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

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 34

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

Quickly, released, the four girls leaped up and hurried away.

  Tonight, I thought, there would be at least four astonished fellows in Ar, and

  four slaves who, by morning, if only by teaching themselves, by their own

  actions, would have a much better conception of the profoundities, and

  sensations involved, and significances, of their condition.

  “What is new on the boards?” I asked Marcus. I did not really wish to make it

  clear to the men about that I did not read Gorean as well as I might.

  Men crowded happily about me.

  “There is to be curfew,” said Marcus. “It begins tonight. The streets are to be

  kept clear between the eighteenth and the fourth Ahn.”

  “What is the reason for that?” I asked a fellow.

  “To limit the movements of the Delta Brigade,” he whispered.

  “Is there such a thing?” I asked.

  “Seremides thinks so,” said a man.

  “I heard a barracks was burned last night,” said a fellow.

  “I heard that, too,” said Marcus.

  “Is it on the boards,” I asked.

  “No,” said a man.

  “No,” said Marcus. “I do not think so.”

  “Then it must not have happened,” said a fellow, grimly.

  “Of course,” said another.

  I heard the slave, some yards off, at the fountain, crying out. She had been

  taken to the lower bowl of the fountain. There she was sputtering and gasping,

  and crying out for mercy. Again and again was her head, held by the hair, forced

  down, held under the water and then jerked up again. “Please, Masters! Mercy,

  Masters!” she wept.

  “The delka has been forbidden!” said Marcus. “It says so, here!”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “That is the first public recognition of the Delta Brigade,” said a fellow.

  I now heard the sound of a lash. The girl had her head down, her wet hair

  forward. She was held on her knees by the fountain, a wrist in the hands of each

  of two fellows. She shook under each blow. Then, when they had finished, she was

  on her hands and knees, head down. Her entire body was trembling. She slipped to

  the pavement. Her hair was about. She lay (pg. 229) there. It seemed she could

  hardly believe what had been done to her. I supposed this was the first time she

  had been lashed. It is something no slave forgets. A fellow then drew her up

  again, by the hair, to all fours and, looming over her, pointed to the fountain.

  She now, slowly, painfully, crawled to the fountain, between the men, and then,

  putting her head down, and as was fitting for her, and as she should have done

  earlier in the afternoon, drank from the lower bowl. She was then pulled back

  and put prone on the pavement. Her hands were pulled behind her and fastened

  there, with a short thong.

  “Is there more on the boards?” I asked Marcus.

  “I think those are the main items of interest,” he said.

  I saw the girl placed on her belly over the stone lip of the lower bowl of the

  fountain. She cried out. Her small hands twisted in the thongs, behind her back.

  Men crowded about her.

  “Glory to the Delta Brigade,” said a man.

  “Who are of the Delta Brigade?” asked a man.

  “Who knows?” said another.

  “They must be veterans of the delta campaign,” said a man.

  “Perhaps others, too,” said a fellow.

  “A fellow was asking me where he could join the Delta Brigade,” said a man.

  “Perhaps a spy,” conjectured a fellow.

  That seemed to me likely.

  “I heard that they tried to take in a veteran for questioning,” said a man.

  “What happened?” I asked a fellow.

  “He drew a sword from beneath his cloak,” said a man.

  “Swords are forbidden,” said a fellow.

  “Doubtless there are some about,” said a man.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He slew two Cosians and disappeared,” said the man.

  “It may be dangerous to try to take in the veterans of the delta,” said a man.

  “Probably they will leave the city,” I said.

  “Why?” asked a man.

  “They will be suspect,” I said.

  “There are warriors and guardsmen in the city,” said a man, “who are not

  veterans of the delta.”

  “That is true,” I said. Also, of course, it was not only in the delta that blood

  had been shed.

  (pg. 230) “Ah,” said Marcus, glancing over toward the fountain, “here comes the

  insolent little slut now.”

  “She does not look so insolent now,” said a fellow.

  The girl, her hands still bound behind her, her head down, her hair about her

  face, shuddering, scarcely able to walk, her upper left arm in the grip of a

  fellow, by means of which grip she was being muchly supported, was being

  conducted into our presence.

  Freed of his grip she immediately knelt, and in proper position.

  “You may untie her,” I said.

  He jerked loose the thong from her wrists. Whereas it had confined her with

  perfection, she had not been able, of course, to reach either of the ends by

  means of which the knot could be expeditiously undone.

