Witness of Gor

by John Norman

  But let us suppose, say, that the tarnsman, the beast, is not satisfied with the "present" he has purloined, it now, unwrapped and examined, having been found wanting.

  So let her be a laundress, a field slave, a factory slave, chained to her loom.

  But perhaps she could become beautiful in bondage. What then? And there are many modalities of female beauty. And women are very pretty in collars. And as they lose their inhibitions, and such. But there is no comparison, in my view, at least, between the slave girl and the current free woman. We are better, infinitely better! At the very least the free woman, once she is in a collar, and finds out what it is all about, will be much improved; she will soon be a thousand times, and more, better than she was when she was only another smug, vain, haughty, nuisance.

  The collar is good for us, you see.

  So the slave girl is infinitely better than the free woman.

  On the other hand, I must grant that the "free woman," once she is no longer free, once she becomes a slave, and learns her collar—once she is no longer free—and has now become a slave girl—will have her value—on the block, and in the kitchen, and in the furs.

  That is undeniable.

  But then of course she is a slave girl.

  * * * *

  In any event, the Lady Constanzia and I were similarly attired.

  Yes, I thought, she was beautiful.

  And how right that collar looked on her neck!

  How she had looked at it in the mirror, and adjusted it, this morning—so carefully, so admiringly—with such approving vanity!

  She loved it, the pretty little bitch!

  To be sure, we were very much the same height. She was perhaps a quarter of an inch or so taller than I. I had little doubt that many men, seeing us, took us for a matched set.

  We were similar in hair and eye color, and were similarly figured.

  I also doubted now that anyone, even a slaver, would have suspected that the Lady Constanzia was not a slave, without ascertaining, of course, that she lacked the brand. She had something now, you see, of the eagerness, the vitality, the interest, the curiosity, the awakened nature, the readiness to live and experience, of a slave.

  Certainly most of the men looking upon us—and there were many—would have taken us both for slaves and—I am confident—attractive slaves.

  Certainly there could be little doubt about our charms.

  I was a little apprehensive about matters, of course, for it seemed that the pit master had realized what I was doing with the free woman, using her, at least from my own point of view, to take out my little vengeances on my superiors, free women. It was for that reason, I suspect, that he had decided, today, what we would both wear.

  I pulled the edges of the slits at the side of the brief skirt a little more closely together, but, of course, as soon as I released them, they parted again.

  My flanks were well displayed.

  It was not that I minded this so much in itself, for I am not altogether unaware of my own possible charms, and, as a slave, doubtless a vain one, was not above displaying them, and even flaunting them upon occasion, shamelessly and joyously, as that I was somewhat irritated that the distinction between us, she and I, was no longer clearly marked. To be sure, it was she who was in the bracelets, and not I, and it was I who held the leash, and not she. That, I supposed, should be more than enough.

  "Do you see him?" she asked, anxiously.

  "No," I said, not even looking about. I wanted to get to the docking area. Already the tarns, one by one, were alighting.

  "Am I overdressed?" she asked, anxiously.

  "No," I said.

  "Do you think the tunic is pretty?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Do you think he will like me like this?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. She was exquisitely fetching. The tunics are designed to set off the charms of a slave. And this tunic, to be sure, left little to the imagination.

  "I hope so," she worried.

  "In a slave collar," I said, "any woman might as well be naked."

  "Oh," she said.

  The collar, of course, speaks of the vulnerability of the slave. It makes clear her helplessness, her availability. In this sense, in seeing a woman in a slave collar, it is much like seeing her naked, or, if you prefer, potentially naked.

  "I can see little from my knees!" she protested, looking up at me.

  "It is not yours to look," I said, "but yours to be found, if any should regard you of interest."

  "Oh!" she said.

  I was hitching her head back, by the leash and collar, close to the slave ring.

  "Please, Janice!" she said. "Not so close!"

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I want to be able to put my head down," she said. "I want my lips to be able to touch the very tiles of the terrace!"

  I looked at her. I did not think it was the tiles of the terrace that she wanted to kiss.

  "Please, Janice," she begged.

  "So you have already reached that phase, have you?" I said.

  "Yes!" she said, defiantly, earnestly.

  I gave her the slack she required.

  "Thank you, Janice!" she said. "Thank you!"

  "I will be back shortly," I said.

  "Do you see him?" she asked.

  "No," I said, looking about. "Do not get up!" It is customary for slaves not to stand at slave rings. Usually they kneel there, or sit there, or lie there.

  "Yes, Mistress!" she said. How naturally, how quickly, how easily, I thought, had that expression escaped her! To be sure, it was part of her disguise, so to speak.

  There were still people hurrying over the bridge. There was already a crowd at the docking area, mostly near the warehouses.

  I checked the bracelets, and the leash lock, of the Lady Constanzia.

