Norman, John - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor.txt

by Marauders of Gor [lit]

  Bosk of Port Kar, and restore the honor of Chenbar, and the honor of Sarus, and

  of Tyros." I removed the stopper from the vial. "It may itself be poison," said

  Samos. I smelled it. It smelled sweet, not unlike a syrup of Turia. "Yes," I

  said, "it may be." It was true what Samos had said. It could be, indeed, that I

  held in my hand not an antidote, but a lethal dose of some unknown toxin. I

  thought of Turia, of its baths and wines. The plan of Tyros might thus, foiled

  upon the coast of Thassa, be in ef~ect accomplished in the hall of Svein Blue

  Tooth, at least with respect to him known as Bosk of Port Kar. "Do not drink

  it," said the Forkbeard to me. But I had felt, after the battle, again in my

  body the effects of the poison, though briefly. I had ~ittie doubt but that it

  still linger~d in my body. I had little doubt but that, in time, it would again

  force me to the blankets and chair of a recluse in a hall in Port Kar. If not

  countered, it would, eventually, doubtless, have its way. "I shall drink it," I

  told Ivar Forkbeard. The Forkbeard looked upon Sarus of Tyros. "If he dies," he

  said, "your death will be neither swift nor pleasant." "I am your hostage," said

  Sarus. "You, you called Sarus of Tyros," said Ivar, "you drink first." "There is

  not enough," said Sarus of Tyros. "Chain him," said the Forkbeard. Chains were

  brought. "Sarus of Tyros," I said to Ivar, "is a guest in the hall of Svein Blue

  Tooth.' The chains were not placed on Sarus. I lifted the vial to Sarus of

  Tyros. "I drink," I said, "I drink to the honor of Tyros." Then I downed the

  contents of the vial. Chapter 22 I take ship from the north Slave girls, naked,

  carrying burdens, loaded the ship of Ivar Forkbeard, the Hilda, moored at the

  wharf of the Thing Fields. We stood on the wooden boards of the wharf. "Will you

  not return to Port Kar with Sarus and myself?" asked Samos. "I think," said I,

  smiling, "I will take ship south with Ivar Forkbeard, for I have yet to learn to

  break the Jarl's Ax's gambit. ' "Perhaps," said Samos, "when you reach Port Kar,

  we may talk of weighty matters." I smiled. "Perhaps," I said. "I think," said

  Samos, "that I detect a difference in you. I think that here, somehow, in the

  north, you have found yourself. I shrugged. A seaman dragged Telima, by the arm,

  before us. She was stripped. Her hair was before her face. Her wrists were

  fastened behind her by the rude bracelets of the north. The Kur collar, leather,

  some three inches in height, ho]ding her chin up, with its ring, was still on

  her throat. She had spent the last five days chained in a small, log slave

  kennel. She looked at Samos, and then, swiftly, lowered her eyes. He looked upon

  the vulnerable, stripped girl with fury. He knew well, now, what had been her

  role, her willing role, in the plan of the Kurii. "I will see that she is well

  punished," he said. "You are speaking of one of my slave girls," I said. "Ah!"