  “To all fours,” said her keeper.

  Immediately she went to all fours.

  “Describe a circle, of some five paces in diameter, on all fours, as you are

  now,” said her keeper, “and return to this place.”

  I watched her.

  In this way was she well displayed, and in the attitude of the she-quadruped.

  She was then again before us, on all fours, head down.

  “On all fours,” remarked a fellow.

  “In such a posture she does not seem as insolent,” said another.

  “She is not,” said another.

  “No,” said another.

  “A fitting posture for the little she-sleen,” said a man.

  “Yes,” said a man.

  “Look up,” I said to the girl.

  She looked up, through her hair.

  “Have you learned to drink from the lower bowl?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You may lower your head,” I said.

  She put her head down, gratefully.

  “You are not a little she-sleen, are you?” I said.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “You are more of a little vulo, aren’t you?” I said.

  “Yes, Master, now, Master,” she said.

  “What do you want to do, more than anything?” I asked.

  “To please men,” she said.

  “What man?” I asked.

  “Any man, Master,” she said.

  “I think she may be permitted to live,” I said.

  (pg. 231) “I think so,” said a fellow.

  “Yes,” said another.

  She began to tremble. I did not think her arms and legs would support her.

  “You may break position,” I informed her.

  Immediately she wen
t to her belly before me, and reached to my ankle, and put

  her lips over my left sandal, pressing her lips to it.

  “Do you think you will see your friends again?” I asked.

  “I hope so, Master,” she said.

  “And how do you think they will find you?” I asked.

  “They will find me a slave,” she said.

  “And how do you think you will find them?” I asked.

  “I do not know, Master,” she said.

  “I think you will also find them slaves,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Do you think that it might be well for the men of Ar to be put to the sword?” I

  asked.

  “No, Master,” she said. “It is rather that women such as I should be put to the

  sword of their manhood.”

  “Even if it should make them proud and powerful, and great?” I asked.

  “It is hard for this humble slave to believe that her use, and the use of such

  as she, the use of meaningless chattels, should have so great a consequence,

  but, if it be so, then surely that would be an additional joy to me, and to my

  sisters in bondage.”

  “Even should it inevitably plunge you deeper and more irrevocably into your

  servitude, ensuring that it will become even more uncompromising and absolute?”

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “I now wish to live for the chain, the whip, and love.”

  I looked down at her.

  “I beg you to buy me!” she suddenly wept.

  “You beg to be purchased?” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “I beg it!”

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “Surely it is permissible for me to so beg. Indeed, it is fitting for me, as I

  am a slave.”

  “And it is just today, I gather,” I said, “that you have learned this, that you

  are a slave.”

  “No, Master,” she said. “I have known it for years, in my most secret heart. It

  is only that it is today, on this day, that I first admitted it to myself. It is

  only today that I ceased to lie to myself, that I ceased to be at war with

  myself. It is only today, today, that I ceased to pretend to be something which

  I knew I (pg. 232) was not. It is only today that I have admitted to myself,

  honestly and openly, what I am.”

  “Bring her tunic,” I said to a fellow.

  He picked up what was left of it.

  She looked up from my feet, frightened. “Surely you will keep me, or buy me!”

  she said.

  “No,” I said.

  “But it is to you, or to one such as you that I must belong!” she wept.

  I did not speak.

  “It is for such as you that women such as I exist!” she wept.

  I did not speak.

  “Without one such as you,” she wept, “I cannot obtain my happiness, my

  completion, my fulfillment!”

  I remained silent.

  “I am at your feet!” she wept, “branded, collared, legally enslaved! I am

  helpless! Take pity on me! Surely you will not deny me the fulfillments of my

  condition!”

  “Kneel,” I said. “You will return to your master.”

  She screamed in misery. “Woe!” she wept. “This is my punishment, more grievous

  than the leather!”

  “But he is kind, noble, liberated and enlightened,” I reminded her.

  “Woe!” she wept. “Woe!”

  “Be the most abject and loving of slaves,” I said. “Crawl at his feet. Weep for

  his mercy. Beg to serve him in the most intimate modalities of the slave girl.”

