Renegades of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “Forward!” cried a Cosian officer. “Forward!”

  “You are losing slaves!” I cried to the Cosians.

  “There are more slaves before you lads, on the piers!” cried the officer.

  “See them strip themselves, eager to be made your slaves!” I cried.

  Some of the Cosians in the rearward ranks turned about. I ordered more of my men back. We did not press them.

  “They are pretty,” I cried, “begging for their nose rings!”

  To be sure, many of the women had torn away their clothing, and were now kneeling on the landing, by the wall, some with their hands clasped, others with them piteously extended, in various attitudes of petition and supplication. Among them strode men, some with bloodied swords. I saw small wrists being tied together and ropes being put on lovely necks. Those who were slaves were picked first, as most desirable, surely at least at the moment, before the disciplining and training of the others. I saw one free woman backed against the wall, a sword at her belly. Then she pulled her robes away from her shoulders and breasts, and then, a moment later, at an impatient movement of the sword, which made her wince, thrust them down over her hips, and let them slip to her knees. Then she straightened up. The sword was then again at her belly, only now it was bared to the sharpened steel. She turned her head to the side, in misery, in terror, being assessed. Then, at a movement of the blade, and ordered, doubtless, she looked at the fellow. It seemed then she was suddenly startled. Then she began to tremble. I had little doubt she had seen in him her master. It is an interesting moment for a woman, the first time she finds herself looking as a slave into the eyes of her master. She quickly knelt, as though fearful of displeasing him. I saw her turned about, rudely, and thrust up, closely, against the wall. Her hands were bound behind her. She was leashed. I saw more than one female slave, kneeling before a Cosian, her hands fastened behind her, put her head far back, to facilitate the insertion of the nose ring. I saw a free woman, similarly kneeling, similarly bound, watch this in terror, and then, quickly and exactly, imitate the action of the slaves. Some of the women, in one fashion or another, were being marked, or tagged. Sometimes this was being done with a circular or oblong pin, rather like the temporary nose ring, put through the lobe of the left ear, from which a disk or tag dangled. Sometimes the disk or tag was affixed similarly but by means of a simple wire passed through the ear lobe, closed and twisted shut. Women so marked, of course, would later have their ears pierced. Some fellows fastened tags, or other devices, to the nose rings themselves, or to the looped cord dangling from the nose ring. With others, the cord itself is color coded. Some women were marked by as little as a tag on a thong, fastened about their neck, wrist or ankle. Others had their body itself written upon, as with a grease pencil. The marking is usually on the upper portion of the left breast. Slavers, too, commonly mark women in this fashion, for temporary purposes, for example, with lot numbers for sales, and such. The left breast is the common site for such markings, as most men are right handed. Permanent markings are usually done with hot irons.

  “You are losing slaves!” I called out, again, to the Cosians.

  “The distributions will be made later!” cried the officer to his men.

  “To whom will they be distributed?” I asked. “To you fellows sweating in the front ranks, or to suppliers, officers, and agents? Who says there will be any distribution to you fellows, at all? If there is, will you get your pick? Will the best women be distributed? What of hundreds of wenches already on their way to Brundisium, and Cos and Tyros? Have they been distributed? Did you get your hands on them? I think you will have to bid on the leftovers in camp auctions! Is not that the way it has been before? You are fighting for Cos now, not in a free company, whose captain will look out for you, who will see that beauties figure in your pay!”

  “He says true,” growled a fellow, drawing back.

  “Forward!” cried the officer. “Forward!”

  “Get them while you can!” I cried. “Some are still clothed, others have not yet been seized! They cower with their sisters by the wall, half hidden, waiting for you!”

  “Do not listen to him!” called the officer.

  “Some are doubtless quite attractive. They have not yet been marked or tagged!”

  “Do not heed him!” said the officer.

  “Woe!” I said. “The fellows who have not fought are advancing on them even now!”

  The Cosians wavered.

  Few quarrels fell now at the entrance to the walkway, for those upon the wall must now fear the striking of their own men.

  There were more screams of women from the wall.

  “Forward!” urged the officer.

  Now clearly came to the walkway the moans, the weeping protests, the wailing lamentations of beauties finding tight bonds being placed on their bodies.

  “Back, back,” I said, softly, to the men about me. “Behind me! Back!”

  “There are less than two hundred left there now, lads,” I called to the Cosians.

  I had the men of Ar’s Station then, to my elation, on the walkway, drawing back on either side of me. I spoke softly. Those who had much fought withdrew up the walkway, between those who had shielded the women. These other men then, fresh, came forward, flanking me.

  I saw a brunet, out from the wall, her wrists thonged behind her, weeping copiously, uncontrollably, as the spread prong of a nose ring was pressed through her septum, the ring then springing back into shape. She, nose-ringed, looked up at her captor, its cord looping up then to his hand. At the slightest of tugs she leapt to her feet, weeping, to follow him with perfection. I saw her being led away. Others, too, I saw being pulled to their feet, doubtless to be taken to improvised holding areas.

