Blood Brothers of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "You had your chance to go nobly into the Barrens, with the dignity of the free woman. Now perhaps I shall have you put out in shame, in the dishonor of a slave!"

  "You may do with me as you please," she said, softly.

  "Would that not be amusing?" he asked angrily.

  "Yes," she said, "very amusing." She looked at him, with tears in her eyes. "If I am to be put out," she said, "may I beg one boon."

  "What is that?" he asked.

  "Your collar," she said. "Put it on my neck. Tie some knot in it which is yours, so that if men find me they may say, 'Here, see this knot. It is Seibar's. This woman was his slave.'"

  "You ask for my collar?" he said.

  "I beg it," she said.

  He took one of the straps he had used in her whipping. He looped it twice about her neck and tied it.

  "You have it," he said.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "Bow your head," he said.

  She did so, instantly.

  A murmur of approval coursed through the lodge, as men and women observed the slave, well and appropriately subjugated, her head bowed before her master.

  I sensed then in the group a lessening of the hostility, the inveterate animosity, formerly entertained toward the vulnerable, helpless well-humbled she who had once been the disdainful, imperious Radish, but was now become the slave of one who had now become a man.

  Perhaps, if she well proved herself, and worked hard and well, and learned to lick and kiss with deferential, humble, and exquisite skill, and pleased muchly in numerous, sundry ways, she might be permitted to remain in the compound at the mercy of, and under the rule of, free persons. Perhaps she need not necessarily be ejected, need not be put out naked, to run from hungry sleen.

  Perhaps uses might be found for her, if only on a leash, or at the end of a strap.

  Were there not many unpleasant, cruel and heavy labors which needed to be performed?

  And are such not suitable for slaves?

  "Raise your head," said Seibar to his slave.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  He wished, it seemed, to look into the eyes of his acquisition, for in such a manner one may sometimes discover much. In such a way one may assess the nature and disposition of one's lovely animal. The least expression of a slave may, of course, betray her. Her subtlest expressions may lay blatantly bare the softest, most velvet secrets of her heart. There is something in bondage which renders the slave peculiarly open to the master. Perhaps it is the understanding on her part that he owns her. Masters read slaves, and slaves know that they are read.

  Is it not between masters and slaves that the most perfect of intimacies may be found?

  What woman has truly understood intimacy until she has become a slave? She is his; she belongs to the master. All of her is his. And what man has truly understood a woman's profound, desperate and vulnerable need for intimacy, and his power to grant it or not, as he pleases, who is not her master?

  Seibar seemed satisfied with what he saw.

  And I think the slave realized, too, what she had revealed.

  She then reached her head toward his, where he crouched down before her, and tried to touch her lips to his. Her small hands moved futilely in their bonds, at her knees.

  He did not permit her lips to touch his. "That would be touching, would it not?" he asked, ironically.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "Do you think to trick me?" he asked.

  "No!" she said.

  "How clever you are!" he said, suddenly, angrily. "What a sly, scheming, shameless she-sleen you are!"

  "How you must hate me," she said.

  "Do you think I cannot see through your games, your trickery?" he cried.

  "Do you think it is only because I do not want to die?" she wept. "Do you think it is only because I do not want to be put out into the Barrens?"

  "Yes!" he said.

  "No," she said. "No!"

  "No?" he asked.

  "No!" she wept.

  "Speak," he said, angrily. "I grow weary."

  "But I am a slave," she said, frightened. She looked at me, pleadingly, for understanding.

  "Accordingly, miserable, embonded slut," I said, "you must speak the truth."

  She put down her head. She squirmed in her bonds.

  "Must a command be repeated?" asked Seibar.

  She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. "I am a slave," she said, "and I must tell the truth. Forgive me, I beg you. Forgive me. Beat me if you wish."

  "Yes?" said Seibar.

  "I want your touch," she said. "I beg it!"

  "Shameless slave," he chided.

