“Do you think he wants me?” I asked. I was terrified of Ligurious. “I
“Do you think he wants me?” I asked. I was terrified of Ligurious. “I do not think so,” she said. “Why?” I asked, puzzled. “If he wanted you,” she said, “by now you would have been branded. By now you would be in his collar. By now you would have been chained naked at the foot of his couch. By now you would have felt his whip. By now you would have learned to beg to please him.” “Oh,” I said. “It is not that he does not recognize your beauty,” she said. “That any man could see at a glance.” “Oh,” I said, somewhat mollified. I would have been outraged, or something in me would have been outraged, if I had not been thought worth a chain. I was sure I could prove to a man that I was worthy of a chain. “His interest in you, merely, does not appear to be in that way,” she said. “Too, of course, he has many beautiful women, and is a busy man.” “Many beautiful women?” I asked. “Slaves,” she said. “More than you?” I asked. “I am only one of his girls,” she laughed, “and I am surely one of the least beautiful.” “How many slaves does he have?” I asked. “He is an ambitious and abstemious man,” she said. “He worked long hours in the service of the state. He has little time for the meaningless charms of slaves.” “How many slaves does he have?” I asked. “Fifty,” she said. I gasped. “Perhaps Mistress would like to finish her breakfast,” said the girl. I knelt down before the small table, as I had been taught. I was trembling. Here, as I had just learned, one man might own as many as fifty women. “Mistress is not eating,” said the girl. “I am not hungry,” I said. “Am I to report to my master, Ligurious,” asked the girl, “that Mistress did not finish her breakfast?” “No,” I said. “No!” “Every bit of it, please, Mistress,” said the girl. I nodded. I ate. I felt like a slave. Then I had finished. “Excellent, Mistress,” said the girl. “I shall now dress Mistress. I will teach her the proper garments, and their adjustments, and the veils, and their fastenings. Then it will be time for her lessons.” “Lessons?” I asked, frightened. “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “What sort of lessons?” I asked, apprehensively. “Lessons in language,” she said. “Lessons in our habits and customs. Lessons in the details of the governance of Corcyrus.” “I do not understand,” I said. “Who are you?” she asked. “Tiffany Collins,” I said. “No, Mistress,” she said. I looked at her, puzzled. “Put that identity behind you,” she said. “Regard it as being gone, as much as if you were a slave. Prepare to begin anew.” “But, how?” I asked. “What am I to do? Who am I to be?” “That much I know,” smiled the girl. “I know your new identity. My master has told me.” “What is it?” I asked. “From this moment on,” said the girl, “accustom yourself to thinking of yourself as Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus.” “Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus?” I said. “Yes,” said the girl. “What is a Tatrix?” I asked. “A female ruler,” she said. I looked at her, disbelievingly. “It is a great honor for me,” said the girl, “to serve the Tatrix of Corcyrus.” I trembled, kneeling behind the small table. The brief robe of yellow silk did not seem much to wear. I was afraid of the world on which I found myself. “Who are you?” asked the girl. “Sheila?” I said. “Tatrix of Corcyrus?” “Yes,” she said. “Please say it, Mistress. Who are you?” “I am Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus,” I whispered. “That is correct, Mistress,” said the girl. “I do not understand,” I said. “I do not understand anything! I do not even know the name of the world on which I find myself.” “It is called Gor,” she said. -- source link