Renegades of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “I see,” I said.

  The slave now knelt beside him, holding him by the arm. She was looking at him with something akin to awe, for what he had done to her, for what he had made her feel. She kissed him softly, deferentially, gratefully, about the shoulder.

  “I am not a servile, wriggling slave,” she said, angrily.

  “She is not wriggling now,” I said.

  “Look at her,” she said, in disgust. “She is content!”

  “But she must fear,” I said, “for she may be ordered from him by so little as a word or gesture, and she must obey in all things.”

  “She is a slave,” she said. “She should not be happy. She should be miserable and unhappy!”

  “Doubtless, if you owned her,” I said, “you could make her so.”

  “I do not see what men see in such despicable, curvaceous, half-naked animals.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “I suppose she is beautiful,” she said, “and owned. I suppose some low men might find them attractive.”

  “Yes,” I said, “and Ubars, and such.”

  “I am not a slave,” she said.

  “I understand,” I said. Certainly she was not a legal slave, or at least not yet. She was not, technically, at least at present, a slave in the eyes of the law, as an animal is an animal in the eyes of the law, a tarsk a tarsk, a vulo, so soft and pretty, a vulo.

  “Men are not my masters,” she said.

  “I see,” I said.

  “How pleased I am that I am not one of those women who must crawl about the feet of men, licking and kissing, and groveling, and begging to be found pleasing!”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “How I pity them!” she said.

  “I understand,” I said.

  “I am infinitely superior,” she said. “I am free!”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Infinitely superior!” she said.

  “But he did not choose you,” I said.

  “I have no interest in such things,” she said, angrily. “I am above them!”

  “But what if they were your truth, and nature?” I said.

  “They are not!” she said.

  “I see,” I said.

  She suddenly jerked at the manacles which confined her wrists. They were well on her.

  “Why are you angry?” I asked.

  “I am not angry,” she said.

  She looked down at her wrists, in the steel, joined by the chain.

  “You look well in shackles,” I said.

  She put her hands on her thighs, the chain bunched then between them.

  “He did not want me,” she said.

  “True,” I said.

  “I was rejected!”

  “Not every woman is attractive to every man,” I said, “and, too, you are a free woman.”

  “I don’t care!” she said. “I am free!”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “How pleased I am that I am not subject to use,” she said. “Thus, even though I must shamefully serve, I can still, ultimately, retain my pride and dignity.”

  “I doubt that that fellow would have been overly concerned with such niceties,” I said.

  “No,” she said, shuddering, “I suspect not.”

  I glanced at the fellow at the other table. He was now giving his orders to the beautiful slave. She was kneeling back. She must now relate to him as a mere waitress. I suspected he would manage to get more than porridge, even this late.

  “Do you want anything else?” asked Lady Temione, irritatedly. I saw that she was terribly jealous of the attention which men might bestow upon the slave, but how could that be, for she was, by her own account, infinitely superior to the slave, and she was free? Too, she was, according to her own account, not interested in such things.

  “Anything else, what?” I inquired.

  “Anything else, Sir,” she said, acidly.

  She was at table service. Surely the keeper would wish her to observe proper amenities.

  “Are you being suitably deferential?” I asked.

  “Of course, Sir,” she said, unpleasantly.

  Her attitude amused me. Although she had, doubtless, some theoretical understanding that she was subject to discipline, she was not yet fully aware, as is a female slave, of how such realities might affect her situation. Too, she had not even been informed that she was, in truth, subject to guest use.

  “Perhaps you would like to fetch a slave whip?” I asked.

  “No, Sir,” she said, quickly. “Please, no, Sir.” I gathered then she had at least seen slave girls whipped, or after they had been whipped. She would have some idea of what the whip could do to a woman. It is an excellent correctional device for female behavior.

  “No,” I said.

  “‘No’?” she said.

  “No,” I said, “I do not want anything else, just now, here.”

  “Would you truly have whipped me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Sir’s waitress requests permission to withdraw,” she said.

  “It is granted,” I said.

  She then performed obeisance.

  “No,” I said, “do not rise. Withdraw on all fours.”

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she said.

  “You may leave,” I informed her.

  She then turned about and began to make her way toward the kitchen. For an instant I saw her lift herself, as though inadvertently, and then, with a sob, she hurried on.

  I rose to my feet, the small, hinged tablet in my hand. The bill was inscribed on the waxed surface within. It totaled five copper tarsks. When I added that to my current bill, it would come to nineteen copper tarsks. I must remember to pick up the blankets with the ostrakon at the keeper’s desk.

  I looked over at the bearded fellow, the fellow of the company of Artemidorus of Cos. The slave had now left his table, to fetch his meal. I wondered what might be in the rectangular pouch he carried, that which he seemed concerned to keep with him at all times. He had taken it with him even into the baths. He had a tarn, I recalled.

  I then made my way to the keeper’s desk. The keeper was not up now, but an attendant was there. He checked the tablet and added the five tarsks to my bill. He retained the tablet. It would be smoothed, thus erasing it, and would probably then be hung with others, on nails, in the kitchen, ready to be used again. I picked up my ostrakon, on which was inscribed the number of my space, and the two blankets. I had paid the blanket rental earlier. Before I left the keeper’s desk, I also had the attendant add a tarsk bit to my bill.

