Beasts of Gor coc-12

by John Norman

  “No,” said Imnak, “there!”

  He pointed far off. There, steam rolled upward from the water.

  I saw piles of layered pack ice slipping into the water.

  “See the ice,” he said. “The water is boiling!”

  Suddenly, near us, a lead, a great crack in the ice, broke open.

  I looked back to the complex. Smoke billowed upward. In the upper atmosphere, it had now spread out, broadly, like an umbrella opened in the thin air. The mushroom-shaped cloud was disconcertingly familiar. A nuclear device, or a nuclear-type device, it seemed, had been involved in the destruction of the complex.

  I watched the great mountain of ice, which had been the sheathing of the complex, slip downward into the sea.

  “The water there is boiling!” cried Imnak. “Nothing could live in it,” I said.

  “The beast is dead,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “You saw the face in the sky,” he said.

  “The mechanism to project that image,” I said, “could have been preset.”

  “The beast is dead,” said Imnak. “If it did not die in the rooms and halls, surely it died, scalded or drowned, in the surrounding waters.”

  “Nothing could live there,” said a hunter.

  “The beast is dead,” said Imnak.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.”

  The ice beneath our feet began to buckle and groan.

  “Hurry!” cried Imnak.

  I took one last look at the distant, churning, steaming waters, erupting and boiling, where the polar sea, as though offended and startled, hissing in indignation, recoiled from the fiery touch of a mechanism contrived paradoxically by the wit of rational creatures.

  The Priest-Kings have set limits to the devices of men upon this world. They favor the spear and the bow, the sword and the steel of the knife. But Kurii lived not under their ordinances. I wondered from what shaggy Prometheus, long ago, Kurii had accepted fire. I wondered at what it might mean, fire kindled in the paw of a beast.

  “Hurry!” cried Imnak. “Hurry!”

  Nature transcended is perhaps nature outraged.

  “Hurry!” cried Imnak. He shook my shoulder. “The beast is dead!” he cried. “Hurry!”

  I recalled the chamber of Zarendargar, and two glasses, drained of paga. dashed against a wall of steel.

  I lifted my hand to the rolling, steaming waters in the distance, beneath the high, spreading cloud.

  “Hurry!” cried Imnak.

  I turned the sled about, and cracked the whip over the head of the sleen. “On!” I cried. “On!”

  The sleen, clawing and scratching at the ice, threw its weight against the harness.

  The ice split behind me, and my foot, protected in Its sleenskin boot, splashed in water, and I thrust the sled up and onto solid ice, and, crying out at the sleen, cracking the whip, sped away.

  38. I Shall Return To The South

  I gently closed the door of the feasting house. I did not think my departure would be noticed.

  Inside the people of Imnak’s camp disported themselves. There was much boiled meat and stew. Inside there was laughter and song. Outside a gentle snow had begun to. fall. I could hear the noises of pleasure from within the low, half-buried feasting house. I looked out to the shore of the polar sea, that northern extending branch of Thassa. The stars were bright in the moonlit sky.

  I made my way to the sleds.

  Inside the feasting house Imnak was singing. This pleased me. No longer was he intimidated by the mountain which had once seemed to rear before him. No longer did he fear to sing, for now the mountain welcomed him. “No one knows from where songs come,” as the People say. But now songs had come to Imnak. He was no longer lonely of songs. They welled from within him, like the surfacing of the great Hunjer whale, like the dawning of the sun after the long night, like the bursting of the tundra into flower, the tiny white and yellow flowers emerging from their snowy cocoon-like buds.

  In the feasting house Imnak sang. Poalu was there, too. I checked the harness on the snow sleen on my sled.

  “I am not greater than the mountain,” said Imnak, “and yet the mountain cannot sing without me. It is only through me, and others, too, that the mountain can see, and can sing. Only through me can the mountain know how beautiful it is. I must tell the mountain of its beauty. Songs come from me now, telling me their names and stories. One is glad that they come. One is pleased. to be a friend of songs. No one can climb to the top of the mountain. One climbs a little higher than another, but that is all. It is enough for a hunter, one small and frail, to stand on the lower slopes and sing. No one climbs much higher than another, and no one can truly speak the glory and beauty of the mountain. It is enough to stand on the lower slopes and sing. Who could ask more from life than the opportunity to stand for a time on the slope of the mountain and sing?”

  The harness on the snow sleen was secure. The beast was restless.

