Captive of Gor (40 page)

I felt furious, and frustrated. I did not wish to be a mere sexual object! But I

felt at my throat. It was bare now. Tomorrow it would wear a collar. What could

a girl be, who wore a collar, but such an object!

“I hate men!” I cried.

Ena looked at me. “I wonder,” she said, “if Rask of Treve will find you

pleasing?”

She removed the two pins which secured the garment I wore, stripping me.

“Perhaps,” she said.

“I do not want to please him!” I cried.

“He will make you want to please him,” she said. “You will try, desperately, to

please him. Whether or not you will be successful I do not know. Rask of Treve

is a great warrior. He has had many women, and has many women. He is a

connoisseur of us. He is, accordingly, difficult to please. You will perhaps not

please him.”

(pg. 279) “If I wanted to, I could,” I cried.

“Perhaps,” said Ena.

“But I shall resist him! I shall fight him!” I cried. “He will never tame me! He

will never conquer me!”

Ena looked at me.

“I do not have the weaknesses of other women,” I told her. I remembered the

weakness of Verna, and of her girls, and of Inge, and Rena, and Ute! They were

weak. I was not!

“What a defiant girl you are,” she said.

I looked at her.

“But we must rest now,” she said, getting up and extinguishing the brass lamp in

the tent.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because tomorrow you will be collared,” she said.

I knelt, naked, on a large fur.

“Am I not to be chained tonight?” I asked.

“No,” said Ena. Then her voice reached me in the darkness. “You will not

escape.”

I lay down and pulled the fur about me. I clenched it in my fists and bit it

with my teeth. Then I lay with my head against it, wetting it with my tears.

I lifted my head. “You are a slave, Ena,” I said. “Do you not hate men?”

“No,” said Ena.

I heard her with irritation.

“I find men very exciting,” said Ena. “Often I wish to give myself to them.”

I heard her with horror. How shocking that she should speak so! Had she no

pride? If such thoughts were entertained by her, surely she should have

carefully concealed them, keeping them as her forbidden secret!

I, at least, hated men!

But tomorrow one of them would own me—fully. I would be his, by collar-right, by

all the laws of Gor, to do with as he pleased.

I had not been chained. I had expected to be chained, heavily, and in short

chains, fastened to rings, but I had not been.

(pg. 280) But I was secured, well secured, locked within the tall smooth

palisade. “You will not escape,” had said Ena.

Tomorrow I, Elinor Brinton, would be collared. For the first time on Gor I would

wear the locked metal of a slave girl.

* * *

“You are lovely,” said Ena.

I knelt, naked, on the scarlet rug in the tent of the women. I had been washed,

and my hair had been combed. The slave girl replaced the glass stopper in a

small, ornate bottle of Torian scent. “I shall touch you again,” she said,

“twice, before you are led forth.”

Another girl, one of four near me, besides Ena, again knelt behind me and again

began to pass the narrow, purple horn comb through my hair.

“She is combed,” said one of the other girls, laughing.

“Aren’t you excited,” asked the girl combing my hair.

I could not answer.

“You know your part in the ceremony?” asked Ena, not for the first time.

I nodded my head.

It could not be I, Elinor Brinton, who knelt in this tent on this barbaric

world!

One of the girls ran to the tent flaps and looked out. I could see, outside,

through the tied-back opening of the tent, men, and girls, passing back and

forth. The day was sunny and warm. There were soft breezes.

I was frightened.

I could smell the scent of the perfume. It was superior to any I had ever worn

on Earth, when I had been wealthy and could command the customized attentions of

the finest continental perfumers, and yet her, on this barbaric planet, it was

used without thought to adorn the body of Elinor Brinton, a mere slave girl. I

had not been permitted cosmetics.

I knelt.

I waited. For better than a quarter of an Ahn I knelt, waiting.

(pg. 281) “Perhaps he will not collar her today,” said one of the girls.