  6

  Some Things which Occurred One Night at the Crooked Tarn

  There were one hundred sleeping spaces, or positions, on the third level in the south wing, although no space was numbered “100.” What counted for the hundredth space, so to speak, was a “zero” space in the front, left-hand corner, as one entered the level. In the light of a few dim tharlarion-oil lamps one could see the large numbers posted high on the wall, to the left and the back. The rows, from the front, moving back, were numbered zero through 9; the columns, from left to right, were similarly numbered. One determines the spaces then, rather as on a cipher chart, by the intersection of numbers. The farthest space to the left and front, as one entered, then, was space “zero” and the farthest space to the back and the right was “99.” As the first line in Gorean writing moves from the left to the right, according to convention the numbers to the left would be first numbers designating the space. For example, the intersection of row 7 with column 3 would be space 73, not space 37. Similarly the space farthest to the back on the left, as one enters, would be space 90, the intersection of row 9 with column 0, and the space farthest to the right, in the front, as one enters, was 9, the intersection of row 0 with column 9. This arrangement makes it possible, at a glance, to see exactly where one’s space lies. My space, as I discovered, was not as bad as the keeper had suggested. It was not in a corner, but
it was, at least, at a wall. Had there been walkways bordering the sleeping area it would not have been bad at all. Unfortunately there were no walkways.

  One fellow cried out, suddenly, with pain. “Sorry, Sir,” I said. I inadvertently struck another with my pack. The light was not good.

  I decided I had better stay rather where I was for a moment or so, to let my eyes better adjust to the darkness. I did, however, take the precaution of moving out of the reach of the fellow I had struck with my pack. He could not reach me now without risking stumbling across a couple of other fellows, big ones, too. I did not think walkways would be a bad idea. To be sure, I suppose, then, one could get fewer spaces of the same size into the area. The keeper was probably balancing out the advantages of reasonably sized sleeping spaces, a yard or so wide, in keeping with his concept of the first-class inn, for the area, with the largest number of them he could put in a given area. Keepers, merchants, and such, have problems of that sort. The second and third levels, incidentally, were reached by narrow stairs, rather than ladders, as in some inns. Doubtless that convenience could considerably strengthen the keeper’s case that he was maintaining a first-class establishment, at least for the area. I did not know. Perhaps he was. Certainly he charged enough. Too, my friend, the bearded fellow of the company of Artemidorus, whom I had not had to kill, had elected to stay here, and he looked like the sort who would certainly avail himself of the finest accommodations in an area.

  There was some squirming to my left, and, as my eyes grew more accustomed to the light, I saw a couple entwined. At first I supposed they might be companions, sharing a space. The female seemed to be making small angry noises, then frightened noises. A large piece of cloth, probably her veil, had been thrust into her mouth and tied there. As she moved it seemed her hands must be bound behind her back. Her slippers were off, near her feet. Her robes had been thrust up about her waist. She looked wildly at me, the cloth stuffed in her mouth, tied there. She had probably been surprised in her sleep, and rendered helpless. When he finished with her he would probably carry her from the floor, either to his wagon and, if interested in her, leave with her, or leave her tied below somewhere, perhaps to the railing at the stairs, or perhaps in the stable, where she would attract little attention until morning, after his presumed departure. I thought that perhaps the inn should provide separate spaces for women, not just separate marked-out spaces, but, say, a separate room, or area. She half reared up, making tiny noises. He had gagged her well. Then he pressed her back to the boards. I blamed the keeper as much as anything, three copper tarsks for a girl, for a quarter of an Ahn, was outrageous. It was no wonder that some fellow, under the circumstances, might be forced to make do as he could, even having recourse eventually, if he was desperate enough, to a free woman. I trod a bit further ahead. It was less dangerous now, as I could see better. Too, the tiny tharlarion-oil lamps, here and there, at the walls, were helpful.

  “Do not approach me, sleen!” hissed a woman. Her arm was back. She crouched in the center of one of the spaces. Her hand, held back, held a small dagger, of the sort which some women think affords them protection.

  “Forgive me, Lady,” I whispered, “I am trying to reach my space.”

  She brandished the weapon.

  “I mean you no harm,” I said. I do not think it is a good idea for women to carry such weapons, incidentally. Their pretentiousness annoys some men. Indeed, some men will kill a woman with such a weapon rather than take the moment or so necessary to disarm her and make her helpless.

  “Do not approach me!” she hissed. “Oh!” she said. “Stop! You’re hurting me!”

  The dagger fell to the floor. My hand was still on her wrist.

  “I shall scream,” she whispered, tensely. “Oh!”

  “It will be difficult to scream, held as you are,” I said. My left hand was behind the back of her neck, pressed tightly against it, and my right hand, moved from her wrist, now covered her veiled mouth, tightly, pressing back.

  She looked at me, angrily, over the veil. She squirmed. She made tiny noises. Her small hands were futile, trying to pull my hand from her mouth.

