Beasts of Gor coc-12

by John Norman

  “But why?” she asked.

  “Because you are a slave,” I said.

  “I see,” she said.

  “Thus,” I said, “that is a situation in which a free woman is theoretically of more interest than a slave, but, upon closer analysis, the center of interest, even in such a situation, because of her latency, her womanhood, her helplessness, what can be done with her, is the slave.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Beware of free women,” I smiled.

  “Yes,” she said, “I think I would be very afraid of them.”

  “And you should be,” I said. ‘They can often be terribly cruel to slave girls.”

  “I do fear them,” she said.

  “Speaking of who is of interest and who is not,” I said, “what of you, lovely slave, and men?”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Do you find men now that you are a slave more or less interesting than when you were free?” I asked.

  She looked at me, startled. “I find them now a thousand times more interesting,” she said, surpilsed.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I look at them,” she said, “and I wonder what it would be like to be owned by them, or touched by them. I never looked at men so deeply or closely, or fearfully, before. I am now so sensitive to my slavery, and my vulnerability to men. Now, for the first time in my life, they seem to me of profound importance and interest. You see, they can own me, and I might have to serve them.”

  “Does your slavery make men more sexually interesting to you?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said, “a million times more so than when I was free. I know I might have to serve their pleasure. Too, now, with many men, I find myself wanting to serve their pleasure. When I was free I could never kneel to a man and beg him for his touch. Now that I am a slave I could do so. I would need fear only whether or not you would permit it, for you are my master.”

  I looked down at her. She was very beautiful.

  “My sexuality has been liberated by my slavery,” she said. “It is now a force within me.” She looked at me, chidingly, reproachfully. “You freed it,” she said. “What am I now to do? It is a joy and a torment” She clutched my arms. “It makes me helpless,” she said. She looked up at me, angrily. “You have made me so I now need the touch of men,” she said. “I hate you!” Then, her nails digging into my arms, she said, “Touch me!”

  I looked down at her.

  “You did this to me,” she said. “You made me a slave girl. You made me a slave girl!”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Touch me, Master,” she whimpered.

  “Do you beg it?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, “Arlene, your girl, Arlene, your slave, begs your touch!”

  “Oh,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Master.”

  “It is probably time for you to get up and serve me boiled meat,” I said.

  “No, no, no, no,” she whimpered.

  “But it can wait, I suppose,” I said.

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” she said.

  “Yes, what?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You are a hot slave,” I said.

  “Please do not so speak of me,” she begged. Then she said, “Oh, no, please do not stop touching me. Please do not stop touching me.” Then she said, “Yes, yes, Master.”

  “Are you a hot slave?” I asked.

  She opened her eyes, writhing under my touch. She looked at me, angrily, defiantly. “Yes,” she gasped, “I am a hot slave!”

  “I thought so,” I said.

  “How you shame me!” she wept.

  “A slave should be proud of her heat,” I said. “You are not a free woman, permitted to be smug in the icy conceit of her frigidity.”

  She looked up at me.

  “Writhe freely, Slave,” I said. “Yield to the sensations, or be whipped.”

  “Would you truly whip me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I do not want to be whipped,” she said.

  “Yield then to the sensations, as a slave girl,” I said.

  “I dare not,” she cried.

  “Yield, or die,” I said to her.

  “Oh, oh!” she cried.

  “Yield, as a slave girl, or die,” I said to her.

  “Aiii,” she cried, throwing her head back in the dirt, her finger nails tearing at my arm. “Aiii!” she screamed wildly to the poles and the leather and the grass and dirt of the roof of that feasting house in the polar basin of Gor’s far north.

  She began to sob uncontrollably. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with tears.

  “You are a monster, a beast,” she said. I said nothing to her.

  “You made me yield,” she said, “—as a slave girl.”

  “Yes,” I said, “you have yielded as a slave girl.”

  “Make me yield again as a slave girl, Master,” she begged.

  “There are yieldings beyond those which you have as yet experienced,” I said.

  “Can there be more?” she asked.

  “You have not yet begun to learn your slavery,” I said.

  She looked up at me. “Your girl awaits your pleasure, Master,” she said.

  “Do you desire to serve me?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, “very much.”

