Captive of Gor (27 page)

I was irritated. I knew him, and he liked me, but he was my captor. He had not

given me permission to face him. In his shirt, I pulled at the slave bracelets,

tied against my belly with the binding fiber.

“It was Verna and her band who captured me,” I said.

“It is said she is beautiful,” said the guard. “Is it true?”

“Ask,” I said, “the men at the camp, whom she captured and bound, when she stole

me.”

His fist was in my hair, bending my head back. “Yes,” I said, “she is beautiful.

She is very beautiful!”

He released me.

“Marlenus will capture her,” he said, “and send her in a cage to Ar.”

“Oh?” I asked, archly.

“Yes,” he said, from behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders.

I was not displeased that Marlenus was hunting Verna, and her girls. I hoped

that he would capture her, and them, and strip them, and put the blazing iron to

their bodies, and lock them in collars, and whip them, and make them slave

girls!

“Any woman,” he said.

“I am white silk,” I whispered. I pulled against his hands, and he released me.

I hurried on.

I continued to walk ahead of him, in his shirt, my wrists confined before my

body.

“Stop,” he said.

I did.

He came behind me and, lifting the shirt some inches, (pg. 186) tucked it into

the binding fiber that was knotted about my waist. He wanted to see more of my

legs.

“Continue,” he said. He pressed me forward again with the flat of his foot. I

stumbled forward, and was now again walking before him.

“Posture,” he said.

And so I walked well, as he wished, before him.

From time to time, as we walked, he gave me food from his pouch, which he shoved

into my mouth.

In the late afternoon, we rested for an Ahn. Then, at his command, I rose to my

feet, and we continued on our journey to Laura, I preceding him, as before.

I was acutely conscious of his watching me. I could not turn to look, of course,

but I knew that every movement of my body was his to see.

“I shall be interested to see,” he said, “how you train as a pleasure slave in

Ko-ro-ba.”

“You find me pleasing, do you not?” I asked. Then I was sorry I had asked.

“You have interesting possibilities as a female slave,” he said. “I find myself

curious to taste you.”

I hurried on. “We must hurry,” I said. “We must join the wagons!

“White-silk, She-sleen,” he said. “Wait until you are red silk!”

I hurried ahead.

Actually I was not displeased. When, that night, after taking a barge across the

Laurius, loaded with lumber, we found Targo’s encampment, I was happy. Ute and

Inge were there and the other girls I knew. Even Lana. Targo was pleased that I

had been returned to his chain. That night, stripped in the slave wagon, lying

on the canvas, my ankles chained to the ankle bar, fed, I slept soundly,

happily.

We were on our way to the city of Ko-ro-ba, where we would receive training, and

from thence we would journey in a southeastern direction toward the great city

of Ar.

* * *

“What are you thinking, El-in-or?” asked Ute.

(pg. 187) I lay on my belly, in the straw, in the cage in Ko-ro-ba, poling with

a bit of straw at the steel plating.

“Nothing,” I said.

I wondered of the man in the hut and the beast. They would not have been able to

follow my trail after the rain. They would probably not suppose I could have

been returned to Targo. Indeed, Targo had left Laura before I could have reached

the city. I supposed that the man and the beast would look for me, if at all, in

the vicinity of Laura, or northward, or even in the forest. I supposed they

would regard it as likely that I had never escaped the forest. They would regard

it as likely that I had fallen to beasts, perhaps, or perhaps had died of

exposure.

I was safe.

A slave girl in a pen in Ko-ro-ba.

I had no hope now of returning to Earth. I knew now that on this world I would

wear a collar and serve a master.