  “I mean you no harm,” I said. “I am only trying to get to my place.”

  She nodded, a tiny, difficult movement.

  “Will you scream, if I release you?” I asked.

  She looked at me, and then shook her head, as she could, quickly, earnestly, negatively. She was lying, of course. But this would give me the opportunity to get her veil into her mouth.

  I released her mouth and she pulled back and opened her mouth widely, to scream. I bunched and thrust veil into her mouth. She looked at me, wildly, half gagging, my fingers and cloth in her mouth. Little by little, then, with my fingers, patiently, my thumb holding my present accomplishments in place, and pushing them further back, to make room for more folds, I worked more of the veil into her mouth. Finally I pulled out the pins at the side, and completed the work. Some veils are held not with pins but with hooks or cords, passing about the back of the head. Others are a part of the hood itself. With the hood cords, which can fasten the hood more or less closely about the neck, like a cloak, I fastened the veil in place. She then looked at me, well silenced.

  “What is going on?” asked a fellow, sitting up, in the next place.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Rape her quietly,” he said. “There are folks here who are trying to sleep.”

  The woman shook her head negatively, piteously.

  The fellow then returned to his blankets.

  “You see,” I said to the woman, “you have awakened him.”

  She looked at me, piteously. As I had used her veil in her silencing, of course, she had now been face-stripped. Her face, now, was as naked as that of a slave.

  I smiled.

  She whimpered, tears brimming in her eyes.

  No longer had she the dignity of the veil.

  She did not try to dislodge the silencing device I had placed in her mouth but she lifted her hands, shamed, before her face, to conceal her countenance from me.

  I noted how her hands were held before her face.

  I pulled her hands down, away from her face. I held them, she helpless to resist, and then, for a time, not hurrying, considered her lips and mouth. They were indeed excellent. She turned her head to the side.

  I turned her about and put her on her stomach. I then removed her stockings. Her slippers, removed for the night, were to one side. With one stocking I bound her hands together, behind her back, leaving two ends loose. I then crossed and bound her ankles with the other stocking, and, as she winced, pulled her legs up behind her. I looped one of the two loose ends from the stocking securing her wrists twice about her ankle tie and then tied it to the other loose end. This fastened her in a slave bow. I pulled her hood down about her face. In this way her facial modesty was protected. Her lips and mouth, then, were not exposed to the gaze of men, as though they might be those of a slave. I then found her dagger and, carefully, with regard for her modesty, cut and divided her garments, removing fastenings and hooks from them. This left her fully and modestly concealed, albeit with only strips and pieces of clothing, the devices for arranging and closing which had been removed. I did not think she would find that her dignity would be compromised unless, of course, foolishly, she chose to move. I then picked up her small dagger, and my pack, and the blankets, and again made my way toward my space. When I reached it, I put down the pack and blankets. I also put the small dagger under my foot, and pulling up on the handle, broke the blade away. The two parts I cast away, back by the wall. No longer would it endanger her life. I looked about. There were some empty spaces on the floor, for example, space 98, to my left, as I would face the front of the room, but, on the whole, the level was very crowded. I would have liked the comparative privacy of space 99, in the corner, but it was occupied. I suspected that the empty spaces, or most of them, had been vacated by fellows who had left early. Some folks leave almost in the
middle of the night, and then stop at another inn, in the early afternoon. That way they can usually count on obtaining excellent accommodations. Most inns want you out by noon, the tenth Ahn. I glanced back to the space occupied by the free woman whom I had not found pleasing, she on whose mouth I had seen fit to impose closure, she whom I had left in precarious concealments and slave trussing. She was motionless. I doubted, however, that she was asleep. She would not wish to attract attention in her present straits. In the morning, with folks bustling about, she would probably be all right. Now, however, she might be plucked as easily as a larma, one overhanging a public path. I had scarcely arranged my blankets and put the pack down for a pillow when I saw an attendant enter the room, carrying a stripped female, her hands tied behind her, over his shoulder, her head to the rear, in slave position. I gestured to him, and, exciting my envy somewhat, he picked his way expertly among the sprawled, slumbering bodies to my space. “I shall return in an Ahn,” he said. He then sat his burden beside me.

  “You!” said the Lady Temione.

  “Shhh,” I cautioned her. “People are trying to sleep.”

  She tried to struggle to her feet, but I gently placed her on the blanket beside me, on her side.

  “This is a terrible mistake,” she whispered. “You know I am a free woman.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She had been relieved of her shackles, but her wrists were thonged behind her back. About her neck, however, there was now wound, in three close, unslippable loops, a heavy length of chain. Two links of this chain, not the end links, were fastened together in front with a heavy padlock. The two ends of the chain then, below the connected links, hung down in front, in an attractive tielike, cravatlike, arrangement. There was a practical aspect to this as well, of course. The same chain, in virtue of the links selected, may be worn by any woman. Too, attached to this chaining, near the padlock, was a metal tag of some sort. I could not see it well in the darkness.

  “Then release me!” she whispered.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “You agreed this was a terrible mistake,” she whispered.