Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 33

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  “Yes,” she said.

  “No!” swiftly said another, one also in a tunic of the wool of the bounding

  hurt. “Our masters are our leaders!”

  “Leaders?” I asked.

  “Owners!” she swiftly said.

  “What are you?” I asked the first kneel girl, sternly.

  “Properties!” she said. And she added quickly, seeing my eyes still upon her.

  “And animals!”

  “Yes!” said the girl beside her, she who had spoken second earlier.

  “And what are you?” I asked the slave, Filomela.

  “A slave,” she said, not turning around, standing facing away from me, her hands

  clasped on her head.

  “Turn about,” I said.

  She obeyed.

  “And?” I asked.

  She was standing quite close to me, in the posture I had dictated.

  “A property, and animal!” she said.

  I looked upon her, savoring her. She looked away. I also observed, carefully,

  her tension, the tonicity of her body.

  “Straighten your body,” I said.

  She did so.

  The line of her breasts was lovely under her simple garment.

  “You seem uneasy,” I said.

  She did not respond.

  One of the kneeling girls gasped.

  It was not difficult to detect her discomfort, her uneasiness, attendant on the

  proximity of a male. I looked over her, letting this closeness work upon her.

  Others, too, now had moved in more closely about her.

  (pg. 222) “You are a slave?” I asked.

  “Yes!” she said, tensely.

  “Perhaps now you sense in yourself slave feelings?” I said.

  She cast a frightened, pathetic, shamed glance at the other girls, those

  kneeling to one side.

  “No!” she said. “No!”

  “Spread your legs,” I said.

  “Please!” she said.

  “Keep your hands as they are,” I said.

  “Ah,” I said, “you are a lying slave girl.”

  She cried out in misery.

  I stepped back from her.

  “You may stand straight again,” I informed her.

  Quickly she stood straight. She kept her hands on her head.

  “And what of you others?” I asked, looking to the other four. “Perhaps you sense

  in yourself slave feelings?’

  They did not meet my eyes but clenched their knees closely together, as though

  by this means to suppress and control their sensations. They hunched down, they

  made themselves small. I did not think that there was one there who, in proper

  hands, would not squirm well, yielding herself up in grateful joy to a master.

  “You may put your hands down,” I informed Filomela, their leader.

  “May I go now?” she said.

  “You are charged,” I said, “with drinking from one of the higher levels of a

  fountain.”

  “That fountain there,” said a fellow, pointing back.

  “Is it true?” I asked her.

  She was silent.

  “It is true,” said a fellow.

  “Yes,” said another.

  Assent to this was added, also, by others.

  “Do you deny this?” I asked her.

  She was silent.

  “She is a slave,” said a man.

  “Let her testimony be taken under torture,” said another.

  The testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture in Gorean law courts.

  “Let us find a rack,” said another.

  The girl turned white. Perhaps when she was a free woman she had seen girls on

  the rack, though, of course, they would have been mere slaves.

  “I drank from the high bowl,” she said.

  “Although you are a slave?” I said.

  (pg. 223) “Yes,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I was thirsty,” she said.

  “Speak truthfully,” I said.

  “I was thirsty!” she said.

  “Thirst may be quenched at the lower bowl as well,” I said.

  She looked at me, angrily.

  “Perhaps you forgot?” I said. “You were, after all, recently a free woman.”

  She did not answer.

  I did not seriously consider the possibility, of course, that she might have

  forgotten the matter. Too, slaves are not permitted to forget such things. It is

  up to them to remember them. Too, obviously one could claim to have forgotten

  the most elementary duties, tokens of respect, and such. Accordingly,

  forgetfulness does not excuse the commission of such acts. A slave seldom

  forgets them more than once. The whip is an excellent mnemonic device. I did, of

  course, wish to accord her the recourse of pretending to forgetfulness, if she

  cared to take advantage of it. It might serve to mitigate the wrath of the men

  about, at least somewhat. After all, she did not seem to realize that her life

  was in danger.

  She threw a look at the other girls.

  “You did not forget then,” I said. “And you must have known that free men were

  about. Your act then was intended as some sort of provocation, or insult, or

  insolency or challenge?”

  “She knew herself observed,” said a fellow, “and then with intent, and

  deliberation, drank from the third level.”

  “My master would permit it!” she cried.

  “That is probably true,” laughed a fellow, contemptuously.

  “Kneel, errant slave,” I said.

  She knelt, in terror.

  I looked down at her, and pointed the first two fingers of my right hand to the

  ground, and then opened them. “You do not know the meaning of that sign?” I

  asked.

