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as though owning her, observe her. A woman finds herself looked upon very
differently by a man who has power and one who does not. Instinctively, of
course, to be looked upon by a man with power thrills a woman. They desire,
desperately, to please him. This is particularly true of a slave girl, whose
femaleness is most shamelessly and brazenly bared. Ibn Saran, languid, observed
the dancer. His face betrayed no emotion. He sipped his hot black wine.
Alyena threw herself to the floor before him, moving to the music. I supposed she
saw in him her rich man, who would guarantee her a life in which she might be
protected from the labors of the free woman of the Tahari, the pounding of grain
with the heavy pestle, the weaving of cloth, the churning of milk in skin bags, the
carrying of water, the herding of animals with sticks in the blistering heat. I saw
her turn, and twist, and writhe, and move, and, on her belly, hold out her hand to
him.
Her lessons, which had been intensive, once we had arrived at the Oasis of Nine
Wells, had cost little, and had, in my opinion, much increased her value, doubling
or tripling it. The modest cost of the lessons had been, in my opinion, an excellent
investment. My property had now increased, considerably, in value. But most
credit, surely, had to go to the girl herself. With fantastic diligence had she applied
herself to her lessons, and practices. Even so small a thing as the motion of the
wrist she had practiced for hours.
Her teacher was a cafe slave girl, Seleenya, rented from her master; her musicians
were a flutist, hired early, and, later, a kaska player, to accompany him.
Once I saw her, naked, covered with sweat and bangles, in the sand.
Have you had to beat her often? I asked Seleenya.
No, said the slave girl. I have never seen a girl so eager, she said.
Play, said I to the musicians.
They played, until I, by lifting a finger, silenced them. At the same time, too,
Alyena froze in the sand, her right hand high, left hand low, at her hip, her head
bent to the left, eyes intent on the fingers of her left hand, as though curious to see
if they would dare to touch her thigh; then she broke the pose, and threw back her
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10 Tribesmen of Gor
head, breathing deeply. There was sand on her ankles and feet; perspiration ran
down her body. Does your girl please you? she asked.
Yes, I said. And doubtless, too, I said, a young nomad would be pleased.
She tossed her head, and sniffed. I have no longer an interest in such as he, said
she. She looked down, and bit her lip. I know, Master, she said. You will do
with me exactly what you please, but I would bring a higher price, surely, if I were
sold to a rich man. She knelt in the sand before me, in her sweat and bangles; she
looked up, blue-eyed. Please, Master, she said, sell me to a rich man.
I motioned her to her feet. I signaled the musicians. She danced.
I observed her. I thought it not unlikely this slave might stir the interest of a man
of means.
Perhaps, I said. I was thinking I might sell her to Suleiman.
I watched her move.
I have never seen a girl take so readily, so swiftly, so naturally to the dances of a
slave, said Seleenya.
She is a natural slave, I told Seleenya.
In your arms, said Seleenya, looking up at me, might not any woman find
herself a natural slave?
Go to the alcove, I told her. I was renting her.
Yes, Master, she whispered, gathering her silk about her and hurrying to the
alcove.
Continue your practices. I told Alyena.
The fact that I can dance as a slave, said Alyena, moving before me, does not
mean that I am a slave.
I smiled, and tumid away from her, going to the alcove.
I am not tamed, cried Alyena. No man can tame me!
I turned. Kneel, said I. Say I am tamed.
Immediately she knelt. I am tamed, she said. She smiled.
It was the rebellion of compliance.
Resume your practices, I told her.
The musicians began again, and again the girl danced. It was superb. And it was
incredible. She did not yet know she was a true slave. What a little fool she was.
I watched her move.
She smiled at me, disdainfully. I considered her blond hair, now wild about her
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head as, suddenly, she entered into a series of spins. Her gaze focused to the last
moment on a spot across the room from her, and then, suddenly, on each spin, her
head snapped about, and she again found the focus. Then she finished the spins,
and froze, hands over her head, body held high, stomach in, right leg flexed and
extended, toes only touching the floor. Then she was again in basic position. Her
white skin, in itself, in the Tahari, would bring a good price. Blond hair and blue
eyes, too, in this region, made her a rare specimen. But beyond these trivialities,
though of considerable commercial import, was the fact that she was beautiful,
both in face and figure. Her figure, though not full, was completely female,
beautifully proportioned, and sweetly slung.
She was, in Earth measurements, I would guess, some five feet four inches in
height. Her face was incredibly delicate, and her lips. Her face was extremely
sensitive, and feminine. It was a face on which emotion could be easily read. Her
lip was swift to tremble, her eyes swift to moisten, filling with bright tears. Her
feelings were easily hurt, a valuable property in a slave girl. Too, she could not
control her feelings, another excellent property in a slave girl. Her feelings,
vulnerable, deep, exploitable, in her expressions and on her face, betrayed her,
exposing her to men, and their amusement, as helplessly as her stripped beauty.
They made her more easily controlled, more a slave. I had once seen her
handwriting. It, too, was extremely feminine. I watched her dance. Too, in her
belly, perhaps most important of all, burned slave fire. She would do quite well.
She would bring a high price. Only a rich man, I speculated, would be able to
afford her.
It had been a stroke of brilliance, or of fortune, I surmised, to have brought the
wench south. I had little doubt she would prove valuable.
Master! called Seleenya, the cafe slave girl, the rented girl, softly, from the
alcove. She stood behind the beaded curtain. She had slipped off her silk. Please,
Master! she wept. I saw through the strings of hanging beads the collar on her
throat.
I went to her.
Behind me, as I thrust apart the beads, I heard the pounding of the drum, the
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