Further, I had now come to see myself as a slave girl. The panther girls in the

forest, and the man in the hut, had taught me that I was slave. I now knew that

even on Earth, even when I had been rich, even when I had dwelled in Park

Avenue, when I had owned the Maserati, my body had been that of a slave girl,

the body of a wench who, from the Gorean point of view, was fit only, and

rightly so, for silk, and the whip. I had been found out. The Goreans had found

me out, and would treat me accordingly. They have a way with such women. I

struck the steel plating in fury, with my small fist. They bring them to heel,

teach them to obey, and to serve, and deliciously. I wished that I was on Earth

again, where slave girls might go free, live luxuriously, pamper themselves, and

even, should it please them, command the weak men of Earth. I heard the step of

a guard outside. I knew several of them by their step. It was one of whom I was

frightened. I pretended to be asleep in the straw. When he had passed I rolled

again to my belly and put my chin on the back of my hands, their palms resting

on the plating. I would be a clever slave, a beautiful slave, and exciting one.

I was a slave. I would be a superb one. I (pg. 188) would use my intelligence

and my beauty to make my life on Gor an easy one. I had learned a great deal in

my training. I was eager to learn more. Already my body moved as that of a slave

girl, and unconsciously, naturally! I smiled. I would bring a high price on the

block. I glanced over at Inge. Poor sticklike Inge! What man would want her? And

Ute was so little and stupid. Even Lana seemed dull to me. But I was superb. I

recalled the man in the hut had said that the indications were that I would make

a fantastic pleasure slave for a master. My brow wrinkled and my lip curled. I

was irritated. It was I who would conquer. I remembered the panther girls,

dancing under the moons of Gor, and how they had writhed helplessly beneath

those wild moons. I despised them for their weakness. I did not have such

weaknesses. I was a slave, but I did not have such weaknesses. Inside I was cold

and hard, and hated men. I would conquer them.

And so I mused, an illiterate barbarian slave girl in a Ko-ro-ba slave pen.

* * *

Some four days before we were to depart Ko-ro-ba for Ar, the news swept like

tarns through the pens.

“Verna the outlaw girl!” we heard the cry. “She had been taken by Marlenus of

Ar.”

I rushed to the bars of the cage, thrilled. I wept with joy. How I hated that

proud woman, and her band! Let them be slaves! Let them be slaves!”

“Poor Verna,” said Ute.

Inge was silent.

“Let he be a slave!” I cried. “Like us!” I whirled to face them on the straw, my

back against the bars. “Let her be a slave like us!” I cried.

Ute and Inge watched me.

I turned about again, grasping the bars, filled with a sense of triumph, with

vindictive victory. Let Verna kneel to men, and fear the whip!”

“Poor Verna,” said Ute.

(pg. 189) “Marlenus will tame her,” I said. “In his pleasure gardens he will

have her feeding from his hand.”

“I hope she will be impaled,” said Lana.

I did not hope that. But I hoped she would be put in slave rouge, and silk, and

bells! Let her know slavery! How I hated the proud Verna! How pleased I was that

she, as I, had fallen prey to me!

I looked about the cage, flushed, furious. I shook the bars. I stamped on the

plating beneath the straw with my heel. I cried out with rage and picked up

straw and flung it about the cage. I had been captured, and must be a slave

girl!

“Pleas, El-in-or,’ cried Ute. “Do not behave so.”

“Let Verna be a slave!” I screamed down the long hall between the cages.

I wept, holding the bars. “Let her know what it is to be a slave,” I whispered.

A guard looked at me, curiously.

I shrieked with misery and ran across the cage, flinging myself into its back

wall, pounding on it, and then I sunk to my knees by the wall and, in rage and

frustration, weeping and screaming, pounded on the steel plating of the floor.”

“Weep, El-in-or,” said Ute. “Weep.”

I lay on the floor, naked in the straw, a helpless slave girl, the property of

men, who must do as they commanded her, and wept, and wept.

I mention two other bits of news, which, from the outside world of laughter and

daylight, filtered into the straw-strewn, barred pens.

Haakon of Skjern, from whom Targo had purchased his hundred northern beauties,

now concluding their training, was in Ko-ro-ba.

This news, for no reason I clearly understood, rendered Targo apprehensive.

The other news dealt with the bold raids of Task of Treve.

All Ko-ro-ba seemed aflame with fury.

