Witness of Gor
Page 85
"Because I love you," I said.
"Even though you knew your failure to obey could cost you your own life?"
"Yes," I said.
"Interesting," he said.
"I would rather die than injure you," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
"I am master's slave," I said.
He crouched down beside me and, with his fingers, lifted my chin, and looked deeply, inquiringly, into my eyes. Then I averted my eyes, for it was hard for me to look into the eyes of my master.
"What sort of slave are you?" he asked.
"Master, please!" I begged.
"Speak," he said.
"I confess myself master's love slave," I whispered.
"My love slave?" he said.
"Yes, my master," I said. "I know that you may not care for me. I know that you may despise me, that you may hate me. But it does not matter. I do not care. As worthless as my love may be, that of a meaningless slave, know that it is yours, unstintingly, irreservedly, all of it. It is yours, entirely. I am your love slave."
He lifted up the cloak, and put it about my shoulders.
I looked up at him, through tears.
"I am unworthy to be loved," he said. "I have betrayed my honor. I have not obeyed my orders."
"Is it well that the entire world should fall into the hands of Lurius of Jad?" I asked. "Is he not mad? Is he not a tyrant?"
"He is my ubar," he said.
"Honor," I said, "has many voices, and many songs."
He looked down at me, startled. "That is a saying of warriors," he said. "It is from the codes. It is a long time since I have heard it. I had almost forgotten it. Where did you, a slave, hear it?"
"In Treve," I said.
"A den of thieves!" he said.
I did not respond. Who knows within what houses may be heard the voices of honor? Who knows within what walls may be heard her songs?
"I do not think we can leave the city," he said. "We have no passes."
"We must then remain here," I said.
"For those of the black caste to come, to kill us?"
"It would seem so, Master," I said.
"He who was Prisoner 41, in the Corridor of Nameless Prisoners, in the pits of Treve, may be in the city," he said.
I recalled the peasant. That seemed unlikely. How could any man have survived in the mountains, alone, for most practical purposes unarmed. Too, what difference could it make, really, if he were in the city, a mere peasant?
"You could recognize him, if you saw him?"
"Yes, Master," I said.
"We must try to escape from the city," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"I wonder if I should keep you," he said.
I threw off the cloak and flung myself naked to his feet. I held to his ankles. I pressed my lips to his feet. "Please keep me, Master!" I begged.
"I must guard against weakness," he said.
I kissed his feet.
"You are dangerous," he said. "It is the soft foes who are most dangerous."
"I am not your foe, Master," I said.
"I wonder," said he, musingly.
"Do not fear me, Master," I said.
"You cannot help what you are," he said.
I licked and kissed at his feet.
"Still," said he, "the problem is not at all insoluble."
"Yes, Master," I murmured.
"Women such as you prove to be exquisitely pleasing," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
"Subject, of course, to the proper controls, and handling."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"Do you think your life with me would be easy?" he asked.
"No, Master," I said.
"You realize that it is likely that I will be sought, and slain, and that you, too, if you are with me, would share that fate?"
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You may now leave," he said.
"Master?" I said.
"I give you one last chance," he said, "to leave this place, to fall into the hands of another."
"Keep me," I begged.
He looked down at me.
"It is what you wish, truly?" he asked.
"Yes, Master!" I said.
"Very well," he said.
"Thank you, Master!" I said.
But his eyes seemed now stern.
Suddenly I was no more than a frightened slave.
"Master?" I said.
"You have had your opportunity to elude my clutches," he said quietly, evenly. "You did not avail yourself of it."
I looked up at him, frightened.
"It is now too late," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"To all fours," said he, "and face away!"
I complied, frightened.
"Strictly," he said, "you have not been entirely pleasing this afternoon."
"How have I displeased my master?" I asked.
I heard the whip removed from the table.
I did not dare look back.
"You were ordered to strike me, to slay me, and you did not do so."
I was silent.
"That was disobedience," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"And you strove to take your own life, which is not acceptable in a slave. She may not do that. She does not own herself. It is, rather, she who is owned."
"Yes, Master," I said.
"To be certain," he said, "I am not unmindful of extenuating circumstances in both these cases, that in each case it was the welfare of your master which motivated you."
"It was, Master!" I said. "I beg forgiveness, if I have been displeasing!"
"And what is to be done when the slave has not been fully pleasing?" he asked.
"It is up to the master," I said. "He may take action or not, as he sees fit."
I heard the coils of the whip shaken out.
I tensed.
"You will receive three blows, only," he said.
That I thought was light, indeed. The beating was then, I realized, more symbolic than anything. It was little more than a way in which he chose to inform me that he did not expect me to be disobedient, or even displeasing, in any way, a way in which I would be apprised of the consequences which might attend such failures on my part.
The whip cracked and I cried out in alarm. But it had not touched me.
"The first blow," he said, "will be for disobedience, the second will be for your attempt to take your own life."
The sound of the whip's report still terrified me.
I realized that, next, it would fall upon me.
The blow fell upon me, and I thought it light, not that it did not hurt, you understand.
My back stung.
Tears came to my eyes.
But I was not displeased that I had refused to strike him. I would have refused again. The blow was little more than a formality. Still I had been whipped.
I cried out in misery, feeling the second blow.
It was not light.