  There were some eight sleds there. Ram and Drusus had their sleds, and, besides mine, there were the sleds of five hunters, men who would accompany us south, across Ax Glacier. Tied by the neck to the left-hand, rear upright of Ram’s sled, clad in furs, was Tina. Tied by the necks to the left-hand, rear upright of the sled of Drusus, clad in furs, were the two beauties he had selected and chained in the complex of the Kurii. Various girls were tied similarly to the sleds of the hunters who would accompany us. They were girls from the complex, some of whom had been free women, who would be taken south as trade goods. Tied to the left-hand, rear upright of my own sled, too, was a coffie line. On it, neck-secured, were six girls. It was a double coffle line; the last girl is placed on it first; the double line is knotted about her neck and then the two strands are taken forward; the fifth girl was next neck-knotted into the line and the two strands taken forward again, and so on; when the first girl is put in the coffle, the two strands are then taken forward again and knotted about the left-hand, rear upright of the sled; this way the only free ends of the bond, by means of which it might be untied, knotted together, fall at the left hand of the driver, and are easily within his view. This is a useful coffie tie when the girls’ hands are not tied behind their backs. We wanted their hands free to help with the sled, when it became necessary to haul or push it over rough ground or through heaps of ice or broken snow.

  The coffle line looped up to the neck of the first girl. She was Arlene; the second was Audrey; the third was Barbara; Constance was fourth; Belinda was fifth; she who had been the Lady Rosa was sixth. They were all clad in furs. The snow blew gently about them.

  I went to the rear of the coffle line and took the last girl on the line gently in my arms. I put my lips, gently to hers. They were cool, in the cold night. Yet beneath mine they yielded, as a slave’s. Already had she who had been the Lady Rosa learned much. There is a difference between the kiss of the free woman and the kiss of the slave girl; the slave girl yields to her master; the difference is unmistakable. It is said that he whose lips have never touched those of a slave girl does not know, truly, what it is to hold a woman in his arms.

  “What shall I call you?” I asked. “Rosita? Pepita?”

  “Call me whatever you wish, Master,” she said, “I am wholly yours.”

  I touched her thigh through the furs. “When we reach Port Kar,” I told her, “I will brand you.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I went to the fourth girl on the coffle, Belinda, whom I had obtained in the complex, whom I had first enjoyed in the steel corridors of the complex, while her throat was still chained to the overhead slave track. I took her in my arms gently, and kissed her, as I had the last girl on the line.

  “You are already branded,” I told her.

  “Brand me a thousand times,” she said, “each time I will be more yours.”

  “One brand,” I said, “is enough to make clear the slave of you.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “But each time you t
ouch me you brand me. Each time you touch me you make me more a slave. Each time you touch me I am the more yours.”

  “You are a slave,” I said. “It would be the same for any master.”

  She put her head down. “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I pushed up her chin with my thumb. She was crying. “Hope that you will one day fall into the power of your love master,” I said. “For there is in you, I sense, a superb love slave.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said. She pressed her lips to the back of my mittened hand.

  I went to Constance, who was the fourth girl on the coffle.

  I kissed her.

  “You, like Belinda, are already a branded slave girl,” I told her.

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

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You were going to sell me in Lydius,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Are you still going to do so?” she asked. frightened.

  “No,” I said. “I will take you back to Port Kar,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she breathed.

  “Port Kar has excellent markets,” I told her.

  “Will you not keep me?” she begged.

  “Perhaps, for a time,” I said.

  “I will try so hard to be pleasing to you,” she said.

  “You will do so, or you will wish that you had done so,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I looked at her.

  “It is said the women of Kassau make excellent slaves,” I said.

  “I will show you that it is true, Master,” she said.

  “Properly trained, you might make an excellent gift for one of Torvaldsland,” I said.

  She looked at me, frightened. “We women of Kassau fear the mighty raiders,” she said.

  “You would look well at their feet,” I said.

  She shuddered.

  I regarded her. Perhaps I would have her trained as an exquisite pleasure slave, trained in sensuous dance and the thousand arts of pleasure. She might then be sent, formerly of Kassau, now trained, perfumed and silked. to one of the fierce Torvaldsland rovers. Perhaps Ivar Forkbeard, my friend, might enjoy her licking at his boots. Girls make lovely gifts. I usually kept some in my house, in Port Kar, for such purposes.

  But perhaps I would keep her, for a time. Or, perhaps I would put her on a block in Port Kar.

  I did not know.

  “I will try to please you,” she said.

  “In Port Kar,” I said, “a girl who is not pleasing is not unoften bound hand and foot, and thrown naked, as garbage, to the urts in the canals.”

  “I will try to be pleasing,” she smiled.

  I laughed, and gently cuffed the side of her head, She kissed at my mitten.

  “When I sell you,” I said, “if I should sell you, I will sell you south, into a perfumed slavery.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  I was fond of Constance. Why should she herd verr and churn butter in Torvaldsland? Let her serve naked and loving, bangled, perfumed, made-up, on the multicolored tiles of some southern domicile. Let her crawl naked, collared, to the feet of a southern master.

  It would be suffIcient.

  But perhaps I would keep her. I did not know. I could decide that later, at my convenience.

  I went to Barbara, and took her in my arms, and kissed her, gently.

  “I will brand you in Port Kar,” I told her.

  “I await the iron with eagerness, Master,” she said.

  I then went to the second girl on the coffle line, Audrey. I took her in my arms and, gently, kissed her.

