by John Norman
I opened my eyes. The moons now reared over the palisade, low in the night sky, looming.
My throat had been encircled with slave steel, and I had been taught its meaning. I recalled, long ago, how, in a motel on Earth, I had regarded myself naked, branded, collared, in a mirror, and had wondered, frightened, what it would be like to lie in the arms of a barbarian, helpless, so stripped, so marked. I now knew! I cried out, and tore a handful of grass from the knoll. Why did he not send for me?
Had I not pleased him? I could do more for him, more!
The moons were now high in the night sky, the looming three, dominating, fierce moons of Gor I felt my nudity beneath them, and the grass.
I cried out with misery.
"Send for me, Rask of Treve!" I whimpered. "Send for me!" I rolled on my stomach in the grass. "I want to serve you," I wept. I bit at the grass.
I looked up at the moons, tears in my eyes.
The lights of the camp were now, for the most part, extinguished. I could see, here and there, in the distance, the embers of cooking fires. In some few tents there glowed a dim redness, through the canvas sides of the tent, the light of the tiny fire bowls within. The night was hot. I heard night insects. I was alone. Far off, in the tarn compound, a tarn screamed, and then there was only the silence, except for the sounds of the insects.
On the grassy knoll I was chained, alone.
If I could free myself I would run to Rask of Treve! I would beg him for his touch! I pulled at the chain, so heavy on my ankle. It was some eight feet long. I could not slip the manacle from my ankle; I could not free the chain from its ring.
I wept.
I threw myself against the chain, running toward his tent, and fell in the grass, my ankle burning, scraped from the steel that obdurately clasped it. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl to the tent. My left leg stretched taut behind me, held. I cried out with frustration, and pounded the grassy earth, weeping, with my fists.
I rolled on my back and looked up at the moons.
I lay there, my fists clenched.
Then I closed my eyes. I could not dare to look upon them again, the great, white, looming moons of Gor, dominating the sky.
I pounded the grass with the sides of my fists, in misery.
Then I dared to look again upon the vast, looming moons of Gor. What choice did I have? I was only a girl who had been chained naked beneath them. I screamed and leaped to my feet, my hands extended to the moons. I stood helplessly beneath them, chained, naked, reaching for them.
Then I began to dance the madness of my need, writhing, tearing at it, whimpering.
And as I gasped, and wept, I saw, suddenly, in the shadows, watching me, Verna, the panther girl.
"It seems your body moves as might that of a Kajira," said Verna.
"I am a Kajira," I whispered, "Mistress."
"You are not as other women," said Verna. "You are strong. You do not have their weaknesses."
I knelt before Verna. I extended my hands to her. "Have pity on me, Mistress." I wept.
Her eyes were hard.
I put down my head. "I am as other women," I said. "I am not strong." I swallowed. "I have the weaknesses of my sex," I said. "Indeed, I am perhaps more weak than any."
"Now you speak truly, El-in-or," said Verna. Her voice was not unkind. "Sometimes," said Verna, "it requires a man such as Rask of Treve to teach a women this weakness."
"I have been well taught," I whispered.
"I have fought this weakness in myself," said Verna.
"I will not fight it," I said. "I will yield to it."
"Rask of Treve," said Verna, smiling, "has given you no choice."
"That is true," I said. It was true. Rask of Treve, my Gorean master, had not seen fit to permit me choice in the matter of my helpless surrender. I put my head down.
"You have been conquered," said Verna.
"Yes," I said, "I have been conquered."
"I am leaving camp tonight," said Verna. I looked at her, startled.
She indicated a kneeling figure several yards away, bent over, facing the other direction. She wore crosses ankle rings, not permitting her to rise. Here wrists were braceleted behind her back. About her throat was a light, chain slave leash. Across the back of her dark hair I could see leather gag straps. "I am taking Talena with me," said Verna. "Rask of Treve has given her to me. I am taking her to the northern forests, as a slave."
"But she is the favorite of Rask of Treve," I whispered.
"No," said Verna.
"Will you not stay in the camp," I asked, "as the comrade of Rask of Treve?" She looked at me, and smiled. "No," she said. "My place is in the northern forests."
I did not speak.
"Is it pleasant," she asked, "to surrender to a man?"
I put my head down, shamed by joy.
"Ah," said Verna. Then she spoke to me softly. "Once," she said, "long ago, in the city of Ar, I saw a man, and in seeing him, for the only time in my life, I was afraid, for I feared he might do to me, if he wished, what Rask of Treve had done to you. I have never feared this of another man."
I looked at her.
"And so I hated him," she said, "and I resolved, someday, to see who would conquer."
"What is his name? I asked.
"Marlenus of Ar," she said.
I could not speak, so astonished I was.
She casually indicated the wretched girl bound to one side, beyond the bottom of the hillock. "This wench is bait," she said.
Verna turned away, and then she turned to face me. "Farewell, Slave," said she. I extended my hands to her, piteously.
"Should I see Rask of Treve," said Verna, "I will tell him that there is a chained girl, who, beneath the moons of Gor, begs him for his touch." "I wish you well, Mistress," I called. "I wish you well!"
