I was later furious with myself that I had wept in the cell.

Of course I was a slave girl!

I had been taught that!

I knew it well!

But I would be a superb one! Sometimes, I thought angrily of girls on Earth, many of them, who, too, were slave girls, but who had not learned this, and who, presumably, would never do so. I thought of them, dressing for men, trying to please them, though not much caring for them, to advance themselves in powers and luxuries, using their bodies and minds, their smiles, and glances and words, and touches, clumsily perhaps, not having been trained, to obtain their desires of foolish, starved men. These were girls, not caring for men, who employ the needs of men, without penalty, intelligently to their own profit. Smile at a man of Earth and he will be grateful; pretend to be willing to please a man of Earth and he will do anything for you. You may then use them, such needful weaklings, to rise in the million strata of your intricate society, to climb, to ingratiate and insinuate yourself swiftly, expertly, into the high, warm, comfortable, luxurious places in your busy, impersonal, complex, loveless, anxious world. You will make them pay well for your favors. I held the bars. How different it was on Gor. Such an exploitative, indifferent girl, on Gor, might be simply carried off, and enslaved. Of such women the Goreans enjoy making slaves. She would find her favors were not hers to dispense, at her own pleasure and to her own profit, but his to command, as he was pleased to do so. Gorean men were not so easily fooled as the men of Earth. Gorean men do not choose to be dominated, but to dominate, to be the master. I wished, sometimes, that such girls, of Earth, might find themselves naked, branded, helpless in a Gorean slave cage, forced to be the slave girls they unknowingly were. I was taught. They were not. I was angry. But they were free. And I was caged. They, though as slave as I, had escaped; I had not; I had been captured, and, by, Gorean men, would be forced to pay my price! I had no hope of freedom. I was furious. I had hope only that, though on this world, I could use my inclinations and training, those of a slave girl, to win myself an easy life. That I did not think would be difficult to do, for a girl as clever and beautiful as I. My training, I suspected, as well as my intelligence, would make me more than a match for any man, even the strangely attractive, powerful men of Gor.

Our training continued.

Once, there was a visitor to the pens, a tall stranger, partially hooded, who wore the robes of blue and yellow silk, those of the Slavers. He had, over his left eye, a strip of leather, which was wound around his head. He was shown through our section of the pens by Targo.

"This is Soron, of Ar," said Targo, stopping before our cage. Then he said, "El-in-or."

I was apprehensive. I did not wish to be sold until we reached Ar. I wished to be sold from the great block of the Curulean Auction House. It was in that place that there were to be found the highest placed, richest buyers of Gor. It was my hope to become the preferred pleasure slave of a wealthy master, and to reside in one of the high towers of Ar, Gor's largest and most luxurious city, and to have silks and jewels wherewith to deck myself, and no work to do, saving perhaps pleasing my master or guests to whom he might, if he pleased, give me for the evening.

"El-in-or!" snapped Targo.

I went to the bars, and knelt before them. "Buy me, Master," I said. "Does this girl know how to present herself?" asked the man.

Targo was angry. "Again!" he snapped.

I was frightened now. I leapt to my feet, and went again to the rear of the cage. Then I turned, this time a slave girl, and approached the bars, as a slave girl approaches the bars, behind which a master observes her. I smiled, slightly, insolently, and knelt again before him. I felt the steel plating beneath the straw. I lowered my eyes to his sandals, which were of black, polished leather, with wide straps, and then, still smiling, tauntingly, lifted my head. I regarded him "Buy me, Master," I whispered.

"No," he said.

I rose to my feet, irritated, and backed away. He need not have been so curt. I had tried to present myself well. I had! But he had expressed no interest whatsoever. I felt the humiliation of the spurned slave girl. "Buy me, Master," said Inge, now at the bars, whom Targo had gestured forward. I did not like the way Inge had said «me» as though to contrast herself with me, and my failure! Did she think herself superior to me? Further, I was furious with how she had approached the bars. She had done so superbly, sinuously. Was she not only of the scribes! Could she, sticklike Inge, be more attractive to a man than I?

The man regarded her, appreciatively, sizing her up, as a master appraises truly high-quality feminine merchandise.

"Were you truly of the scribes?" asked the man.

"Yes," said Inge, startled.

"The refinement of your accent," he said, "suggested the scribes."

