Plunder of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Hooded and braceleted, I lay supine, deep in the furs, on the floor, at the foot of the couch. The securing of a woman commonly has its effect on both the man and the woman, arousing both. I held myself very still. I tried not to feel. I knew that my slightest movement might precipitate my usage. And I feared that I, even hooded and bitted, to his amusement, would immediately, uncontrollably, spasm in my yielding.

  How helpless we are!

  How pathetic to be a mere slave, and how glorious!

  “Earth woman, slave,” he sneered.

  I whimpered twice, frightened, weakly.

  “True,” he said, “you are no longer an Earth woman. You are now only a Gorean slave girl.”

  I whimpered once.

  No longer was I a woman of Earth. I was now only a Gorean slave girl.

  “I am sure,” he said, “you are she whom I have long sought.”

  I did not see how this was possible. Why should one seek me, rather than any other possibly comely slave?

  “You are Phyllis, are you not?” he asked.

  I quickly whimpered twice, frightened. I was not Phyllis, but Lita.

  “But your first slave name was ‘Phyllis’,” he said, “and you have frequently been named ‘Phyllis’.”

  I whimpered once. I had to do this. I did not know what he knew, and I was a slave, and a slave, not being a free woman, is not permitted to lie.

  “Good,” he said. “You are now Phyllis, once more.”

  I squirmed in the furs. Then I desisted, quickly, frightened. I think that being named excited me. Such power men have! Was I now, again, “Phyllis,” so simply? Why had I moved? Had I wished subconsciously, to arouse him? What, then, did this say about me? Such movements, I knew, those of a helpless slave, even those of a free woman, are likely to have their effect on males. Did he own me? Did he think he owned me? What authority had he to name me?

  “Are you Phyllis?” he asked.

  I whimpered once. Surely this was the safest thing to do. Too, perhaps I was now, again, Phyllis. How would I know?

  “We are going to have a chat,” he said. “But first there is something to get over, something that will make clear to you the nature of our relationship.”

  I sensed him crouch beside me.

  “It is important that we understand one another,” he said.

  I tried to shrink deeper in the furs.

  I could not see in the hood. I could not speak.

  The tunic was torn away.

  I felt my ankles grasped, each seized in a strong hand. My legs were then widely parted.

  “Prepare yourself for being used as what you are, a slave,” he said.

  Frightened, I whimpered, once.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I was knelt on the floor, at the foot of the couch, facing the couch. He was behind me. The hood was unbuckled, and lifted away. “You are not to look back,” he said. I blinked against the light, little as it was, from the lamp. I blinked, again, and shook my head, loosening my hair. It must have been two or three Ahn before dawn. The locking bands of the slave bit were then unsnapped, from behind my neck, and the device was removed from my mouth.

  How good it was to be rid of that effective, stern impediment, which renders a slave so helpless. How helpless a woman is when she cannot speak. How a girl’s slavery is impressed upon her, when she may not speak. Men do not always care to hear a woman speak, and, if she is a slave, she may be silenced, and perfectly silenced, by as little as a word, a frown. Consider the tumult within her when she desires to speak, and is not permitted to do so. She is, of course, a mere slave. How different with the free woman, who may speak if, and when, and in whatever manner she might wish.

  I did not speak, of course. I had not been addressed. Too, I feared to request permission to speak. I did not know the name, the nature, the disposition, the intent, the caste, the Home Stone, anything about my captor. I did not know where my Master might be, nor if he were still my master.

  “You are a hot one, as many barbarians,” he said, “you pathetic, miserable, neck-ringed tarsk.”

  I knelt, naked, facing the couch, my hands braceleted behind my back, he behind me.

  “You respond helplessly,” he said. “It seems you cannot help yourself.”

  “No,” I said. My slave fires had been ignited.

  “I think we will get along very well,” he said.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  “Later, perhaps,” he said. “Now you will listen to me, and answer whatever questions may be put to you.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You look well,” he said, “kneeling as you are, naked, your hands braceleted behind you.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Still,” he said, “I think you should kneel properly.”

  “‘Properly’?” I said.

  “Spread your knees,” he said.

  “That is the position of the pleasure slave,” I said.

  “Not every pleasure slave is a gold-tarsk beauty,” he said. “Assume the position.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I was now, I gathered, a pleasure slave. How far I was, from the receptionist’s desk, from the office, from the firm, from the building, from my former world!

  “According to records,” he said, “to which I was made privy, albeit somewhat reluctantly, you were, on the slave world, named Phyllis Rodgers.”

  “On the world, Earth, yes, Master,” I said.

  “Your first master,” he said, “was Kurik, of Victoria, of the caste of Slavers.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “He rid himself of you,” he said.

  “I was sold,” I said.

