particle by particle. Then for a long time I fed there, bit by bit finishing the first of the three pieces, and then the second, similarly, and then the third. Such things, the slices of fruit, are very precious. I had saved them for last. When I was finished, I rise, to all fours.

  I had relished the fruit, dray as it was.

  I was grateful that it had been given to me.

  I then turned about and, for a time, on all fours, the blanket about me, faced the bars.

  I heard a howling, far off. I did not know if it were the wind or some beast.

  I was suddenly frightened, and lonely.

  I hoped the men would be kind here. I would do my best not to displease them.

  Surely they would be kind! They must be kind! Had I not been fed, had I not been given a blanket? Surely that was a kindness. My scent could always be taken otherwise. Had there not been three slices of dried fruit in the bowl?

  But I had seen the great bird, I had seen the prowling beast, that fearsome guardian of narrow ledges.

  I feared that men here might be strict with such as I, with their slaves.

  Afterwards I lay down and slept.

  9

  I lay on my stomach on the floor of the mountain cell, my head toward the back of the cell, my legs widely spread, my arms extended outward and upward. It is difficult to rise quickly from such a position. I was counting slowly, aloud, to one thousand. One begins to count when one hears the gate lower and lock. One does not know if, or how long, someone might watch, and listen, to see if the directive is honored. So one counts aloud, and slowly. When one reaches one thousand one may rise, and fetch th
e food and water bowls, and the clean wastes vessel, from just within the bars, where they have been left. One knows when to place them before the bars because there is a signal, the ringing of a suspended bar, from somewhere outside. At the signal one puts the empty bowls at the waste vessel near the bars, and then assumes the indicated position, one of prone helplessness, facing the back of the cell. I had received these directives on the morning after my first night in the cell. They were issued to me in a female voice, belonging to a person I did not see, from somewhere outside the cell. I had, accordingly, as yet, seen nothing of my jailers. I did not know if the voice I had heard was that of one who was free, or one who was bond, as I did not doubt but what I was, in spite of the bareness of my throat. It seemed to me most likely that she would have been bond, as it did not seem likely that free females, in a world such as this, would be involved in tasks so lowly as the care of prisoners. From what I had seen of free females in the pens, to be sure, only two of them, in its more respectable areas, and from what I had gathered from remarks of guards, rough jokes, and such, they were a haughty, exquisite, frustrated, pampered, imperious lot. I had also been warned by more than one guard that I should watch my step with particular care among such creatures, as they enjoyed being incredibly cruel, petty and vindictive towards those such as I, who, doubtless for reasons of their own, they regarded with utter contempt and hatred. “How different they are from us!” I had once breathed in the pens. “Not so different,” said one of the guards. “Naked, on her knees, in a collar,” said another, “they are not other than you.”

  I was pleased that he had said this for I myself, earlier, had boldly speculated much to the same point, but I did not, of course, explicitly profess this concurrence on our views. It is one thing for a man to say such a thing; it would be quite another for a slave. I did not thin he would beat me, but I did not know. So I remained silent. I was pleased, of course. He grinned at me, so I suppose I did not conceal that as well as I might have. In any event he did not beat me.

  But how contemptuous, and how regal, they had appeared, and so beautifully robed and veiled! Many I was told, wore platforms of a sort on their feet, perhaps as much as eight to ten inches high, which would increase their apparent height, and, of course protect their slippers from being soiled, for example, in muddy streets, or, certainly, in the damp pens. The two I had seen, however, had been in “street slippers.” Such, I suspect might provide better footing in the pens, for in places the stones are damp, even wet. One is very much aware of that when one is barefoot. How serene and beautiful they seemed, in their veils and robes!

  I had briefly, once, inadvertently, met the eyes of one.

  It had happened in the pens when I had looked after the free women, as they had passed me. One, the first, had turned, and caught me with my head lifted. In that instant I saw her body stiffen with rage, and, over the colors of her veils, I saw her eyes were cold, and filled, with hatred. I trembled, and tried not to move. I was terrified. She came back and stood before me. I lay before her, prone and helpless, as what I was, a prostrated slave. I was nothing. She was mightiness, and beauty. I lay before her, miserably, trembling, helpless, hoping that she would not have me beaten. She remained standing before me, for some time. I dared not move. I scarcely dared to breathe. One of the guards attempted to distract her, calling her attention to a new model of a pleasure rack. But still she remained standing before me, looking down at me, I suppose. Then he said, “She is only an ignorant Earth slut.” “But she is learning,” said another. I was grateful to the guards. Had I not been so popular I wondered if they would have been as generous. I saw that they were trying to protect me. But I was frightened, too, that they might deem such protection necessary. What might she have done to me if she pleased?

  “Kneel,” she snapped.

  I scrambled to my knees before her, less gracefully, I fear, than I might have, but I was frightened of her. I sensed in her great hatred, and contempt.