Four caravans had fallen spoils to the fierce, swiftly striking tarnsmen of

Treve. And his men had fired dozens of (pg. 190) fields, destroying Sa-Tarna

grains. The smoke of two of these fields had been visible even from the high

bridges of Ko-ro-ba herself.

Ko-ro-ban tarnsmen flew at all hours, in the high sun, in the cold morning, at

dusk, even when the beacon fires burned upon the lofty walls, flew patterned

sorties, and irregular sorties, but never did they find the elusive, marauding

band of the terrible Rask of Treve.

I mused to myself.

I had some reason to know that name. Rask of Treve, Targo, and others, had even

more reason. It had been he, Rask of Treve, who had raided Targo’s slave

caravan, before, in the fields northwest of Ko-ro-ba, on the route to Laura, a

wandering, strangely clad, barbarian girl had been enslaved, whose name was

El-in-or. Indeed, it was because of Rask of Treve that Targo, who became that

El-in-or’s master, had lost most of his women and wagons, and all of his bosk.

It was because of him that El-in-or, the barbarian girl, with the other girls,

had been harnessed to his one remaining, partially burnt wagon, and had been

forced, and under the switch, to draw it, as draft animals. Targo, as I knew,

had fled into a Ka-la-na thicket with his men, saving his gold and nineteen of

his girls, Inge, Ute and Lana among them. Rask of Treve, as a raider true to the

codes of Treve, that hidden coign of tarnsmen, that remote, secret, mountainous

city of the vast, scarlet Voltai range, had not, in these circumstances, much

pushed pursuit. In the shadows of the forest the crossbow quarrel can swiftly

touch, and slay. The element of the tarnsman is not the green glades, and the

branches; it is the clouds, the saddle and the sky; his steed is the tarn, his

field of battle, strewn with light and wind, higher than mountains, deeper than

the sea, is the very sky itself. Such men do not care to venture creeping into

the shadows of forests, pursuing scattered game. Victorious, they roar with

laughter and, hauling on the one-straps of their tarn harness, take flight.

There is always other gold, and other women. And, the Priest-Kings willing, a

coin that is lost today, or a woman, may, at a later time, in a more convenient

place, be found, and more! A (pg. 191) woman, who escapes your collar this

afternoon may, by nightfall, find herself chained at your feet. If the coin is

to be yours, argue such men, it will be; and if the woman is destined, some

night, on this or another, in your tent, on your rugs, by the light of your

fire, to feel your chains locked on her body, she will. Flee though she might,

that fate will be hers, and she, on the rugs spread over the sand, will be

yours.

There was little known of Rask of Treve.

Indeed, there was little known even of the city of Treve. It lay somewhere among

the lofty, vast terrains of the rugged Voltai, perhaps as much a fortress, a

lair, of outlaw tarnsmen as a city. It was said to be accessible only by

tarnback. No woman, it was said, could be brought to the city, save as a hooded,

stripped slave girl, bound across the saddle of a tarn. Indeed, even merchants

and ambassadors were permitted to approach the city only under conduct, and then

only when hooded and in bonds, as though none not of Treve might approach her

save as slaves or captive supplicants. The location of the city, it was said,

was known only to her own. Even girls brought to Treve as slaves, obedient

within her harsh walls, looking up, seeing her rushing, swift skies, did not

know wherein lay the city in which they served. And even should they be

dispatched to the walls, perhaps upon some servile errand, they could see, for

looming, remote pasangs about them, only the wild, bleak crags of the scarlet

Voltai, and the sickening drop below them, the sheer fall from the walls and the

cliffs below to the valley, some pasangs beneath. They would know only that they

were slaves in this place but would not know where this place in which they were

slaves might be. It was said no woman had ever escaped from Treve.

And little more seemed known of Rask of Treve than of his remote and mysterious

city.

It was said that he was young, audacious and ruthless, that he was powerful, and

brutal and bold, that he was resourceful, brilliant, elusive, a master of

disguises and subterfuges. It was said that a woman might not even know when she