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She looked at me, disbelievingly. "We are both slave girls," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I have been branded," she said. "My ears are pierced. I wear a collar!"
"That is true, Elicia," I said. I had used her slave name. She understood this.
I looked at her. "Your collar is very becoming," I said.
"Is it?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"It is a common collar," she said.
"It is still very beautiful on you," I said.
"Truly?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Is it more beautiful because it is locked?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. I did not doubt but what that was true. That the collar was locked did not simply mean that she could not remove it, a fact which played its important role in guaranteeing slave recognition and identification, but, perhaps even more importantly, was momentous in its significance of bondage. A brand might be concealed by clothing, even the brief garb commonly allotted a female slave, but the collar, consistently and openly, proclaimed her girl property. The collar, stressing her vulnerability as a slave, is sexually exciting to the girl who wears it, and to the men who look upon it. Perhaps that is why free women do not wear collars. The steel on her lovely throat, lost beneath her hair, glinting beneath it, contrasting so with her delicious softness, is sexually and aesthetically maddening. No girl is so beautiful, I suspect, as she who wears a Gorean slave collar.
Elicia looked at herself in the mirror across the room. She lifted her head, and turned it to one side. "It is not unattractive," she said.
"No," I said. "It is extremely exciting and attractive."
She looked at me, frightened. "What will men think?" she asked.
'That you are a slave," I said. I shrugged.
She shook with fear. Then again, she regarded herself in the mirror, turning.
"Is my brand pretty?" she asked.
"Why do you ask?" I asked.
"I was only curious," she said.
"Oh," I said.
"Is it?" she asked.
"You were a student of anthropology," I said. "You can look upon the institution of slavery dispassionately and objectively, as an interesting cultural phenomenon, characterizing certain civilizations."
"I am a slave!" she cried. "Do you not understand what that means!" She struggled with the bonds on her wrists.
"I understand very well what it means," I assured her. I thought of Clitus Vitellius. "Where is your coolness?" I inquired. "Where is your objectivity?"
"I am owned," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I did not know it could feel like this," she said. She looked at me, wide-eyed. "It is indescribable," she said.
"You are now experiencing a cultural institution from within," I said. "So, too, one who is a master experiences it from within."
She shuddered as she thought how a master must look upon her, with what desire and power.
"In the past," I said, "you have had some verbal acquaintance with cultural institutions. Now, perhaps for the first time, you have some inkling of what it is to understand one."
She looked at me with fear.
"Do not be afraid, Elicia," I said. "You need only leam how to please men immensely." I laughed.
"I do not even like men!" she cried.
"It does not matter," I said. "The earrings are pretty," I said.
She rose to her feet, the chain on her ankle, and fumed her head back and forth.
"They are pretty," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I never wore earrings," she said, "for they were too feminine."
"You are very feminine, Elicia," I said to her. "You should not have fought your femininity."
She looked angrily at me.
"Your days of fighting your femininity are at an end," I told her. "Men will not permit it. They will force you to yield to your femininity."
"To be feminine is to be less than a man!" she said.
"Whatever it is," I said, "it is what you are."
"Is it what I am?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Judy," she said.
I did not answer her.
"Mistress," she begged.
"Yes," I said.
"Is my brand pretty?"
I laughed. "Yes," I said. "It is deep and clean, and it marks you well."
"The beast put the iron well to my body," she said, angrily. I could also detect a bit of pride in her voice.
"Yes," I said, "he did indeed."
"I wonder if I am the first woman he has ever branded," she said.
"He is a warrior," I said.
"Oh," she said, subdued. Then again she regarded the brand. "It is deep and clean," she said, "and it marks my body well as that of a slave, but Mistress, is it pretty, is it attractive?"
"What do you think?" I asked.
She looked at me in anguish. Then she said, "I think it is beautiful."
"I do, too," I said. "It is a perfectly beautiful brand. Many girls will envy you such a lovely brand."
She looked at me, gratefully. The brand with which she had been marked was the common slave brand for the Gorean female; incised deeply in her thigh, about an inch and a half in height and a half inch in width, was the initial letter, in cursive script, lovely, of the expression 'Kajira, the most common expression in Gorean for a female slave. It was indeed a most beautiful brand. More than half of the branded beauties of Gor, I conjecture, wear that brand.
"Look into the mirror," I said. She did so.
"What do you see?" I asked.
"A slave," she said. She smiled, shyly, lowering her head. It seemed an uncharacteristic gesture for she who had been Elicia Nevins. I smiled.
"But a slave who has much to learn," I said.
She looked at me, questioningly.
"Do you not hear the step of your master, descending the stairs outside the compartments?" I asked.
She listened. "Yes," she said.
"You will learn to listen for that step," I told her.
She looked at me, frightened.
"Is that how you will receive your master," I asked, "standing, like a free woman?"
Swiftly she knelt, in the position of the pleasure slave. "I do not know how to please men," she wept.
"You will be taught," I assured her. "Lift your head a little higher." She did so.
I looked upon her.
I do not know why it is, but the condition of slavery makes a woman very beautiful. It removes inhibitions to the manifestation of her femininity and her deepest needs.
Bosk entered the room. He stopped for a moment, almost startled, then gri
"All is in readiness," he said to us. "I shall gag and saddle-bind the slave at midnight," he said, looking at Elicia. "Then," said he, "I will take flight from Ar."
"Master must be wary of the patrols," I said.
"I have counted from the roof," he said. "They are not randomizing their flights."
"I see, Master," I said. Bosk was thorough. He left little to chance. Yet there would be risk. Yet I feared little for him. I did not think I would care to pursue him on tarnback, were I a mounted guardsman of Ar.
He looked down at Elicia. She knelt in the position of the pleasure slave. Her wrists were bound before her body. Her left ankle was chained to the slave ring. "A lovely slave," he said.
"It is not yet midnight, Master," she said.
He untied her wrists. "Serve me wine, Slave," he said. I gasped.
She lifted the vessel of wine I had earlier brought and filled the goblet.
"No," I whispered to her, and then instructed her how to serve him.
"Wine, Master?" she asked.
"Yes, Slave," he said.
Then she knelt before him, back on her heels, head down, lifting the goblet to him, proffering it to the master with both hands.
He took the goblet from her and, regarding her, drank. I could see he was well pleased with his new acquisition, the lovely beauty, Elicia.
"Bring a pan, and pour wine into it," said he to me, "and give it to the animal."
"Yes, Master," I said.