  “Doubtless you bear him ill will,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said. “I think I displeased him on my former world, and this contributed to his decision to bring me to the markets of Gor. In any event, he saw me as a slave, and evaluated me accordingly. At that time, I knew nothing of masters and slaves, nor that he was a master, and I a slave.”

  “He was scouting you?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “And you did not treat him well?”

  “I did not know that he was a master, and I was a slave,” I said.

  “And you think your small contretemps brought you to the collar?”

  “I suspect so,” I said.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “You are clearly choice collar-meat. Even had you been the most pleasant and least offensive of prospects, you would have been destined to feel the sawdust of the slave block beneath your bared feet and hear the screams of excited, bidding men.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I thought of my friend, Paula.

  “That you might have been a bit annoying, or unpleasant,” he said, “would do no more than add a welcome piquant touch to the act of marking you down for shipment. Men enjoy seeing such women naked, and at their feet, in the chains of slaves.”

  “Any woman,” I said, “Master.”

  “Of course,” he said. “It is where you belong.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “How you must hate Kurik of Victoria,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “He brought you to the collar,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You would rejoice to see him come to ruin,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said. I recalled being in his arms, and crying out my love for him.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “I belong in the collar,” I said. “On my former world I was not in a collar, and though I knew, somehow, I belonged in a collar, I would have denied that I belonged in one. On Gor I am in a collar, know that I belong in one, and admit, and rejoice, in
the fact, that I belong in one, and that I am in one.”

  “You are a slave.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “It is hard to understand your former world,” he said. “Are not women women, and men men?”

  “Doubtless,” I said, “but it is not to be admitted.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “It is hard to understand the betrayal of nature, and the denial of blood,” he said.

  “There are those who profit from the misery and deprivation of others,” I said. “Causing pain to the many can be a path to power for the few.”

  “Surely there are some who see through this pathology,” he said.

  “Doubtless,” I said, “but it can be hazardous to notice such things, and even more hazardous to speak of them.”

  “I gather then,” he said, “if you are candid with me, which I trust you are, you do not hate, abominate, and loathe Kurik of Victoria.”

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “He sold you.”

  “I gather I was a poor slave, that he did not want me.”

  “Do you think you could recognize Kurik, of Victoria, should you see him again?”

  “Assuredly, Master,” I said.

  “I suspected,” he said, “that you hated Kurik of Victoria, and thus that I could most easily have my will with you did I pretend enmity to that noble, prized fellow, that most fortunate fellow, whom I gladly seek.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “That you would recognize him, and, in your hatred, would zealously seek him out, and report to me your success, that I might proceed with my mission.”

  “I do not hate him,” I said.

  “Excellent,” he said. “My work is then lighter, and more agreeable, given the welcome discarding of the burden of prevarication.”

  “Master?” I said.

  “Now,” he said, “I may manifest the benignity of my quest.”

  “I know nothing of this,” I said, looking at the foot of the couch. “I am only a slave.”

  “You do not bear Kurik of Victoria ill will?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “Would you like to see him profit, wax important, and come into great wealth?” he asked.

  “I would be pleased,” I said, “if I might, in some small way, further such an end.”

  “You would do your best to contribute to the welfare and good fortune of Kurik of Victoria?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said, uneasily.

  “Your wrists look well, braceleted,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “I act on behalf of my principal,” he said. “He seeks Kurik of Victoria, to tender him position, riches, and power.”

  “Kurik of Victoria is then most fortunate,” I said.

  “On behalf of my principal, it is incumbent upon me to contact Kurik of Victoria.”

  “Master does not know him?” I asked.

  “I have never, to my knowledge, seen him,” he said.

  “Surely he may be traced through the caste of Slavers,” I said.

  “There are elements in the caste of Slavers,” he said, “bands that are secret, that proceed covertly, even having recourse to vehicles forbidden by the laws of Priest-Kings.”

  “I know nothing of Priest-Kings,” I said.

  “Indeed,” he said, “it is rumored that certain elements of the Slavers, and others, have dealings with the enemies of Priest-Kings.”

  “I am ignorant of such things,” I whispered.

  “You do not think you were brought to Gor in a wagon or cart, surely,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “Such vehicles, which tread the skies themselves, are forbidden to the men of Gor by the denizens of the Sardar, the Priest-Kings,” he said.

  “I know little of such things,” I said. I did not even know if there were Priest-Kings.

  “My charge,” he said, “is to make contact with Kurik of Victoria, to see that he receives what he deserves.”

  “And I could identify him for you,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I have little more to go on than a description, which might fit a thousand men.”

  “Surely,” I said, “there must be many who could do this as well as I.”

  “Doubtless,” he said. “Who are they, where are they, how may I find them?”

  “I am only a slave,” I said.

