“Some wine, and things,” I said. “I took the liberty of stopping by the camp on the way back from the fair. I thought perhaps you might care for some refreshments. The wait until the nineteenth Ahn, and the arrival of your colleague, Master Flaminius, might be long. You might be hungry.”
“You are a dream, Brinlar,” said the Lady Yanina. “You are a treasure!”
“May I make a suggestion, Mistress?” I inquired.
“Of course,” she said.
“I would, if I were you, light a small lamp or two, illuminating the main hall and perhaps the selected alcove. This should suggest an atmosphere of delicate openness to Bosk of Port Kar, encouraging him to believe that he is eagerly awaited. The darkness of a seemingly deserted inn might appear ominous, perhaps suggesting a trap.”
“Light two lamps,” said the Lady Yanina to one of her men, “one in the main hall and one in the first alcove.”
He set about to accomplish her bidding.
“You are very clever, Brinlar,” she said.
“I would further suggest,” I said, “that you leave the door to the inn ajar, but that you make no particular effort to conceal your men.”
She looked at me, puzzled.
“I have informed Bosk,” I said, “that you might have men in attendance. After all, a free woman cannot very well be expected to traverse the old west road unattended. She might fall to a slaver’s noose and thence to his iron. The men, however, while not attempting to hide themselves, are expected to remain unobtrusive. Thus the door is to be left tactfully ajar. In this fashion we will not have to devise hiding places for them, nor risk the loss of time, and perhaps noise, perhaps alerting Bosk of Port Kar, of their emergence from concealment.”
“Oh, splendid, Brinlar,” she said. “Splendid!”
The man was now completing the lighting of the second lamp. In a moment he had emerged from the alcove.
“I would now encourage my men to sit about the table, there,” I said, indicating one of the large rough-hewn tables, with benches, in the main hall. “I would further encourage them,” I said, “to sit there as naturally as possible, perhaps even partaking of the refreshments which I have brought.”
“Do it,” she said.
“Good,” said one of the men, taking the sack from me which I had stocked at the camp.
“Does Lady Yanina care to partake?” asked one of the men.
“Not now, not now,” she said.
The men sat about the table, reaching into the sack, pulling out the flagon of wine, the goblets, the viands. One of them kicked aside some chains under the table, lying in the vicinity of a stout ring in the floor. The men of Torvaldsland sometimes chain naked bond-maids in such a place.
“I think there is at least one thing more,” I said.
“What is that?” she asked.
“May I inspect Lady Yanina?” I asked.
“Inspect me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Bosk is not a fool. He may be dismayed, or become suspicious, if he detects even the least inaccuracy or imperfection in your disguise.”
“Turn away,” she said to her men.
They did so.
“Look,” she said to me, opening her robe. Her body, now clad in slave silk, was incredibly lovely. She would doubtless, as I had earlier thought, bring a high price in a slave market.
“It is as I feared,” I said.
“What is wrong?” she asked.
“You have a lining beneath the silk,” I said.
“Of course!” she said.
“Remove it,” I said.
“Brinlar!” she protested.
“Do you think a master would be likely to permit such a thing to a slave?” I asked.
“But I am not a slave,” she said. “I am a free woman!”
“But supposedly you are bringing Bosk here, to serve him as a slave,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Do you think he would not note so glaring a discrepancy in your costume?” I asked.
“Look away,” she said.
I saw the wine slosh from the flagon I had brought into the goblets of the men.
“You may now look again,” she said.
“Ah!” I said.
“I am more naked than naked,” she said.
“Mistress is quite beautiful,” I said. There was no doubt about that slave-market price.
“It must be somewhere near the eighteenth Ahn,” I said. “I think it is time for Mistress to go to the alcove.” I turned her about and conducted her to the alcove. “Lie down there,” I said, pointing to the furs. She did so. She looked well at my feet.
“Doubtless Mistress has arranged a signal with her men,” I said.
“It is quite simple,” she said. “I shall merely cry out. They will then rush forward and seize Bosk of Port Kar. In moments, then, he will be stripped and in chains, my helpless prisoner.”
“I see,” I said.
“Do you think he will come?” she asked.
“Be assured of it,” I said. “He will be here.”
“But perhaps he will be suspicious,” she said.
“Have no fear,” I said. “He trusts me. He trusts me like I trust myself.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying to draw back. I had taken her left ankle in my left hand. It was helpless in my grip.
“Completing your disguise,” I said. I took the ankle ring from the side of the alcove, on its chain, and, with my right hand, clasped it, locking it, about her left ankle.
She jerked at it. “I am chained!” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
The ankle ring and its chain were light, but more than adequate for female. Such chains are common in the alcoves of paga taverns. Often several such chains are available. They are used for securing the paga slaves for the convenience of their master’s customers. In such an alcove, too, there is almost invariably a whip. Certainly there was one in this alcove. I had seen to it.
“Where is the key?” she asked.
“Just outside, on its hook,” I said. I had made this determination earlier in the day, in scouting the inn, before she and her men had arrived.
