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

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

men, and stupid.”

  “How did Mistress outwit them?” asked the slave.

  “As you will note,” she said, “I wore a common street cloak (pg. 444) and hood,

  secured for the occasion. A departure was arranged for a putative maid,

  supposedly one of my retinue, on personal business, and it was as such a one

  that I was passed through the guards.”

  “Mistress is to be praised for her discretion and cleverness,” he said.

  “Who will remove the veil of a free woman?” she laughed.

  “Who, indeed?” inquired the slave, awed.

  “And few,” she laughed, “are even aware of the features of the Ubara!”

  “True, wonderous Mistress,” he said.

  She laughed.

  “How grateful and humbled I am,” said he, “that I, only a slave, at three

  suppers, was permitted to look upon them.”

  “You dared to look upon me?” she asked.

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” he cried. “I had thought that perhaps it was for that

  reason that Mistress had lowered her veil.”

  “It was warm, those evenings,” she said.

  “Of course, Mistress!” he said.

  “But, to be sure,” she said, “I did fear that looking upon me, you might fall

  under my spell.”

  She then, gracefully, reached to the pins at the left side of the veil and

  unpinned it. A moment later she had lowered it, gracefully.

  “Aii!” said he, softly. “What man could not fall under the spell of such a

  beauty?”

  “Think you so?” she laughed, delighted.

  “Yes!” he said. “Surely Mistress is the most beautiful woman on all Gor!”

  I glanced down at Lavinia. She was kneeling on the floor, to my left. I thought

  her lip trembled, and a tear formed in her eye.

  “I feel like a slave girl,” said the free woman, “running about, sneaking here

  and there, to keep a rendezvous.”

  Milo gasped. I conjecture he had just considered how exciting the female might

  be, if she were truly a slave, slave clad, slave collared, and such.

  The Ubara looked at herself, in the mirror at the far end of the room.

  “Sometimes I envy the meaningless property tarts,” she said, “running about much

  as they please, here and there, in all their freedom, in their short skirts and

  collars. Sometimes I think that they have more freedom than I, that I, a free

  woman, indeed, one who is Ubara of Ar, am more slave than slave.”

  “Do not even think so!” said Milo.

  (pg. 445) “It is true,” she said, dismally.

  The male slave was silent.

  The Ubara continued to regard herself in the mirror. I wondered how she saw

  herself, really, in that reflection. Did she see herself in the mirror as she

  now seemed, moody, and attired as befitted a woman of high caste, or did she see

  herself there otherwise, perhaps in a ta-teera or tunic, as men might choose to

  keep her.

  “If I were a slave,” she said, “and I were here, what do you think would be done

  with me?”

  “Mistress is not a slave!” cried Milo, aghast.

  “But, if I were?” she asked.

  “And you were caught?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Mistress would be severely punished,” he said.

  “Even though I am so beautiful?” she asked, skeptically.

  “Especially so!” said he.

  “Oh?” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he assured her.

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “But Mistress is not a slave!” he said.

  “Lashed?” she asked.

  “The least that might be done to Mistress,” he said, “would surely be that she

  would be stripped, and tied, and lashed. Too, she might be bound, and subjected

  to the bastinado.”

  The free woman shuddered.

  “And I do not think that Mistress would err in such a fashion again,” he said.

  “Perhaps not,” she said.

  I glanced over at Tolnar, at the other observation portal. He looked over at me,

  and I returned my attention to the portal.

  The Ubara, moving very little, was still regarding herself in the mirror.

  She seemed moody.

  “Mistress?” asked the male slave.

  “You do find me attractive, do you not?” she asked.

  “Of course, Mistress!” he said.

  “And do you not think other men might do so likewise?” she asked.

  “Certainly, Mistress!” he said.

  “Some think me the most beautiful woman in all Ar,” she said.

  “You are surely,” said he, “the most beautiful woman on all Gor!”

  Near me Lavinia put down her head. A tear fell to the floor.

  (pg. 446) “And I am Ubara!” said the free woman.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the slave.

  “A Ubara, too,” she said, “is a woman, and I have a woman’s needs.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said the slave.

  The Ubara then, bit by bit, piece by piece, looking at herself from time to time

  in the mirror, the slave standing back, removed her outer garments. When she had

  stepped forth from her slippers, she stood before the mirror, barefoot, in a

  one-piece white, silken wraparound sliplike garment. It came slightly above her

  knees. She then unpinned the dark wealth of her hair, and shook her head, and

  then, with both hands, lifted it, and then swept it back, behind her shoulders.