  “No,” she said, trembling.

  “Her master is indeed weak,” said a fellow.

  I supposed her master must be a low-drive male.

  “Spread your knees, widely,” said another.

  Frightened, the girl complied.

  “Take her in hand,” I said.

  A fellow on either side of her then held her, each by a lifted wrist.

  I looked at the other girls.

  They, too, at my glance, knelt with their knees spread, widely.

  (pg. 224) “See!” said the one in silk. “My master has silked me!” He has put me

  in silk, as the slave I am! Do not hurt me! I am only a silked slave! That is

  all I have been given to wear. He is a man, a man!” The first girl in line, one

  of the three clad in the wool of the bounding hurt, did not dare to meet my eyes

  but drew the hem of her tunic up and back, higher on her legs, that more of her

  beauty might be bared. She, too, did not wish to face the wrath of masters. The

  other two in the wool of the bounding hurt quickly followed her example. They

  then all adjusted their tunics further in one way or another, one pulling down a

  bit on the “V” at her neck, the others pushing up the sleeves of their tunics to

  reveal more of their gracefully curved upper arms.

  “Slaves!” chided the girl before me. She saw herself losing her grip upon the
m.

  “And what are you?’ I inquired.

  “A slave!” she said.

  I regarded her.

  “—Master,” she added.

  “It is a serious thing you are charged with,” I said.

  She looked at me, angrily.

  “You have drunk,” I said, “from the wrong level of a fountain.”

  “What difference does it make,” she asked, “what bowl of a fountain I drank

  from? It is a small thing!”

  Anger coursed through the men present.

  “It is not a small thing,” I said. “Such things are symbols of rank and

  hierarchy, of difference and distance. They like at the foundation of a natural

  society, one in accord with the aristocracy of nature, a society in which there

  are places for both heroes and slaves. They speak of ordered arrangements. All

  are not the same. All are not leveled, nor must they pretend to be. Such a flat,

  crushed world, without difference and meaning, lies to the ruled and makes liars

  of the rulers. It imposes fraud upon one and hypocrisy upon the other. In an

  unnatural world, the same, as all cannot be the best, there is no alternative,

  if all are to be the same, then to reduce the best to the level of the worst, at

  least in pretense. Do you not think the intelligent, the strong, the aggressive,

  even the evil, will rule, under whatever forms are convenient? The larl, as a

  larl, must survey verr, or sleen will tend them, pretending to be themselves

  verr.”

  She looked up at me.

  “You did not truly think it a small thing,” I said, “otherwise you would not

  have done it.”

  She struggled a little, but could not, of course, free herself from the grip of

  the men. then, under my stern gaze, she again (pg. 225) spread her knees, so

  that they were again in the position, precisely, in which I had instructed her

  to have them.

  “You challenged the men of Ar,” I said. “But you did not expect the challenge to

  be accepted. You expected them to yield to their defeat, perhaps pretending not

  to notice it.”

  She struggled again a bit, and was then again as she was before.

  “But it has been noticed,” I said.

  “I saw girls drinking from the high bowls last month!” she said.

  “That was last month,” I said.

  “You cannot punish me!” she cried. “You are not my masters!”

  “Any free person can punish an errant slave girl,” I said. “Surely you do not

  think that her behavior fails to be subject to supervision and correction as

  soon as she is out of her master’s sight?”

  “Take me to my master!” she begged. “Let him punish me, if he wishes to do so!”

  “We will attend to the matter,” I said.

  “No!” she wept.

  I looked at the others. “And you, too,” I suggested, “are errant slaves.”

  “No, Master!” they wept. “No, Master!”

  “You cannot seriously intend to punish me!” said Filomela. “I was a free woman!”

  “That is where most slaves come from,” I said. I turned to the other slaves.

  “Were you not all once free women?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master!” they said.

  “But I was of high caste!” said Filomela.

  “What was your caste?” I asked.

  “The Builders!” she said.

  “But you are not now of the Builders, or of any other caste, are you?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “What are you?”

  “A slave,” she said.

  “Accordingly,” I said, “you may be punished as what you are, a slave.”

  Suddenly she laughed, in hysterical relief.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  “It is a joke!” she said. “It is a game you are playing, to turn about and trick

  these fools, to humiliate these defeated, bedraggled beasts!”

  (pg. 226) “I do not understand,” I said.

