Part 14 (2/2)

One does not know.

But I suppose, by now, it is evident to all that I am a kajira, or safora.

But of course it is not evident! How could it be? Forgive me. You do not know these words.

Aside from the words, of course, my condition, my status, is doubtless clear to you. Would it not be clear from the speaking of chains, and collars, and such? You may find it objectionable. I do not. I love it. In it I find my fulfillment, my happiness, my joy! Perhaps you think what I am is degrading, and perhaps it is, but, if so, it is a delicious, precious, joyful degradation which I treasure, and in which I thrive and prosper, and one I would not, at the expense of my very life, have otherwise.

It is a thing of softness, heat, devotion, obedience, service, beauty, and love.

In it I am happy, and fulfilled, completely, perfectly, totally as a total woman, as I could be in no other way.

In brief, the word sa-fora means ”Chain Daughter” or ”Daughter of the Chain”. The word kajira, on the other hand, is by far the most common expression in Gorean for what I am, which is, as you have doubtless surmised, a female slave. Yes, slave. The male form is kajirus. The plural of the first word is kajirae, and of the second kajiri. As kajira is the most common expression in Gorean for a slave who is female, I suppose it might, in English, be most simply, and most accurately translated, as ”slave girl.” In a collar, you see, understandably, all women are ”girls.” Almost all slaves on Gor are female. There are, of course, male slaves, but most are laborers, working in the fields, in quarries, in mines, on roads, and such, in chains and under whips Some women keep male silk slaves, but they are rare. The Gorean view is that slavery is appropriate for the female, and not for the male. A saying, a saying of men, of course, has it that all women are slaves, only that some are not yet in the collar. I know now, of course, as I did not earlier, that there are many free women on Gor, and, indeed, that most women on Gor are free An exception seems to be a city called Tharna. I do not know why that is the case.

I now return to my narrative.

Could I have been freed? To be sure, the mark was still on my thigh. But that, of course, was only to be expected.

I looked to the heavy bars at the portal.

They did not suggest to me that I had been freed.

Too, I smoothed down the skirt of the tiny tunic. It was so brief! It was little more than a rag!

That garment did not suggest, either, that I had been freed. As mentioned, it had no nether closure.

This is common with slave garb. The delicious, moist intimacies of the slave are commonly left uns.h.i.+elded. She is to be open, and know herself open, to the master; this reality contributes to her sense of vulnerability, and informs, enhances, suffuses, and considerably deepens the rich emotionality of her nature. She is to be ready for the master at any time of the day or night, and in any place or manner which he may indicate. This helps her to keep in mind what she is. I had only twice, in my training, in my costuming, and silking, and such, worn a garment with a nether closure. The first was no more than a long, narrow silken rectangle thrust over a belly cord in front, taken down between the legs, drawn up snugly, and then thrust over the same cord in the back. The other, more elaborate, was a ”Turian camisk.” It is rather like an inverted ”T,” where the bar of the ”T” has beveled edges. The foot of the ”T”

ties about the neck and the staff of the ”T” goes before one, and then, between the legs, is drawn up snugly behind and tied closed in front where the beveled edges of the bar of the ”T,” wrapped about the body, have been brought forward, meeting at the waist. It may also have side ties, if permitted, strings that tie behind the back, to better conceal, in one sense, and, in another, better reveal the figure. We must know how to put on such a garment, for example, and well, if one is thrown to us. This Turian camisk differs from the common camisk.

The latter is little more than a rectangle of cloth with an opening for the head in the center. It is worn over the head and tied at the waist, normally with one or more loops of binding fiber. The common camisk, of course, has no nether closure. Nether closures, as I have suggested, are seldom permitted to women such as I. We are expected. almost always, you see, to be immediately available to those who hold total rights over us.

And well does this help us understand what we are!

I smoothed down the skirt of the tunic even more firmly, more deliberately. One must be careful how one moves in such a brief tunic, of course. One is taught how to move gracefully in such a garment. Too, one learns how to do little things, such as, crouching down, to retrieve fallen objects.

I was pleased, of course, despite its brevity, to have been accorded a tunic. I knew I might not have received that much. Too, I knew, somewhat to my chagrin, that it could be ordered from me with so little as a snapping of fingers. I did try again to feel a bit indignant at the tunic, for a moment or two, it being all I wore, and so brief, and little more than a rag, but, to be honest, I was much pleased with it. Yes, I was pleased to wear such things. They set me off well. I knew that men found me exciting in them. I did not object to this. I was a woman. Too, if it must be known, such garments excited me, too. I found them arousing.

I loved to wear them.

I was not collared.

Could I have been freed? The garment did not suggest so, nor the bars at the portal. I had best behave as I had been taught, I thought at least until it might be clear that I had been freed. I shuddered. Twice, in training, I had felt the lash, each time a single stroke. I did not care to have that experience repeated.

Could I have been freed? Then I laughed at the absurdity of the thought. These were not men like those of my world.

Men such as these would never free one such as I. They preferred us as we were, theirs.

On this world I was what I was. That was that.

I then rose, and went to the barred portal. I stood there, and held to the bars. Outside it, breathtakingly beautiful, I could see mountains, many of them snowcapped.

I was in awe.

I had not realized this world could be so beautiful.