Verna did not turn again, but went to the kneeling girl and unsnapped the crossed ankle rings, and put them in her pouch. She dragged the girl, wrists braceleted behind her back, to her feet, and led her away, between the tents. I could see the gag straps tight over the back of her hair as she was led away. I had little doubt that the magnificent Verna, leader of the panther girls, would bring her prize successfully to the northern forests.
I knelt alone then, chained, on the summit of the grassy hillock, beneath the vast, looming moons.
I became aware of a figure standing near me. I cried out, and reached for him. Rask of Treve did not bother to unchain me, but used me as I was, eager and moaning, beneath the moons of Gor.
* * *
Rask of Treve held my head in his two hands.
It was near dawn.
We lay on the summit of the grassy knoll, wrapped in his cloak. Sensing his permission, I again touched my lips, timidly to his. I was turned suddenly, helplessly, on my back, and again, clutching him, tears of pleasure in my eyes, yielded to the joy of him.
We were silent together.
There was a dew on the grass, and the cloak in which we lay wrapped was wet on the outside. The light of the beginning of the morning was tender, sparkling on the stalks of the grass, giving the hill of my domination a sweet, soft sheen. I still wore on my left ankle the heavy chain. Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, once of Earth, once rich, once spoiled, and cruel and selfish, now only a conquered Gorean slave girl, lay intimately, lovingly, in the arms of her absolute master.
I looked up into the eyes of Rask of Treve. He looked down upon me. "How is it that I care for you?" he asked. "I love you," I whispered. "I love you, Master."
"I despise you," he said.
I smiled at him, tears in my eyes.
"And yet," he said, "from the first time I saw you, in the pens of Ko-ro-ba, I could not forget you, but must have you as mine."
"I am yours," I whispered, "I am yours, Master. Utterly. Unconditionally yours. Your slave. Your helpless slave!"
"From the time I saw you," said he, "I knew that to me you could not be simply as other slaves."
I clutched him.
He looked down at me, troubled. He touched my head gently, moving back hair from the right side of my face. "Can it be," he asked, "that I, Rask of Treve, care for a mere slave?"
"I love you, Master," I cried, "I love you! I love you!"
He did not let me press my lips to his. He looked down upon me, smiling. "Were you curious," he asked, "why before I never let you serve the men, when the other girls did so."
I smiled up at him. "Yes," I said, "I am curious."
"I was saving you for myself," he said.
I laughed.
"I kept you as long as I could," he said, "but when you danced, then I knew I must have you."
I kissed him, and kissed him, weeping.
His hands were suddenly hard on my arms, and he forced me back. He grinned. "You danced your insolence," he said. "You danced your pride, your defiance, your contempt and scorn." He looked down at me.
I looked up at him. "I am not now insolent," I said, "Master." I smiled, tears in my eyes. "I am not now proud. I am not now defiant. I am not now contemptuous, nor scornful." I reached up, and he permitted me to kiss him, gently. I lay back. "I have been humbled, well humbled, Master," I smiled. "What are you now? he asked.
"Only your slave," I whispered, looking up at him, "only your humbled, helpless slave, Master." He laughed.
I smiled.
"I have heard," he said, "that there is an insolent female slave in camp, a proud, unconquered girl."
I shook my head. "No longer, Master," I said.
"Did she escape?" he asked.
"No, Master," I smiled, "she did not escape."
"Her name was El-in-or," he said.
"She did not escape," I said.
He smiled.
"No female slave escapes Rask of Treve," I said.
"That is true," he said, the beast. But it was true.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"That same El-in-or," I said.
"She did not escape?" he said.
"No." I said. I laughed to myself. I had indeed not escaped.
"Whose slave is El-in-or?" he asked.
"Rask of Treve's," I said.
"Does she love? he asked.
"Yes," I said, "she loves." I tried to lift myself, to touch his lips with mine, but he would not permit me. "She loves desperately and completely," I whispered. "Whom?" he asked.
I lay my head back, regarding him. I put my head to one side. "May I speak? I asked.
"Yes," he said, toying with his finger on my shoulder.
"But must I speak the truth?" I asked.
"Or you will be lashed, and put in the slave box," he said.
I was startled. Yet I knew, suddenly, that, if I lied, he would indeed whip me, and quite possibly place me again in the hated slave box. He was a Gorean master. I was at his mercy. I wondered if I could have felt so much his, so completely surrendered, if he had not possessed this complete power over my life and body. I belonged to him. But I did not want him to whip me, or put me in the slave box. I wanted only, desperately to please him. And I knew I must, for I was his slave. The absolute truth must be spoken to a Gorean master. It is forbidden to a girl to hide her feelings.
I looked up at him.
"It is well known to Rask of Treve," I smiled, "whom it is that the slave girl, El-in-or, loves."
"Speak it," he said.
"She loves her master," I said. "She loves Rask of Treve."
"I am he," he said.
"It is you whom she loves," I said.
"And who are you? he asked, his finger idly at my hip.
"She!" I cried, suddenly, laughing, with pleasure.
He kissed my throat.
"Has she been conquered?" he asked.
"Yes!" I said. "Yes!" I held him.
"Conquer me!" I wept. "Again conquer me!"
