Kajira of Gor by John Norman

asked.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “Would Mistress care to see?”
    Seeing my curiosity, my fascination, she drew up the skirt of the brief tunic,
    with both bands, and looked down to her left thigh.
    “What is it?” I asked. It was a delicate mark, almost floral, about an inch and
    a half high and a half inch, or so, wide.
    “It is my brand,” she said.
    I gasped.
    “It was put on me in Cos,” she said, “with a white-hot iron, two years ago.”
    “Terrible,” I whispered.
    “Girls such as I must expect to be marked,”’ she said. “It is In accord with the
    recommendations of merchant law.”
    “Merchant law?” I asked.
    “Yes, Mistress,” said the girl. “May I lower my tunic?”
    “Yes,” I said.
    She smoothed down the light tunic.
    “It is a beautiful mark,” I said.
    “I think so, too,” she said. “Thank you, Mistress.”
    “Did it hurt?” I asked.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said.
    “It doesn’t hurt now though, does it?” I asked.
    “No, Mistress,” she said.
    I reached out, timidly, toward her throat. I touched the object there.
    “What is this?” I asked.
    “The silk?” she asked. “That is a collar stocking, or a collar sleeve. They may
    be made of many different materials. In a cooler climate they are sometimes of
    velvet. in most cities they are not used.”
    Under the silk I touched sturdy steel.
    “That, Mistress, of course,” she said, “is my collar.”
    “Would you take it off,” I asked, “please? I would like to see it.”
    She laughed merrily. “Forgive me, Mistress,” she said. “I cannot take it off.”
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “It is locked on me,” she laughed. She turned about.
    “See?” she asked.
    Feverishly I thrust apart the two sides of the silken sleeve at the back of the
    girl’s neck. To be sure, there, below her hair, at the back of her neck, at the
    closure of the steel apparatus on her neck, there was a small, heavy, sturdy
    lock. I saw the keyhole. It would take a tiny key.
    “You do not have the key?” I asked.
    “No, Mistress,” she laughed. “Of course not.”
    “Then you have, personally, no way of removing this collar?” I said.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “I have no way of removing it.”
    I shuddered.
    “May I ask you ‘an intimate question, Susan?” I asked.
    “Of course, Mistress,” she said.
    “Are you a virgin?” I asked,
    The girl laughed. “No, Mistress,” she said. “I was opened by men long ago for
    their pleasures.”
    “Opened?” I whispered.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said.
    “For their pleasures?” I asked.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said.
    You have called me ‘Mistress,’ I said. ‘Why
    “That is the customary way in which girls such as I address all free women,” she
    said.
    “What sort of girl are you?” I asked.
    “A good girl, I hope, Mistress,” she said. “I will try to serve you well.”
    “Are- you a slave?” I whispered.
    “Yes, Mistress,” she said.
    I stepped back. I had tried to fight this understanding. I had told myself that
    it could not be, that it must not be. And yet, now, how simple, how obvious and
    plausible, seemed such an explanation of the girl’s garb, and of the mark on her
    body, and of the collar on her neck.
    “I am the slave of Ligurious, first minister of Corcyrus,” she said. She slid
    the collar sleeve about the collar and, feeling with her fingers, indicated some
    marks on the collar. I could see engraving there. I could not read the writing.
    “That information,” she said, “is recorded here.”
    “I see,” I said, trembling.
    She slid the collar sleeve back about the collar, arranging it in place. “I was
    purchased almost two years ago, from the pens of Saphronicus, in Cos,” she said.
    “The purpose of the collar sleeve is to hide the collar,” I said.
    “No, Mistress,” she said. “Surely the collar’s presence within the sleeve is
    sufficiently evident.”
    “Yes,” I said, “I can see now that it is.”
    The girl