Rogue of Gor (24 page)

I kissed her, softly.

She began to sob in my arms, and I held her gently, closely. She looked up at me, with tears in her eyes.

"It is hard being a slave girl," I told her.

"Yes, Master," she said. "Master," she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Please have me, with gentleness, Master," she begged, "though I am a slave."

"Very well, Slave," I said.

"'Thank you, Master," she said, softly.

She lay beside me. She fingered the chain depending from her collar. "I love being chained," she said.

"Chains are useful in impressing her slavery on a woman," I said.

"They leave little doubt in her mind so as to who is master," she smiled.

I did not respond. What she said, however, was doubtless true. The effect of a chain, or a rope, on a woman's sexuality is sometimes incredible. This is particularly true with the new slave girl. With the older slave girl, one who has already learned something of the meaning of her collar, a mere snapping of the fingers or a small, imperious gesture can 'have a similarly, devastating, triggering effect on her sexuality. The readiness and excitability, indeed, the almost helpless sexual vulnerability of the slave girl, is something for which the men of Earth, whose experience has been limited to the free females of Earth, are totally unprepared. It commonly takes fifteen to twenty minutes to bring a free Earth female to orgasm. A slave girl, on the other hand, whether Gorean or an imbonded Earth girl, finding herself on Gor, once trained and understanding, fully, her condition, will often find herself on the brink of orgasm, simply finding her master's eyes casually upon her. The differences, of course, are almost entirely psychological. Sexuality, as is well known, is almost entirely a function of the imagination and brain. The slave girl knows that she is a slave, truly, and that passion is not only permitted to her but required of her. Indeed, she may be whipped or slain if she is insufficiently passionate. Her sexual needs are thus liberated. Frightened, she often begins by acting, and this is known to the master, but soon, perhaps to her horror, she discovers that she, obedient to the master's touch, and no longer acting, and this, too, is known to the master, has become, truly, suddenly, a yielding, spasmodic slave. Too, of course, her slavery and her sexuality is impressed upon her in a thousand, subtle ways. Certain modes of speech are expected of her and certain gestures and postures. She must, for example, address free persons deferentially and, commonly, will kneel in their presence. Her garb, too, is commonly distinctive; it is usually inexpensive and brief; sometimes it is only a rag; it is designed to remind her of lowliness; it is designed, too, of course, generally, to leave little doubt as to her charms. Needless to say, too, her throat is encircled by a collar, which will identify her master; sometimes, too, the collar will bear the name by which he has decided to call her; and her thigh, or some other part of her body, will be branded. She is an animal, sensuous and beautiful, marked as property, and has a name only on the sufferance of her master; he need not even give her a name, if he does not wish to do so. Beyond this, of course, she finds herself in the Gorean civilization. It is a complex, vital, bright, colorful, deeply sensuous civilization; it is a harsh, gorgeous world in which the slave girl has a special role and place; her condition is unquestioned and categorical; it is supported by history, by custom and law; there is absolutely no escape for her; she is slave. Accordingly, an animal and property, without even a name in her own right, she kneels before her master; she waits to be commanded.

"I love it when you are strong with me," said Peggy. She lay bide me, on her elbow, the chain dangling from her collar.

"You are a woman," I said.

"I despise weak men," she said. "I respect only men who will treat me as a woman, and do with me what they please. I know I am a woman. I want to be treated as one. How can I take my place in the order of nature if men will not treat me as they wish? That is what I want, to be treated, even with insolence, as men wish. Only then can I know them as my master, and yield to them in my fullness."

"Before," I said, "you wished to be taken with gentleness."

"And you did so," she said. "That was then my mood, and I am grateful that you deigned to respect it."

"Sometimes I might not," I said.

"I know, Master," she said. "And then later," she said, "when your appetites grew again upon you, you took me as a mere slave, with brutality."

"You yielded well," I said.

"I could not help myself, Master," she said.

She then lay beside me, and began to kiss at my arm. She took my arm in her two hands, kissing it. "You are strong," she whispered.

I did not respond.

"Master," she whispered.

"Yes," I said.

"Have Peggy again. Peggy begs it."

"Perhaps," I said. "Perhaps not."

She whimpered, and put her head against my arm.

I supposed that it was not surprising that women reduced to bondage, collared and branded, denied by the strictures of their condition the mockeries of male imitation, and finding the impediments to the manifestation of their deepest and most secret nature removed, should gradually find themselves more and more at the mercy of their needs.

I found this amusing, perhaps because I had come from Earth. How humiliating for an Earth girl, in particular, I thought, to discover that she now had, ignited within her, deep, feminine needs, for the satisfaction of which she found herself dependent on masters. This aspect of the sexuality of the female slave, her need as well as her responsiveness, would also be found astonishing by the men of Earth, accustomed only to the suppressed dispositions and conditioned inertnesses of the women with which he is familiar. It is not unusual for a slave girl to kneel, head down, before even a hated master, and beg his touch. Slavers, not unoften, deprive a female slave of a man's touch for two or three days before her sale. She then, almost invariably, brings a higher price. Her need, manifested in her piteous display of herself, in her physical attitudes, her gestures and expressions, is evident and often arousing, to the buyers. How many women of Earth, I wondered, strip themselves slowly before a man and then kneel before him, and kiss his feet, and then, looking up, beg him for his touch. Perhaps only those who are slave girls.

"You are chained," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I took Peggy's chain in my hand and jerked it, lightly but firmly. She felt the chain, then, pull at the snug collar and jerk it against the back of her neck.