  She regarded herself in the mirror. It was all I could do not to rush forth into

  the other room and seize her. About her neck, on a leather thong, there was a

  small, capped leather cylinder. I was confident I knew what it contained. Milo,

  on the other hand, would not. Milo had not had with him, I had determined, the

  note which had putatively come to him from the Ubara, that which had been

  written by Lavinia. I supposed he had destroyed it, as it might prove

  dangerously compromising. Neither the Ubara nor Milo, of course, knew of the

  notes which they themselves had supposedly written. All communications between

  then other than these had been effected by Lavinia, to the Ubara in the guise of

  a slave of the house of Appanius, to Milo in the guise of a state slave, with

  the exception of their rendezvous this morning. With Lavinia as go-between,

  under my instructions, matters had proceeded expeditiously, culminating apace,

  save for some delays on the part of the Ubara, presumably, to increase the

  anxieties of, and torment, the poor slave, in the arrangements for this

  assignation.

  “I wonder if I am truly the most beautiful woman on all Gor,” said the Ubara,

  looking into the mirror.

  “Certainly,” said Milo.

  Near me, Lavinia had her head down, and in her hands.

  “How could one doubt it?” asked Milo.

  Near me Lavinia wept, silently. Tears had trickled down her wrists, and to the

  floor. I noted that her knees were in proper position, spread, given the sort of

/>   slave she was.

  “And you, Milo,” said the Ubara, “are a handsome brute.”

  “I am pleased if Mistress should find me not displeasing,” he said.

  “And surely,” she said, “you are the most handsome man in all Ar.”

  “Mistress,” he said, softly, coming close to her.

  (pg. 447) “Serve me wine!” she snapped.

  “Mistress?” he asked.

  “It that not wine, and assorted dainties,” she asked, “on the table by the

  couch, that which I see behind me, in the mirror?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  “And certainly female slaves humbly and beautifully serve their masters in such

  a way,” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  “Must a command be repeated?” she inquired.

  “I am a male slave,” he said. “I am not a female slave.”

  Surely you are aware that male silk slaves are trained in such things as the

  serving of wine to their mistresses,” she said.

  “I am not a silk slave,” he said.

  “I see that a command must be repeated,” she said.

  “No, Mistress!” he said. He hurried to the small table and put a tiny bit of

  wine into one of the small glasses. He then returned, and knelt before her. He

  then, holding the tiny glass in both hands, his head down between his extended

  arms, proffered her the beverage. But she did not receive it as yet at his

  hands. “Look up,” she said. He did so. She fingered the small, capped cylinder

  at her neck. “Surely you know what is contained in this capsule,” she said.

  He did not respond.

  She uncapped it, and moved the tiny rolled paper a hort from the capsule, that

  he might see it. Then she thrust it back in, triumphantly, and recapped the

  cylinder.

  “You are a better actor than I gave you credit for,” she said.

  He had remained impassive.

  “You will obey me in all things, and not merely because you are a slave,” she

  said, “but because of this.” She tapped the tiny cylinder twice. “I now hold all

  power over you, my dear Milo, even though I do not own you. It is given to me by

  this note. Should it come to the attention of Seremides, or Myron, or the high

  council, or an archon of slaves, or perhaps even a guardsmen, you may well

  conjecture what might be your fate.”

  He looked up at her.

  “How foolish you were, to write such a note,” she laughed. “But then you are a

  man, and men are stupid.”

  He put down his head, and again, lifted the wine to her.

  He would not recognize the note, of course, but he could immediately realize it

  must have had some role in my business, in which he was now so deeply involved.

  Too, almost simultaneously, he would doubtless suspect that the note which he

  himself had originally received might very well not have come from the Ubara

  herself. Surely it would now seem to him (pg. 448) unlikely that she, so

  obviously aware of the danger of such notes, would have sent one herself. Surely

  it would have been at the least politically compromising, if it fell into the

  wrong hands. He did not glance toward the back room. I myself, incidentally, did

  not think it impossible that the Ubara herself, in certain circumstances, might

  be so indiscreet as to write such notes. She was, after all, a woman with

  feelings, desires and needs. She was quite capable, I was sure, in their cause,

  of throwing caution to the winds. On the other hand, in this case there had been

  no need for her to do so.

  She let him hold the wine for a time, and then, reaching out, she took the

  glass.

  He kept his head down, and put his hands, palms down, on his thighs.