  "As a slave may be, and should be," she said.

  He regarded her, not speaking.

  "For years," she said, "I have wanted to be your slave, to be subject to your will, to be owned by you, to be yours, fully. I have dreamed of your touch, and, if it should please you, your lash."

  "Lying slave," he snarled.

  "I want to obey you," she said.

  "Lying slave!" he said.

  "I love you," she said.

  "Liar!" he cried.

  "Alas," she said, "how can I convince you?"

  "You cannot!" he cried.

  "Of course not," she said, "if you will not permit it."

  "Put your hands on her body," I said.

  Seibar put his hands on her body.

  "I love you," she said.

  I touched her. "She speaks the truth," I said.

  "I love you," she said. "Kiss me. Then put me out, if you wish. I will then go gladly, if it be your will."

  He kissed her. I smiled. Then, with a cry of rage, of frustration, he struck her across the mouth. She then lay on her side on the dirt floor.

  "Do you think she speaks the truth?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "If I were you, I would give her a trial. See if she works out. If she does not prove satisfactory, she may always, then, be put out."

  Seibar kicked the girl, with the side of his foot. "What is your name?" he asked.

  "I have no name," she said.

  "It is a fitting response," I said.

  "A slave's response?" asked Seibar.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Do you think she is truly a slave?" asked Seibar.

  "Yes," I said, "that is obvious. It is now only a question of whether or not you have any interest in her."

  Seibar looked down at her.

  "What is a fitting name for a slave?" he asked.

  "'Tuka'," I said. "That is not a bad name." 'Tuka' is a common slave name on Gor. It is simple, sensuous and luscious. Most masters have probably known one or more girls with that name.

  "You are Tuka," said Seibar, naming her.

  "I am Tuka," she whispered, happily, named.

  "Kneel," said Seibar. The girl struggled to her knees. She looked up at him. There was love in her eyes. He looked down at her, an incredible tenderness in his countenance. I saw that he must guard against weakness. But I felt sure that he would do so. Only too well would he be aware of the penalties and consequences attached to weakness, consequences ultimately tragic for the welfare of both sexes.

  "Shall I open the gate?" asked a man.

  "No," said Seibar. "The slave, at least for a time, will be kept."

  The men and women in the lodge let out a cry of approval.

  Tuka nearly collapsed. Mira rushed to her and kissed her.

  "Well done," I said to Seibar.

  "I am a slave. I would be your slave," said the dark-haired girl kneeling before Carrot.

  "I claim you," said Carrot.

  She was then his slave.

  "I am a slave. I would be your slave," said the blonde, kneeling before Cabbage.

  "I claim you," said Cabbage.

  And thus she became his slave.

  One by one the Waniyanpi women, timidly, beautifully, knelt before various men, those of their choice.

  "I am a slave," said each. "I would be your slave."


  And each, in turn, was claimed.

  Men and women, crying out with pleasure, with tears, in floods of emotion, kissed, and touched one another, and loved.

  "We can take the bodies of the Yellow Knives away," said Cuwignaka to Seibar. "We will cut them up and leave them on the prairie. No one, thusly, will know that they met their end here."

  "That will be helpful," said Seibar.

  "Thusly, too," I said, "you may then return to being Waniyanpi, if you wish."

  Seibar looked about. "We will fortify the compound," he said. "We will never again be Waniyanpi."

  "There is always time to be a coward," I said.

  "We have tasted manhood," said Seibar. "We will never go back. We will now die, or be men."

  "It might be well, for a time," I said, "to express your manhood only within the secrecy of your own lodge. It might be well, for a time, to pretend to be still Waniyanpi."

  Seibar smiled.

  "I have a plan," I said.

  "I did not think that your visit here was one of a purely social nature," he said.

  "Free your slave of her bonds," I suggested. "You will, anyway, later tonight, not want her ankles so closely tied. She may then serve us, while we talk."

  "You would speak before slaves?" he asked.

