Norman, John - Gor 08 - Hunters of Gor.txt
Page 28
I did not blame them in this matter, for the men they guarded were dangerous.
Some burdens were carried even by the men of Tyros. Others, lighter burdens,
were carried by certain of the panther girls.
Eight of the men of Tyros, with whips, struck the male slaves. Four panther
girls, with switches, hurried the lovely, tethered, braceleted bondswomen.
I looked down.
The slave girls now passed beneath me. Only Sheera had been stripped. I saw Cara
and Tina, still in their white wool slave tunics, save that they were now
dirtied and torn. To my surprise, also in a woolen slave tunic, in coffle, was
Grenna, whom I had captured in the forest. She had stood high in the band of
Hura. But they were keeping her slave. Panther girls have little patience for
those of their number who fall slave. Grenna’s neck knot was tied as tightly as
that of any of the other girls; her wrists were confined no less securely behind
her back. she was as much slave as they. Then there came six panther girls, who
had been of Verna’s band, in their skins, and then, still in lipstick and
earrings, still in her bit of slave silk, cam Verna, and then, following her,
came the other eight girls who had been of her band. I saw the girl behind her,
with her heel, kick at the back of Verna’s knee. She fell back, twisting,
strangling in the fiber. She struggled to her feet, muchly switched. One of the
switches cut the silk on her body. She tried to turn to face the girl who had
kicked her, but strangling, was pulled ahead by the girl in front of her. She
was then struck more with switches.
“Hurry, Slave,” cried one of the girls of Hura, striking her twice again with a
switch.
Verna hurried on, a slave girl under the switch.
It was no accident that Verna, garbed and adorned as she was, as a pleasure
slave, had been tied among panther girls. She even still wore slave bells at her
ankle. I suspected that, in the eyes of the men of Tyros, and those of the girls
of Hura, her position in the slave coffle was regarded as, and intended as, a
delicious cruelty. The remaining slave girls, who had been girls in Marlenus’
camp, brought north for the recreation of his men, were safely tied behind the
panther girls. They brought up the rear of the coffle.
I had seen, near the front of the march, Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros, and
near him, Hura, and her lieutenant, Mira, who had first betrayed Verna, and then
Marlenus. I smiled to myself. Mira would betray Hura as well. I would see to
that.
The men of Tyros and the girls of Hura had had scouts out, flanking their line
of march, panther girls.
Two, whom I had encountered, were nearby. They were bound and gagged. I had tied
them to a small Tur tree.
The last of the march passed beneath me. I would wait, for a time. Doubtless,
there would be rear points. They were not as far behind the main group as they
should have been. They were doubtless apprehensive, nervous. They were separated
by some fifty yards. I took them individually. It was not difficult in the heavy
brush. I left them bound hand and foot, and gagged, near the trail, where I
might get them later.
The rear of the march was now open to me. I would later use the flanks.
I carried with me four of the seven quivers of arrows taken from panther girls.
Their arrows, their bows being smaller, are not as long as the common sheaf
arrow of the long bow, but they would be satisfactory. The bow need not be fully
drawn to effect a considerable penetration.
Sixteen men of Tyros, in single file, brought up the rear of the march.
One begins with the last man, and then the next to the last, and so on.
I expected that men would now hesitate to bring up the rear of the march.
I returned and picked up the girls I had taken, the day’s catch. I unbound their
ankles, tied them together by the neck, and, with a switch, hurried them to the
camp. There the dark-haired girl and the blond girl, two of my paga slaves,
stripped the new prisoners and I, with Harl rings, part of the freight carried
by the panther girls, not speaking, fastened them in the slave chain.
There were twenty-five girls now in the chain.
They fed from bowls of slave meal, mixed with water. Too, I cut each of them a
piece of the dried, salted meat taken from the abandoned camp of Tyros and the
girls of Hura.
“What if the food is poisoned?” asked the blond girl, in her ankle ring.
“Eat,” I told her.
She looked at me.
“Eat, Slave,” I told her.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
Looking at me apprehensive, she chewed and swallowed.
“Quickly,” I told her.
“Yes, Maser,” she said.
Swiftly, frightened, she finished the bowl of slave mean and the piece of
salted, dried meat.
I observed her. She suffered no ill effects. The food had not been poisoned.
Later, when the moons were high, the paga slaves and I partook of it as well. I
was pleased that we had this food, much of it, because I did not wish to be
distracted by the need to seek out supplies.
In the forest I was hunting game other than tabuk.
The loose end of the slave chain, attached to the front of the first girl’s
ankle ring, I took from her wrist. I fastened it about a small tree, thus
tethering the entire chain of girls to the tree.
“Lie down,” I told the girls. “Closely together.”
They did so.