"You are truly chained," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Why are you chained?" I asked

"It pleased Master to chain me," she said. She kissed me. "Please, Master," she said, "have your chained slave."

"Perhaps," I said. "Perhaps not."

She sobbed in frustration, and continued to kiss me.

Even with girls used to slavery, who have well learned their collars, of course, the chain never loses its meaning. Masters commonly use it, even with experienced girls. It never loses its effect.

"Please, Master," she sobbed.

"Be silent," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said, sobbing.

Sometimes a slave girl must be struck away from one's feet. Sometimes she must be chained to one side, to a wall or in a corner.

I laughed.

"Master?" she asked.

I then took her in my arms and threw her, roughly, beneath me.

She cried out with pleasure.

"What is that sound?" I asked.

"You make a slave very happy, Master," she said, snuggled beside me.

"Do you not hear it?" I asked.

"I hear conversation, the clink of goblets from the floor of the tavern," she said.

"Sandals!" I suddenly snapped.

A Gorean command need not be repeated. Peggy, startled, wild-eyed, rose to her knees and seized my sandals. I stood up, bending over in the low alcove. I pulled on my tunic. She thrust the sandals to her lips, kissing them. "Master?" she asked. She placed the sandals on my feet, thonging them tightly. I buckled my belt, with its dependent pouch. I slung the sword belt, with its attached scabbard, with its sheathed steel, over my left shoulder. "Master?" asked Peggy.

"Can you not hear it?" I asked.

She finished tying the sandals. As she knotted each she kissed the knot, and then, when finished with both, put her head to my feet in a graceful gesture of submission. Tying his sandals, and often thusly, is a small, homely service often performed by the slave girl for her master. Then she looked up at me, puzzled.

"Now," I said, "cannot you hear it?"

"The conversation has stopped on the floor of the tavern," she said, frightened. "It is quiet there."

"Listen," I said.

"I hear it!" she said. "What is it?"

"It is an alarm bar," I said. "It is coming from the wharves."

"What does it mean?" she asked.

I began to unbuckle the leather curtains of the alcove, swiftly. "I do not know," I said.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To the wharves," I said.

"Do not go!" she said.

I threw back the curtains. I looked back at her. She knelt frightened, on the furs, the chain on her neck. "Do not go!" she begged.

I turned about and made my way rapidly through the tables. I heard her sob and jerk at the chain in frustration but it, of course, held her, perfectly. The men among whom I strode had not risen to their feet. None met my eyes. None volunteered to accompany me.

"Do not go," advised Tasdron.

I did not answer him, but left the tavern and then, running, made my way toward the wharves.

22

WHAT OCCURRED AT THE WHARVES;

WHAT OCCURRED IN THE VICINITY OF THE TAVERN OF TASDRON

"Stand back, lest you be hurt!" cried a man.

I was seized by two men, citizens, and dragged back into the encircling crowd. I was bleeding. My tunic was cut. The sword of the pirate, in a drunken swing, had grazed my chest. Other citizens, with ship poles, of the sort used on Gorean galleys in casting off and thrusting from the wharves, pressed back the crowd. I felt the side of the pole against my belly. I was jostled by the crowd. The pirate turned away, laughing.

"Where are the guardsmen of Port Cos?" I asked. "Where are the guardsmen of Ar's Station?" There were several guardsmen, from each of these towns, in Victoria.

There was smoke in the air. Five warehouses, and some ancillary buildings were afire.

"They maintain their posts," said a man, grimly. "'They protect their own headquarters."

"Victoria is not their concern," said another, bitterly.

I watched the pirates, perhaps some fifty or sixty of them, unchallenged, moving between warehouses and the wharves, where two pirate galleys were moored. Some townsfolk, at swordpoint, were loading goods onto the galleys. Some of the pirates bore torches.

"The tribute will be paid by morning," said one of the men near me.

I saw several of the pirates with bottles of paga, swilling from them, as they strutted about, sometimes pausing to cut into a bale of goods or overturn a barrel, kicking it open, permitting its contents to run out, over the boards.

The alarm bar continued to ring futilely. The pirates made no effort to stop the desperate fellow who, meaninglessly, continued to strike it.

"We outnumber them fifty to one," I said. "Let me rush upon them. Let us stop them!"

"They are the masters in Victoria," said a man. "Do nothing rash."

I heard a woman scream and saw her, thrown over the shoulder of a laughing pirate, a brawny fellow, being carried to one of the galleys.

"What will be done with her?" whispered a woman, near me, terrified.

"If she is beautiful," said a man near us, "perhaps she will be kept to serve in the stronghold of Policrates. If site is not, perhaps her throat will be cut."

The woman gasped, her hand at her veil.

The pirate threw the woman to his feet near the nearest galley and there stripped her and handed her to a comrade who stood on board the galley. He put her on the outside of the railing, facing outwards, with the small of her back tightly against it, her arms hooked over it, and behind it, as with the others. He then, with a length of binding fiber, running tight across her belly, fastened her wrists together, as he had similarly those of the others. All were well displayed. Too, the exposition of captures in this way tends to discourage retaliatory missile fire from the scene of the pillaging.

The woman was comely. I did not think she would have her throat cut. Lusty men have better uses to which to put such women. I did think, however, that they would soon, all the captures, be marked and put in collars.

"If I were you," said the man near the woman, in the crowd, "I would draw back in the crowd and hide. Then I would flee."