  "Of course," I said. "They are only slaves."

  * * * *

  "Masters?" asked Tuka, kneeling, holding the tray. We took the fried maize cakes from the tray. Then the tray was empty, save for one object, a segment of a dried root, about two to three inches long and a half inch wide.

  "Open your mouth," said Seibar to Tuka.

  She did so immediately, unquestioningly.

  "This is for you," he said.

  She nodded.

  He broke the root in two and thrust it in her mouth. "Chew it well," he said, "and swallow it, every particle."

  She nodded.

  "Open your mouth," he said.

  She did so. The sip root, every bit of it, was gone.

  "You may now take the tray away, and then return," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, happily.

  Mira had shown her how to kneel, lower her head and proffer the tray, properly. Tuka, I saw, would be an apt pupil in bondage. Slaves learn quickly. They are beaten if they do not.

  "And those," I said, "are the details of my plan."

  "It is bold and simple," he said.

  "You see the significance of your role?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "You understand, of course," asked Cuwignaka, "that there is great danger in this?"

  "But for all of us," said Seibar.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "You honor us with such responsibility," said Seibar.

  "Rewards, I assure you," said Cuwignaka, "will be commensurate with risk."

  "We have received our manhood," said Seibar. "That is reward enough."

  The slave then returned to our area and knelt down, closely, behind Seibar.

  "You are then with us?" I asked.

  "I am," he said. We then clasped hands.

  "Let us rehearse these details again," I said. "There must be no mistake."

  "Very well," he said.

  As we spoke the slave, apparently unable to control herself, and not struck back or disciplined, began, at first timidly, then more boldly, to kiss and fondle Seibar. Soon she began to gasp and pant, pressing herself against him. At last he took her in his arms and put her on her back, across his legs. Her body was then like a bow, her head down on one side, in the dust, and her heels on the other side. "Keep your hands back, over your head," he said. "Yes, Master," she whimpered. He then, as we talked, caressed her. Soon her hands were clenching and unclenching and she was whimpering, writhing helplessly. Then, mercifully, he lifted her up by the shoulders and she put her head against his chest, her arms about his neck. Her eyes were wide. She squirmed, almost in shock, astounded, unable to believe the sensations she felt in her body.

  "I think the plans are clear," I said.

  "Yes," said Seibar.

  "We must be on our way," I said.

  We stood up. "You may kiss the feet of our guests, Tuka," said Seibar.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Do not be weak with her," I said.

  "I will not," he said. I smiled. I saw that it was true.

  "Tuka," said Seibar, "fetch what was once your blanket and put it with mine, on the shelf, by the wall, where I sleep."

  "Yes, Master!" she said. I smiled. I saw that Tuka, at least, would not be tied by the neck, out in the yard for the night.

  Seibar and I again clasped hands, sealing our bargain.

  "I have done as you wished," said Tuka, returning, dropping to her knees before her master.

  "I am weary," said Seibar. "I think I will tie your ankles together."

  "Please do not tie them together, Master," she said.

  "Very well," he said. He then indicated that she should rise and she did so. He then lifted her in his arms. She kissed at him eagerly.

  "I wish you well," I said.

  "I wish you all well," he said.

  We then, Hci, Cuwignaka, Mira and myself, took our leave. I did look back once, to see Seibar placing Tuka gently on the blankets in his sleeping place, on the dirt shelf, near the log-and-dirt wall.

  They seemed oblivious of their surroundings. They were absorbed in one another. They were master and slave.

  41

  Hci Will Come With Us

  "I tell you it exists!" exclaimed Hci.

  "Did you see it?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "Mira saw it."

  "She is only a slave," I said.

  The girl, near the lodge at Two Feathers, amidst trees, knelt, trembling.

  "You were gone," she said, shuddering, "with Cuwignaka and Canka, training tarns. It came like a great, black thing, screaming. Leaves were torn from the trees in its passage!"

