Free Plunder of Gor by John Norman Page A

weaker. Each of you has been assessed for Gorean bondage. Each of you has been found suitable for Gorean bondage. Each of you has been selected for Gorean bondage. As soon as this determination was made you were no longer yours, but ours. You will learn the whip, collar, and chain. You are now, as in the case of diverse high civilizations, ancient and modern, merchandise, goods, properties.”
    I almost reeled on my knees. I could scarcely believe what I was hearing.
    â€œYou are to keep your bodies clean, and well-groomed,” he said. “You now exist to serve and please the free.”
    Another fellow then stepped forward. “You will remain on your knees,” he said, “and repeat what I say, aloud and clearly.”
    He then issued a set of utterances which we, as bidden, frightened, repeated verbatim.
    These utterances, which I recall well, were as follows:
    I know nothing of what it is to be a slave.
    I will be taught.
    I will learn.
    I am now worthless.
    That is true, and I acknowledge it freely.
    But I may be permitted to attain some minimal worth, as a slave.
    That is my hope.
    It is the only hope for me.
    Accordingly, I beg to be a slave.
    I beg to be permitted to serve masters, in all ways, instantly, perfectly, and unquestioningly.
    I am a slave.
    Embond me, legally, that I may serve openly, as the slave I am.
    â€œAn interesting lot,” said one of the men, one of those without a switch.
    â€œProcess them,” said the leader, turning away.
    â€œOn your feet, kajirae,” said the fellow who had just commented on us. “Return to the cell.”
    We were then soon again in the cell.
    The door was then closed, and locked.
    â€œYou may speak,” said the fellow, turning about, paying us no more attention.
    We looked at one another, and then, suddenly, gratefully, words and cries, and sobs, like the issuance of hitherto blocked fountains suddenly freed, rushed forth, cascades of speech, torrents of confusion, fears, tremblings, threats, pleas, lamentations, and protests. Some of the girls ran to the bars, seizing them, demanding succor, release, consideration.
    Only Paula, sitting on the floor, with her back to a wall of the cell, seemed content, more curious than apprehensive.
    I sat down beside her.
    â€œWhat are kajirae?” I asked.
    â€œSlaves,” she said, “female slaves.”
    â€œAnd what is the meaning of ‘kajira’?” I asked.
    â€œIt is a common word in Gorean for a slave, a female slave,” she said.
    â€œAnd in the apartment,” I said, “you said ‘ La kajira ’. What does that mean?”
    â€œDid you not tell me you said that some days ago, on the beach?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œIt means,” she said, “‘I am a slave’, ‘I am a female slave’, ‘I am a slave girl’, such things.”
    â€œI see,” I said.
    â€œWhen you said it,” she said, “you became a slave, a slave girl. I told you that, in the apartment.”
    Much had rushed past me. I was confused, frightened. She had said something of this sort in the apartment. It came back to me now, frighteningly, clearly.
    â€œI did not know what it meant,” I said.
    â€œThat does not matter,” she said, smiling, adding, “kajira.”
    I glared at her, angrily.
    â€œI thought, often,” she said, “that you belonged at a man’s feet, that you would make a good slave for a man.”
    â€œYou seem calm,” I said, reproachfully, “in a cell, abducted.”
    â€œI have long hoped,” she said, “to be noticed, to be acquired, to be picked, to be harvested, as slave fruit, to love and serve, to belong lovingly, selflessly, wholly to another. That was my dream. But I thought myself too plain, of too little interest.”
    I did not say so, of course, but I, too, found the apparent interest of men, some men, at least, in Paula unaccountable. I