“Can I reach it from where I am?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
She looked at me, frightened.
“Do not be afraid,” I said. “Your men are just outside.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She examined the ring and the chain, her hands on the chain, frightened, fascinated. She looked up at me. “I’m chained,” she said, “truly chained.”
“Your men are just outside,” I reminded her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Is this how you intend to receive Bosk of Port Kar?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“The first moments may be crucial,” I said. “You will wish to disarm his suspicions. What if he does not immediately put aside his weapons?”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Lie more seductively, Lady Yanina,” I said. “Think slave.”
“Brinlar!” she said.
“That is better,” I said.
“Your hands!” she said.
“Part your lips slightly,” I said. “Look at a man as a slave, feel your helplessness, feel burning heat between your thighs.”
“You are posing me as a slave!” she said.
“You are not the first woman who has lain chained in this alcove,” I said.
“But they were slaves!” she said.
“Most of them, probably,” I said, “but perhaps not all.”
She looked at me, frightened.
I rose to my feet.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“It must be quite near the eighteenth Ahn,” I said.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I am going to withdraw from the alcove,” I said. “I shall draw the curtains behind me.”
“Then I must simply wait,” she said,
“—wait for a man!”
“Yes,” I said. “It would seem so.”
She squirmed, angrily.
“Many women have done so, of course,” I said, “particularly women in such places, in such a bond.”
“Of course,” she said, angrily.
“And many of them,” I said, “would not have known who it was who would come through the curtains, only that they must serve him, and exactly according to his dictates, and marvelously.”
“Yes!” she said, angrily.
“You are very beautiful,” I said. “Slave silk and a chain become you.”
“Ahhh!” she said.
“It is difficult to conjecture how beautiful you might be, if you were truly a slave.”
“Do you think I would be a beautiful slave?” she asked, interested.
“Yes,” I said.
“I thought I might be,” she said, cuddling down in the furs, “but let men despair, for I shall never be a slave.”
I then withdrew from the alcove, closing the curtains behind me. I heard a small sound of the chain, from within, as she moved her ankle.
I conjectured that it must now be about the eighteenth Ahn. Flaminius, probably with his men, would be arriving in the neighborhood of the nineteenth Ahn. This did not give me a great deal of time for all I wished to do. I looked about the inn. The Tassa powder which I had placed in the wine had already, mostly, taken its effect. One of the Lady Yanina’s men lifted his head from the table, looking at me, groggily, and then tried to rise to his feet. His legs failed him and he sprawled back, over the bench, and then, half catching himself, slipped to the tiles of the inn floor. I had had little difficulty in locating the Tassa powder. It had been contained among the belongings of the Lady Yanina. I had discovered it on my first full day as her servant, while tidying her tent. It had been contained in a small chest of capture equipment, such as weighted slave nets, ropes, hoods, gags and manacles. Similarly I had had access to the general stores of the camp, that I might more conveniently wait upon and serve her and her guards. With the aid of the lamp taken from the table, about which the guards now lay sprawled, I soon located, in one of the farther alcoves, what I was looking for.
I then returned to the table about which the guards lay and replaced the small lamp on its surface. The things I had taken from the alcove I put to one side. I then went to the curtained threshold of the alcove wherein lay the Lady Yanina. I jerked apart the curtains.
“Brinlar!” she said, startled, drawing back on the furs, her legs under her, with a movement of chain, against the back wall of the alcove.
I regarded her.
“You startled me,” she said.
I did not speak.
“Is he here?” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “He is here.”
“Where?” she asked, in a whisper.
“Just outside the alcove,” I said. “I suggest you compose yourself. I suggest you prepare yourself for him. I suggest you invite him to your arms.”
“Yes,” she whispered, frightened. “Yes.”
I stepped back a bit, as though to yield the threshold, that it might admit the entrance of another.
The Lady Yanina now lay seductively on her side. She was quite beautiful in the slave silk, and the chain, in the light of the tiny lamp. She gathered together her powers of concentration. Then she extended one hand. “I love you, Bosk of Port Kar,” she called, softly. “I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. At the very thought of you I am helpless and weak. Do not be dismayed that someone whom you do not know and whom you have perhaps never even seen is madly in love with you! I have fought my passion for you! But it has conquered me! I am yours!”
She looked at me.
“Very good,” I said, nodding.
“Permit me to confess my love for you,” she called. “Permit me, too, the dignity, as I am a free woman, of using your name in my doing so, before perhaps, if it pleases you, you impose upon me the discipline of a slave.”
I nodded.
“I love you, Bosk of Port Kar,” she cried. “I love you!”
There was silence.
“What is wrong?” she whispered to me.
I shrugged. “Perhaps he intends to make you wait a moment or two,” I said.
She made a small movement of impatience.
I frowned.
She then again composed herself, seductively. Again she extended her hand. “I lie here panting with passion,” she called, “as submitted as a slave.”
