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.What manwould not simply put a chain on it, or collar it? I stood before the mirror, stunned, looking atthe slave girl.Eta then, to my surprise, with the point of her scissors, ripped the tiny garment a bit under myright breast, that a bit of skin might show, and again at my left hip, a larger rip.These weredone in such a way as to make them appear natural, inadvertent rents in the garment.She then,with the point of the scissors, at two points, ripped the hem she had earlier sewn out a bit, thatin these two places it might appear the threads had broken; the hem then, in these two places, wasirregular on my legs.She then, at another place, cut into the hem, ripping it, and unraveled andfile:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (35 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:30 AM]file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txttore it a bit, as though it had naturally frayed; some stray threads hung upon my thigh.Thesewere the touches which, to my horror and delight, made the garment of the slave rag exquisitelyperfect.I looked at the lovely slave in the mirror.I wondered if the men knew, or suspected, thefemale cunning that went into the making of a slave rag.She was arming me with beauty.With whatelse might a slave girl be armed? Eta kissed me, and I kissed her.The ingenuity and care lavishedupon the slave rag, seemingly such a pathetic accident of a garment, is a careful secret well keptamong slave girls.If the master does not know why the smallest movement of his girl, clad in whathe thought was a mere discipline rag, almost drives him out of his wits with pleasure, that is allright.The masters, as we girls sometimes tell one another, do not have to know everything.I looked at the girl in the mirror.I approached more closely.I lifted the hem of the garment atthe left thigh.I almost fainted with the delicate perfection of the brand.It was still red,rough, raw, deep, unhealed, but the form was clearly imprinted, unmistakably, deeply, andbeautifully imprinted.On my thigh I wore one of the most beautiful brands, the dina, the slaveflower.I tore the garment there, at the left hip, that as I moved, the brand might be glimpsed.Then I knelt before the mirror.Boldly I assumed slave position.I threw my knees apart.I restedmy hands on my thighs.I regarded myself in the mirror.I saw a kneeling slave girl there.Therewas no doubt about it.She was a slave girl.How incredibly beautiful was that poor, lovely slave.She wore a brand.She wore a slave rag.She lacked only a steel collar.That lack, I supposed,could be simply supplied.It is nothing to put a collar on a girl's neck.I lifted my hair up; Ilifted my chin, watching in the mirror.I conjectured what a steel collar would look like,fastened on my neck.I did not think I would mind one.It might be rather attractive.Eta's was,terribly so.I hoped, of course, that I might be able to choose whose collar I would wear.But,shuddering, I realized that a girl does not choose whose collar she will wear; rather it is theman who chooses; it is he, and he alone, who places the collar.Suddenly I sensed the misery ofbeing a slave.I might belong to any man! I might belong to any man who might carry me off, or paymy price.I might be abducted or bought, or bestowed or lost in gambling! I was only an article ofproperty, helpless and beautiful, without control over, no more than a dog or pig, into whosehands I might come.Tears sprang to my eyes.Surely my master would not sell me! Every bit of mewould constantly try to please him.I did not want to be sold! What a miserable, beautiful girl Isaw in the mirror, the poor slave! How sorry I felt for that beauty.But what man would be sofoolish as to sell such a beauty? Or, even to share her with another? Surely such a man would keepsuch a beauty for himself alone,.not sharing her with others.I wiped the tears from my eyes.Istudied the girl in the mirror.How beautiful in her bondage she was.I brushed my hair back and,lifting my chin, turned my head.I had seen earrings in the jewelry in the cave, exotic loops,twists of wire and golden pendants; I imagined them upon me, hanging at my cheeks, adornmentssuitable for me, a barbarian slave girl.My ears had not been pierced but I had little doubt thatthis operation, if my master wished, would be promptly accomplished upon me.I consideredcosmetics and perfumes, such as I had encountered in the cave.And behold, in my imagination, thegirl in the mirror was so bedecked.I had seen bracelets, anklets, chains and necklaces,intricately wrought and beautiful, in the cave.I extended my arms and wrists, and one of my legs,considering how they might appear, ponderous with such barbaric glory.But the girl in the mirrorwore only a slave rag.I then considered how I might appear, so made up, so perfumed, so adorned,but now in a snatch of brief silk, yellow or scarlet, clinging, diaphanous, fit for a man'spleasure girl.Eta called to me.Once again I saw only the plain girl in the mirror, the beauty in a slave rag.No adornments werehers; only some threads of cloth tight on her beauty.She was not an ornamented high slave.Shewore only a slave rag.She was a low slave.I sprang to my feet and hurried to Eta.She was kneeling down and I knelt across from her."La Kajira," said Eta, pointing to herself."TuKajira," she said, pointing to me."La Kajira," I said, pointing to myself."Tu Kajira," I said,pointing to Eta.I am a slave girl.You are a slave girl.Eta smiled.She pointed to her brand."Kan-lara," she said.She pointed to my brand."Kan-laraDina," she said.I repeated these words."Ko-lar," she said, indicating her collar."It is the same word in English," I cried.She did notunderstand my outburst.Gorean, as I would learn, is rich in words borrowed from Earth languages;how rich it is I am not a skilled enough philologist to conjecture.It may well be that almost allGorean expressions may be traced to one or another Earth language.Yet, the language is fluid,rich and expressive.Borrowed expressions, as in linguistic borrowing generally, take on thecoloration of the borrowing language; in time the borrowings become naturalized, so to speak,being fully incorporated into the borrowing language; at this point they are, for all practicalfile:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (36 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:30 AM]file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txtpurposes, words within the borrowing language [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]