(Gorean Kajira by JaymeAlverson)

At The Sardar Fair of En’Kara II.

The proportion of slaves in the population of the temporary gathering at the Sardar Fair of En’Kara at the time of the Spring Equinox was higher than that proportion in most cities on Gor. The Slave Market at the Fair was one of the great clearing houses for the slave trade, the enslaved women that made Gor such a delightful place to be a man. Nonetheless, heads still turned as a delectable morsel passed by, it was just human nature.

It was clear the kajira was new to the collar. Her gait, as she tried to match her stride to that of her large master was uncertain. In time, a girl heeling a man learns to adjust her stride, so she moves gracefully in his wake, usually on his left side, a little to his rear. This way she does not impede his sword arm, which is the right, as Goreans are generally right-handed. A girl heeling on the right may be a clue that the man is left-handed, knowledge a warrior or assassin might find useful.

This girl was not quite as graceful in stride as an experienced slave, indicating she was new to the collar. She tried though and her curves were sweet. Her unbound hair was long and black, her bound hands tied behind her with black coloured rope. The colour of the belly chain around her middle, hanging low on her hips matched her hair and the rope around her wrists. Her owner was careful of the small details. He was a slaver. The only departure from her black accoutrements was the strip of yellow silk, four feet long and four inches wide that passed over the black chain in the front, passed between her legs and then over the black chain at the rear. The remainder was adjusted to hand down front and rear equally. Even the chain which hung down from her collar and was held firmly in the left fist of her master was black.

Her Master was a slaver and meticulous in presentation of his property.

The afternoon sun shone down on the Fair, drying the ground from the rain that had fallen during the night. The man had been careful where he walked, avoiding the damp and wet places and the puddles; his property had not been as fortunate, her feet and calves were splashed with mud.

“Buy us a drink, rich man, help out the poor.” The men at the booth selling cheap paga were clearly well past their first bowl.

“Arrogant bastard, sells two thousand slaves and won’t buy us a drink.”

“Scipio Metellus is a cheap arrogant bastard,” chimed in a third.

Suddenly the man leading the slave, turned on his heel making a sudden turn to his left towards the paga stand. He nearly knocked over the poor woman heeling him.

Scipio Metellus was a large man. Two metres, or six foot six inches in Earth measure, he was broad of shoulder and hip, barrel shaped in body.

Angry, he looked terrifying. The men were not so drunk as to be insensible to fear. They shrank back away from the rapidly approaching slaver until their backs were against the counter of the paga booth. The owner of the booth pulled down the shutter that formed the upper half of the front of the booth. All those standing near could hear the snick of the bolts as he secured the upper shutter to the counter.

Scipio spoke.

“You three did no work for me. Why should I buy you a drink, you are layabouts, disgraces to your Home Stones, if you even have one.”

“We just asked for a drink, Slaver, from a rich man to poor ones.”  The tone was both whiny and defiant.

Scipio was having none of it.

“You demanded, and you demanded with insults. My men all worked hard and are paid well. You are poor because you are lazy, like urts you eat up the scraps of others. Now for the insults, for that it is you who must pay.”

The whiny one, scrawny and pockmarked sneered, “You can’t touch us, there is no violence at the Sardar Fair. It is forbidden by the Priest-Kings.” 

He spat.

Scipio Metellus just looked at him. The scrawny man shut up.

“I am entitled, even here, to administer lessons to the impolite, the impudent, those who while defying the rules of decency, take refuge behind the laws of the Fair.”

He rolled up his sleeve.

Another of the drunken fools quavered. “There is an Initiate right there. I appeal for protection.”

The Initiate started forward, but slowly.

“I don’t care, no white-robed, bean-eating,shaven-headed, woman -eschewing, soft-handed weakling of the White Caste can stop me.”

The Initiate stepped backed, looking around. Another white-robed man who had just arrived crossed his arms. There was a smile on his face.

Suddenly Scipio dropped the leash of his property, and with his left hand landed a huge clout on the ear of the drunkard on his left. As the man crumbled, his left hand seized the next man, the whiny pockmarked one, by the hair and smashed his head into the head of the third man. Both collapsed on the ground.

No one in the crowd moved. Scipio had moved quickly; there was nothing to be done. He turned on his slave.

“You should be kneeling. When I stop walking and am standing still, you should be kneeling.”

“Yes Master.” She started to fall to her knees, even though in front of her was a puddle.”

“Don’t let the silk trail in the mud.” The girl grabbed the yellow silk that hung from the front of the black chain. She looked at her Master almost with tears in her eyes. What should she do?

Scipio gave orders. “Drape the silk over your left thigh so that it is out of the mud and attracts attention to your brand.”

The girl, kneeling in the mud, did so. She looked like she wanted to cry but did not dare.

Scipio Metellus stepped over the fallen drunkards and rapped on the shutter of the paga booth.

