Slave Girl of Gor (40 page)

"You are skillful, Thurnus," said Bran Loort. He held his staff ready.

"I am sorry that I must now do this to you, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "I had thought you had in you the makings of a caste leader."

"I am caste leader here," said Bran Loort.

"You are young, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "You should have waited. It is not yet your time."

"I am caste leader here," said Bran Loort.

"The caste leader must know many things," said Thurnus. "It takes many years to learn them, the weather, the crops, animals, men. It is not easy to be caste leader."

Thurnus turned away, his head down, to tie his sandal. Bran Loort hesitated only an instant, and then he struck down, the staff stopped, striking across Thurnus's turned shoulder. It had been like striking a rock. Bran Loort stepped back.

"Too, to earn the respect of peasants," said Thurnus, straightening up, retrieving his staff, his sandal tied, "the caste leader should be strong."

Bran Loort was white-faced.

"Now let us fight," said Thurnus.

Swiftly did the two men engage with their quick staves. There was a fierce ringing of wood. Dust flew about their ankles. Blows, numerous and fierce, were struck and parried. Bran Loort was not unskilled, and he was young and strong, but no match was he for the grim and mighty Thurnus, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford, my master. As well might a young larl with spotted coat be matched against a giant, tawny claw Ubar of the Voltai. At last, bloodied and beaten, Bran Loort lay helpless at the feet of Thurnus, caste leader of the village of Tabuk's Ford. He looked up, glazed-eyed. Some five of his cohorts, two of whom had recovered consciousness, seizing their staves, edged nearer.

"Beat him!" cried Bran Loort, pointing out Thurnus.

There was a cry of anger from the onlookers.

The young men raised their staves, together, to charge upon Thurnus, who turned, to accept their challenge.

"Stop!" cried a voice. There were the shrill squeals of sleen. Sandal Thong stood at the edge of the circle, in each fist the leash, a short leash, of a sleen. The animals strained against the leashed collars, trying to creep forward, their eyes blazing, saliva loose and dripping from their jaws, the wet fangs shining in the firelight. "On the first man who moves," cried Sandal Thong, "I shall set a sleen!"

The young men drew back.

Melina cried out with fury.

"Throw down your staves," ordered Thurnus. They, looking at the sleen, threw down their staves.

"She is only a slave!" cried Melina. "How dare you interfere?" she cried to Sandal Thong.

"I freed her this afternoon," laughed Thurnus. I saw no rope collar on her throat. She had removed it when she had stolen away from the circle of the fire.

She stood there, holding the sleen leashes, a proud free woman, in the firelight, though she wore still the rag of a slave.

"On your feet, Bran Loort," said Thurnus.

The young man, unsteadily, stood up. Thurnus, swiftly, tore away the tunic about his waist, and, taking him by the arm rudely thrust him to the heavy rack, where I lay helplessly secured. "Here is the little slave you find so lovely, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "She lies before you, helpless." Bran Loort looked at me, miserable. "She is a juicy little beauty, is she not?" asked Thurnus. I recoiled on the beams, so spoken of. "Is she not a pretty little cake?" asked Thurnus. "Yes," whispered Bran Loort. "Take her," said Thurnus. "I give you my permission." Bran Loort looked down. "Go ahead," urged Thurnus. 'Take her!" "I cannot," whispered Bran Loort. He was a defeated man.

Bran Loort turned away from the rack and bent down to pick up his tunic. He went to the gate and it was opened for him. He left the village of Tabuk's Ford.

"Follow him, who will," said Thurnus to the young men who had been his cohorts.

But none made to follow their former leader.

"Of what village are you?" asked Thurnus.

"Tabuk's Ford," they said, sullenly.

"And who is caste leader in Tabuk's Ford?" asked Thurnus, sweating, grinning.

"Thurnus," they said.

"Go to your huts," he said. "You are under caste discipline." They withdrew from the circle of the fire. I expected that they would tend his fields for a season.