  he said. "I will see that she is punished," I said. She looked at me. There was

  fear in her eyes. "Put her on the ship," I said to the seaman. He thrust her,

  ahead of him, stumbling, up the narrow gangplank, and put her on the ship. In

  Port Kar I would remove the Kur collar and put her in one of my own. I would,

  too, have her beaten. Afterwards she would serve in my house, as one of my slave

  girls. About my forehead I wore a Jarl's talmit. This morning Svein Blue Tooth,

  before cheering men, had tied it about my head. "Tarl Red Hair," had said he,

  "with this talmit accede to Jarlship in Torvaldsland!" I had been lifted on the

  shields of shouting men. In the distance I had seen the Torvaldsberg, and, to

  the west, gleaming Thassa. "Never before," had said Svein Blue Tooth, "has one

  not of the north been named Jarl amongst us." There had been much shouting, much

  clashing of weapons. Conscious I was indeed of the signal honor seen fit to be

  bestowed upon me. I had lifted my hands to them, standing on the shields, a Jarl

  of Torvaldsland, one who might now, in his own name if need be, send forth the

  arrow of war, sumrnoning adherents; one who might, as it pleased him, comrnand

  ships and men; one who might now say to the rough, bold seamen of the north, as

  it pleased him, "Follow me, there is work to be done," and whom they would then

  follow, gathering weapons, opening the sheds, sliding their ships on rollers to

  the sea, raising the masts, spreading the striped sails to the wind, saying,

  "Our Jarl has summoned us. Let us aid him. There is work to be done." "I am

  grateful," said I to Svein Blue Tooth. "I wish you well, Bosk of Port Kar," said

  Samos. "Tarl Cabot," said I to him. He smiled. "I wish you well, Tarl Cabot," he

  said. "I wish you well, Samos," said I. "I wish you well, Warrior," said Sarus.

  "I, too, wish you well, Warrior," said I, "Sarus of Tyros." Samos and Sarus

  turned about and left the wharf. They were going to the ship of Samos, on which

  they had come north. Coast gulls screamed overhead. The air was sharp and clear.

  The sky was very blue. I watched the girls loading the ship. Aelgifu, or

  Pudding, passed me, and then Gunnhild and Olga, bent under boxes carried on

  their backs. Pouting Lips and Pretty Ankles returned from the ship, down the

  gangplank, barefoot, to fetch more burdens. Hilda, bent over, a heavy sack of

  salt over her shoulders, staggered up the gangplank. Thyri returned down the

  gangplank, a yoke on her shoulders, from which dangled two empty baskets, on

  ropes. She had been carrying tospits and vegetables to the deck locker, to fill

  it. Wulfstan, once of Kassau, now of Torvaldsland, in charge of supplying the

  ship, leaned over the rail. "Fetch more tospits, Slave Girl," he called. "Yes,

  Master," said Thyri. I saw Rollo board the ship. He carried a great ax, weapons,

  a sleenskin bag filled with gear. He was the first of the oarsmen to board. Now

  came slave girls bearing skins of water. They walked slowly, bent over, placing

  each step carefully, that they not lose thelr balance, heavy skins, bulging and

  damp, across their shoulders. I saw Honey Cake among them, and the Forkbeard's

  golden girl, the southern silk girl, too, she labormg as any other bond-maid. I

  do not think that in the south she had been forced so to work. She staggered.

  "Hurry," said the girl behind her, "or we will be beaten!" The girl moaned, and

  staggered to the gangplank, and, slowly, foot by foot, her bare feet pressed by

  the weight deeply into the rough boards, climbed, carrying her burden, to the

  deck of the shlp. Among the girls, too, I saw Bera, she one of the Blue Tooth's

  girls, one of several, who had been placed under the orders of Wulfstan to

  assist in the loading. She was naked. The other girls, resenting the tunic she

  had been given, had stripped her. Svein Blue Tooth had laughed Masters do not

  interfere in the squabbles of slaves I looked up at the sky. It was very blue.