To be sure, what had I seen of it, really, other than pens, some rooms, some kennels, a glimpse, when unhooded, of the interior of a closed-sided cage wagon, such thing? I looked up. There was a narrow, rectangular slot in the ceiling through which, it seemed, the bars, lifting, as a gate, might rise. There was doubtless a system of weights and counterweights. The bars would not swing outward. That was well, for I could see, from where I stood, grasping the bars, that there was a narrow ledge outside the bars. It was surely no more than a yard wide. I feared, from the valley below, and the mountains across the way, that the drop from the ledge might be precipitate. I crouched down to see if I might be able to lift the bars. I seized one of the crosspieces with both hands. I tried to lift the gate. I could not begin to do so. I had not really expected the gate to open, but I had thought I might be able to lift it a little, a.s.suming some counterweights were engaged, at least an inch or so, until it was stopped by some device, say some lock, or bolt or holding bar. But I could not move it, even an inch. If there were counterweights engaged then more than my strength was needed to activate them.

I turned about and examined the room, or cave, in which I was incarcerated. It was in depth some twenty feet long, in width some fifteen feet wide, in height some eight or ten feet high.

Surely it was no kennel. It seemed to me large, even for a cell. I did not think it had been designed for the keeping of such as I. It could, in easy effectiveness, have held several men. The walls, and ceiling, were rough and irregular. The area was carved out of living rock. I had looked to the back. I had thought there might be some other entrance, perhaps a small iron door at the back, but there was not. In some cells, designed for such as we, there are, inserted within a larger door, or gate, a small door or gate.

Whereas the larger door or gate may be opened, and men may enter the cell standing, if they wish, such as we are usually entered into the cell and summoned forth from it through the smaller door or gate.

We thus enter on all fours and emerge on all fours, or, if it is wished, on our belly. This sort of thing is thought useful in reminding us of our status. It is also harder, obviously, to bolt through such an opening.

Also, on all fours, or on our belly, as we emerge, it makes it easier to put us on a leash. But such has to do, of course, with cells. I was more familiar with kennels. These are usually quite small. They do not permit one to stand upright in them. They usually have barred gates. In this way, we, behind them, are always visible to our keepers. Toward the back there was a bit of straw and, I was pleased to see, a blanket. It was heavy and black. It would doubtless be warm.

There were also three vessels in the cell. Two of these were of a simple yellowishly glazed clay, fragile and chipped about the edges. They had perhaps been discarded from some kitchen. The other was of a heavier, whitish porcelaintype substance. The yellowish vessels were to one side and the whitish porcelaintype vessel was to the other. I walked to the back, to examine them.

Of the two to one side, the yellowish vessels, one was a flattish bowl, which contained a crust and some meal; too, within it I was pleased to see what I thought were some slices of dried fruit; such things are often included in our diet; they are precious to us; in the other vessel, of the two to one side, the left, as I faced them, my back to the bars, a taller, craterlike vessel, there was water. On the other side of the room, to the right, as I faced the back of the cell, was the larger, whitish porcelaintype vessel. I was grateful for its presence. Such things are not always permitted to us.

I wondered where I was.

I walked back to the bars, and, through them, gazed again, enraptured, at the beauty of the mountains.

Then, more curious about my surroundings, I grasped the bars. I pressed my face to the bars.

I could not put my head between them. They were too closely set. I pressed the side of my face against them, first to the left, and then to the right, trying to see to the left and right. I could see, through them, only a bit of the ledge, narrow, extending to each side. I pressed my body against the bars. I felt their hardness against my softness. This disquieted me. It made me uneasy. But I then pressed myself even more closely against the bars.

Their hardness, suddenly, seemed powerful, and delicious. It made me feel weak. I felt so helpless behind them.

They were so stern and hard, so uncompromising, so unyielding. And I was within them.

Herein I think I found figures, or images, or symbols, of what I was not certain. There was the hardness of the bars, and my softness, things so utterly different, and yet somehow, subtly, meaningfully complementary. And then, too, there were the bars and, within them, utterly helpless, was my softness.

How mighty were the bars! How strong they were, and perfect! I pressed my cheek and body against them, happily, joyfully, gratefully, knowing that I could never break them.

I then drew back a little, but kept my grasp on the bars. This room, or cave, I conjectured.

had not really been designed for such as I. It was so large, and strong. But it would hold one such as I quite as effectively as one such as they. I, though much smaller than they, no more than they, could even dream of slipping between the bars. They were too closely set.

I could see little from where I was, other than the ledge, and the mountains across the way. I thought it quite possible, however, that my cell was not the only one in this mountain, along that narrow path. That did not seem likely. It was, presumably, one of several along the path.

Indeed, there might be other such paths cut in the mountain, above this one, with other cells, and perhaps, to be sure. below me, as well, where I could not see. I considered calling out. But I did not call out. It is perhaps just as well. Women such as I, you see, are subject to discipline. I did not know if I might call out or not. I had not received any explicit permission to speak. In my training I had twice, for days at a time, been refused permission to speak. One must then do as best one can, with gestures, with whimpers, and such, to make one's needs known, that one desires food, that one begs permission to relieve oneself, and so on.

Yes, this cell would hold men, as well as such as I. Too, I thought, it would hold animals, even large animals. I wondered if animals were ever kept in it. Animals other than, of course, the sort that I was. I looked back to the porcelaintype container, near the back wall, to the right. I was glad it was there. I would be expected to use it. One is taught, I, and animals, too, of other sorts, to use such things, corners of cells, boxes, drains, and such. I, of course, was ”cell broken.” If no receptacle were there, and I need not ”wait,” sometimes in misery, until conducted by keepers to a suitable place for the discharge of such homely functions, I knew enough to use the back, right-hand corner of the area. It is not pleasant to have one' s face nearly thrust into one's wastes and then, on all fours, be dragged by the hair to the back, righthand corner of an area, where the keeper points meaningfully to the appropriate place of deposition.

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