Visitor
I was startled by a loud knocking on the door. I had been putting Mena through slave paces, teaching her to assume positions when commanded. I was letting her recover her breath , giving her a break while in the all fours position. Her body was flushed from exertion. I had taken my tunic off and was kneeling behind her, her ass pointing at me, inviting. I had put my finger to her wet opening when the knocking began. Mena turned her head, looking behind at me and appeared frightened. The loud knocking stopped. No one ever knocked on my door.
“A moment!” I yelled, slipping on my tunic and grabbing my gladius. I went to the door. I looked through the peep hole and saw a man. I opened the door and said, “Tal Trem!” motioning him inside.
“Tal, Rykart. I was wondering about you, after not seeing you in some time.” He looked around the apartment and noticed Mena. She had left her all fours position and was now kneeling on the floor, knees together, with one arm covering her breasts. Her skin was flushed and a thin sheen of sweat covered her naked body. She bowed her head when she noticed Trem looking at her. I was happy to see Trem, but disappointed with Mena.
“Am I interrupting?” Trem asked me. If his knock had been a couple ehn later, I would have been deep inside my ready slave.
“Not at all! Good to see you. I bought kajira, her name is Mena. She is new to collar. She was Scribe,” I replied. “Mena, nadu!” I said firmly, disappointed that she was trying to cover herself from view. She slowly went to nadu, her knees not as wide as they should be.
“You are training her yourself?” Trem asked.
“Yes, something I always want to do.”
“Training a woman can be enjoyable. It requires a lot of time, patience and perseverance, but it has its rewards. She has nice curves,” he said.
“You have trained kajira?”
“Several. I have fond memories of those times. Things were different back then but I don’t miss the responsibility. I prefer my women well trained now,” he said.
“And now you not own kajira. What happened to them?”
“I sold them. I had a Free Companion and we had children. She didn’t want kajirae around our daughter,” he said. I never thought Trem was the type to have a Free Companionship. And his mention of children was a surprise to me too. There was a lot about Trem I didn’t know.
“How old are you Trem?”
“Eighty-Three,” he said, and he looked like he was twenty-five. The miracles of Gorean medicine and the stabilization serums are astounding. I wanted to know more about Trem, things he had done, places he had been.
“Paga?” I asked.
“Yes. Do you want to go to tavern?”
“We have one here first. Mena, serve us paga, like Sofi.” I said and sat cross legged on the floor. Trem sat next to me and we watched her bring over two cups of paga. She knelt in nadu across from us and set the cups on the floor. She picked up one cup and placed it against her stomach, then slowly slid it up along her skin, between her breasts, placing it to her lips, where she kissed it and then bowed her head, offering the cup to me with extended arms.
“Mena, offer to Trem first. He is guest,” I said, irritated.
“Yes Master, this slave begs forgiveness. This slave is still learning,” she said.
She repeated the serve, this time offering the cup to Trem. “Apologies Master, this slave begs to be found pleasing,” she said to him. He took the cup from her.
“How was the serve?” I asked him as she served me.
“The serve was adequate, she needs practice,” he said. Mena kept her head bowed. Her skin was flushed. I wondered if she was blushing, or still heated from the slave paces.
“I need advice on Mena. I not know best way to I leave her here. Best way to secure her, when I go out. Kennel?” I asked.
“What have you been doing when you go out?” he said and sipped his paga.
“I chain her ankle to couch ring. But she cannot clean, or cook. ” I said.
“You just said she is new to the collar. Her brand looks very fresh. How long has she been enslaved and do you trust her to have access to everything in this room while you are away?”
It was awkward to talk about trusting Mena while she was present, kneeling in front of us. I wanted to trust her, but I didn’t feel that way about her yet.
“You are right, Mena new to collar, to new for trust. Soon, I hope,” I answered, looking directly at her. She had been staring at the floor but listening intently kneeling in nadu, her palms on her thighs.
“There are several things I recommend. First, get a strongbox to lock away items that you don’t want her to have access to. Things like keys, knives, and anything that could be a weapon or tool. Never let her know where the key to the strongbox is, even if it is kept on your person. Make her bow her head to the floor, obstructing her view whenever you use the key. Ideally she will never know what the key looks like. Second, install a lock on your apartment door that must be unlocked from the outside, effectively making this room a cell, that only you can open. Instruct her to kneel away from the door when she hears you unlocking it. Third, buy a sirik that she must wear whenever you are away. The sirik will diminish her ability to assault you, if she ever thought to do so. Mena, look at me,” Trem said, and then continued, “you surely know that slaves are strictly forbidden from touching weapons and are frequently put to death for this offence. Any attack on your master is also a capital offence and you would certainly suffer from a prolonged period of unspeakable torture, begging over and over for death, executed as an example to all slaves in this city.”