  For more than a day I had lain in fever, in delirium, while in my body had been

  fought the battle of poison and antidote. I had sweated, and cried out, and

  raged, but, in the end, I had thrown the furs from me. "I want meat," I had

  said, "and a woman." The Forkbeard, who had sat near me through the hours of the

  lonely contest, clasped me about the shoulders. He had ordered roast bosk and


  hot milk, and then yellow bread and paga. Then, when I had finished, Leah had

  been thrown to my feet. I walked up the gangplank and stood on the decking,

  looking out to sea. There was a sweet wind on Thassa. My delirium this time,

  interestingly to me, had been much different than it had when, long ago, the

  poison had first raged in my body. At that time I had been miserable, and weak,

  even calling out to a woman, who was only a slave, to love me. But, somehow, in

  the north, in Torvaldsland, I had changed. This I knew. There was a different

  Tarl Cabot than ever there had been. Once there had been a boy by this name, one

  with simple dreams, naive, vain, one shattered by a betrayal of his codes, the

  discovery of a weakness where he had thought there was only strength. That boy

  had died in the delta of the Vosk; in his place had come Bosk of Port Kar,

  ruthless and torn, but grown into his manhood; and now there was another, one

  whom I might, if I wished, choose to call again Tarl Cabot. I had changed. Here,

  with the Forkbeard, with the sea, the wind, in his hall and in battle, I had

  become, somehow, much different. In the north my blood had found itself,

  learning itself, in the north I had learned strength, and how to stand alone. I

  thought of the Kurii. They were terrible foes. Suddenly, incredibly, I felt love

  for them. I recollected the head of the giant Kur. mounted on its stake, in the

  ruins of the hall of Svein Blue Tooth. One cannot be weak who meets such beasts.

  I laughed at the weaknesses instilled into the men of Earth. Only men who are

  strong, without weakness, can meet such beasts. One must match them in strength,

  in intellect, in terribleness, in ferocity. In the north I had grown strong. I

  suddenly realized the supreme power of the united Gorean will, not divided

  against itself, not weak, not crippled like the wills of Earth. I telt a surge

  of power, of unprecedented, unexpected joy. I had discovered what it was to be

  Gorean. I had discovered what it was, truly, to be male, to be a man. I was

  Gorean. Leah boarded the ship. She was barefoot. I had given her a briei, woolen

  slave tunic, which came high aboul her hips; it was sleeveless; it was split to

  the belly, belted with binding 6ber. She carried, in a sleenskin bag, over her

  shoulders, much ot my gear. I indicated to her the bench beneath which she mlght

  put it. She wore the black collar of the north She turned and lelt the ship,

  going down the gangplank, to fetch more of my things. She walked well. She knew

  my eyes were on her, the sleek she-sleen. I enjoyed owning her. I looked again

  out to sea. Last summer, in journeying to the forests, to attempt to rescue

  Talena; I had, in a tavern in Lydius, encountered a wench once known, Vella,

  Elizabeth Cardwell. She had made a delicious paga slave. I recalled her, licking

  my lips. Intent on the rescue of Talena, not wishing to be burdened by another

  wench, I had not yielded to the entreaties of the girl to buy her and free her.

  What a stupid request, I thought, to make of a Gorean male. It would have

  occurred only to an Earth girL But if Elizabeth was stupid, or, more likely,

  naive, she was at least pretty. I thought then, too, of Talena. She had been

  disowned by Marlenus of Ar. But she lived now in Ar, sequestered. She had

  insulted me in Port Kar. I smiled. I had left Vella, Elizabeth Cardwell, slave

  in Lydius. She had once, against my wishesj fled the Saridar, when I had wished,

  as a foolish Earthling, to return her to her home planet, for safety. Such a

  courageous act on her part had not been without its risks. She had fallen slave.

  I had met her in a tavern in Lydius. Gor is a perilous world, and particularly

  so, perhaps, for beautiful women. It is seldom that they, if not protected by a

  city and a Home Stone, escape the slave collar, the brand, the chains of a

  master. Elizabeth's act had been courageous. But she had lost her wager. I left

  her slave in Lydius, to the mercies of Sarpedon, the tavernkeeper, and his

  customers. It had been, as I now thought, a mistake. It had been a mistake

  because Elizabeth had been quite pretty. I would have been a fool to return so

  pretty a wench to Earth. When I returned to Port Kar I would arrange for an

  agent to buy her, if she had not already been sold to one who lusted for her and

  could pay her price. I would have been a fool to return so pretty a wench to

  Earth, I mused. Yes, I would, if it were commercially feasible, buy her, and

  keep her on Gor as my own slave. I recalled that in my first delirium, fighting

  the poison, long ago, I had wept, and, in my fevered ragings, had begged for her

  comfort, that she love me. That seemed to me now incredible, but I recalled it,

  clearly. But I had changed in the north. This time, in my delirium, the wench, I

  recalled, had figured quite differently. No longer, this time, did I call out to

  her, or beg for her comfort, or love. This time it had seemed I had seen her on

  a slave block, naked, under torchlight, guided by the whip, turning for buyers.