  “Split your knees,” she said, fiercely, “more widely!”

  I complied, instantly.

  Tears ran down my cheeks. It is one thing to kneel so before a man, and quiet another before a woman.

  “She is an Earth slut?” said the woman.

  “Yes,” she was told.

  “I would have thought so,” she said. “They are all worthless, and stupid,” she said.

  I dared not move.

  “Yes, she is from Earth,” she said, musingly, acidly. “One can tell, of course. See how plain, and ugly she is. How lacking in grace and poise! The women of Earth as such inferior goods! What true man could possibly be interested in them? In the markets it is no wonder they are jokes. How lacking they are! Earth is such a thin, unlikely, impoverished soil for slaves. I shall never understand why they bother noosing these slaves. Once can harvest nothing there of interest, only pathetic mediocrities, at best, with good fortune, perhaps a girl of merely average attractiveness. Earth women are shabby stock, third-rate merchandise, inferior goods. At best such things could be only pot-and-kettle girls, low slaves, cleaning slaves, laundresses, and such. I do not see what men see in them. They cannot begin to compare to a Gorean woman. See, for example, this ignorant, presumptuous little slut, this meaningless little piece of slave suet trembling in her collar! I think she might well profit from a bout with the thongs of hot irons!”

  “We have some new male slaves in Pen 2 of the Bata Section,” said another to her, he whose whip I had first kissed.

  The woman turned, to see who had addressed her, and suddenly, for a moment, she seemed taken aback. I think she had not seen him well before. He whose whip I had first kissed was, in his unassuming way, a powerful, handsome Gorean male. I thought him the most handsome of all the guards. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen. I was weak when near him. It was his whip which I had first kissed on this world. It was from such a man that a woman might beg the collar! Why was he so cruel to me? I wanted only to please him, and as the slave I was. Her attitude immediately changed.

  “Oh?” she said, archly.

  “I do not know if you would be interested,” he said. “They are male silk slaves, pleasantly featured, symmetrically proportioned charming fellows, gentle, sensitive, unthreatening. They are well trained to be a woman’s slave.”

  “Ah!” she said, as though interested.

  I did not move a muscle. I knelt almost rigidly, my knees spread. I had not dared to meet her eyes. It can be deemed presumptuous for a slave to directly meet the eyes of a free person, unless the permission is clear.

  Suddenly she had forgotten about me!

  “They are the sort,” he said, “with whom a lady might chat of her day, her doings and thoughts, with whom she might exchange gossip, and gratefully share delicate confidences. They are well trained to be a woman’s slave. They would look well in their silk at your slave ring. You could be proud of them as they hurry about your errands, keep your quarters and serve your fiends.”

  “They are not masculine, are they?” she inquired. “I find masculinity so offensive and vulgar,” she said.

  The liar, the liar, I thought. Even within her garments I sensed her naked body palpitating in his presence!

  What possible interest could she be to such a man, other than perhaps to be seized, stripped and caged, for an eventual sale?

  “You need have no fear,” he said. “They have been selected for their nature, which is that to be a woman’s slave.”

  I sensed that she, as any hormonally normal woman, would despise such creatures.

  “By all means,” she said, “let us look at them.”

  “Follow me, if you would,” said he.

  The woman had then turned away. I was grateful that she had been distracted! I had been forgotten!

  The guard, it seemed, was interested in displaying the goods of the house.

  I turned my head a little and saw her follow the guard, he whose whip I had first kissed, from the area. He did not even look back at
her. Doubtless I should have rejoiced at this development, facilitating as it did my escape from what might have been a most unpleasant situation. How fortunate that he, in the line of his duty, he so impatient and efficient, had recalled to her the presumed itinerary of her schedule. I was pleased that this, doubtless by some fortuitous coincidence, had occurred to him. But I had felt, too, a sudden uncontrollable wave of hatred and jealousy for her, she being permitted to follow him as she did. She followed him quickly enough, and meekly enough, I thought. This might have been noted, too, by the guards.

  The woman with her accompanied her.

  Then they were gone.

  “I wonder what she would look like on a block,” said one of the guards. “Not bad, I would guess,” said another. “Do you think she could dance?” asked another. “Yes,” said another. “It is instinctive in a woman,” said another. “Certainly she could be taught,” said another. “She needs a collar, and a taste of the whip,” said another. “That is what they all need,” said another, “a collar, and a taste of the whip.”

  Then the guards looked at me.

  I knelt before them as well as I could.

  “Do not mind what she said,” said one of the guards.

  “No,” said another.

  “You are beautiful,” said another.

  “We will decide who is beautiful and who is not,” said another.

  “And you are beautiful, very beautiful,” said another.

  “Yes,” said another.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  “No,” I was told.

  “We know her,” said one of the guards.

  “She was abandoned by her intended companion, who had become enamored with a lovely Earth-girl slave,” said another.