“Yes Master, I understand. This slave has submitted fully and would never contemplate such things. This slave begs to be pleasing in all ways,” she said.
“And lastly, but something just as important, you should move to a better part of the city. This neighborhood has a lot of insula that house the poor. You live in a small insula, there are some very large ones close by that have thousands of residents. I’m sure you have noticed them. Burglaries and other crimes are common, the City Guard has little presence in this area and it isn’t very safe. It wouldn’t take much for someone to break your door, take Mena and everything else in here.”
“Thank you for good advice. I will act on all of it. Where you live, is there anything to rent?” I asked Trem, thinking it would be great to live at the stadium with him and next to the city tarnkeep.
“I don’t know, but I can find out,” he said.
“Mirus offered to help me find me new place. He invited me for dinner tomorrow, and said to bring Mena.” She looked up at me when she heard her name and I knew she wanted to ask about him.
“I know you like Mirus and consider him a friend. I advise you to keep it that way, nothing more than a friendship. He is always looking for men to add to his employment. He is a different man when you have to report to him,” he said.
“Yes, he is good friend. Knows many people. Offers opportunity.”
“There is opportunity everywhere and it will come to you, especially with your improving Gorean. You seem to be doing well financially. Don’t rush into anything without weighing everything out. You can always ask my opinion if you need help.”
“What is sirik?” I asked.
“A sirik is a set of shackles and chains that connect the slave’s limbs. A fine chain runs down from the collar, between the breasts and is connected to the middle of a separate chain that runs between ankle shackles. In the center of this chain is another separate chain that runs across the body, linked to wrist shackles. Many Goreans believe that siriks are graceful and enhance the kajira’s beauty. Siriks also have a taming effect on new kajirae. Like the collar, when worn, they are a constant reminder that she is owned, and does not control what she wears or what is done with her body.”
“Sirik is interesting, I will buy one,” I said, finishing my paga and noticing that Trem was finishing his too.
“More paga Mena,” I said.
“Sorry Master, there isn’t much left, maybe a cup.”
“There is tavern close. Drink paga at tavern?” I asked Trem.
“Yes, and maybe some tabuk.”
“This slave begs to go with you Master!” Mena said.
“I thought you were afraid of the tavern,” I said.
“This slave was afraid Master, but not anymore. This slave begs to kneel next to her Master and promises to stay silent. Please don’t leave Mena here alone,” she begged.
“Trem?” I asked him, wondering if he minded Mena’ presence with us in the tavern.
“I don’t mind. It is good for new kajirae to see how other kajirae behave and serve men,” he said.
“Fetch tunic, leash and bracelets ,” I said to her.
“Yes Master!”
***
“Who is Stannis Assante?” Trem asked the man.
“He is the fearsome cavalry captain, a mercenary who fights for our cause against Corcyrus. He won a great battle, ambushing the enemy and has created a hole in the frontline for our forces to exploit. He is famous, you have not heard of him?”
“No. The war goes well then?” Trem replied.
“Yes, the war will be over soon and the Free Women of Corcyrus will all wear our collars. There will be slave auctions at every street corner!” the man said, laughing loudly.
The paga slut Sofi returned to our table with our order of bread and roasted bosk. We all heard Mena’s stomach growl. She had not eaten today. Since she didn’t lick her bowl clean last night, I wasn’t going to feed her until she begged for gruel. Sofi asked us if we wanted more paga, and Trem said yes. The paga tasted very different today; it didn’t taste like paga at all. I did not care for it.
“Is there different paga? From Torcadino?” I asked her.
“Sorry Master, the tavern only has sul paga today.”
“Ka-la-na?” I asked.
“Sorry Master, only suI paga.” I nodded yes, and even though it was not to my liking, I wanted another.
“Don’t forget Master, the use of this slave is included in the price of paga, even sul paga,” she said with a wink and a big smile, never looking at Mena. Mena gave a slight cough.
“She seems to know you, or you have caught her eye. Do you come here often?” Trem asked.
“I have taken Sofi to alcove several times. She is good in furs. What is sul paga?”
“Made from suls,” he said. As soon as he said suls, I realized the connection with their similarity to potatoes. I thought of vodka, and realized why I didn’t care for sul paga. I had never been one to sip vodka, even top shelf quality ones, and the paga being warm did not help. But, I suppose it was better than nothing.
“Trem, how do I buy tarn?” I asked.