“Open up in there, there are thirsty men out here.”

There was no response. Scipio thumped the shutter with his fist. The booth shook.

“Open now.”

The shutter flew up.

“Serve your customers until this runs out.’

Scipio placed a silver tarsk on the counter.

“Except those three.” His foot prodded the pock-faced man. The man did not move.

As Scipio walked away leading his slave, the crowd rushed to the booth. Even the Initiate who had been dared to intervene stepped forth to partake of the slave traders hospitality.  The Initiate at the rear of the crowd just watched.

As Scipio Metellus and his kajira, her legs now muddy to the knees, walked off, the white clad man from the rear of the crowd followed, keeping a discreet distance.

Scipio Metellus strolled from booth to booth, looking at curios. He also looked at leather work, scabbards for knives, pouches for money and small items. He spent an hour looking at jewels, but in the end purchased none. Whenever he stopped, his leashed girl, knelt as a slave kneels before a man, the silk hanging from her belly chain attractively draped on her left thigh. Mostly she was ignored by the venders and her Master. While Scipio Metellus was looking at gems, the Initiate who had been following the slave trader was approached by another of his caste. They talked briefly and the first Initiate walked away, the second remaining, watching the tent wherein Scipio was looking at sapphires and rubies.

Scipio’s attention was then attracted by a show of jugglers and acrobats. He paid his money and entered their tent, noticing as he sat down that the three Free Women from the refreshment tent were also present.

He raised the hopes of his famished slave when he ordered two sausage rolls. The meat smelled so good; the pastry looked light and flaky.

The acrobats and jugglers put on a magnificent show as he slowly consumed the first roll. One juggler handled an axe, a knife, a flat pouch, a hat, and a ball, keeping all these disparate items in the air, while above him, two of the acrobats were performing on long pieces of silk hanging from the roof of the tent. They climbed the silk, rolling themselves up and down in a gymnastic and acrobatic display that caused applause and wonder. In one move, one suddenly switched from one silk hanging to the other, the acrobat on the second simultaneously switching to the hanging silk of the first performer. They caught balls tossed up by some of the jugglers, then tossed them between them as they maneuvered hanging from the top of the tent.

Scipio Metellus extended his fingers to the woman kneeling next to him. Gratefully she sucked the crumbs and grease from them, caressingly his digits lovingly. She still hoped for the other sausage roll, or at least some of it, but after a month of slave gruel, to taste the succulent grease and pastry flakes was heaven. She rubbed herself against her master’s leg and thigh, but did not dare utter a word.

There was a short intermission when Ka-la-na wine was served.

Scipio chatted with his neighbour, a man from Victoria who had come to purchase Kaiila to take back to the barrens.

He nodded at the sausage roll beside Scipio Metellus.

“Those pastries are good, but not as good as those made by Andre the baker.” Scipio Metellus agreed that the goods of Andre were excellent but pricey, and continued, “these are good though, good enough for watching a show. For the goods of Andre the Baker of Victoria, one wants to be able to give them one’s total attention.”

Mollified, the man from Victoria admitted that other bakers made edible goods as well. In amity, he and Scipio Metellus watched the second half of the show, which was even more spectacular than the first. At the end Scipio Metellus was astonished to find he had eaten the entire sausage roll without even noticing and gave his fingers again to the collared beast at his side. She was duly grateful.

Scipio Metellus left the tent in company with the man of Victoria and behind the three Free Women, the older two agreeing that the show was very good, and yet very expensive. The slaver did not think that they were wanting for money as their robes were of rich fabrics with a good deal of embroidery.

No one complains more about prices or is as greedy for more as are the rich, thought Scipio.

Scipio Metellus, heeled by his slave, wandered into the area of the Fair where small pieces of carving were sold. He was looking for items of exceptional beauty, items of ivory, items carved from bone or tusks, items carved of stone, hard  stone like marble, and soft stones like soapstone. After walking through the booths, talking to carvers and dealers that he knew, he decided not to purchase anything, at least for that day. Passing by a booth held by men from the far north, he noticed a blonde who was back-bracleted, a piece of rope knotted around her neck.

“Buy me Master”, she pleaded. “Take pity on a poor girl, purchase her for your use”. Scipio stopped by the booth, looking down at the girl. His own girl knelt beside him.

“Buy poor Sea-shell. I am cold in the north.”

Scipio motioned for the slave to stand, then twirled his finger so she would rotate in front of him, displaying herself in the round.

“You are not from the North, then.”

“No Master, I was taken north by my Companion, he was trading with the People of the North, but he tried to cheat them and was slain. I was collared as you see. “

Scipio shook his head. “You do not suit me right now, girl. Another will buy you.”

The slave-trader and his girl moved on.

“I am glad you did not buy her, Master. You already have two girls with Beaker and Me.”