  “You, and your fellow, are of Cos,” she said. “I see it on your armbands! It is

  your business to pacify the men of Ar, to keep them down, to suppress them, to

  keep them helpless, futile, confused, domesticated, tamed, subdued! Surely you

  have your orders to that effect. You can succeed in this, Ar is defeated. She is

  helpless. She is crushed. The entire might of Cos backs your authority! Grind

  down the men of Ar, as you should. Continue to keep them, as they have been

  kept, intimidated herds of prisoners incarcerated in their own city, encouraged

  to view the wretchedness of their lot as the evidence of some new triumph. And

  it is your intention to use me to help you in this, by permitting me to insult

  them, by permitting me to mock their manhood, to reduce their virility. Of

  course! I now understand! So now disband this rabble and release me!”

  She made as though to rise.

  “Remain on your knees, slave girl,” I said.

  “You must let me go, you must order my release, you must take me from these

  brutes, you must scold them, speak to them of laws and such, or something,

  anything!” she cried. “Defend me, us! I demand it! Release me! You must! I beg

  it! The men of Ar have been defeated! No longer are they men! No longer are they

  mighty and masters! They are now nothing, they are all weaklings! You are of

  Cos! You must keep them that way! It is important to you to keep them that way!

  Arrest them if they dare think again of pride and manhood, tangle them in

  rulings, trip them with laws, lie to them, confuse them, put them in prison, do

  not let them understand themselves, or become themselves, if necessary, put them

  to the sword! Burn Ar! Destroy it! Salt its ashes! Do you not understand how

  dangerous might probe to be manhood in Ar? You must not permit it! And you can

  use women like us to help you in your schemes, protecting us, and using us to

  diminish men! Let us be your allies in the conquest and subjugation of Ar!

  Surely you understand me? You are of Cos! You are of Cos!”

  “But I am not of Cos,” I said.

  “Aiii!” cried several of the men about.

  “You have drunk from a high bowl,” I said, “and more than once you have spoken

  untruthfully, for example, in denying you sensed slave feelings in yourself.”

  “Forgive me, Masters!” she cried.

  “Too,” I said, “you have demeaned the men of Ar.”

  “Forgive me, Masters!” she wept. “You are men! You are men! A slave begs

  forgiveness!” Her concern was certainly not out of place. The demeaning of men,

  whereas it is permitted to, (pg. 227) and not unknown among, free women, is not

  permitted to female slaves. Such, on their part, can be a capital offense.

  “More importantly,” I said, “you have not been pleasing.”

  She looked at me, wildly.

  “Remove her tunic,” I said.

  She was then amongst us, on her knees, a stripped slave. She was comely.

  I then turned away from her. “What is new on th
e public boards?” I asked a

  fellow.

  “Master! Master!” cried the girl, behind me.

  “What of the slave?” asked a man.

  “You are men,” I said. “Doubtless you will know what to do with her.”

  One of the fellows looked at me.

  “For example,” I said, “she was thirsty. Perhaps you can see, then, that her

  thirst is quenched.”

  “That we will,” said a fellow, taking charge of the matter.

  “What of these others?” asked another man.

  “Read their collars,” I said. “And then instruct them to return to their masters

  and give them such a night of slave pleasure as they would not have conceived

  possible. Then be certain to follow up the matter the next day, to make certain

  they complied fully.”

  “We shall,” said a fellow.

  “What of the next day, and the next?” asked a man.

  “I would expect,” I said, “that the masters, seeing what their slaves are truly

  capable of, and what may be obtained of them, will not be shortchanged in the

  future. On the other hand, if they are not strong enough to obtain the best and

  finest from their properties I am sure the girls themselves, they then needing

  true masters, will in one way or another soon obtain a new disposition. Perhaps

  the weak masters, unable to satisfy them, will weary of seeing the bondage knot

  in their hair, will weary of their importunities, their moans and whinings in

  the night, their beggings for use, and either give them, or sell them, to

  another. Or perhaps the weak masters, whether unable to satisfy them, or merely

  unwilling to do so, will simply yield to their entreaties to be given away or

  sold, that they may receive an opportunity for their love, service and beauty to

  be put at the mercy of someone who can appreciate it and knows what to do with

  it.”

  “You heard?” inquired a fellow of the kneeling slaves.

  “Yes, Master!” said one of them. “We will give our masters such a night of slave

  pleasure as they never knew could exist.”

  “Read the collars,” said another fellow.

  (pg. 228) Names were read, and domiciles. Men were assigned to follow up on each

  slave, the next morning and report back to a certain metal-worker’s shop.

  “Speed off!” said a fellow.

 

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