  “So much the better,” he said. “I need a human sleen, who can be owned, and controlled, and leashed, so to speak, who can abet my work for months, if necessary, who fears not to be pleasing, who can be disposed of instantly. A slave is ideal for my purposes.”

  “There are many slaves,” I said.

  “Slaves can be difficult to trace through the markets,” he said. “Consider the difficulty I have had in locating just one, you. He brought you to the collar. He was your first master. Who would better serve my benign purpose?”

  “Your purpose is benign?” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “May I inquire the name of your principal,” I said, “the source of the projected emoluments, and the deserts you plan to bestow on my former master, the noble Kurik of Victoria?”

  “Ela,” he said, “such matters are confidential.”

  “Curiosity,” I said, “is not becoming in a kajira.”

  “I fear so,” he said.

  “And if I should be reluctant?” I asked.

  “You will not be,” he said, “for you wish the best for our dear Kurik of Victoria.”

  “But, even so,” I said.

  “You will obey, of course,” he said, “regardless, and, in your service, you will strive to be as diligent, efficient, and pleasing as possible, for you are not a free woman, but what you are, a fearful, collared beast, a slave.”

  “What,” I asked, “if I should fail?”

  “Then,” he said, “I will cut your throat.”

  A silence ensued.

  “Does my master, Tullius Quintus, live?” I asked.

  “That is not his name,” he said.

  “There is another name on my collar,” I said.

  “Neither would that be his name,” he said. “He is Arnold, a renegade from Harfax, a vagrant who haunted the wharves of Brundisium. It was there that he acquired information pertinent to the interests of my principal.”

  “It had to do with Kurik of Victoria?” I said.

  “With some venture in which he was involved,” he said.

  “A venture?” I said.

  “Kurik of Victoria,” he said, “is the key to the venture, and you are the key to Kurik of Victoria.”

  “My master,” I said, “he whom I knew as Tullius Quintus, of Ar, I fear, wished to sell me to some bidder, that I might be used to locate Kurik of Victoria.”

  “He realized you were sought,” he said, “relentlessly, and, accordingly, anticipated that matters of moment were afoot, and, if he held you, he might realize from some source a handsome profit, one well beyond your likely market value.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “He trolled,” he said, “casting his lines about, a word here, a word there, in the taverns, in the markets, words that would be meaningless to most, stray sounds, but telling to he who might have an ear for the name ‘Phyllis’, for the name ‘Kurik of Victoria’.”

  “It was you who sought me,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said, “and perhaps others.”

  “Many, it seemed, feared to keep me,” I said.

  “It is dangerous to hold a slave,” he said, “who would be purchased with steel.”

  “My master,” I said, “wanted gold.”

  “And would conceal you unt
il this gold was forthcoming,” he said.

  “He courted danger,” I said.

  “He gambled,” he said, “neither wisely nor well.”

  “Did he know you sought me?” I asked.

  “He suspected one such as I would do so,” he said, “but hoped nonetheless to purse gold before letting you go.”

  “Were you once in Market of Semris?” I asked.

  “Possibly,” he said.

  “So I was purchased?” I said, shuddering, keeping my eyes forward.

  “Yes, kajira,” he said.

  “With gold?” I said.

  “With steel,” he said.

  “Does he live?” I asked.

  “I was not paid to kill him, so he lives,” he said.

  “I do not see how I can help you,” I said. “I can recognize Kurik of Victoria, surely, but I have no idea as to his whereabouts. I gather he is not in Victoria. Might he not be in a hundred cities, a thousand towns or villages?”

  “He is in Brundisium, now, or will be shortly,” he said. “I am sure of it. My sources inform me that it is to Kurik of Victoria, in Brundisium, that the package is to be delivered, Brundisium, a great port, familiar with exotic cargos, unusual birds, mighty serpents, surprising beasts, a port where such cargos are not likely to elicit undue attention. It must be intercepted.”

  “From whence derives this cargo,” I asked, “that is to appear in Brundisium?” Brundisium was Gor’s greatest port on the continent. Once, I had heard, a large fleet, an invasion fleet, made landfall there, from the island Ubarates of Cos and Tyros. I knew little about such matters.

  “Have you heard of dark wars, of secret wars, wars challenging the reign of Priest-Kings themselves, wars for viable spheres, for Gor itself? Have you heard of Kurii, of Steel Worlds?”

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “The cargo,” he said, “derives from a Steel World.”

  “A Steel World?” I said.

  “A spherical, enclosed world, one of several concealed within the Sea of Stones,” he said.

  This made little sense to me.

  “What cargo?” I asked.

  “A gift,” he said, “but a gift we intend to acquire, a gift for which we have our own purpose.”

  “And you will discover, and obtain, this gift through the offices of Kurik of Victoria?”