“It is good for you to appear before the people,” had said Ligurious, &ldquo
“It is good for you to appear before the people,” had said Ligurious, “given the trouble with Argentum.” “What is the trouble with Argentum?” I had asked. “Skirmishes have taken place near there,” he said. “Look,” he said, pointing, “there is the library of Antisthenes.” “It is beautiful,” I said, observing the shaded porticoes, the slim, lofty pillars, the graceful pediment with its friezes. “What is the problem with Argentum?” I asked. “This is the avenue of Iphicrates,” I was informed. The people at the sides of the street did not seem surprised that my features were not concealed by a veil. Perhaps it was traditional, I gathered, as I had been informed by Ligurious, that this was the fashion in which the Tatrix appeared before her people. At any rate, whatever might have been the reason, the people, reassuringly, from my point of view, seemed neither scandalized nor surprised by my lack of a veil. If anything, they might have been saluting me, as though for my courage. At one point the retinue passed five kneeling girls. They were barefoot and wore brief, sleeveless, one-piece tunics. Their heads were down to the very pavement itself. They wore close-fitting metal collars and were chained together, literally, by the neck. I gasped. “Do not mind such women,” said Ligurious. “They are nothing. They are only slaves.” I was shaken by this sight. My heart was pounding rapidly. I could scarcely breathe. It was not outrage which I felt, interestingly, nor pity. It was something else. It was a state of unusual sexual excitement, and arousal. “Smile,” suggested Ligurious, himself lifting his hand graciously to the crowd. “Wave.” I controlled myself, and then, again, favored the crowd with my attentions, with my smiles and countenance. At one time, later, we passed by a set of low, broad, recessed-from-the-street, cement steps or shelves. Behind these levels, these shelves or steps, there was a high cement wall. There were several women, perhaps ten or eleven, on these steps or shelves. Most were white but there were at least two blacks and, I think, one Asian. Each was naked, absolutely. Too, chains ran from heavy rings to their bodies, to perhaps a lovely neck, or a fair wrist or ankle. They were fastened in place, literally, on the cement shelves. As the retinue passed, they oriented themselves to the street and knelt, their heads down to the warm cement. There were more rings than there were women on the shelves, and there were rings, too, set at various heights, in the wall behind the shelves. These rings, too, however, like many of the shelf rings, were not being used. There was an apparatus at one side, like a canopy wrapped about poles, but it, too, was not now in use. I looked at the women, naked, kneeling, their heads down, chained on the shelves. “More slaves,” explained Ligurious. Again I fought for breath. I clutched the side of the palanquin to steady myself. “What is wrong?” he asked. “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing.” “It was only an open-air market,” he said, “a small one. There are several such in Corcyrus.” “A market!” I said. “Yes,” he said. “But what is bought and sold there?” I asked. I recalled the naked, chained beauties. “Women,” he said. “Women!” I said. “Yes,” he said. “I see,” I said. How matter-of-factly he had put that! Such markets, clearly, like other sorts of markets, were a common feature of Gorean life. “Bow, and wave,” he suggested. Again I lifted my hand to the crowds. Again I smiled forth from the palanquin. But I began to tremble. I had seen owned, displayed human females, women who were merchandise, women who were literally up for sale. “Put them from your mind,” said Ligurious. “They are nothing, only slaves.” How terrifying, how horrifying, I thought, to be such a woman, one at the mercy of anyone who has the means to buy her. What a horrifying and categorical thing it would be, I thought, to be subject to sale. “Hail Sheila, Tatrix of Corcyrus!” I heard. “The people love you,” said Ligurious. On this world, I said to myself, a woman could be literally owned by a man. She could be as much his, literally, as a shoe or a dog. I fought the feelings within me. I strove against them. I tried to force the memory of the women chained on the shelves from my mind. I could not do so. I moaned. Then I could no longer deny to myself that I was aroused sexually, helplessly and terribly. The crowds, from time to time, surged closer to the palanquin. The guards, flanking the palanquin on both sides, pressed them back with the sides of spears. Among these guards, though he did not have a spear, was Drusus Rencius. He had been assigned to me, some weeks ago, as my personal guard. From time to time, too, I stole a glance at Drusus Rencius. He, however, walking beside the palanquin, had eyes only for the crowd. Outside, perhaps, I seemed charming and benign. Inside, however, almost uncontrollable emotions raged within me. On what sort of world was this that I found myself! I had not known a woman could be so aroused! Again I looked at Drusus Rencius, and the others, guardsmen of Corcyrus. I wondered what it would be like to be owned by a man such as one of those. The thought almost made me faint with passion. I had no doubt they well knew how to teach a woman her slavery. I would be kept by them true to my womanhood, by the lash, if necessary. -- source link