  “But he would lift me from my knees and chide me for my needs,” she said. “He

  wants me to act like a man! I think he may want to relate a man, truly, but is

  afraid to do so. So he wants me to pretend to be one, or be like one. I do not

  know. I think he is afraid of a true woman, and what she is like. Perhaps he

  fears he is not man enough to satisfy here in the full spectrum of her needs, in

  her subtlety, depth and complexity. I do not know! Perhaps he is only weak,

  perhaps he is one of only infrequently active and diminutive drives. Perhaps he

  is emotionally shallow, unready to sound the depths of oceans, to measure the

  heights of a hundred skies. Perhaps it is all very simple. Perhaps he only lacks

  health, or virility, through no fault of his own. I do not know! Whatever it is,

  please do not send me back to him!”

  (pg. 233) “You will relate to him differently than you ever have before,” I

  said. “Utterly differently. You will now be to him a true and perfect slave

  girl. You will be docile, dutiful and hardworking. You will serve, and be eager

  to serve, in all things. You will present yourself before him as a female slave,

  and crawl to him, the whip in your teeth. Surely he will understand this. You

  will petition to serve his pleasure, you will beg to squirm for him, and as the

  insignificant and meaningless slut, a mere slave, you now are.”

  She looked at me, clutching the remains of her tunic before her.

  “I shall do as you say, Master,” she said.

  “And you may discover he is not the weakling you think,” I said. “And you may

  find he will take the whip from your teeth and perhaps stand over you and howl

  with pleasure, sensing the joy of the mastery. You may even be struck with it,

  as he takes control of you, for the first time. Yes, you may even be put under

  the lash, that he punish you for what you have denied him before, and that he

  confirm upon you, and you be instructed in, and fully, the new relationship in

  which you stand to him.”

  “But what if he is weak?” she begged.

  “Continue to serve him, in the fullness of your slavery, begging him for the

  least of his kisses, the most casual of his caresses.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  “Even such small attentions, as you will discover, now that you have become

  sensitized to your slavery, will be precious to you.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I did not doubt but what she would soon be feeling the fullness of her needs,

  now that they were in the process of being liberated. In the pens it is not

  unusual for girls to bleed at the fingernails, from scratching at the walls of

  their kennels, or to bruise their lovely bodies against the bars of their cages,

  trying to reach out to a guard, it only to touch his sleeve. Sometimes a girl is

  deprived of attention for two or three days before her sale, that she will show

  well on the block, her body, and person, and aspect a helpless, piteous plea of

  need.

  “If he continues to be inert,” I said, “if he cannot be awakened or aroused, or

  fears to be, or does not wish to be perhaps because of hostility toward you, or

  toward women, generally, he will presumably grow uneasy with you in the house

  and give you away, or sell you. Perhaps he will even (pg. 234) trade you for a

  less needful woman, or one more in accord with his needs, whatever they might

&nb
sp; be.”

  “But what if he is stupid?” she asked.

  “Beg him then to sell you, or give you away,” I said, “that you may, if only in

  being sold off the block, come into the collar of another, one capable of

  satisfying what you are, a slave.”

  “But what if he will not sell me, or give me away?” she said. “What if he

  insists on keeping me, as he is, and as I now am? What if he will keep me only

  according to his own rules, and lights, and keep me from myself, denying me to

  myself, frustrating my deepest and most profound need, as I am?’

  “Then,” said I, angrily, “that is how it will be, for it is you who wear the

  collar. He is the master. You are the slave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she sobbed.

  “But do not fear,” I said. “I am certain, sooner or later, you will come into

  the possession of one who will not only accept your slavery, in its beauty, in

  its tenderness and needfulness, in its honesty and truth, but will celebrate it

  and relish it, and for whom you will be a treasure, an incredible and marvelous

  treasure, to be sure, one to be kept under the closest of disciplines.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, smiling through her tears.

  “Rise up now, slave girl,” I said, “and hurry to your master!”

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  Clutching her tunic about her as best she could, she then rose up and hurried

  from the place of the public boards.

  “I think she will make an excellent slave,” said a man.

  “Yes,” said another.

  I myself, too, thought that that was true. It is a beautiful moment when a woman

  come to learn, and love, what she is, when she comes to understand herself, and

  has the courage to accept this understanding, when in joy the ice breaks in the

  rivers, when the glaciers melt, the spring comes, when she loves and kneels.

  “It is a good thing you did here,” said a man.

  “For the girl?” I asked.

  “She is only a slave,” he said. “I mean for the men here.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “You had an opportunity here to strike a blow for Cos, to humiliate the men of

  Ar, to further reduce and degrade them, to force them to submit even to the

  insolence and arrogance of slaves, to further subdue and crush them, to remind

 

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