Smugglers of Gor by John Norman Page B

lantern fell upon her. There was a rustling in the other cages, as well, as other slaves stirred, or knelt at the bars, grasping them, to watch. She, and the others, had had the ankle bells removed, for they are worn, usually, only on the floor and in the alcoves. Many men enjoy a belled slave, whose tiniest motion will be marked by the bells. She clutched the light blanket about her slender shoulders. The proprietor, who held the lantern, was at our side. “This is the one,” I said, indicating the illuminated girl. “She was earlier displeasing.” “Please, no, Master!” she said. “Before leaving the tavern, you may recall,” I said to the proprietor’s man, “I left instructions that she was to be lashed.” “Yes, later,” he said. “Now?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “Please, no, Master!” she cried. “I have a business to conduct,” said the proprietor. “You must learn to be pleasing!” “I will be pleasing,” she exclaimed, “I will be pleasing!” “No, no!” she wept, as the two locks on the cage’s gate were opened. There was laughter from several of the other cages, and I gathered that the girl from Asperiche was not popular with her chain sisters. “Crawl, slut!” called more than one, as the slave was gestured from the tiny cage and, on all floors, head down, made her way to the floor ring, before which she was knelt, and to which her small hands were fastened. The proprietor’s man removed a whip from its nearby peg, on the wall, on the right, as one entered the cage area. “Strike her well!” called one of the slaves. “Two-silver-tarsk girl!” laughed another. “Five copper tarsks, I would say,” called another. The girl, now fastened by the wrists to the ring, turned about, kneeling, and regarded me, wildly. “You did not have me beaten when I misspoke my sales price,” she said. “When you lied,” I said. “You are not like the others,” she said. “You are sweet, gentle, kind, sensitive, and understanding. You will not have a poor, helpless girl struck. You cannot do so! You will not! You cannot!” “Ten strokes,” I said to the proprietor’s man. “No!” she shrieked. There was much laughter from the other cages. “It will not be necessary for her to count the strokes,” I said, “as she may find that difficult after the third or fourth stroke, nor need she thank you once you are finished. It is possible she might not be genuinely grateful.” “I hate you, I hate you!” she wept. Then she cried out as the first stroke was administered. “Please, no more!” she wept. “I will be pleasing, I will be pleasing!” “That is our hope,” said the proprietor, nodding to his man. “Aii!” she wept. The next blows were soon done, and she now lay on her belly, her hands stretched before her, fastened to the ring.
    She shuddered, in misery, sobbing, and twisted a little.
    Muchly had she writhed and shrieked under the fiery rain of leather. The proprietor’s man had done his work well. She had not been pleasing. She now lay at the ring, a miserable, punished slave.
    There was laughter from the other cages about.
    “Beat her more!” called one of the other slaves.
    “More!” called another.
    “No, please,” she cried.
    Insolence, rudeness, disrespect, impudence, incivility, slovenliness, temper, impatience, carelessness, clumsiness, and such are not acceptable in a slave. The slave is not a free woman, who may be as she wishes. The slave is owned, and is to be as her master wishes. She is in a collar. Accordingly, she is to be deferent, obedient, attentive, softly spoken, graceful, and submissive.
    “Perhaps now you will be more concerned to be pleasing?” inquired the proprietor, holding the lantern.
    “Yes, Master!” she said.
    There was more laughter from the other girls.
    She had learned much. She was now well aware of what it might be to be a slave, and that she was a slave.
    The proprietor’s man returned the whip to its peg. He then