  I lay beside her and she bent over me, her lips and mouth to my body. I felt her small, warm tongue.

  She stopped, and looked up at me. “Surely I am now a complete slave,” she said.

  “You have not yet begun to learn your slavery,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, bending her head down again. I felt her tongue, and that lovely auburn hair, on my body.

  “Arlene,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Is it a slave girl’s first duty to be interesting?’ I asked.

  “No,” she said. “That is a concern of free women.”

  “What is the first duty of a slave girl?” I asked.

  “To be pleasing to the master,” she said.

  “Let that be your concern,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Then the lovely slave bent again to her sweet task.

  22. Imnak And I Hunt Sleen; We Consider The Nature Of The World

  “Over there,” said Imnak, indicating the place in the water.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I laid the two-headed paddle on the leather of the kayak behind me. I pulled off the mitten on my right hand and held it in my teeth. I picked up the beaded throwing board and the light harpoon, and fitted the harpoon shaft into the notch on the throwing board. The harpoon had a foreshaft of bone, with a bone .liead and point. A light rawhide line, of twisted tabuk sinew, ran to the head. In a flat. rounded tray directly before me, on the leather, there were coiled several feet of this line. At my right, alongside the outer edge of the circular wooden frame, bound with sinew, within which I sat, lay the long lance.

  “There,” whispered Imnak, in his own kayak, a few feet from that which I was using, which belonged to Akko.

  The head of a sleen, glistening, smooth, emerged from the water. It was a medium-sized, adult sea sleen, some eight feet in length, some three to four hundred pounds in weight.

  I had missed four sleen in a row and I was not too pleased with my performance.

  I looped some of the line loosely over the palm of the mitten on my left hand.

  I tried to keep the stem of the kayak pointing roughly toward the beast in the water. One does this, when not using the paddle, by moving one’s legs and body inside the frame.

  The head of the sleen disappeared beneath the water. I put down the harpoon and throwing board; I took the mitten which I had held between my teeth and pulled it back on. It had two thumbs, like the one on my left hand. They were paddle mittens. When they are worn on one side they may be turned to the other.

  “You are too sl
ow, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak.

  “Last time,” I said, “I was too hasty.”

  “Yes,” Imnak agreed, “last time you were too hasty.”

  “The kayak moved,” I said.

  “You should keep it steady,” said Imnak.

  “Thank you, Imnak,” I said. “That would not have occurred to me.”

  “What are friends for?” asked Imnak.

  “Imnak!” I cried. His kayak had suddenly flipped over and was bottom side up in the chilled water. In an instant, however, it was right side up again. Water was running from the kayak and Imnak’s gutskin jacket. “It is too dark to see under the water,” he said.

  “You did that on purpose,” I said.

  “Yes, someone is a big show-off,” he said, grinning. He was in a good mood. He had taken two sleen which now lay near us in the water. With a tube he had blown air under the skin of the sleen and, with wooden plugs, closed their wounds. This served to keep the animals afloat. When he returned to shore he would tow them behind his kayak.

  “It is difficult to throw from a sitting position;” I said, “and I am not used to the throwing board.”

  “It is lucky for the sleen that you are here,” said Imnak. “Otherwise it might be dangerous for them.”

  “With encouragement such as you afford,” I said, “doubtless I shall soon become a great hunter of sea sleen.”

  “Perhaps you are not friendly enough to the sea sleen,” said Imnak. “Perhaps they think you do not like them.”

  It had not hitherto occurred to me that one might like sea sleen.

  “Perhaps that is the trouble,” I admitted.

  “Talk to them, be friendly,” said. Imnak. “Coax them. They like to be coaxed.”

  “They would cheerfully permit themselves to be harpooned by someone who is friendly to them?” I asked.

  “Would you like to be harpooned by someone who was an enemy?” asked Imnak.

  “No,” I said, “but I would not like to be harpooned by someone who was a friend either.”

  “But you are not a sea sleen,” said Imnak.

  “That is true,” I admitted.

  “Come now,” said Imnak, “would you not prefer to be harpooned by a friend rather than an enemy?”

  “I suppose so,” I said, “if I had my choice.”

  “There you are!” said Imnak triumphantly.