* * *
There were sounds of the early morning in the camp. It was now light. Far off, I could hear Ute summoning her girls. A tarn cried in the compound. I heard the sounds of pans. Some fires were being lit.
"In your dance, before you fell before me in the sand," said Rask of Treve, "I thought I detected in your dance something other than contempt and scorn." "Yes," I said. I kissed him.
I knew then what I had not understood before, what, for brief moments in the firelight, on the sand before his warriors and their slaves, my body had danced to him, my need, my desire for him, my readiness and my desperate plea for his touch.
For those moments, briefly mingled with the dancing of my pride, my insolence, my contempt and scorn, I had, not fully aware, yet sensing fear what I did, in the dance of a slave girl, piteously begged for the love of my master. He had seen fit to touch me, and had summoned me to his tent.
We heard the sounds of the camp.
My left ankle wore the heavy chain. We lay together on the grassy knoll. I held him to me, my cheek at his waist. His hand lay gently on the right side of my head.
"It is time for you to be about your work, Slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," I whispered.
From his pouch he took forth a key and sprang open the heavy manacle that had clasped, so perfectly confining it, my left ankle.
He put his cloak about my shoulders. "Go to the shed," he said, "and get a work tunic."
I was being dismissed.
I threw the cloak to the grass and knelt at his feet, as though chained. I looked up at him. He was now standing on his feet, and he looked down at me, tenderly.
"I am chained at your feet," I said. It was a saying of a Gorean slave, to express her feelings.
"Yes," he said, gently.
"I love you!" I cried. I thrust my head to his feet. I suddenly began to weep. "Do not sell me!" I begged. "Do not sell me! Keep me for yourself! Keep me forever for yourself!" I could not bear the thought of being separated from him. It would have been the torture of the tearing of my heart from my body. The very thought caused in me excruciating suffering. I looked up agonized. I understood then as I had not before what could be the cruelty, the tragedy, of being a female slave. What if I had not pleased him sufficiently? "I will please you more!" I wept. "More! I will give you everything! Everything! Keep me! Do not sell me! I love you! I love you!" I lifted my wrists to him, as though they wore slave bracelets. I smiled through my tears. "You see," I whispered, "I am chained at your feet."
"Does the proud El-in-or beg to be kept as my slave?" he smiled.
"Yes," I said, "she begs."
"To your work!" he laughed.
I leaped to my feet. He seized me in his arms, and, on the summit of the knoll, held me long, lovingly, in his arms. I looked up, into his eyes. "I love you, Master," I whispered. Then I laughed, and cried out. He, his body tightening, startling again mighty with strength, astonishing me, delighting me, lifted me from my feet and lowered me, gently, to the grass, covering me with his cloak. Again he forced me to weep with pleasure.
When I leaped up, laughing, shaking my head and hair, he again offered to place his cloak about my shoulders, that my body might be covered when I went to the shed for the work slaves.
It was much honor that he did me, a mere female slave. How the girls would have cried out with envy to see me, secure in such a cloak, and that, too, of the mighty Rask of Treve!
But I did not wish to wear it. Did I so, it would not have been well concealed that he, my master, had touched with gentleness, and care, a girl who wore a collar. What would his men think? And I wore penalty brands. Surely a girl such as I, after being brutally used, should have been casually dismissed, or beaten and spurned. No, let it not be revealed that he, my master, the mighty Rask of Treve, had been tender with a slave, particularly such a low and miserable slave as I.
I laughed and hurled the cloak back to him. "A steel-collar girl," I said, "should not have so fine a cloak!"
He laughed. "And one with pierced ears!" he said.
"Yes," I laughed, "and one with pierced ears!"
I turned about and sped down the hill t
o the shed for female work slaves. I was ravenously hungry. I had little doubt that Ute would have saved me a roll from the feeding pan. I loved her! She would also, however, have a full roster of work for me to perform this day. She played no favorites. I was one of her girls. She would treat me no differently than the others. I loved her! And I loved, too, my master.
I turned. He was watching me, from the hill. I smiled, and waved to him. He lifted his hand. I turned again, and ran toward the work shed.
Before I appeared before the shed, I stopped and, secretly, pressed my fingertips to my lips and then to the lettering on my collar, which proclaimed me the slave of a Gorean warrior. I loved him! I laughed. You could read his name, that of my master, on my collar. It was Rask of Treve. I was not displeased that I had been chained under the moons of Gor. I hurried to the shed.
"I have saved a roll for you," said Ute.
"Thank you, Ute, I said.
"Eat it quickly," she said." You have much work to do today."
"Yes, Ute," I cried, kissing her. "I will! I will!"
17 Port Kar
The past few years had been the most happy and beautiful of my life. "Hands to the rear. Cross your wrists," said the man.
I did so.
I felt the straps through the heavy wicker. My wrists were pulled back, tight against the wicker, and bound there. I shared the tarn basket, my knees drawn up, with five other girls. We were naked. Our ankles were tied together at the center of the basket.
"They will be in Ar by nightfall," said the man.
My head fell forward on my breast.
Yet I had few regrets, for in the past weeks I had been happy, and I had been alive.