Suddenly the girl at the tent flap whispered excitedly, gesturing back toward

us, “Prepare her! Prepare her!”

“Stand,” said Ena.

I did so.

I gasped as they brought forth a long, exquisite garment, hooded, of shimmering

scarlet silk.

Behind me, swiftly, one of the girls wound my hair into a single braid and then,

coiling it, fastened it at the back of my head with four pins. The pins would be

undone by Rask of Treve.

The garment was placed upon me. The hood fell at my back. The garment was

sleeveless.

“Place your hands behind your back and cross your wrists,” said Ena.

She had, in her hand, an eighteen-inch strip of purple binding fiber, about half

an inch in width, flat, set with jewels.

I felt my wrists lashed behind my back.

Ena then gestured to the girl with the small, ornate bottle. The girl removed

the stopper and, quickly, again, touched me with the scent, behind each ear, a

tiny drop on her finger. I smelled the heady perfume. My heart was beating

rapidly.

Then Ena again approached me. This time she carried, coiled in her hand, some

seven or eight feet of slender, coarse rope, simple camp rope. She knotted one

end of this about my neck, tightly enough that I felt the knot. My wrists would

be bound by jeweled binding fiber but I would be led forth on a simple camp

rope.

“You are very lovely,” said Ena.

“A lovely animal!” I cried, tethered.

“Yes,” said Ena, “a lovely, lovely animal.”

I looked at her with horror.

But then I realized that Elinor Brinton was indeed an animal, for she was a

slave.

It was thus not inappropriate that she should find (pg. 282) herself so, as she

was, tethered, about her neck, knotted, a simple length of camp rope, slender

and coarse, fir for leading verr or girls.

I turned my head to one side.

Ena drew the hood up from my back and over my head.

“They are ready!” said the girl at the entrance to the tent.

“Lead her forth,” said Ena.

I was led through the camp, and, here and there, some men and slave girls

followed me.

I came to a clearing, before the tent of Rask of Treve. He was waiting there. On

my tether I was led before him. I looked at him, frightened.

We stood facing one another, I about five feet from him.

“Remove her tether,” he said.

Ena, who had accompanied me, unknotted the rope, and handed it to one of the

girls.

I wore the long, scarlet garment, hooded, sleeveless. My hands were bound behind

my back with binding fiber.

“Remove her bonds,” said Rask of Treve.

In his belt I saw that he had thrust an eighteen-inch strip of binding fiber. It

was not jeweled. It was about three quarters of an inch in thickness; it was of

flat, supple leather, plain and brown, of the sort commonly used by tarnsmen for

binding female prisoners.

Ena untied my wrists.

Rask and I regarded one another.

He approached me.

With one hand he brushed back my hood, revealing my head and hair. I stood very

straight.

Carefully, one by one, he removed the four pins, handing them to one of the

girls at the side.

My hair fell about my shoulders, and he smoothed it over my back.

One of the girls, she with the purple horn comb, combed the hair, arranging it.

“She is pretty,” said one of the girls in the crowd.

Rask of Treve now stood some ten feet from me. He regarded me.

(pg. 283) “Remove her garment,” he said.

Ena and one of the girls from the tent parted the garment and let it fall about

my ankles.

Two or three of the girls in the crowd breathed their pleasure.

Some of the warriors smote their shields with the blades of their spears.

“Step before me naked,” said Rask of Treve.

I did so.

We faced one another, not speaking, he with his blade, and in his leather. I

with nothing, stripped at his command.

“Submit,” he said.

I could not disobey him.

I fell to my knees before him, resting back on my heels, extending my arms to

him, wrists crossed, as though for binding, my head lowered, between my arms.

I spoke in a clear voice. “I, Miss Elinor Brinton, of New York City, to the

Warrior, Rask, of the High City of Treve, herewith submit myself as a slave

girl. At his hands I accept my life and my name, declaring myself his to do with

as he pleases.”