I then, with the aid of the paga slaves, covered them with the tarpaulin and
pegged it down.
I lay awake, looking up at the moons.
I turned my head to one side, and saw, some yards away, at the edge of the camp,
in her yellow silks, Ilene. She was standing with her back against the trunk of
a tree, her hands behind her back. Her head was turned toward me. Her hair was
long and dark. She was very lightly complexioned. She was slender.
I rose and went to her.
“You are of Earth,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“The others are asleep,” she said. “I must talk to you.”
“Speak,” I said.
“Not here,” she said, “surely.”
“Precede me,” I told her.
She turned and, I following her, walked some distance from the camp.
Then, in a small clearing, she turned to face me. Her fists were clenched.
“Return me to Earth,” she said.
“There is no escape for a Gorean slave girl,” I said.
“I will not accept being a Gorean slave girl!” she said.
“You have not been long on Gor,” I said.
“No,” she cried.
I shrugged and went to turn away.
“I am not a slave girl!” she said.
I turned and faced her. “How did you come to this world?” I asked.
She looked down. “I awakened one night. I found myself bound and gagged. My
hands were tied behind my back. my ankles were tied to the bedposts. I could not
free myself. I had been stripped. For an hour I struggled, helpless. Then, at
two A.M. by the clock on my dresser, a dark, disklike shape, not more than five
feet in thickness and eight feet in width, black, appeared before the window. It
/> was a small ship. A man emerged in strange garb. The window lock was, from the
outside, disengaged, perhaps magnetically or electronically. The window slide
upward. The man swiftly used me. He then hooded me. I felt my ankles released
and then crossed and bound together. I then felt myself being lifted through the
window and thrust into the small ship. I felt a needle being entered in my back.
I lost consciousness, and I remember nothing more until I awakened. I do not
know how much later, in a Gorean slave pen.”
“How were you sold?” I asked.
“I was sold privately to Hesius of Laura,” she said, “I then served his
customers in his paga tavern”
“How is it,” I asked, “that you think you are free?”
“Is it not clear from my story?” she asked angrily. “I am a free woman of
Earth!”
“Once, perhaps,” I said. “Then you were taken by Gorean slavers.”
“I was taken by force,” she said.
“All slaves are taken by force,” I told her.
She looked at me, angrily.
“How were you brought to this world?” I asked.
“As a slave,” she said.
“Where did you awaken?” I asked.
“In a slave pen,” she said.
“Are you branded?” I asked.
“In the pen,” she said. “I was branded.”
“I see that you wear a collar,” I said. She wore the collar of Hesius of Laura,
a tavern keeper in that city.
She tried to tear the collar from her throat. She could not, of course, do so.
It remained fixed upon her, snug, beautiful, gleaming.
She threw back her head, haughtily. “It means nothing,” she said.
I smiled.
“A slave collar,” she said, lightly, “Might be snapped on the throat of any
pretty girl.”
“That is true,” I said.
She reacted as if struck.
“You do not understand,” she said.
“What is it that I do not understand?” I asked.
“Gorean girls,” she hissed, “may be slaves! Not the women of Earth! Earth women
are different! They are better, finer, nobler, more refined, more delicate! You
cannot make them common slaves!”
“You regard yourself as better than Gorean girls?” I asked.
She looked at me, astonished. “Of course,” she said.
“That is interesting,” I said. “To me you seem less worthy, more slavish.”
“You needn’t play games with me,” she said. “The others are asleep. We can speak
frankly. We are compatriots of Earth. If you wish, for your vanity, I shall play
the role of a slave girl when they are about, but I assure you that I am not a
slave. I am not a slave! I am a free woman of Earth, different from them, and
superior to them! I am better than they!”
“And so,” I said, “I should show you special consideration?”
“Certainly,” she said.
“I should be particularly kind to you,” I said, “and you should, doubtless be
accorded special privileges.”
“Yes,” she said. She smiled. “Be cruel to them,” she said, “but not to me. Be
harsh to them, but not to me. Treat them as laves, but not me.”
“Why should I treat them as slaves?” I asked.
She looked at me, puzzled. “Because they are slaves,” she said.
“And you are not?” I asked.
“No,” she said.
“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.
“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said.
I looked at her. She stood in brief, diaphanous yellow slave silk, that of the
paga slave. Her hair was very long and dark. Her skin was very light. She was
slender.”
“I do not accept being a slave girl,” she said.
“Your legs,” I said, “are beautiful enough,” I said, “to be a Gorean slave
girl.”
“Thank you,” she said.
I strode to her and pulled away the bit of silk. She gasped, but dared not
interfere.
‘“I walked about her. “You are beautiful enough,” I said, :to be a Gorean slave
girl.”
She was silent.