  “Even now they are being led away, fellows!” I said.

  “Draw back,” said the officer, angrily.

  He had seen the vacillation of his men, that we had gained the walkway, that fresh troops now flanked me.

  Cosians, mercenaries mostly, broke free from their rearward ranks and ran to the wall, to claim females. So, too, then, backing away, then turning, did several in the forward ranks. The officer rallied enough regulars about himself to assure that we would not attempt to press forward.

  “You use our own women as a diversion,” growled a fellow near me, “as though they might be slaves!”

  “Look at them,” I said.

  “Aii!” he said.

  “They are slaves,” I said.

  “All women are slaves,” said another fellow.

  “It is in their blood,” said another.

  “Yes, in their blood,” said another.

  “Mark them,” said another. “Put them all in collars.”

  “It is what they have been bred for,” said another.

  “It is all they are good for,” said another.

  “Yes,” said another.

  “Draw back with me,” I said, softly, backing away. The Cosians, regulars and mercenaries, responsive to the orders of their officer, advanced some yards onto the walkway. They did not follow us closely, however.

  We saw a shark reach up to the landing, near the walkway, and drag a body, by the leg, back into the water.

  “Go back, and tell Aemilianus that the evacuation is complete. He will know what to do.”

  The man beside me shuddered. It was no accident I had stopped where I had. From this point effective quarrel fire could not be directed to the piers.

  “We will stay with you,” said the young man with the crossbow, now beside me. His fellow, the other young fellow from the wall, the one with the shield, who had protected him in the fighting, was at his side.

  “No,” I said.

  “Is that an order, Captain?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Obey it.”

  He and his fellow hesitated a moment, then turned, and went toward the piers.

  “The rest of you,” I said, “withdraw now.”

  “You cannot hold the walkway alone
,” said a grizzled fellow.

  “Go,” I said. I would not order, nor did I think Aemilianus would either, any to stand here beside me, not given what must be done.

  “You will need skilled swordsmen,” said the grizzled fellow, “preferably those of the scarlet tunic.”

  “Go,” I said.

  “Four or five will do,” he said.

  “I have four here, including myself,” said a voice behind me.

  “And I am the fifth,” said the grizzled fellow.

  Men were hurrying back down the walkway, toward the piers.

  I turned about, startled.

  “It would be an honor to die in the company of Marsias,” said a tall fellow.

  “I am not Marsias,” I said to him.

  “That is a relief,” he said, grimly, “for I was growing confused about the matter. You see, I had thought that I was Marsias.”

  “I recognize you now,” I said.

  “That is flattering,” he said.

  “How is your head?” I asked.

  “Considering that it was struck with a large piece of building stone with great force at close range, splendid,” he said.

  I looked at one of the other fellows. There were two behind him. “I see that you have managed to find a tunic,” I said to one of them.

  “Yes,” he said, “mine was stolen, in a cell.”

  “That is where I found mine,” I admitted.

  “We were roused by a guard,” said Marsias, “who was checking the walls for ruptures which might allow access to Cosians. He found an excellent example of such a breach in a certain cell, as you might perhaps remember.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “It was our intention to come looking for you immediately, as you might well suppose,” said Marsias, “to settle accounts, so to speak, but Cosians, as seems their wont these days, interfered. We had to defend that break in the wall for Ahn. When the recall was sounded, we learned, somewhat to our surprise, as you might suppose, that I was a hero on the wall, at least according to some, and later, too, at the gate. These fellows, and I, decided to look into this, and now have done so.”

  “You have found me now,” I said.

  “And will fight beside you,” said Marsias.

  “I am grateful,” I said.

  “The small boats are coming,” said one of the fellows.

  “The Cosians, too, have seen them,” I said. There was considerable excitement on the walkway near, and at, its end, and on the landing. I could now see, again, too, the standards over the wall of the citadel. The camp commander, he in charge of the Cosian forces at Ar’s Station, had resumed his coign of vantage. In the boats, approaching from the piers, the same boats which had come earlier to help evacuate the landing, there were men with torches and axes. There were some small boats, too, at the landing, some perhaps captured, others which may have been there earlier, or perhaps within the citadel walls somewhere.

  “I gather, from reports of those who were on the wall,” said Marsias, “that you impaled the traitress, Lady Claudia.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Or was it our pretentious, nasty little warder, Lady Publia?” he inquired.

  “Do not concern yourself with the matter,” I advised.

  “That would have been an irony,” he remarked.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  “And a waste,” he said.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  “Many think that both Lady Claudia and Lady Publia needed to learn their womanhood.”