“You were not given permission to speak. Another word will result in punishment.”

“Yes Master.”

Beyond the carvings area was the outer environs of the theatre, a natural amphitheater carved out of a hillside. During the Fairs proper plays were presented there. Proper plays, not burlesques and rude comedies such as were presented in inn courtyards by the likes of that rascal Boots Tarsk-bit, famous for his low cunning and cupidity. His presentations were all short pieces about foolish free women tricked out of their clothes and into collars. If only it were so easy, thought Scipio Metellus, who had tricked more than a few Free Women into his coffles.

The placard outside the theatre announced the play that would be presented, “The Ubara’s Dilemma”, a drama with intrigue, murder, treachery, love and death. Due to some of the subject matter, when the play was presented in a city with an Ubar, it was titled “The Dilemma of the Administrator’s Companion”, or as “The Tatrix’s Dilemma.”

The play takes place in a city under siege. As the siege continues, factions develop amongst the ruling council, with some counseling making a deal for a limited loss, or even outright surrender, while the Ubar/Administrator/Tatrix holding out and defending the city. There are subplots involving a young Tarnsman who is courting a young Free Woman from a family higher and richer than his, his rival, a scribe who always seems to be elsewhere when the fighting is fiercest, unhappy city folk from the lower castes, a councilor who would betray the city for the body of the Ubar/Administrator’s Companion/Tatrix.

The plot was complex, with many famous monologues and speeches for the actors. The climax comes when the Ubar sneaks out of the city to kill the head of the besieging forces. Through complicated plot evolutions, the Ubara must sneak out as well, and it comes to the point, when the Enemy must be distracted so that the Ubar can sneak in and kill him.

In the end, the Ubara performs the Capture Dance of their city, losing her clothing, distracting the general who is killed by the Ubar. “But sadly,” says the Ubar, “you have performed the  capture dance and so must now be collared. Kneel Slave!”

As she kneels, the former Ubara cries out, “Better I become a slave, than that our Home Stone and city by captured.”

Curtain and much applause.

Interestingly, because it is serious drama and the Ubara is a Free Woman, her dance takes place behind a screen. This, even though the actress portraying the Ubara, is like all actresses, a slave. Sometimes, to preserve the sanctity of Free Women, the dance is performed by another slave actress entirely. In extreme cases, while the dance is performed by a separate actress, the original actress is put to use off-stage by the magistrates, who ensure that the Ubara-actress is not performing the dance. In some cases the cries of delight of the Ubara-actress are said to enhance the sensuosity of the Capture Dance.

But Scipio Metellus was not to see the play today.

At the box office, he was told, “So sorry sir, but we are all sold out.”

Scipio protested, “But surely you can find a spot to squeeze me in.”

“If your honour were a more insignificant man, it might be possible to squeeze another onto the benches, but your honour is so tall and broad, it would be impossible. But if you would like to purchase a ticket for tomorrow for a box at the next window?” The box office clerk smiled ingratiatingly.

Scipio tipped the man a tarsk bit for the suggestion. He joined the line at the next window.

He groaned a little when he found he was behind the same three Free Women who had been dogging his steps all day. There was a man with them, a merchant by the look of his clothes. Scipio wondered if he was been taken in by the flattery of the ladies, paying for their tickets in exchange for honeyed words and implied promises. Or perhaps, he took their protestations of poverty at face value, and wanted to get them into his debt so he could clap collars on them.

Scipio shrugged and waited for the line to move. Ahead, the meekest and Scipio surmised, the youngest of the Three ladies was whispering in the ear of the merchant.

The man turned to Scipio.

“Tal, friend. This lady here is young and from a sheltered upbringing. Until coming on this pilgrimage, she had not been exposed to so many slaves out in public, especially those not completely dressed. It has come as a shock to her.”

Scipio was polite though annoyed.

“Tal friend, it is the custom of the Fair, where many slaves are vended for them to be displayed in such a manner as to attract interest.”

The merchant was placatory. Scipio was a large man, and his expression was not that of a patient man

“Yes friend, I understand, but what has attracted the curiosity of the Lady, is the pallor of your possession. She seems paler than most slaves. Is she some form of exotic slave?”

Scipio laughed. “No indeed, she is but newly enslaved and new to the collar. She came from a high caste, and always wore the full robes of concealment with the full complement of veils. Her face was always hidden, and her hands gloved, her feet slippered. It is only since her freedom was stripped from her that her skin has felt the kiss of Tor-tu-Gor the light on the Home Stone. Soon she will develop the glowing warm skin of a kajira.”

Then dismissively, “I wish you well.”

This time the slave had said nothing as she was discussed. The backs of the Free Women in front of Scipio Metellus had visibly stiffened, even through their robes as the stripping and enslaving of Free Women was discussed. The young Free Woman, covered her face with her gloved hands.

The line moved forward; there was no more talk.