  I dreamed in the delirium I had purchased her. "Do not return me to Earth," she

  had begged. "I will not," I told her. Then she had looked at me with horror, and

  I had, upon my return to my house, thrown her among my other slaves. Ivar

  Forkbeard, with great strides, climbed the gangplank. Then, laughing, giggling,

  thrilled to be soon underway, approach;ng between two lines of seamen, came his

  slave girls. With them, less pleased, was the "golden girl," she with dark hair,

  and earrings. She dallied. One of the seamen took her by the back of the neck

  and thrust her, running, stumbling, half up the gangplank. She, too, then,

  weeping, boarded the Forkbeard's ship. "On your back," said a seaman to her,

  "and lift your legs, ankles crossed." The girl did so. He put the two piece,

  hinged, double ankle ring on her. This is a simple fetter, without links,

  holding the ankles crossed. It does not permit the girl to rise to her feet.

  When she had learned to be more pleasing, more radiant, her movements would be

  less restricted; I had little doubt that, by the time we reached Port Kar, she

  would be precisely what the Forkbeard wanted her to be. I looked at her. Our

  eyes met. She looked down, tears in her eyes. I had used her. She was quite

  good. But it had taken longer to arouse her than is com mon in a slave girl. The

  Forkbeard, I, and the crew, would improve her. The trip south would be long.

  Whereas it com monly takes a third of an Ahn to arouse a free woman female slave

  is often responsive from almost the first touch of the master. Why this should

  be I do not know. I suspec it is due, primarily, to two factors: the first is

  psychological The collar itself, and the state of bondage, for no reason clear

  in my mind, commonly transforms even the tepid free woman into an orgasmic

  marvel of a slave. Perhaps the fear to be whipped if they are not pleasing?

  Perhaps, be haviorally, given no choice but to act as a passionate female slave,

  they find, suddenly, through simple psychological relationshlps, they, to their

  horror, have become only a passionate female slave. Perhaps it is the knowing

  that they are rightless, owned, dominated, which so deeply, so incredibly

  trlggers the profound w
eb of yielding, piteously receptive helplessly submitting

  reflexes; perhaps in the depth of their bodies lies the secret need to be

  sexually subjugated, totally without which they cannot attain their full

  sexuality. I do not know. The second reason is presumably simple. It is merely

  that the female slave, abandoned, responsive, owned constantly at her master's

  beck and call, ready constantly for his least pleasure, is frequently used.

  Female slaves are sometimes used, when the master's time permits, three and

  four, or more, times a day. It is not unusual to give an entire day to sport

  with a female slave, something unthinkable with a free woman. The slave girl, of

  course, has no rights. She may be used for hours. What counts is not her will,

  bu her master's. Frequent use of the female slave, I suspect keeps her body

  honed to submissive perfection. Whatever be the reasons, a common female slave,

  and one of no unusual heat for a slave, will be carried through a series of

  multiple yieldings, dozens, before the average free woman can be warmed. Then,

  when the master wishes, scorning perhaps her helplessness in his arms, despising

  perhaps, to her misery, her vulnerability to him, he takes ruthlessly, perhaps

  contemptuously, his delight with her. As a note, it might be added, that the

  slave female, in her master's arms, must, if he so commands, under the threat of

  the whip or death, vocalize her sensations, then ventilating and reinforcing,

  multiplying, deepening, and increasing and intensifying them. Thus, cruelly, she

  is forced to help arouse herself and contribute to her own pleasures, and

  consequently, of course, those of the master. This command, sometimes, implicit,

  sometimes a matter of the master's policy with his girl or girls, under which

  she is placed, to vocalize her pleasures, and abundantly, as well as, in her

  abandon, nudity, and beauty, manifest them physically, guides, accurately and

  surely, the master in the detailed exploitation of her weaknesses, in his

  depredations practiced on her body. She must betray herself. Do not blame her.

  No choice is given her. She is an instrument of passion on which he plays,

  delighting himself with the music of her expressions, her movements, her cries,

  even the wild, unrestrainable odors of her collared slave body. She is forced to