Suddenly I felt my wrists lashed swiftly, rudely, together. I drew back my

wrists in fear. They were already bound! They were bound with incredible

tightness. I had been bound by a tarnsman.

I looked up at him in fear. I saw him take an object from a warrior at his side.

It was an opened, steel slave collar.

He held it before me.

“Read the collar,” said Rask of Treve.

“I cannot,” I whispered. “I cannot read.”

“She is illiterate,” said Ena.

“Ignorant barbarian!” I heard more than one girl laugh.

I felt so ashamed. I regarded the engraving on the collar, tiny, in neat,

cursive script. I could not read it.

“Read it to her,” said Rask of Treve to Ena.

“It says,” said Ena, “—I am the property of Rask of Treve.”

I said nothing.

(pg. 284) “Do you understand?” asked Ena.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes!”

Now, with his two hands, he held the collar about my neck, but he did not yet

close it. I was looking up at him. My throat was encircled by the collar, he

holding it, but the collar was not yet shut. My eyes met his. His eyes were

fierce, amused, mine were frightened. My eyes pleaded for mercy. I would receive

none. The collar snapped shut. There was a shout of pleasure from the men and

girls about. I heard hands striking the left shoulder in Gorean applause. Among

the warriors, the flat of sword blades and the blades of spears rang on shields.

I closed my eyes, shuddering.

I opened my eyes. I could not hold up my head. I saw before me the dirt, and the

sandals of Rask of Treve.

Then I remembered that I must speak one more line. I lifted my head, tears in my

eyes.

“I am yours, Master,” I said.

He lifted me to my feet, one hand on each of my arms. My wrists were bound

before my body. I wore his collar. He put his head to the left side of my face,

and then to the right. He inhaled the perfume. Then he stood there, holding me.

I looked up at him. Inadvertently my lips parted and I, standing on my toes,

lifted my head, that I might delicately touch with my lips those of my master.

But he did not bend to meet my lips. His arms held me from him.

“Put her in a work tunic,” he said, “and send her to the shed.”

15
   
My Master Will Have His Girl Please Him

(pg. 285) “Ute!” I cried.

The guard, by the hair, threw me to her feet. I looked up at her with horror.

The left side of her forehead was still discolored where I had struck her with a

rock.

“I thought—“ I whispered.

She stood before the long, low shed, which I had seen before, when I had

examined the camp. It was windowless, and formed of heavy logs. It had a heavy

plank door, which was now open. When I had seen it before, it had been locked by

two hasps and staples, secured by two heavy padlocks. A lovely girl, in brief

work tunic, emerged, and went about the camp. I had supposed it a storage shed.

I now realized it was a dormitory for female work slaves. And I realized, to my

horror, that I would be such a slave.

“You wear a collar,” said Ute.

“Yes,” I whispered, knelling before her, my head down. I had seen that she, too,

wore a collar. More importantly, about her forehead, tying back her dark hair,

was a strip of rep cloth, brown, of the same material as the work tunic. I knew

this meant that she had authority among the girls. Ena was high girl in the

camp, but I suspected that Ute might be first among the work slaves. I began to

shake.

“She is frightened,” said the guard. “Does she know you?”

“She is known to me,” said Ute.

I put my head down to the dirt before me. My wrists were still bound, fastened

by the leather knots of the tarnsman, Rask of Treve. I was still unclothed. I

wore only my bonds and, locked about my throat, a collar of steel.

“You may leave us,” said Ute to the guard. “You have delivered the slave. She is

now in my charge.”

The guard turned and left.

I dared not look up. I was terrified.

“On the first day of my capture, at the first camp of my captors,” said Ute. :I

fell to Rask of Treve.” She paused. “Suddenly, from the darkness, he stood

before them. “Yield to me the female slave,” he said. They would choose to

fight. ‘I am Rask of Treve,’ he said. They then did not choose to draw their

blades. With their own tarn goads, Rask of Treve drove their tarns from their

camp. He then lifted me, bound, in his arms, and backed from the camp. ‘I thank