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I would be put through slave paces.
"Give me whatever you think she is worth," he said, "and send the coins to the compartments of Clitus Vitellius, in the Towers of Warriors."
"Yes, Master," said the man at the table.
Clitus Vitellius turned about and left the Curulean.
I knelt alone in the yellow circle on the cement.
I felt the rope on my throat pull taut. I sensed the swinging loops of leather near me.
The man rose from behind the table and came to the circle. He looked down at me. "Well now, little beauty," he said, "let us see what you can do."
"Yes, Master," I said.
28
What Occurred At The Curulean
The first time that one is sold it is the hardest. Yet it is, I suppose, never easy. The hardest part is perhaps not knowing who it is, among those many faces in the darkness, who will buy you. You are illuminated, exhibited, forced to perform. At your side is the auctioneer with his whip. You perform, and perform well. Do not think you would not. You feel the wood of the block with your feet, and the sawdust upon it. The block itself is smooth. Many girls have been sold here before. You are not special, you are only another slave, a bit more or less pleasing than others. You feel the sawdust with your feet. On Gor, animals are commonly sold on blocks which are strewn with sawdust. The slave girl is an animal. You lift your head under the torchlight. You hear the first bid. it is hard not to tremble. You have been bid upon. From the voice you try to guess the nature of the master. Then there is another bid. You smile, you turn, you walk, you lift your arms, you kneel, you lie upon your back at the auctioneer's feet, your knee lifted, your arms over your head as though braceleted, you roll to your stomach, you look up at him, over your shoulder; you respond to him, instantly, setting forth for the view of the buyers subtle and provocative positions and attitudes, displaying yourself as you must, fully, and as a slave. You are sweating. Sawdust clings to your body. It clings in your hair. If you falter, or are in the least displeasing, the auctioneer's whip will sharply instruct you in your error. At last, breathing heavily, you stand there, naked. Perhaps you have been struck.
The last bid is taken. It is accepted. The auctioneer's fist closes. You have been sold.
Many girls dream of being sold in the Curulean. Its great block is perhaps the most famous in Ar. It is also the largest. It is semi-circular and some forty feet in width. It is painted for the most part in blue and yellow, the colors of the slavers, and ornately carved, with many intricate patterns and projections. It is perhaps fifteen feet high. An interesting feature of the block is that about it, on the semi-circular side facing the crowd, tall and serene, carved in white-painted wood, evenly spaced, are the figures of nine slave girls. They represent, supposedly, the first nine girls taken, thousands of years ago, by the men of a small village, called Ar. In the carving it may be seen that the throats of the girls are encircled by ropelike collars, presumably woven of some vegetable substance. It is said that at that time the men of Ar were not familiar with the working of iron. It is also said the girls were forced to breed mighty sons for their captors.
"You, Slave!" said the man.
"Yes, Master!" I said, looking up in the collar, with its two chains, one on each side, which fastened me to the girl on my left and right.
We were in the tu
"Are you familiar with the choreography of your display?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said. I had been well rehearsed. Little occurs by accident on the block of the Curulean.
He then went to the next girl, she on my right, farther down the tu
"Yes, Master!" said the girl some two girls below me on the chain, responding to the question of the slaver's man. We would all be ready. We would all do our best, or, be punished terribly.
I looked to the girl on my left, and to the one on my right. How beautiful they were. We had all had Gorean slave cosmetics applied to us. Let the men beware. We had all been exposed in the exhibition cages earlier, stark, save for perfume. It was at that time that the buyers had had their opportunity to view us objectively. It was their responsibility now, in the bidding, to be on their guard.
I sensed a tremor, sudden, subtle, in the chain. I leaned forward, looking down the line. The whisper was sped rapidly down the chain. "The bidding has begun," said the whisper.
"I'm frightened," said a girl.
"All Ar bids at the Curulean," said another.
I could hear nothing. But I knew the first girl had now ascended the block.
I sat back on the long wooden bench. It was some eight inches in width. It was set against the side of the tu
"Move down one space," said the slaver's man.
We did so.
The girl to my left wore a demure, brief house tunic, of the sort worn by a house slave. She would be presented to the crowd as though, since childhood, she had been owned by a quiet, respectable family which, lately, because of financial difficulties had been forced to sell her. She would be reputed to know little of the lust of men or the duties of a pleasure slave. Still, it would be suggested, a master might teach her. This story was not entirely a fabrication. It would not be said, however, that she was an appetitious girl who had welcomed her sale, or that she hungered for a man. She hoped to be bought by a man of modest means. She wanted to be the only girl in his compartments. I thought she would make a wonderful slave. The girl on my right, who would be sold after me, would be presented quite differently. She was clad in a bit of virginal white fluff, from her shoulders to thighs. The contrast between her dark hair, and her naked arms and legs, and the bit of white fluff about her, was quite striking. She had lovely, slender shoulders and well-curved, slender, trim legs. I thought she would bring a high price. She was the one who had said, "I am frightened." I did not blame her. First, she was a virgin. Secondly, it would terrify almost any lovely girl to be presented in such a costume before Gorean men.