  "You have been so kind to me, Janice!" she exclaimed. "I am sorry that I had you whipped!"

  That had occurred in my first day in the depths, when she was still the occupant of a dangling slave cage, suspended over a pool to which large aquatic rodents, one variety of urt, had access.

  "Do not concern yourself with the matter," I said. "I may have your clothing removed and have you whipped."

  "Janice!" she said.

  "Then you can see for yourself what it is like," I said.

  "Please do not whip me, Janice," she said.

  I could do this, incidentally, as she was in my keeping. On the other hand, I had no intention of doing so. I was really rather fond of the Lady Constanzia. She did not seem to me to be a bad sort, considering that she was a free woman.

  "Perhaps I shall," I said, lightly.

  "No!" she begged.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I want my first beating to come from the hands of a man," she said. "After that, you may do with me what you want."

  "I will be back shortly!" I assured her.

  I did turn back, at the bridge, to see her kneeling there, in the accustomed place, by the slave ring.

  I could also see, now, the scarlet-clad figure for whom she had been waiting making his way across the terrace, toward her. At almost the same time she may have seen him because, when I glanced back, she was kneeling beautifully, modestly, head down, at the ring. Perhaps she would lift her head, seeming surprised, and pleased, when his shadow fell across her body. Some days ago, upon my suggestion, following her urgent request for it, the pit master had permitted her slave wine. Who knew, after all, what might occur in the streets or markets? There were many byways in such a city, narrow alleylike streets, dark doorways, and such, into which a slave, ordered to silence, might be drawn.

  "That is what we must drink," I had informed her, noting with satisfaction the expression on her face as she had lifted up the bowl, filled with the foul brew, and had smelled it. "It is not like the delicious beverages quaffed by free women for such purposes, is it?" I had asked.

  "No," she had whispered.

  "I am told, however," I said, "t
hat the releaser is delicious. When we are given that we know that we are to be bred." This form of mating, as one might suppose, is carefully controlled and takes place under supervision. The slaves selected for breeding are generally unknown to one another, normally hooded and commonly forbidden to speak. In this way it is felt that certain complications may be avoided.

  She looked down at the foul brew.

  "You need not drink it," I said to her.

  "No," she whispered. Then she lifted the bowl to her lips. She put back her head. Then, scarcely pausing to take a breath, she drained the bowl.

  "Oh!" she cried, her entire body shuddering.

  "That is slave wine," I said, "free woman."

  I regarded her with some satisfaction. I thought that she might now understand, a little bit better than before, what it might be to be a slave.

  "How can you drink it?" she asked.

  "Do you think we are given a choice?" I asked.

  She put the bowl down, unsteadily.

  "Will it work with a free woman?" she asked.

  "If she is a female," I said. "Where do you think slave girls come from?"

  "Bracelet me now, Janice," she asked. "Leash me. Take me above now."

  * * * *

  The scarlet-clad figure had now reached the Lady Constanzia. I saw her lift her head, timidly, to him. How very much she looks like a slave at his feet, I thought. But then, of late, I reminded myself, how much the Lady Constanzia seemed to be like a slave at the feet of any man.

  She had had her slave wine. I did not fear now, to leave her at the ring. On the other hand, I thought she would, indeed, be safe in such a place. It was not merely that she was chained there, for safekeeping, but that it was a very public place. Also, the scarlet-clad figure had visited her there several times before and had never, in spite of what I suspected were certain provocations, forced her. It would not have been wise to have done so, of course, for he was not of this city. The forcing of a slave, indeed, even the use of an unoffered slave, by a stranger, an outlander, so to speak, might be taken as some form of presumption or insult. Furthermore, even within a city, such things are often regarded as incivilities, unless taken, perhaps, as legitimate portions of a free man's punishment of an errant slave, say, perhaps, one who might have been regarded as being insufficiently deferential. These men have many ways of reminding us that we are slaves, and one of them is our use. But I thought there might be an even more grievous reason for the scarlet-clad figure's restraint in the matter of lovely, fetching "Tuta." I conjectured that he was the sort of man who would want to own a slave, one who would want to have her fully his, before putting her to his pleasure. I did not know on what business, incidentally, the scarlet-clad figure was in the city. Doubtless it must be soon concluded. I would not have advised him to dally beyond his welcome. Suspicion of strangers, of outlanders, seems to come very easily to the men of this world. Too, neither the Lady Constanzia nor I knew the name of the stranger, nor even his city. She, as a putative slave, and I, as an actual slave, would not dare to inquire into such matters. One does not wish to be kicked or cuffed. Curiosity, it is said, is not becoming in kajirae.

  I quickly turned about and hurried over the bridge, toward the docking area.