  She clutched me. “I beg your brand,” she said, hoarsely.

  “Are you not the former rich girl of Earth?” I asked.

  “I am a Gorean slut and a slave,” she said. “I beg your brand.”

  She looked up at me, tears in her eyes. “All my wealth on Earth,” she said, “could not buy me a collar, or a brand. Here I have nothing and yet they will be put upon me, because men please to do so.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Brand me,” she said.

  “I will,” I said.

  “I dare not ask your collar,” she said. “After I am branded discard me or sell me, if you will. I shall always remember with joy the moment of pain in which I knew that I, though only a lowly slave, had been found worthy of your iron.”

  “I will keep you for a time, at least, in my collar,” I said. “You are not without interest as a female slave. My men may find you amusing. And perhaps I will occasionally permit you to serve me in my quarters.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said,

  “Then I think I will sell you,” I said. “I think you will profit from knowing many masters, and many slaveries, for you are superb and exquisite slave meat.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  I went to Arlene, who led the coffle. The double line looped up to her throat from the left-hand, rear upright of the sled.

  She looked up at me. I brushed the hood, fur-trimmed, back about her shoulders. How incredibly beautiful she was. There was a light snow about. Some of the snow fell in her hair. I brushed back some hair from the left side of her face.

  “My thigh has not been marked,” she said. “Will Master brand me, too, in Port Kar?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “A girl is pleased,” she said.

  “Truly?” I asked, holding her head between my hands.

  “Yes,” she said, “it is a great honor for a girl to be branded by a Warrior, and one who is a Captain.”

  I shrugged. I supposed, objectively, what she said was true. I was of a high caste, that of the Warriors, and was a captain. A boast among slave girls Is “My brand was put upon me by a Warrior.” Another is, “I was found beautiful enough for a Warrior to brand!”

  Suddenly she held me, closely. “Oh, Master,” she wept, “it has nothing to do, truly, with caste. It has to do, rather, with the kind of man you are. You could be a Peasant, an Iron Worker. It would not matter. When you look at a girl she wants your brand. When your eyes fall upon a girl she wants to be your slave. Girls dream of being branded by a man such as you. We dream of being the slaves of men such as you.”

  “Those are the dreams of slave girls,” I said.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Slave girls should beware of speaking their dreams,” I said, “lest they be overheard by a master.”

  “Every slave girl should boldly speak her dream,” she said.

  “But a master may be listening,” I said.

  “Let us hope, for her sake, that he is,” said she. “Why else should a slave girl cry out, if not to be overheard by a master?”

  “I find women mysterious,” I said.

  “The answer to our riddle,” she said, “is a strong man, and a collar.”

  “I think it is true,” I said.

  “I had no real choice,” she said, “In the snow you made me a slave.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I love you for it,” she said, “—Master.” I kissed her, gently, on the lips. She looked up at me, her eyes moist. “Will you keep me?” she asked.

  “For a time, perhaps,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, ruefully, “I know—perhaps to amuse your men, and perhaps occasionally, if you are so moved, to serve you in the furs.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “And then perhaps you will sell me,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “And then I would have to go to whom I am sold, and serve him—and as a complete slave, in the fullest sense of the word.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “My own desires and feelings would be meaningless,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “You are a slave.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I am a slave.” She wiped a tear away from her cheek. “Doubtless,” she laughed, “I, like Audrey, would profit from ma
ny masters, and many slaveries.”

  “Doubtless,” I agreed.

  “For I, like Audrey,” she asked, “am superb, exquisite slave meat?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “On Earth I was nothing,” she said. “Here, at least, I am valued for my qualities as a slave.”

  “In so far as a girl has value,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, “—so far as a girl has value.” Suddenly her eyes flashed, “Surely I would bring a high price!” she said.

  “You could, currently,” I said, “be bought and sold for a handful of copper coins.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  “You are untrained,” I pointed out

  She bit her lip.

  “But I would see that you had a bit of training before I would put you on the block,” I said.

  “It would help me survive,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “It would also raise your price.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “There is in you, and in these other girls,” I said, surveying the coffle, “a superb love slave. If you pass through many hands, and many slaveries, your chance of being acquired by one who will be to you your true love master is much increased.”

  “Do you sell us because you are cruel, or because you are kind?” she asked.

  “If I sell you,” I said, “it will be done as I wish, when I wish, and because I wish.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, putting her head down.

  “I could sell you to make money,” I said. “I could sell you because I am tired of you. I could sell you because it amused me. I could sell you because I would be curious to see what you would look like standing naked in the sawdust on an auction block.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “I have sold girls for all of those reasons, and many others,” I said.

  “Of course, Master,” she said. “Forgive me. We are slaves.”

  I pulled the hood of her parka up, over her head. “Fasten the hood,” I said. “The trek will be cold.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I lightly kissed her lips. Our lips, momentarily, lingered together. Then I took her fully in my arms, and lengthily kissed her. “I will try to be pleasing to you, Master,” she said.