Norman, John - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor.txt
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manacles. The chain itself was about a yard long. He handed it to the Forkbeard.
The young man would go chained to the tent. "Wrist," said the Forkbeard. The
young man extended his wrists. Thyri watched, delighted. The Forkbeard closed
the manacle about the young man's left wrist. Thyri laughed. Then the Forkbeard
took Thyri's right wrist and closed it in the other fetter. "My Jarl!" she
cried. "She is yours until morning," the Forkbeard told the young thrall. "Use
her behind the tent." "My thanks, my Jarl!" he cried. "My Jarl!" wept Thyri.
Tarsk seized the length of chain in his right fist, about a foot from her
fetter. He jerked it. The fetter was large on her wrist, but she could not slip
it. She was held. She looked at him with horror. "Hurry, Bond-maid!" he cried.
He turned about, dragging her by the right wrist, and, almost running, pulled
her, stumbling, crying out, after him. The Forkbeard, and I, and his men,
laughed. We had not been much pleased at the insolence of the bond-maid with
respect to the young thrall; once, we recalled, her taunting of him had almost
cost him his life; I had intervened, and he had only been whipped instead; I had
little doubt that Wulfstan of Kassau, the thrall, Tarsk, had many scores to
settle with the pretty little she-sleen, once a fine young lady of Kassau; too,
I recalled, she had once refused his suit, he supposedly not being good enough
for her. "I hope," said the Forkbeard, "he will not make her scream all night
behind the tent. I wish to obtain a good night's rest." "It would be a shame,"
said I, "to interfere with his pleasure." "If necessary," said the Forkbeard, "I
will simply have him gag her with her own kirtle." "Excellent," I said. The
Forkbeard then turned his attention to the chained female slaves in the shed.
Some extended their bodies to him; some turned, to display themselves,
provocatively; for he was obviously a desirable master; but others affected not
to notice him; though I noticed that their bodies were held beautifully as he
passed, particularly should he pause to regard them; other girls, perhaps newer
to their collars, shrank back against the boards, trying to cover themselves;
some regarded him with tears in their eyes; some with fear; some with open
hostility; others with sullen resentment; all knew that he might, like any man,
own them, completely. To my surprise, he stopped before a dark-haired girl who
sat with her legs drawn up, her arms about them, her ankles crossed; her cheek
was aid across her knees; she seemed startled that the Forkbeard stopped before
her; she looked up at him, frightened, and then put her face down again, across
her knees, but now her eyes were frightened, and every inch of her seemed tense.
She looked up at him, but then could not meet his eyes. She seemed a shy,
introverted girl, one who might, before her capture, have been much alone. The
she had been caught by slavers. "I would make a poor slave, my Jarl," she
whispered. "What do you know of this girl?" asked the Forkbeard of the officer
of Svein Blue Tooth, who was accompanying him. "She peaks little and, as she
can, when not chained, as in the exercise pen, she keeps to herself." The
Forkbeard reached his hand toward her knee, but, she watching, terrified, did
not touch it, and then withdrew it. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes,
then opened them. She had feared to be touched. Where as fear inhibits sexual
performance in a male, rendering it impossible, because neutralizing aggression,
essential to male power, fear in a woman, some fear, not terror, can,
interestingly, improve her responsiveness, perhaps by facilitating her abject
submission, which can then lead to multiple orgasms. This is another reason,
incidentally, why Goreans favor the enslavement of desirable women; the slave
girl knows that she must please her master, and that she will be punished, and
perhaps harshly if she does not; this maked her not only desperate to please the
brute who fondles her, but also produces in her a genuine fear of him; this fear
on her part enhances her receptivity and responsiveness; also, of course, since
fear stimulates aggression, which is intimately connected with male sexuality,
her fear, which she is unable to help, to her master's amusement, deepens and
augments the very predation in which she finds herself as quarry; and if she
should not be afraid, it is no great matter; any woman, if the master wishes,
can be taught fear. After the Forkbeard had withdrawn his hand he studied her
eyes intently. I, too, detected that for which he had sought, the object of his
experiment. Though she had feared his touch, yet, when he had withdrawn his
hand, there was, momentarily, disappointment in her eyes. She both feared to be
touched, and desperately yearned for the touch. "Is she healthy?" asked the
Forkbeard. "Yes," said the officer of Svein Blue Tooth. I had seen such women,
sometimes on Earth. They were often studious, quiet girls, keeping much to
themselves, lonely girls, yet with brilliant minds, marvelous imaginations, and
fantastic, suppressed latent sexuality. They were often among the greatest
surprises, and bargains, in the Gorean slave markets. Viginia Kent, whom I had
known in Ar, years ago, who had become the companion of the warrior Relius of
Ar, been such a girl. On Earth she had taught acient history and classical
languages at a small college on Earth; to many she might then have seemed a
rather blue-stocking, forbidding girl; Gorean slavers, however, with greater