“You were brought by slavers to this world,” I said. “You were sold. You have
been branded. You wear a collar.”
She dared not speak.
I examined her, candidly. “I congratulate the slavers on their taste,” I said.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I looked at her, standing in the clearing, the bit of silk at her ankles,
beautiful in the light of the three moons.
She was now frightened.
“I am glad,” I told her, “that the slavers brought you to Gor.”
“Why?’ she said.
“Because,” I said, “it is a pleasure to own you.”
“I cannot be owned,” she said. “I am not a slave girl!”
“Are you aware that the men of Gor look upon the women of Earth as natural
slaves?” I asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“How should one treat slaves?” I asked.
“With great harshness and cruelty,” she said, her head high.
“You wear a collar,” I said.
“I am not a slave!” she said.
“You are an exquisite slave,” I said.
“No!” she cried.
“Quite exquisite,” I said.
“Return me to Earth!” she cried.
“There is no escape,” I said, “for a Gorean slave girl.”
“I know what you want,” she said. “I will purchase my passage back to Earth!”
“What have you to offer?” I asked.
“Myself,” she said. She shook her hair. “Obviously myself!” She looked at me. “I
will serve your pleasure,” she said.
“As a slave girl?” I asked.
She tossed her head. “If you wish,” she said.
“Kneel, Slave,” said I, not pleasantly.
Uncertain of herself, she knelt. She looked up at me. There was fear in her
eyes.
“Am I playing a role?” she asked.
“No,” I told her.
She tried to leap to her feet, but my hand was in her hair, painfully.
When she stopped struggling, I released her. She smiled. “I’m not a slave girl,”
she said.
“Do you know the penalty,” I asked, “for a slave girl who lies to her master?”
She looked at me, no longer smiling. She was now apprehensive. “Whatever the
master wishes,” she said.
“For the first offense,” I said, “the penalty is not usually severe, commonly
only a whipping.”
She looked down.
“Will it be necessary in the morning to have you trussed and switched?’ I asked.
“Why looked up, suddenly. There were tears in her eyes. “Why are you not kind
and solicitous like the men of Earth?” she asked.
“I am Gorean,” I told her.
“Will you show me no mercy?” she begged.
“No,” I told her.
She put her head down.
“I shall now ask you a question,” I said. “I advise you to think carefully
before you answer.”
She looked up at me.
“What are you, Ilene?” I asked.
She put down her head. “A Gorean slave girl,” she whispered.
I knelt then beside her and took her in my arms, and put her back to the grass.
“Slaves,” I told her, “are to be treated with great harshness
and cruelty, and
you are a slave.”
She moaned.
She lay on her back on the grass, and looked up at me. “Am I to receive
nothing?” she asked. “Nothing?”
“You are to receive nothing,” I told her. “Nothing.”
In half an Ahn she was wild, moaning, weeping, submissive in my arms.
And when in another half an Ahn she yielded it was with the helpless,
uncontrollable yielding of the utterly vanquished Gorean slave girl. “I am a
slave,” she wept, “ a slave,” she wept, “what will you do with me?”
I did not respond to her.
“Will you return me to Earth?’ she asked.
“No,” I told her.
“Will you free me?’ she asked.
“No,” I told her.
“I am totally your slave,” she wept. “What will you do with me, Master?”
“I will sell you in Port Kar,” I told her. I then left her.
I awakened shortly before dawn. It was muchly dark, but not as dark as the
night. I was cold, and wet. I heard the call of some horned owls.
I rose on one elbow.
At my feet, to one side, a yard or two away, lay Ilene. Her head was on her
right arm, and her eyes were open. She was watching me.
I knew the eyes of a slave girl in need.
I looked about. There was already, though before dawn, a dim filtering of light
in the forest, the false dawn, the inchoate, fractionated light preceding the
true dawn, when Tor-tu-Gor, the common star of two worlds, would, as a Gorean
poet once said, fling its straight, warming, undeflected spears of the morning
among the wet, cool branches of the forest.
I lay on my back.
The sky was now a darkish gray. I could see the edges of the trees clearly
against it. I could detect dim, whitish clouds overhead.
I lifted myself again to my elbow. It was a chilly morning. Dew covered the
grass and leaves. Everywhere drops glistened.
I again regarded Ilene. I read the need in her eyes. The bit of yellow pleasure
silk, wet with dew, clung to her. Her hair was wet and straight, black, damp and
matted back from her forehead, on both sides. Her face was damp. There was dew
on her collar. Her legs were drawn up.
She crept to me and put her head to my waist. Then she lifted her head and
looked at me. “Master?” she whispered. I did not speak to her. She lay beside me
and put her arms timidly about my neck. Delicately, timidly, she kissed me.
“Please, Master,” she said, “please.” Her eyes were pleading.