"Thank you, Master," said Inge, lowering her head.

"She is excellent merchandise," said the man. "She has the intelligence, and education, of the scribe, and yet she is obviously an exquisite and well-trained female slave."

Inge did not raise her head.

"She should be sold to a scribe," said the man.

Targo spread his hands, and smiled. "To whomever pays the most gold," he said. "You may return to your place," said the man.

As lightly and beautifully as a cat, Inge leapt to her feet and returned to the straw at the back of the cage. I hated her.

"Buy me, Master," said Ute, coming forward in her turn.

"A beauty," said the man.

Ute, though a slave, blushed with pleasure. She lowered her head. How her blush and smile, became her! I hated her!

"I am Lana," said Lana, and she came forward, and, in her turn, knelt before the bars. "Buy Lana, Master," she said.

"I did not ask to hear the name of a slave," said the man.

Lana looked at him in surprise. "Return to your place, Slave," said the man.

Angry, Lana did so.

"You may now approach again," said the man.

Lana did so. She knelt sinuously, and excitedly, before him, and looked up at him. "Buy me, Master," she whispered.

"Return to your place, Female Slave," said the man. He then turned to talk with Targo. Furious, dismissed, Lana again rose to her feet and returned to the back of the cage. She looked about, but neither Ute, Inge nor myself would meet her eyes. I looked away, and smiled.

The man, and Targo, were now prepared to go to the next cage.

I stood at the back, right-hand corner of the cage, on the steel plating, on the straw. I looked out, through the bars. The man had turned and was regarding me. I tossed my head, and, angrily, looked away. I could not, however, in a moment, resist looking again, to see if he might still be looking at me. He was. My heart skipped a beat. I felt frightened. And then he had turned away with Targo, and was then before the next cage. I heard a girl move on the straw in the next cage, approaching the bars. I heard her "Buy me, Master." I turned away, feeling uneasy. I looked about the cage. It was so strong. There was no escape for me. I felt helpless.

That evening, at our meal, I managed to steal a pastry from Ute. She did not even know who it was that removed it from her pan.

Our training in the pens of Ko-ro-ba now began to move toward its conclusion. Our bodies, superbly trained, even those of Inge and Ute, now became unmistakably those of slave girls. We had had trained into our bodies mysteries of movements of which even we, for the most part, were no longer aware, subtle signals of appetite, of passion and of obedience to a masculine touch, movements which excited the fierce jealousy, the hatred, of free women, particularly ignorant free women, who feared, and perhaps rightly, that their men might leave them for the purchase or capture of such a prize. Most slave girls, incidentally, fear free women greatly. Some of these movements are, in standing, as obvious as the turning of a hip; in reclining, as obvious as the partial extension of a leg, the pointing of toes. But many are more subtle, tiny, almost undiscernible movements, which yet, in their total effect, brand a female body as being incredibly sensuous, things like a way of glancing, a way of holding the head, subtle things like the almost invisible, sudden flexion of the diaphragm, the tiny fear movement of the shoulders, which signals that the girl, as she is, is helpless quarry. Incidentally, we also learned our own responsiveness to certain signals. For example, we could become curious, uneasy, simply by turning an open palm, perhaps unnoticeably, toward a male. It made us feel vulnerable. I did not like to do this. And, of course, we came to understand, too, the movements of men, and how to read their interest and desire. It is not really a mystery that the Gorean slave girl, who is trained, seems to anticipate her master's moods, and that he scarcely need ever speak of desire for her. She know when he does not desire her, and when he does desire her, and when he does desire her, she signals her responsiveness to him, and goes to him. I smiled to myself. Men pay higher prices for trained slave girls. Some of them do not even understand fully the training the girl receives. They think commonly only in gross terms, such as her being trained in the dances of various cities, and in the arts of love, as practiced in various cities. They often do not know she is trained to read his desires, like an animal, from his body, and to serve them promptly, subtly and fervently. The trained girl is well worth her price. I intended to use my training to enslave my master. I had little doubt I could do so. I would have an easy life. Even though a token collar might be locked on my throat, it would be I who would be master! Sometimes at night, lying in the straw of the cage, I would think of Verna and when I did so, knowing her captured, destined for brand and collar, I would laugh to myself. I wished that I might have some opportunity to show my lack of fear of her, my contempt for her, that slave!