Melina had withdrawn from the circle of the fire, returning to the hut she shared with Thurnus.

"Let there be made a feast," decreed Thurnus. There was a cheer.

"But first, Thurnus, my love," said Melina, speaking now from the doorway of their hut, "let us drink to the victory of the night."

There was silence.

She carried a metal goblet, and, slowly, in stately fashion, descended the steps to the ground, approaching Thurnus.

She lifted the cup to him. "Drink, noble Thurnus, my love," said she to him. "I bring you the brew of victory."

Suddenly I realized what must be her plan. Melina was a shrewd, clever woman. She had counted on Bran Loort and his young men defeating Thurnus. Yet, in the event they did not manage this, she had purchased a powder from Tup Ladletender, the peddler. Had Bran Loort been victorious she had promised me to him. But, too, I had been promised to Tup Ladletender, in exchange for the powder, were it successful. In each plan Dina, the slave girl, had been the bauble with which to bring about her will. Had Bran Loort been successful, I would have been his. Ladletender's powder would then be unnecessary, and would be returned to him. If Bran Loort was unsuccessful, then the way would be clear to use Ladletender's powder, and I, of course, Bran Loort defeated, could then be straightforwardly tendered in payment for it. The plans, sharp alternatives, excluded one another; their common element was I, as payment. Melina had planned well.

"Drink, my love," said Melina, lifting the cup to Thumus. "Drink to your victory, and mine."

Thurnus took the cup.

I tried to cry out, but could not. I struggled in the stock. My eyes were wild over the heavy gagging that had been inflicted upon me.

None looked upon me. I struggled in the stock. I tried to scream. I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.

"Do not drink it, Master!" I wanted to scream. "It is poisoned! Do not drink! It is poison!"

"Drink, my love," said Melina.

I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.

Thurnus lifted the cup to his lips. He paused. "Drink," urged Melina.

"It is our common victory," said Thurnus.

"Yes, my love," said Melina.

"Drink first, Companion," said Thurnus.

Melina seemed startled. Then she said, "It is first your victory, then mine, my love."

Thurnus smiled.

"Drink you first, my love," she urged.

"My love," smiled Thurnus, "drink you first."

"First, you," said she.

"Drink," said Thurnus. His voice was not pleasant.

Melina's face went white.

"Drink," said Thurnus.

She reached forth, hands shaking, to take the cup.

"I shall hold the cup," said Thurnus. "Drink."

"No," said she. She put her head down. "It is poison."

Thurnus smiled. Then he put his head back, and drained the cup.

Melina looked at him, startled.

"Greetings, Lady," said Tup Ladletender. He had emerged from between the huts.

Thurnus threw away the emptied goblet, into the dirt. "It is a harmless draught," he said. "Tup Ladletender and I, as young men," he said, "have fished and hunted sleen. Once I saved his life. We are brothers by the rite of the claws of sleen." Thurnus lifted his forearm where one might see a jagged scar. Ladletender, too, raised his arm, his sleeve falling back. On his forearm, too, there was such a scar. It had been torn by the claw of a sleen, in the hand of Thurnus; the same claw, in the hand of Ladletender, had marked the arm of Thurnus; their bloods had mingled, though they were of the peasants and merchants. "He now, has, too saved my life," said Thurnus. "I am pleased to have had the opportunity," said Ladletender.

"You tricked me," said Melina to Ladletender.

He did not respond to her.

Melina looked at Thurnus. She shrank back.

"Better," said Thurnus, "that the draught had been poison, and you had drunk first."

"Oh, no, Thurnus," she whispered. "Please, no!"

"Bring a cage," said Thurnus.

"No!" she cried.

"And a sleen collar," he said.

"No, no!" she cried.

Two men left the group.

"Let me be beaten with flails," she begged. "Set the sleen upon me!"

"Come here, female," said Thurnus.

She stood before him.

"Shave my head and return me in dishonor to my father's village," she begged.