perception perhaps then her fellow Earthlings, had seen her potential; she had
been, one of several such items of cargo, abducted to Gor; on Gor, given no
choice, suitably trained, she had become one of the most exquisite and delicious
female slaves it had ever been my pleasure to see in a collar. Relius, given
her, had freed her; his friend, Ho-Sorl, given another Earth girl, Phyllis
Robertson, had kept the latter in a collar; Relius was younger that Ho-Sorl, and
a romantic. Ho-Sorl, doubtless, was more experienced in the handling of females;
I wondered if Virginia, to her astonishment, perhaps after a quarrel or after a
night of depriving Relius in order to obtain some whim of herhad awakened one
morning recollared, again the slave of a master. "Kneel," said the Forkbeard to
the girl, "legs apart, palms of your hands on your thighs." With a movement of
the chain, she did so. He crouched before her. "I may wish to use you to breed
thralls," he said. "You must be healthy for the farm. Put your head back, close
your eyes and open your mouth." She did as she was told, that the Forkbeard
might examine her teeth. Much may be told of the age and condition of a female
slave, as of a kaiila or bosk, from her teeth. But the Forkbeard did not look
into her mouth. His left hand slipped to the small of her back, holding her, and
his right hand went suddenly to her body. She cried out, trying to pull back,
but could not, and then, her eyes closed, whimpering, she thrust forward,
writhing and then, sobbing, held herself immobile, teeth gritted, eyes screwed
shut, trying not to feel. When his hands left her body she tried, sobbing, to
strike him, but he caught both her small wrists, holdin
g them. She struggled
futilely, held kneeling. "Put your head back," he said. "Open your mouth." She
shook her head, wildly. "I am holding your hands," he pointed out. Warily, eyes
open, she opened her mouth. He looked at her teeth. "I may wish to use you to
breed thralls," he said. "You must be healthy for the farm." He stood up. "What
do you want for her ?" he asked the officer of Svein Blue Tooth. "I had her for
a broken coin," he said, "half a silver tarn disk of Tharna. I will let you have
her for a whole coin." The Forkbeard returned tot he man the tarn disk of silver
which he had received for Dagmar. The officer of Svein Blue Tooth, with a key at
his belt, unlocked the padlock which held the girl's collar to the common chain.
He tossed the padlock, open, into one of the wooden boxes projecting from the
wall. The girl, kneeling, looked up at the Forkbeard. "Why did my Jarl buy me?"
she asked. "You have excellent teeth," said the Forkbeard. "For what will my
Jarl use me?" she asked. "Doubtless you can learn to swill tarsks," he said.
"Yes my Jarl," she said. Then she put her cheek, to our suprise, to the side of
his leg, and lowering her head, holding his boot, kissed it. It was very
delicately, and lovingly, done. "What is your name?" he asked. "Peggie Stevens,"
she said. I smiled. It was an Earth name. "You are an Earth female," I told her.
"Once," she said. "Now I am only female." "American?" I asked. "Prior to my
enslavement," she said. "From what state?" I asked. "Connecticut," she said.
Since the Nest War the probes of aliens had grown more bold, even on Gor; they
had little difficulty in taking female slaves on Earth; gold, exchangeable for
materials essential to their enterprises, was well guarded on Earth; it could
seldom be obtained in quantities without attracting the attention of the agents
of Priest-Kings; on the other hand, the women of Earth, dispersed, abundant,
many of them beautiful, superb slave stock, the sort a Gorean master enjoys
training to the collar, were, generally, unguarded; Earth took greater care to
guard her gold than her females; accordingly, the women of Earth, unprotected,
vulnerable, like luscious fruit on wild trees, were free for the pickings of
Gorean slavers; a network, I gathered, existed for their selection and
acquisition; Earth was helpless to prevent the taking of their most beautiful
women; they were eventually sold naked from blocks in Gorean markets. I suppose
that the governments of Earth, or some of them, were aware of the slaving;
perhaps merchants of Middle Eastern countries were suspected; there were,
however, delicate negotiations concerning oil to be respected; it would not be
well to be too bold in pressing accusations; what were a few beautiful women,
taken as slave girls into harems of Middle Eastern businessmen and potentates,
to the commodity which supported civilization and turned the wheels of industry;
but the evidence would not point to the Middle East; further, the small amount
of slaving, if any, which might be done commercially in Western Europe or on the
Eastern Seaboard of the United States would not account for the numbers of
missing beauties; hundreds a year, I surmised, turned up in Gorean markets. I
speculated that Earth governments, or some og them, were reasonably well aware
that their planet must now be the locus of frequent alien slave raids; but why
would alien power not make itself known and openly demand their jewels among the
female resourses of the planet; the governments would not know of the power of
the Priest-Kings, which the agents of the Kurii profoundly and wisely feared;
what could these governments of Earth do; they could do nothing; could they,
wisely, inform their populations that their planet lay under the attacks of
technologically advanced aliens, with which their own primitive technologies
were incapable of copying; that they, and all of Earth, seemed to lie at the