“Why do you want to buy one, you have access to the tarnkeep? You can ride the tarns that need exercise.”
“Yes, I am very grateful for access. I want my own tarn, one that I can get to know and ride wherever I want to. See more of Gor,” I said.
“Tarns are very expensive to buy and stable.”
“How much are they? I have money,” I said.
“It’s more complicated than that. The city is at war and is buying tarns wherever they can get them. You are a barbarian. You would most surely not be able to come and go as you please on tarnback from a private stable. It would be suspicious and could be very bad for you. I advise against it.”
“So, answer is no?” I asked.
“You could buy a tarn, a good one is at least a gold tarsk. And you could find a private stable to house and keep it. There is the likely possibility that the city will requisition all privately owned tarns, including yours. But this is a really bad idea until the war is over.”
“The war is over soon,” I said.
Trem gave me a stern look, implying that the war would not be over soon. I knew he always avoided talk of the war, but I didn’t know why. Then he said, “I have an idea. You are still very new to tarns and riding. There is a tarn, owned by the city, which you could ride often until it is called for duty. After the war is over, perhaps I can arrange for its sale to you.”
One reason I wanted a tarn was so that I could leave the city at any time for any reason. I could wander Gor, seeing it from the air on tarnback. The lure of wandering this way was very powerful.
“Trem you are good friend. I accept your advice and will not buy tarn now, but ride tarn you speak of.”
“Good. The Ubar is planning another tarn race, very soon. It has not been publicly announced yet. I think it will be the only race until the war is over. I could use your help in the tarnkeep, getting ready for it and you can do more riding.”
A large man, one of the tavern paga attendants, cleared patrons away from a space in the center of the tavern and said loudly, “The Slurring Master would like to introduce our newest paga slave Tyla. Let us see how well she dances for us!” The men in the tavern applauded loudly. I had never seen dancers in this tavern before and there were no musicians.
A woman appeared from the shadows wearing a long thin shawl over her head that fell to her ankles and covered her body. She also wore a veil and with the shawl on her head she had the appearance of being a Free Woman inside robes of concealment. There were slippers on her feet.
She looked around the large room in several directions, and then began to walk to the front door. As she walked by, men sitting on the floor at their tables reached out with their hands to grab at her robe. She turned to go around some other tables but the men there grabbed at her too. The paga attendant came from behind her and threw a large mess of tangled rope on her, a crude net. She fell to the ground dramatically, called out and men cheered.
The attendant quickly removed her slippers and cast them aside. He pulled up her robe to reveal her shapely legs and grabbed her ankles, which he used to pull, dragging her body along the floor to the center of the space he had cleared earlier. He peeled the net off of her and yanked the veil away, face stripping her. The patrons applauded loudly, shouting encouragements. After two quick jerking tugs, the robe came off next, leaving the woman naked on the bare floor.
He used her hair to guide her to her knees and she extended her arms out to him, crossing her wrists in submission with her head bowed. He then stepped behind her and cleverly removed a flesh colored scarf from her neck, making it seem that he had collared her.
He stood back and yelled down at her, “Dance!” She shied away from him on her knees. He put his hands above his head and began to clap loudly. “Clap with me if you want her to dance,” he said to everyone, clapping his hands to create a beat for her to dance to. The tavern followed him, clapping a beat as Tyla began to writhe slowly on the floor, shifting from one knee to the other.
Mena, behind me on the tiles, put her head to my shoulder and clutched my arm. Together we watched the dance of the female slave. Tyla remained on her knees, presenting her body to the tavern, gracefully flowing from one position to another, from all fours to lying on her back, spreading her legs and lifting a knee. Her upper body swayed and her breasts heaved pleasantly until she stood up. She danced timidly taking two or three steps in one direction, then backing up to take timid steps in another direction, testing her dancing space.
Her feet moved and fell with the clapping beat, synchronizing with the tavern’s energy. Her steps became less timid as she approached the men closest to her. She teased these men, offering her breasts and rear flanks to them, hoping that one might find interest. The girl’s dance became more sensual and erotic as she abandoned seeking the men’s attention, shifting focus from presenting her features, to now concentrating on her own passion, expressing her desires. The passion built, hips swaying, animated with piteous frustrations from intimate unfulfilled needs. She danced on her toes and began to spin on the tips of her right toes like a ballerina, her arms swaying out. Her spinning speed increased with each rotation matching the clapping beat until abruptly, she threw herself to the floor near the shawl, which she quickly wrapped around her sweating body, forming a tiny helpless ball, completely covered by the former robe of concealment.
Mena gasped and clutched my arm tighter as the crowd went from clapping to striking their shoulders in approval.
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