  “Lady Claudia,” I said, “had already begun to learn it.”

  “Like those women on the landing,” said a fellow beside us.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The Cosians there must have taken at least four hundred women on the landing. At least two hundred of these were still there. Many were pushed up against the wall, in some groups facing it, in others with their backs to it. I had little doubt that the delicious loot even now was learning masculine domination. On the landing many were kneeling, or bellying. There was much licking and kissing. More than one had been put in a display position, and forced to hold it. I saw one girl cuffed, and another, one who had perhaps been slow to obey, lashed with a strap. Swiftly then, and eagerly, did she begin to lick and kiss her captor about the feet and ankles. Some were still being tied and tagged. Others were being lined up, their hands tied behind their backs, to form coffles, ropes being put on their necks. Others were serving even now on the landing, being put to use by impatient masters. We could see their squirming bodies, their subdued, thrashing limbs, hear their cries, cries with which they responded to, and registered and recorded, their ravishments, cries mostly, at this point, of protest and lamentation, but, too, in instances, of astonishment and wonder, and sometimes, even so soon, of sudden, frightened acquiescence, of eager acceptance, of grateful yieldings, dreams coming true in thongs.

  “Yet, too,” he said, “many claim, interestingly, to have seen the same female, she who was supposedly impaled, whoever she was, later on the wall’s walkway, and later, too, with the women and children.”

  “Surely that seems unlikely,” I said.

  I noted one girl on the landing. From the way she held her hands behind her back I could tell that she was in thumb cuffs. These are handy devices. They are light and take up little space in a warrior’s pack. I myself, thinking sometimes that thumb cuffs are perhaps a bit cruel, generally prefer, if slave bracelets are not available, a simple thong or a short length of binding fiber. A woman, of course, may be bound in a large variety of ways and with a large variety of materials. For example, one might use strips, cut and rolled, from her own clothing, particularly as one will probably be removing that garb from her anyway. If she is naked, she might even be bound with short lengths of her own hair. Two or three horts of hair suffice to tie her thumbs behind her back, and another two or three will suffice to tie her two large toes together. I might mention two possible reservations pertaining to thumb cuffs. First, many feel that they are much less secure than, say, slave bracelets, because of the diverse ratios involved, of wrist to hand, and of upper thumb to the thumb joint, at their location points. To compensate for this, of course, one can make the thumb cuffs tighter, but this produces greater discomfort in the wearer. It is harder for her to attend to her lessons, naturally, if she is in pain. I generally feel that pain, at least generally, should not be inflicted on a slave unless it is meaningful. There can, of course, be a point to generalized discomforts, even of a rather trivial nature. For example, when a woman has been slept naked on a hardwood floor without covers, she is likely to come to a much better understanding of the value of a slave blanket. Second, if the woman is in thumb cuffs, and she becomes hysterical, it is much easier for her to hurt herself. Accordingly, just as one would not wish to secure a sleen or a kaiila in a way in which it might inadvertently hurt or injure itself, so, too, one might not wish to secure a slave in such a manner. The slave, too, is a domestic animal, and like other domestic animals, has a specific value. Accordingly, thumb cuffs, if used on a slave, in my opinion at least, should be used only under close supervision. To be sure, under such supervision, they might be helpful. Certainly it is hard for a woman to wear thumb cuffs and not understand her helplessness. Some masters favor them early in a girl’s training, thinking that it hastens their progress. Whereas I have occasionally introduced a woman somewhat rudely into the realities of bondage, I generally prefer to ease them into it, giving them time to develop and gradually understand their new feelings and sensations, giving them time to accommodate themselves to their new life and destiny. Accordingly, though I might put a girl into thumb cuffs for an Ahn or so, perhaps early in her training, perhaps in the process of informing her as to the nature of various bonds, their textures, and such, I generally do not use them. I think of them, like close chains, more as a punishment than a restraint. That she knows they exist, and could be put on her, by my will, like close chains, in itself has its salutary ef
fect on her. And that seems to me generally sufficient. The major point of the restraint is to restrain, not hurt. Indeed, pain can interfere with many of the diverse subsidiary values of restraints, physical and psychological. It can be distractive. Pain is a bit like the whip. The slave is subject to the whip, and truly subject to it, but this does not mean that she is necessarily whipped; that she could be whipped, and will be whipped, if she is not pleasing, is what is important, not that she need be whipped. Why should one beat a pleasing slave? To be sure, there are no bargains, contracts or arrangements in these matters, and the slave may be beaten whenever the master pleases, with or without a reason. She is, after all, a slave. Similarly, along these lines, to be perfectly honest, I have upon occasion used thumb cuffs on females, when it has seemed to me there was a point in doing so, or when it pleased me to do so.

  “She was naked, hooded, and thonged, and on a leash, in the keeping of one or another free person,” he said.