  “But I would not like to be harpooned by either,” I reminded him.

  “But,” Imnak reminded me, “you are not a sea sleen, are you?”

  “No,” I granted him. That seemed incontestable. It was sometimes difficult to enter into disputation with Imnak.

  “Be friendly,” said Imnak. “Do not be a sour fellow. Do not be morose. Be outgoing!”

  “Hello, Sleen!” I called.

  “Good,” said Imnak. “That is a start.”

  “How do you do this?” I asked.

  “Listen,” said Imnak. He spoke out, over the icy waters. “Tal,” said he, “my lovely brothers, my dangerous brethren. How beautiful and strong you are. How fast you swim. And your meat is so good in soups. I am Imnak, only a poor hunter. I would like very much to harpoon you. I have a little harpoon here who would like to see you. I would take it as a great honor if you would let me harpoon you. I would be very grateful.”

  “That is the silliest thing I have ever heard,” I told Imnak.

  “How many sleen have you harpooned today?” asked Imnak.

  “I have harpooned no sleen today,” I said.

  “I have harpooned two,” said Imnak. “Try it.”

  “Very well,” I said. I wondered if I had been on the water too long. Sometimes there is an affliction which affects those in kayaks though it is usually the case when it is clearly daylight and the rocking, the endless waiting, the reflections off the water, make one suddenly lose all sense of time and place, and one seems lost in nothingness, and then one must sing or scream, and strike the water with the paddle, or go mad and die, sometimes cutting one’s own kayak to pieces.

  I. looked out over the water. “Greetings, lovely sleen,” I said. “I have been out here a long time waiting for you. I would certainly like to harpoon one of you. If you could see your way clear to coming over and being harpooned, I would certainly appreciate it.”

  “Not bad,” said Imnak.

  “Arlene would like to have something for a soup,” I said. “Do you think you could help me out?”

  “Now you are catching on,” said Imnak.

  “I admire you very much, you long, sleek swimmers,” I said. “You are very beautiful and strong, and you swim like lightning.” I looked at Imnak. “How was that?” I asked.

  “Splendid,” said Iinnak. “Look out!” he cried.

  The sleen had risen up under the kayak and It lifted a yard from the water and tumbled from the surfacing back of the glistening, wet mammal. I and the craft, one functional unit, slipped from the animal’s back and fell sideways into the water. I wrenched myself to the side and righted the light, narrow vessel. The sleen shook itself in the water and then snapped away some yards from the kayak. My face felt frozen from the sea water freezing on it. I jerked a mitteu off and rubbed my eyes. I still held the paddle but the harpoon and lance were in the water.

  “You see,” said Imnak, “you are catching on.”

  I spat out some water.

  “There is the sleen,” said Imnak, pointing.

  I looked out across the icy water, where he had pointed. To be sure, there was the head of the sleen, about a quarter emerged, the eyes and nose flat with the water. What I could see of the head seemed very large. It was eighteen inches or more in breadth. I pulled the mitten back on. My hand was cold.

  “I think he likes you,” said Imnak.

  I drew the harpoon toward me by the line fastened to the kayak.

  “Do not move too swiftly,” said Imnak, “lest he charge and kill you.”

  “It is well he does not dislike me,” I said. “Otherwise I might he in real danger.”

  “Oh, oh,” said Imnak.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  “Perhaps you should not have talked to that sleen,” said Imnak.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “That, I think, is a rogue sleen,” said Imnak. “It is a broad-head, and they are rare in these waters in the fall. Too, see the gray on the muzzle and the scarring on the right side of the head, where the fur is gone?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I think it is a rogue,” he said. “Also, see the way he is watching you.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I think it has been hunted before,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. Generally a sleen watches you warily and then, as you approach, submerges. Normally, though it is swift to attack an object moving about in the water, like a swimmer, it will not attack a vessel. Its attack instincts are apparently not triggered by that configuration, or perhaps there is no stimulating smell or familiar pressure patterns, such as it would commonly associate with its prey or a vulnerable object, in the water, from the passage of the craft and the stroke of the paddle. This sleen, however, did not seem to be watching us warily. Rather there was something rather menacing in its attitude.

  “Hello, Sleen,” I said.

  “Do not be silly,” said Imnak. ‘That is a very dangerous animal.”

