Witness of Gor

“I did not think so,” I said.

“It could be our secret,” she said.

“It is better that you remain ignorant of these things,” I said. “You are a free woman.”

“Please, Janice,” she said.

“It is knowledge more appropriate to slaves,” I said.

“Please, please,” she begged.

“I will think about it,” I said.

“And surely,” she said, “I ought to quaff slave wine!”

“It is terrible stuff,” I said.

“But it might be dangerous on the surface,” she said. “There might be ruffians.”

“I think,” I said,” rather, I will have you locked in an iron belt, the heaviest and most uncomfortable that may be procured.”

“No,” she said, “slave wine, slave wine!”

“You may be right,” I said. “It would not do at all if some fellow on the surface, taking you for a mere slave, and insensitive to the civilities involved, should simply throw you to the stones and put you to his pleasure.”

“Janice,” she said.

“Yes?” I said.

“I knew what I was doing,” she said.

“I thought so,” I said.

“I know what I am,” she whispered.

“Oh?” I asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Hurry, veil yourself,” I said. “I hear the approach of the guard!”

15

“It is for this reason that you have been brought here,” said the pit master.

I had followed him, to the lowest passages in the pits, and to what surely must have been one of the dankest corridors in that dismal place. There was damp straw on the floor of the corridor. Sometimes an urt, a small rodent, not like the large urts in the pool, scurried past. Water, here and there, dripped from the ceiling of the corridor. I could stand upright in the corridor, but most of the men of this world, I conjectured, could not have done so. The head of the pit master, for all his bulk, he like a bent-over bear, was lower even than my own. In such a place, in such a corridor, I think he, with his terrible strength, and almost like a four-footed animal, would have proved a terrible foe to almost any man, even those of this world. In this place there was a smell of dampness and stench. I was afraid to have come here. The pit master carried a tiny lamp. It cast long, strange shadows about. Fina, who usually accompanied him in the pits, had been left in our quarters, chained to her ring.

The pit master handed me the tiny lamp, with five keys taken from his belt, undid the five locks on the iron door. He swung the door open and took back the lamp.

He motioned that I should follow him within.

Frightened, I crept within.

The ceiling within the cell was higher than that in the corridor. Within it a man, say, an interrogator, a guard, might stand upright.

“There,” said the pit master, lifting the lamp.

I gasped.

Lying at the back wall of the cell was a crumpled heap. It rose slowly to all fours, blinking against the light. I was not sure it was human at first glance. Then I saw it was a man. It was an extremely large man. He was disheveled. His hair was matted and wild. He was heavily bearded. He wore rags. On each of his limbs, and on his neck, there was a heavy chain, each of these fastened to a different heavy ring in the wall behind him.

“This is to be your charge,” he said. “You will add him to your other duties.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You were purchased for this,” he said, “even before he came into our keeping.”

I nodded.

“But we did not expect to receive him as he is,” said the pit master.

I did not understand this.

“He was betrayed into our hands,” said the pit master, I thought with a note of regret.

“Ten sleen,” said the pit master, “have been given his scent.”

I was startled to hear this.

That is a terrible thing. The sleen is the tenacious, six-legged carnivore I had seen before, on the ledge, and on the surface of the tower. My own scent had been “taken” by two sleen, on the second day I had been in the pits. One is held down, naked, and the sleen, first one, and then the other, are ordered forward. They thrust their huge, cold snouts about one’s body, learning one’s scent. While they do this one’s name is repeated, so that they will associate the name, which may then figure in a signal, with the scent. A hunt-and-kill order may then be issued, and the sleen will track down and tear to pieces the object of its hunt. The ma

“Ten?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

That would be every sleen in the pit master’s sleen pens.

“Who is he?’ I asked.

“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“He is “41,”” he said. “The prisoners in this corridor are referred to only by numbers.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“We are to meet someone here,” said the pit master. “I think they are coming.”

The prisoner had now changed his position. He was sitting there now, by the wall, cross-legged. His back was very straight. He seemed to stare into space.

I could hear movement in the passageway, outside.

I knelt.

Three men entered the cell. The first was the fellow who had occupied the great chair on the surface of the tower, to whom I had been presented several days ago. The other two I did not know. They were warriors. One carried a torch. After recognizing their leader, whom I took to be an important person in this city. I kept my eyes straight ahead. As a slave, one must be wary of appearing presumptuous.

“Bring the torch closer,” said the leader.

He looked carefully at the prisoner.

“Yes,” said the leader. “It seems as reported.”

The prisoner did not speak. He continued to gaze, seemingly unseeingly, into space.

“What is your name?’ inquired the leader.

“I do not know,” said the prisoner, slowly.

“It was the fall, from tarnback,” said one of the warriors.

“From tarnback?” asked the prisoner, puzzled.

“No,” said the leader. “You slipped, on rocks.”

“We took him on the side of a mountain,” said one of the warriors. “He slipped down, for several yards, a hundred or more. Then we got the ropes on him.”

“Your name is ‘41’,” said the leader.

“My name is ‘41’,” said the prisoner, dully.