Many of the things which she had said, incidentally, were not different from the genuine, heartfelt declarations of women in love, particularly those so much in love that they find themselves, in effect, the slaves of masters. On the other hand, of course, the Lady Yanina was acting. It is not difficult for a skilled master, incidentally, to discriminate between such declarations which are genuine and those which are not, usually in virtue of incontrovertible body cues. The lying female is then punished. Soon she learns that her passion must be genuine. She then sees to it, with all the consequences, physical, psychological and emotional, attendant upon it, consequences which, at first, are sometimes found horrifying or disturbing but which, ultimately, because of their relation to her depth nature, when she surrenders to this depth nature, are found joyfully and gloriously fulfilling. She is then herself, fully.
“Hurry to me, Bosk of Port Kar!” she cried. “I desire your touch! I desire to serve you! I beg to please you! I plead to please you! Take pity on me! Do not torture me so! Do not make me wait longer! Hurry to me, Bosk of Port Kar, my lover, my master!”
“Good,” I said.
“Enter my alcove!” she cried. “I am yours!”
I entered the alcove. I did not have a great deal of time.
“Brinlar,” she cried, drawing her legs under her, “what are you doing!”
“What do you mean, ‘What am I doing!’?” I asked.
“Where is Bosk of Port Kar?” she asked.
“He is here,” I said.
“Where?” she asked.
“Here,” I said, jerking my thumb toward my chest. “I am he.”
“Do not be absurd!” she said.
“Kneel,” I said.
“Is this some form of mad joke, Brinlar?” she asked. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“I believe you received a command,” I said.
“Men!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “Men! Men!”
I let her run to the threshold of the alcove, where the shackle on her left ankle held her up short. She looked wildly out into the main hall. From where she stood, at the curtains, in the light, and shadows, of the small lamp on the table, she could see the slumped, fallen, senseless figures of her guards.
“Tassa powder,” I explained. “It was your own. I believe you are familiar with its effects.”
I then took her by the upper arms and hurled her back into the alcove, with a rattle of chain, onto the furs.
She scrambled about, and looked at me, wildly. “You are not Bosk of Port Kar!” she cried. “You cannot be Bosk of Port Kar!”
“I am Bosk of Port Kar,” I assured her.
“You have gone mad, Brinlar!” she cried. “This is an outrage! Release me!”
I smiled.
“Sleen! Sleen!” she wept.
“You are a female,” I said, “and you are in slave silk, and chained. I suggest you keep a respectful tongue in your head, unless you wish to have it removed.”
She looked at me, frightened.
“A girl’s tongue,” I said, “is very useful in giving a master pleasure. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Indeed, if he grows weary of hearing it clacking, he may put it to other uses.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Accordingly, if your tongue were to be removed, it would considerably lower your value.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Do you recall having received a c
ommand earlier?” I asked.
She knelt.
“How does it feel to be kneeling before a man?” I asked.
She clenched her fists.
“You are wearing slave silk,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Remove it,” I said.
“No,” she said.
I reached to the wall and took a slave whip from its hook. Such things are common in the alcoves of inns and taverns on Gor. They help a girl be mindful of her duties.
“Now,” I said.
She jerked the silk angrily from her body.
“You are quite beautiful,” I said, “for a free woman.”
She tossed her head, angrily. “Thank you,” she said.
“Kiss the whip,” I said.
“Never!” she said.
“You will kiss it now, or after you have felt it,” I said. “It does not matter to me.”
“I will kiss it,” she said angrily.
“More lingeringly,” I said, “and lick it, as well.”
She complied.
“Now, kiss it again,” I said.
She complied.
“Now say, ‘I have licked and kissed the whip of a man,’” I said.
“I have licked and kissed the whip of a man!” she hissed. “Now what are you going to do with me?”
“I do not have much time,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“Turn about,” I said, “and lean forward, resting on the sides of your forearms.”
“No!” she cried.
“Assume the position, as instructed,” I said.
“No!” she protested.
I lifted the whip.
She complied.
A few moments later, having freed her ankle from the shackle, I dragged her by her right arm out of the alcove, to the side of the table about which her men lay sprawled. Her lovely dark hair was down about her face. I forced her down on her knees, under the table. I put her over the ring, in the midst of the chains. I clasped the ankle rings about her ankles, locking them. I thrust the short, attached chain, attached to the ankle-ring chain at one end, and the wrist-ring chain at the other, and the wrist rings, on their short chain, between her legs and through the sturdy floor ring. I then, close to the floor, locked her wrists snugly into the wrist rings. She was now held helplessly in place beneath the table. “In such a fashion,” I told her, “the men of Torvaldsland sometimes secure their bond-maids. Thus they have them at hand and may use them, to some extent, to please them under the table. In this fashion, similarly, it is easy to feed them by hand and throw them scraps of meat. It is a useful arrangement in their training and, too, even a skilled, experienced girl, even one who is highly esteemed, is sometimes confined so, when it pleases the master to do so.”
Players of Gor Page 15