mercies of invaders from outer space; such an announcement could only bring
about the loss of confidence in governments, panic, hoarding, crime, perhaps a
breakdown in communication, perhaps anarchy, perhaps a shattering of trust and
civilizations themselves. No. It was better to say nothing. Accordingly, I
supposed, this very night, on Earth, there were completely unsuspecting
beautiful girls, thinking it a night like any other, who would undress
themselves and snap off the light, and retire, not knowing that they had been,
perhaps for weeks, scouted by slavers; I wondered if they would awaken in
terror, the slavers rope on their throat, hi needle, with it's drug, thrusting
into their side; or if, days later, perhaps weeks, they would awaken sluggishly,
then suddenly alert to the change of gravity, and find themselves in a barred,
cemented slave kennel, on their left ankles, locked, the steel identification
device of the agents of the Kurii, that their manifests be correct, their
records precise. "How did you come to the north?" I asked the slave girl, Miss
Stevens. "I was sold in Ar," she said, "to a merchant from Cos. I was chained in
a slave ship, with many other girls, on tiers in the hold. The ship fell to four
raiding vessels of Torvaldland. I have been, by my reckoning, eight months in
the north." "What did your last Jarl call you?" asked the Forkbeard. "Butter
Pan," she said. The Forkbeard looked to Gunnhild. "What shall we call this
pretty little slave?" he asked. "Honey Cake," suggested Gunnhild. "You are Honey
Cake," said the Forkbeard. "Yes, my Jarl," said Miss Stevens. The Forkbeard then
left the bond-maid shed. We all followed him. He did not restrain Honey Cake in
any way. She, nude, in her collar, back straight, accompanied him. Her head was
high. She was a bought girl. The other girls, still on the chain, regarded her
with envy, with resentment, hostility. She had paid them no attention. She had
been purchased. They remained unbought girls, wenches left on the chain; they
had not yet been found desirable enough to be purchased. Few suspected, on this
day, in the thing, that something unprecedented would occur. After we had left
the bond-maid shed I had let the Forkbeard and his retinue return to their tent.
Honey Cake, when last I saw her, dared to cling to his arm, her head to his
shoulder. He, with a laugh, thrust her back witht he other girls that she, as
they, might heel him. Happily she did so. I watched them disappear among the
crowds. Ivar had won siv talmits. He had done quite well. Honey Cake, too, I
thought, would make him a delicious little slave. We would all enjoy her. I was
at the archery range when the announcement was made. I had not intended to
participate in the competition. Rather, it had been my plan to buy some small
gift for the Forkbeard. Long had I enjoyed his hospitality, and he had given me
many things. I did not wish, incidentally, even if I could, to give him a gift
commensurate with what he had, in his hospitality, bestowed upon me; the host,
in Torvaldsland, should make the greatest gifts; it is, after all, his house or
hall; if his guest should make him a greater gifts than he makes the guest this
is regarded as something in the nature of an insult, a betrayal of hospitality;
after all,
the host is not running an inn, extending hospitality like a
merchant, for profit; and the host must not appear more stingy than the guest
who, theoretically, is the one being welcomed and sheltered; in Torvaldsland,
thus, the greater the generosity is the host's prerogative; should the
Forkbeard, however, have come to Port Kar then, of course, it would have been my
prerogative to make him the greater gifts than he did me. This is, it seems to
me, an intelligent custom; the host, giving first, and knowing what he can
afford to give, sets the limit to the giving; the guest then makes certain that
his gifts are less than those of the host; the host, in giving more, wins honor
as a host; the guest, in giving less, does the host honor. Accordingly, I was
concerned to find a gift for the Forkbeard; it must not be too valuable, but
yet, of course, I wanted it to be something that he would appreciate. I was on
my way to the shopping booths, those near the wharves, where the best
merchandise is found, when I stopped to observe the shooting. "Win Leah! Win
Leah, Master!" I heard. I looked upon her, and she looked upon me. She stood on
the thick, rounded block; it was about a yard high, and five feet in diameter;
she was dark-haired, long-haired; she had a short, luscious body, thick ankles;
her hands were on her hips. "Win Leah, Master!" she challenged. She was naked,
except for the Torvaldsland collar of black iron on her neck, with its
projecting ring, and the heavy chain padlocked about her right ankle; the chain
was about a yard long; it secured her, by means of a heavy ring, to the block.
She laughed. "Win Leah, Master!" she challenged. She, with the archery talmit,
was the prize in the shooting. I noted her brand. It was a southern brand, the
first letter, in cursive script, of Kajira, the most common expression for a
Gorean female slave. It was entered deeply in her left thigh. Further, I noticed
that she had addressed me as "Master," rather than "my Jarl." I took it, from
these indications, that she had learned her collar in the south; probably
originally it had been a lock collar, snugly fitting, of steel; now, of course,
it had been replaced with the riveted collar of black iron, with the projecting
ring, so useful for running a chain through, or for padlocking, or linking on an