  "It is gone now," I said.

  "It is real, Tatankasa," said Hci. "Make no mistake about it. It exists!"

  "It is only a tarn," I said.

  "It is Wakanglisapa," said Hci, "the medicine tarn."

  "I do not believe in the medicine world," I said. "I do not think it exists."

  "It is following us," said Hci. "It is looking for its feather."

  "That is absurd," I said.

  "Get rid of the feather," said Hci. "Return it to the Barrens. Throw it away. Burn it. It is dangerous!"

  "We may have need of it," I said.

  "Get rid of it!" said Hci.

  "It is only a feather," I said.

  "Than the feather of Wakanglisapa there is no medicine more dangerous or powerful," said Hci. "That is why he has come looking for it."

  "The medicine tarn does not exist," I said.

  "She saw it," said Hci, pointing to Mira. Mira was half white with fear.

  "It was only a tarn," I said.

  "It was Wakanglisapa, the medicine tarn," said Hci. "He is angry." He looked at the sky, apprehensively. The moons were now out. White clouds scudded across the sky.

  "I see no signs of a tarn now," I said.

  "He has followed us," said Hci.

  "It is probably a different tarn," I said.

  "It is Wakanglisapa, the medicine tarn," said Hci.

  "You are one of the bravest men I have ever known, Hci," I said. "How can you think in this way? How can you act like this?"

  "You know more of tarns than I, Tatankasa," he said. "Do tarns behave in this fashion?"

  "No," I admitted, "not normally."

  "Then it is no ordinary tarn," said Hci.

  "I do not know," I said. "Perhaps not."

  "Do you not remember the warrior of the Kinyanpi?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. I shuddered.

  "That could only have been the work of Wakanglisapa," said Hci.

  "Wakanglisapa does not exist," I said.

  "I am not afraid of men," said Hci. "I am not afraid of what I can see. I am
not afraid of what I can fight."

  "I understand," I said.

  "Do these things seem normal to you?" asked Hci.

  "No," I said.

  "Do they not seem strange?" asked Hci.

  "Yes," I admitted.

  "Do you understand them?" asked Hci.

  "No," I said, "not really, certainly not fully."

  "Get rid of the feather," said Hci.

  "No," I said.

  "Get rid of it," he said.

  "I do not believe in the medicine world," I said. "I do not think it exists."

  "I know the medicine world exists," said Hci.

  "How do you know that?" I asked.

  "Once," said he, "I grievously lied. Later, in battle, my shield betrayed me. It would not obey me. I could not control it. It refused to protect me. Of its own will it rose, exposing me to the lance of my enemy."

  "We know what happened," I said. "What we do not know, really, is why it happened. Such things are not absolutely unknown, even to the physicians in the cities. There are technical names for them. They are still not well understood. Often their causes are deep and mysterious."

  "The shield rose," said Hci.

  "The shield cannot rise by itself," I said. "It was your arm that rose."

  "I did not lift my arm," said Hci.

  "Such movements, over which we have no control," I said, "are sometimes connected with such things as guilt, and a conviction of the fittingness of certain behaviors. They result from undetected occurrences in the brain. It is like one part of you at war with another part. They seem to occur by themselves. They can be frightening."

  "The shield rose, like a moon," said Hci.

  "Doubtless it seemed so," I said.

  "It rose," said Hci, "as firmly and inexorably as a moon."

  "We understand things in various contexts of belief," I said. "When something happens it might be interpreted one way in one context of belief and in another way in another context of belief."

  "This is hard to understand," said Hci.

  "That is because you are thoroughly familiar with only one context of belief," I said, "your own. Thus, you are not accustomed to draw a distinction between what is to be interpreted, so to speak, and its interpretation. These two things tend, then, in your understanding to merge into only one, in this case that your shield betrayed you."

  "It did," said Hci.

  "Look up," I said. "See the moons?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "Do you not see how they fly through the sky?"