  “Am I not supposed to talk to it?”I asked. I thought I might give Imnak back a bit of his own medicine.

  “One must be careful what sleen one talks to,” said Imnak. ‘There is a time to talk and coax, and a time to be quiet.”

  “I see.” I said, smiling.

  “You may talk to it if you wish,” said Imnak, “but I would not do so if I were you.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “It might listen,” he said.

  “Is that not the point?” I asked, chuckling.

  “That is one sleen you would just as soon not have listen to you,” said Imnak. “That is a rogu
e broad-head, and I think he has been hunted before.”

  “One must be careful what sleen one takes up with,” I said.

  “Precisely,” said Imnak.

  I fished the lance out of the water. I now had both. the lance and the harpoon beside me.

  “Arlene would like something for a soup,” I said to the sleen. “Can you help me out?”

  “Be silent.” whispered Imnak, horrified.

  “I thought you said he liked me,” I said.

  “He may be only pretending,” said Imnak.

  “I think he is really a good fellow,” I said.

  “Let us not take the chance,” said Imnak. “Do not turn your back on him. We will wait quietly until he goes away, and then we will go back to camp.”

  “No,” I said.

  “We have two sleen,” said Imnak.

  “You have two sleen.” I said.

  “Do not be foolish, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak.

  “I am sure he is really a nice sleen,” I said.

  “Look out!” cried Imnak. “He is coming!”

  I dropped the harpoon for it would be an extremely difficult cast to strike the animal head on. The bone point of the harpoon, thrown, would probably not penetrate the skull and it would be difficult to strike the submerged, narrow forepart of the body knifing toward the kayak. I thrust the lance point into the rushing, extended, double-fanged jaws and it penetrated through the side of the mouth, tearing, the animal’s face a yard up the shaft. It reared six feet out of the water vertically beside the slender hide vessel. With two hands on the shaft I forced the twisting body to fall away from the craft. One of the large flippers struck me, buffeting me, spinning me and the vessel about, the animal then slipping free of the shaft of the lance. It circled the craft its mouth hot with blood flowing into the cold water. It was then I retrieved the harpoon again from the water by its line, for it had been once more struck away from me. I set the light harpoon into the notch on the throwing board and, even mittened, an instant before the beast turned toward me, grunted, snapping the throwing board forward and downward, speeding the shaft toward the enraged animal. The bone head, vanishing, sunk into its withers and it snapped downward, diving, bubbles breaking up to the surface, and swift blood. The line snapped out from its tray darting under the water. In moments the harpoon shaft and foreshaft bobbed to the surface, but the bone harpoon head, its line taut, turning the head in the wound, held fast. I played the line as I could. The animal was an adult, large-sized broad-head. It was some eighteen to twenty feet in length and perhaps a thousand pounds in weight. At the length of the line I feared the kayak and myself would be drawn under the water. Imnak, too, came to the line, and, straining, together we held it. The two kayaks dipped, stems downward. “He is running,” said Imnak. He released the line. The kayak spun and then nosed forward. I held the line being towed by the beast somewhere below the water. “Loose the line!” called Imnak. “He is running to the ice!” I saw a pan of ice ahead. “Loose the line!” called Imnak. But I did not loose the line. I was determined not to lose the beast. I held the line in my left hand, wrapped about my wrist. With the lance in my right hand I thrust against the pan of ice. Then the lance slipped on the ice and the line slipped to the side and I in the kayak was dragged up on the ice skidding across it and then slipped loose of it and slid into the water to the side. “It is running to the sea!” called Imnak. following me as he could in his own vessel. Then the line went slack. “It is turning,” said Imnak. “Beware!” But in a few moments I saw the body of the sleen rise to the surface, rolling, buoyant. It was some sixty feet from the kayak. “It is not dead,” said Imnak. “I know,” I said. It was easy to see the breath from its nostrils, like a spreading fog on the cold water. The water had a glistening, greasy appearance, for it bad begun to freeze. It was dark about the animal, from the blood. We brought our kayaks in close, to finish the animal with our lances. “Beware,” said Imnak. “It is not dead.” “It has lost much blood,” I said. “It is still alive,” he said. “Beware.”