"I suppose so," I said. "I am not a woman."

"But I am," she said.

"It is thus likely to be your problem and not mine," I told her.

"How you tease one who is only a slave," she said.

"One does what one pleases with them," I told her.

"Of course," she said. "We are only slaves."

"Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Is there no cure for a free woman's frigidity?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Total enslavement?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She said nothing.

"Every woman has a need to submit herself to a master," I said. "When she finds herself at the feet of her master her body will no longer permit her to be frigid. There is no longer any reason. She is now where nature places her, at his feet and in his power. She kisses his feet and, weeping, feeling the heat and oils between her lovely legs, cannot wait to be thrown to the furs."

She did not speak.

"But I do not speak here merely of the simplicities and negativities of a cure," I said. "I speak rather of the beginning of a career, a helpless, flowering biography of service, love and passion."

"You speak of a woman being made a slave girl," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"I wonder if I will be pleasing to a master," she said.

"Any slave girl," I said, "with the proper management, and master, can become a wonder of sexuality and love."

"I think I will love being a slave girl," she said.

I shrugged. What did it matter, what her feelings were? She was a slave.

"No wonder the free women hate us so," she said.

"Of course," I said. "You are everything that they desire to be and are not."

She bit her lip. She looked at me. "Are free women permitted to watch us being sold?" she asked.

"Of course," I said. "Why not? They are free."

She looked at me, miserably.

"Ah, yes," I said. "I see. It would be quite humiliating, one woman, a slave, being sold, while another woman, a free woman, observes."

"Yes," she said.

"Let us hope that the free woman is not one of powerful family," I said, "who has had the other captured, and put upon the block."

"That would be dreadful," she said.

"Women are capable of such things," I said.

She put down her head.

"Perhaps it is well that they are not dominant," I said. "Perhaps they should all be controlled, and kept in collars."

"Or bondage strings," she laughed.

"Yes, or bondage strings, like you, my pretty slave," I said.

"Men want us as their abject slaves, don't they?" she asked.

"Yes, like you, my dear," I told her. "Any man who tells you differently is lying."

"Are most Gorean women slaves?" she asked.

"No," I said. "Indeed, statistically, in those parts of Gor with which I am familiar, very few. Commonly only one woman in, say, forty or fifty is a slave. This varies somewhat of course, from city to city. The major exception to these ratios is the city of Tharna, in which almost every woman is a slave." I looked at her. "There are special historical reasons for that," I said.

"But over a large population," the said, "there would be literally thousands."

"Of course," I said.

"Are the most beautiful and desirable women those who, generally, are the slaves?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "the most beautiful and desirable women on the planet seem generally to be the slaves."

"Such women would be the prime target for the strike of slavers," she said.

"Yes," I said. "A girl of low caste, of a poor family, who is truly beautiful, a girl who cannot afford shelter in a protected area, is almost certain, sooner or later, to find her neck ringed with a collar. As far as that goes, a girl of wealth and high caste, who is beautiful, is not out of danger. It is regarded as great sport to take them."

"A sport of men," she said.

"Yes, to make beautiful women slaves," I said.

"A delicious sport," she said.

"I think so," I said.

"Beast," she said.

"Perhaps," I said. "I think it is true," I said, "that it is generally the most beautiful and desirable women who are the slaves, but I will tell you something you may find of interest."

"What is that?" she asked.

"Slavery itself," I said, "often makes a woman more beautiful and desirable. It removes tensions. It removes inhibitions. It makes women happy. It is hard, I think, sometimes, for a woman who is happy not to be beautiful. Sometimes Goreans ask, is she a slave because she is beautiful, or beautiful because she is a slave?"

She kissed me, gently.

"Are many Gorean slave girls of Earth origin?" she asked.

"I assume all human Goreans are of Earth origin," I said.

"I mean," she said, "like me, a girl born and raised on Earth, and then brought to Gor as a slave."

"Statistically," I said, "surely few. How many I would not know."

"Ten," she asked, "twenty?"

"Perhaps some four or five thousand," I said. "I would not know." Such a number, I conjectured, would not even be missed in a population which teemed like that of Earth.

"We are brought here as slaves," she said.

"Of course," I said.

"And the slaving continues," she said.

"I suppose so," I said. "On Gor there is a market for beautiful Earth girls. They make excellent slaves."

"I am glad to hear that," she said.

"Please me," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, obediently, this time without surprise or demur. And then she well pleased me. She was becoming skillful.

"Please tell me more of the south," she said.

"Please me," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said. Yes, she was becoming quite skillful.

"Please tell me more of the south," she said.

"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira," I said.

"Oh, Master," she said.

"That is a Gorean saying," I said.

"I know," she said. "Imnak taught it to me."

"You now know two Gorean sayings," I said.

"Yes," she said. "'Only a fool buys a woman clothed' and 'Curisoity is not becoming in a Kajira."'

"Yes," I said.

"Please, Master," she said.

"You have them down well," I said.

"Oh, please, please, Master," she begged.

It was natural that she should be desperately eager to learn the nature of a slave girl's lot.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, Master," she said.

"What would you like to know?" I asked.

She was at my side, on her stomach and elbows. Her eyes were excited. "In the south," she asked, "would a master put me in a collar?"

"It is quite likely," I said.

"I might like a pretty collar," she said.

"Do not think of the collar as a simple piece of jewelry," I said, "though it can serve that purpose. Its primary objective is to identify he to whom you belong."

"What if I take it off?" she asked.

"It locks on your throat. You cannot take it off," I said.

"Oh," she said. She looked at me. "Will I be given pretty things to wear," she asked, "and cosmetics, perfumes?"

"It is quite likely," I said. "Masters like their girls to make themselves beautiful."

"I hope that I will please my master in the furs," she said.

"You will do so or be lengthily and severely punished," I said. "If you fail, you could even be slain,"

She shuddered. "I will try to be pleasing to him," she said.

"Most masters," I said, "own only one girl. Do not think you are likely to spend all your time squirming at the slave ring."

"I do not understand," she said.

"There is much for a girl to do," I pointed out. "She keeps his compartments. She dusts and cleans. When they do not use the public kitchens she must cook for him. If he does not wish to take advantage of the public laundries, she must do his washing and ironing. She shops for him, and bargains in the markets, and so on. There is much for her to do."