Part 117 (1/2)
In his voice there seemed terrible menace.
”The slave rejoices!” I said. ”She begs to serve!”
”How clever you are,” he said.
”I do not ask that you like me, even a little,” I said. ”I only beg, unilaterally, with no hope of the least reciprocity, that you will permit me to be your helpless love slave!”
”It is little wonder, with your cleverness,” he said, ”that you learned the language so quickly, that you so quickly and well learned the lessons of the pens.”
”I am well advised,” I said, ”to learn the language of my masters as quickly as possible. It is not pleasant to be beaten. And surely I am not to be blamed if the slave in me was a little closer to the surface, a little more eager, a little less repressed than that in some others.”
”You belong in the collar,” he said.
”Yes, Master,” I said.
”How well you look on your knees, bound.”
”Thank you, Master.”
”It is where you belong.”
”Yes, Master.”
He looked at me. It was difficult to read his eyes, his visage. He loosened the coils of the whip, but then, to my relief, slowly, wound them back together again.
”Am I to be whipped?” I asked.
He did not respond.
”I did not expect to see master again,” I said.
”Nor I you,” he said, ”slave.”
”Is it but coincidence,” I said, ”that she who has come into your power is I?”
”Not at all,” he said. ”It is only to find you that I have come to this part of the world.”
I looked at him, suddenly, in wonder, and joy.
”Master has sought me?” I asked.
”Yes,” he said.
He must then, I thought, share something of my feelings for him. Not lightly did one undertake lengthy journeys on this dangerous world.
”You have come far to acquire me,” I said, shyly.
He regarded me, not speaking.
”I thought that master did not care for me,” I said. I recalled the neglect, the contempt, the cruelty with which he had treated me in the pens. Of all the guards it seemed it was he alone who despised me, who held me in such disdain.
”You are a worthless s.l.u.t,” he said.
”Yes, Master,” I said, contentedly.
”Do you know my accent?” he asked. ”It is not unlike your own.”
”I can recognize it, of course,” I said.
”It is an accent of Cos,” he said. ”Your accent, too, despite the barbarian influences, and others, is substantially a Cosian accent, for it is there you learned your Gorean. You were trained in pens in the capital city of Cos, Telnus.”
”Yes, Master,” I said. This was the first time I had heard the location of the pens in which I had been trained. They were in a city named Telnus, on Cos, which I did know was an island.
”There has been a great war,” said he, ”between Cos, and her allies, and Ar, and her allies.
The victory has come to Cos, but for various reasons, having to do primarily with the volatility of mercenary forces, it is thought that the permanence of this victory is not a.s.sured. You know in what city you are?”
”In Ar,” I said. I knew that. I knew, too, something of the occupation, and of the hards.h.i.+ps in the city, though we had been much sheltered from the consequences of such in the gardens.
”What you perhaps do not know,” he said, ”is that Ar was betrayed in this war, by traitors in high places.”
”No, Master,” I said.
”Without such treachery it is unlikely that Cos could have secured her success.”
I was silent.
”In particular, it was needful to deprive Ar of competent leaders.h.i.+p.”
He was then silent.
”Master?” I asked. But it seemed he felt he had spoken more than he wished.
”It was not easy to find you,” he said. ”There were attempts made to conceal your whereabouts.
Interestingly, the clue to your location came, so to speak, from the other side, from the side of those favoring Ar, or perhaps one might say, better, from the side of some who are suspected of favoring Ar, whose activities, unknown to themselves, are closely monitored.”
I understood very little of what he was saying.
”Must we speak of such things, Master?” I asked.
”You do not know your role in these things, do you?”
”No, Master,” I said, ”nor is it important.”
”Sometimes,” said he, ”the slightest movement of a leaf, stirring in the wind, is important.