He apparently was quite clear about informing me of his displeasure that I had tried to turn the dagger against myself, even if it had been only my intent to relieve him of his dilemma, to resolve, at a stroke, so to speak, the fearful predicament in which he found himself, to protect him, to save his life, by recourse to the obvious, simple expedient of sacrificing mine.
"Master!" I whimpered, in protest.
"Be silent!" he said.
Tears fell to the stones. I did not wish to feel another blow like that. Now I was truly whipped.
"Prepare for the third blow," he said.
"Master," I cried, "may I speak?"
"Yes," he said.
"For what is the third blow?" I asked.
"What?" he asked.
"Why am I to be given a third blow?" I asked. "What is its purpose?"
"You are to be given a third blow," he said, "because I choose to give you one, and because you are a slave, and that it may serve to remind you of what
you are, my little charmer, that you are a slave."
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
I lay then on my stomach, my head to the side, tears bursting from my eyes, my fingers scratching at the stones.
I tried to understand what I felt.
I almost lost consciousness.
My back seemed unbelievably afire.
The leather had struck like lightning on my back. How it had fallen upon me! How it had lashed down!
I lay there then, a slave who had felt the lash. I sensed that the blow, in its way, had been sparing. But it had been sharp, and it was not one I was likely to soon forget.
I heard the whip replaced on the table. "We must leave soon," he said.
I scarcely heard him.
How frightened I was, and how miserable, whipped. I realized now that no matter how much he might love me that I was still his slave, and that he would not be lenient with me. How quickly I would kneel, how quickly I would leap to serve, how desperately, how fervently, I would try to please! I loved him, but, too, I knew him now as my genuine master, one who would not hesitate an instant to correct my behavior, to subject me to discipline, if I should fail to be pleasing.
"Up, my little charmer," he said. "We must be on our way." I rose to my knees swiftly, and turned about, looking up at him.
He smiled, seeing that I would obey with alacrity.
He had donned his tunic.
I had not so much as a slave strip.
"They will be searching for you," he said. "What was your name in the gardens?"
"'Gail'," I said.
"They will then be searching, I wager, either for a slave named 'Janice', once serving in Treve, or a slave named 'Gail', from the gardens of Appanius. What is your name?"
"Whatever master pleases," I said.
"A most judicious response," he said.
My back hurt. I wondered what he would name me, or if he would concern himself to name me. I supposed he would name me. It is convenient for a girl to have a name, by which she can be commanded, and summoned, and such. If he named me, that was then who I would be.
I looked to the two cloaks, the one he had worn, the other which had been put about me after I had been removed from the slave box, and set before him, on my knees. It was his own cloak which he had earlier put about me, almost tenderly, perhaps to shelter me from the dampness of the basement. The other cloak, that which had been put about my shoulders by he who was the first of the two captors, lay to the side.
"Should I don this cloak, Master?" I asked. I did not think he would march me in the streets naked. Without wishing to sound vain, I thought, genuinely, I might attract attention. Constanzia and I had attracted attention in Treve, even in common tunics. I did not doubt but what the Lady Ilene, who was now quite likely to be a slave, would have as well.
I had referred to the cloak which lay to the side, the smaller of the two cloaks, that which was not his, that which had earlier been put about me by the first of the two captors. It was a woman's cloak.
He shook his head.
It would remain here then. Perhaps it might be recognized, if only by the captors.
I touched his own cloak. I felt it lovingly. How warm it would be. I looked up at him. I would love to have it wrapped about me, I naked within it. It would be almost as though I were within his bonds.
I lifted the cloak a little. I did not dare, of course, to put it about me. When a slave is naked before her master, she does not simply cover her body. She must receive permission to cover herself from the master, even if it is by so little as a word or a glance.
I looked up at him.
"You are well trained," he said.
"I had excellent trainers," I said.
"Stand," he said. I stood instantly.
He indicated that I should turn about, and I did so. Slave bracelets were snapped about my wrists. He then turned me about, again, so, that I faced him, my wrists pinioned behind me.
He surveyed me, his slave.
"You are incredibly beautiful," he said.
"I am pleased if master is pleased," I said.
"We shall ascend the stairs," he said. "We shall go forth to the world, together."
He then kissed me, and then put his cloak over me, over my head, blanketlike. The cloak, as he had thrown it over me, would come high on my thighs. It would be as though I might be a new purchase, naked from a sales barn, being fetched back to a domicile, the master's cloak, for want of something better, cast over me.
I stood there.
I then felt the cloak being gathered about my throat, and, in a moment, I felt a collar being put about my neck, over the cloak. The collar was snapped shut. This fixed the cloak in position. It served then as, in effect, a slave hood. I then felt a leash clip snapped about what must be a collar ring.
"You are now hooded, and braceleted and leashed, my beauty," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, happily.
"As is suitable for you, a slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, happily.
"There is no escape for you."
"Nor do I wish one," I said.
"It is night outside now," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"We shall go forth together," he said.
He then lifted me in his arms and carried me up the stairs. He stopped at the top of the landing and set me down, steadying me with one arm while he raised the trap. He then carried me upward again, through it, and closed it behind him. In a few moments, after ascending another flight of stairs, and moving through a large room, we were outdoors, on the street.
"It begins," he said. "Are you ready, my love?"
"Yes, my love, my master," I said.
I then, hooded within the cloak, braceleted, leashed, followed him through the streets.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2001 by John Norman
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN 978-1-4976-0092-8
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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