  She lifted the glass to her lips. She took no more, it seemed, then the tiniest

  of sips.

  “Replace the glass,” she said. “Then return and kneel as you are now.

  She was standing before the couch.

  She watched him, in the mirror, replace the glass on the tiny table.

  In a moment then he had returned to kneel before her.

  ”You are the idol of thousands of women of Ar,” she said, “but it is my beauty

  which has conquered you.”

  He was silent.

  Lavinia looked up at me, red-eyed.

  “It is my beauty to which you have succumbed,” she said.

  He was silent.

  “It is I before whom you kneel,” said the Ubara.

  He did not respond.

  “You look well there,” she said, “on your knees, before me.”

  He was silent.

  “That is where men belong,” she said, “on their knees, before women.”

  He kept his head down, and did not respond.

  “You may look up,” she said.

  She turned about then and went to the couch. She stood there for a moment,

  beside it, regarding him.

  Then, with a graceful movement, she removed the white, silken, sliplike garment,

  letting it fall about her ankles.

  “Ai!” said the male slave, softly.

  She then, swiftly, with a smooth, silken movement, ascended the couch and lay

  curled upon it, near its foot, watching him.

  “Mistress!” he said.

  (pg. 449) “Do not dare to rise to your feet without permission, slave,” she

  said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  She laughed, softly.

  He looked away.

  “Do you have the needs of a male?” she asked.

  “Yes!” he said.

  “Sometimes female slaves,” she said, “after their slave fires have been ignited,

  after hey have become sexually helpless, are deprived of sexual experience,” she

  said. “Did you know that?”

  “I have heard so,” he said. “Perhaps as a cruelty, to teach them the master’s

  power or that they are slaves, or as a punishment, or to ready them for a

  successful performance on the block, such things.”

  “Are such things done with male slaves?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  She laughed.

  He did not look at her.

  “Look at me,” she commanded.

  “At least upon occasion,” he said.

  She laughed again, merrily.

  This was true, incidentally. Tauntings, it might be mentioned, are usually

  involved in such denials. On the other hand, male slaves have much the better of

  it, in my opinion, in these matters. Sexual gratification is seldom denied to

  them for long periods. They, like male sleen, tend to become not only restless

  and aggressive, but dangerous. Accordingly, it is common to see that they are

  permitted to periodically access a female, almost invariably a slave. No such

  provision, on the other hand, is prescribed for the female slave. She, as her

  needfulness increases within her, as she becomes more lonely and miserable, more

  desperate, is left much on her own, to wheedle and beg, and such. To be sure,

  most female slaves enjoy an enormous amount of sexual experience. This is

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nbsp; largely because they are beautiful and exciting, and slaves.

  “You may rise, handsome slave,” said she, amused.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  She lay on her side, watching him. “You are indeed a handsome brute,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he said.

  She then lay on her back, toward the foot of the couch, and stretched,

  luxuriantly, indolently, before him, savoring the feeling (pg. 450) of the fur,

  the delight of her own movement. She looked upward, lazily. She did not detect

  the net, of course, as she was not looking for it, and it was recessed in the

  structure of the ceiling, the ceiling having been designed for its concealment.

  She had the palms of her hands facing upward, at her sides. Her left knee was

  lifted.

  I thought she would look well in a collar.

  She moaned, softly.

  She turned her head to the side, toward him. “Sometimes I feel,” she said, “as I

  think a slave must feel.”

  The net, concealed, was above her.

  “Do not approach!” she warned him.

  He stood still.

  She laughed, and rose, facing him, to her hands and knees, on the couch. She

  then backed away from him, toward the center of the couch. In this way,

  unwittingly, she positioned herself under the center of the net. To be sure, it

  had been designed to cover the entire couch.

  “You may approach,” she said. “No nearer!” she said.

  He then stood near the foot of the couch.

  “It seems, Mistress, has come to this room to torture a poor slave,” he said.

  She then slipped to her left side, propping herself up with her left elbow, and,

  her knees drawn up, regarded him.

  “Poor Milo,” she said, sympathetically.

  He was silent.

  “There are slave rings on the couch,” she said. “Perhaps I shall chain you to

  one of them.”

  “As Mistress pleases,” he said.

  “What woman of Ar would not desire you as her conquest,” she mused.

  He was silent.

  “And you are mine,” she said. “Conquered by my beauty.”

  He was silent.

  “You have told me,” she said, “that you have the needs of a male.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  “It is true?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.