  19

  There were some folk still crossing the bridge, though fewer now that the tarns had alighted. Some slave girls, too, scurried across the bridge, doubtless eager to see the returned raiders, the mighty mounts, the harvested riches of the venture's predations. I joined them. Slave girls often have the run of the city. On the other hand, male slaves seldom do, for obvious reasons. An exception is the male silk slave, usually the male pleasure slave of a rich woman, but sometimes one belonging to a female entrepreneur, in whose brothel, one specializing in the tastes of women, he serves. Some men are brought from Earth here for such purposes I have heard, but I do not know if it is true. There were certainly no males in my group. We were all women. Had there been males in our group I think they would have soon been spoiled for such an application. Seeing women like us, in the power of men, they would doubtless have soon assumed the whip and become masters.

  More than a hundred and fifty tarns had landed in the docking area. Guards held the crowds back. Loot was being unloaded. There was music in the docking area, adding to the celebration. In the city, to my right, the bars, which normally signify times and alarms, were sounding in jubilation.

  "See! See!" cried men in the crowd.

  Vessels of gold were lifted by raiders, displaying them to the crowd.

  Children squirmed in and out among the people.

  Many were the colorful robes.

  Boxes were being lifted down to waiting hands.

  Some of the mighty saddle birds, like gigantic, crested hawks, they are called "tarns," moved about uneasily. Sometimes wings would snap and air would rush about. Once or twice one or another of these mighty creatures put back its head and screamed to the clouds. The music continued. The bars continued to sound, rejoicing.

  I saw some of the captives, stripped women, hooded, being led forth, in their chains, from cage baskets, slung to the harnesses of the mighty birds. The women moved uncertainly, unsteadily. Doubtless they were bewildered, confused. Incidentally, even free men, brought to this city on diplomatic missions, on commercial ventures, and such, are brought here hooded. The location of the city is supposedly a secret, known only to its citizens. Only they can come and go unhooded. Naturally, too, there are numerous outposts of the city in the mountains, at which tarnsmen are always on the alert. It is the mission of these men to keep the secret of the city. Such outposts constitute the nodes of an extensive system of reconnaissance and surveillance. From them frequent, randomized patrols are mounted. From them companies of tarn cavalry may be launched to intercept and destroy intruders. Unauthorized strangers risk their lives by even approaching such places. Cleared entrants, usually cleared in their own cities, flying under appropriate passage banners, report to them, for hooding and transport. Few, incidentally, except in armed parties, traverse the mountains on foot. It is difficult and dangerous to do so. They are not only rugged and precipitous, but are apparently alive with animals, such as rock panthers and sleen. It is said that none may pass unauthorized the lines of interdiction, and that, of those who do, none are to return.

  I was jostled in the crowd, but none, it seemed, took note of me. Free and slave were there in zest commingled.

  "Stay back! Stay back!" called a guard.

  One raider, still mounted on the tarn, reached into a saddle sack and hurled a handful of jewels high over the crowd. They rained down. People reached and scrambled for them, laughing. It would not do, of course, for slaves to seek such stones. They are not for us. We would not wish our hands cut off. In many cities we are not permitted to touch money. In many it is a capital offense for us to touch a weapon.

  It was hard for me to see in the crowd, for the robes and hoods.

  "Oh!" I said, pinched by someone.

  I heard a coarse male laugh.

  One does not complain, of course, as one is slave. Such small attentions, a pinch, a touch, a stolen kiss, pressed perhaps to the side of one's neck, as one is briefly held, helplessly, must be expected. Indeed, in their way, they are flatteries. The slave who does not elicit such attentions, who is not deemed of sufficient interest to warrant them, may suspect that she will soon be placed by her master upon the block.

  I squirmed to a new place in the crowd.

  The crowd surged about me.

  I could see very little, for the men and, indeed, most of the boys, were much taller than I. The women were muchly of my own size, but even there, the ornateness of the robes, the height of the hoods, sometimes made it difficult to see. I was irritated with them, the free women. They were so ornately, so complexly robed, whereas I had only my slave frock, that scandalously brief, muchly revealing, single piece of cloth, and my collar. But I did not think they were so different from me, really, they, such proud thing
s, so gorgeously bedecked, so smug under those layers of cloth. Beneath the protective, shielding casings of those stiff brocades were there not terrains and latitudes which, shorn of their armor, would prove as vulnerable and soft as mine?

  I was momentarily blinded by a flash of light, the sun reflected from a huge silver plate, perhaps a yard in width, held over his head by a mounted raider. The flash was not unlike that from mirrors used as signal devices in the mountains. I had seen such flashes occasionally from the balustrade, presumably the routine signals of guards. Smoke signals, too, are apparently sometimes used, but I had not seen them from the balustrade. At night, beacon fires, which may be shielded and then unshielded, in codes, may be used. The flash of the mirrors, the sight of the smoke signal, the glimpse of a fire, such things, it might be recollected, convey their message at the speed of light, far faster than a tarn can fly, incomparably more swift, even, than the flighted sound of a distant bar.