His hands were at the shoulders of her robe. He tore it down, exposing her shoulders. The shoulders of a female are apparently exciting to a man. This fact is recognized in off-the-shoulder formal evening gowns on Earth. The existence of such gowns, if Goreans were familiar with them, except on slaves, would be taken as more evidence of the fittingness and naturalness of enslavement for Earth females. She who wears such a gown begs in her heart to be owned.

"Thurnus," protested Melina.

He held her by the arms, her shoulders bared. He shook her slightly. Her head went back. Her shoulders were wide, and strong, and beautiful. They would take a plow strap well.

Yet every part of a female body is beautiful to a Gorean, a hand, a wrist, an ankle, the back of a knee, the turn of a thigh, the sweet, soft hair, almost invisible and delicate, below and behind the ear. Each part bespeaks the glory and wonder and promise of the whole. I have heard Gorean men cry out with joy at the sight of a woman. There is little on Earth to prepare the poor Earth girl for the lust and desire with which she will find herself viewed on Gor. Initially she is bewildered, stunned and shocked. Then she is thrown on her back. She makes swift adjustment. She must. It is the Gorean world, a truly man's world, in which she is a woman. The lust of Gorean males has much to do, doubtless, with the robes of concealment worn in most cities by Gorean free women. They would not wish the casual, inadvertent flirtation of an accidentally exposed ankle to lead to their hunt, capture and enslavement. Slave girls on Gor, on the other hand, when permitted clothing, are usually dressed briefly and lightly, that their charms be muchly revealed. Gorean men wish it this way. That, accordingly, is the way it is.

Thurnus's hands were on Melina's upper arms, now bared, her robes pulled down from her shoulders. He looked at her arms. Then he looked at her face.

The cage was brought, a small, sturdy cage, tiny and tight, and a sleen collar.

"Let me be killed, Thurnus," she begged.

Thurnus lifted the sleen collar before her. With her hand she held it from her. "Kill me instead, Thurnus," she begged. "Please."

"Put your hands to your side, woman," said Thurnus.

She did so.

Thurnus then looped the sturdy, leather, metal-embossed sleen collar about her throat. With an awl, brought by a man, he punched two holes, vertically, in the leather strap, and thrust the twin buckle-claws through the holes; he then took the long, loose end of the strap, for the sleen has a large neck, thrust it through the four strap loops, thick and broad, and then, with a knife, cut off the portion of the strap which protruded beyond the last strap loop.

Melina, her shoulders bared, stood before him, wearing a sleen collar. It had, sewn in its side, a heavy ring, to which a sleen leash might be attached.

Instantly she was stripped and thrown to the ground. She looked up in fear at Thurnus.

"Into the cage, Slave," said Thurnus.

"Thurnus!" she cried.

He crouched down and, with the back of his hand, struck her across the mouth, leaving blood across the side of her face.

"Into the cage, Slave," he said.

"Yes-Master," whispered Melina. She crawled into the cage. At a gesture from Thurnus, Sandal Thong, surrendering the sleen leashes to a man, who took the animals from the clearing, came to the cage and, with two hands, flung down the metal gate to the cage, locking her former mistress within. There was a cheer from those about.

"Let there be a feast!" called Thurnus, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford. "And in the feast fires let an iron be heated for slave branding!"

There was another cheer.

In the tiny cage she who had been Melina crouched down, sleen-collared, her face miserable behind the bars, clutching them with her fists.

She would soon wear the mark of a slave in her flesh.

Men and women hurried about, to prepare the feast. At a gesture from Thurnus Radish, Turnip and Verr Tail ungagged me and freed me from the heavy stock. They helped me from the stock and I, by its head, sank down to the dirt. I could scarcely move. I could still taste the heavy, coarse, sour wadding of the gag in my mouth. I would not have believed so effective a gag was possible. At that time, however, I had not worn the Gorean slave hood with gag-attachment.