Conspirators of Gor

by John Norman

“Turn about,” he said.

  I struggled about, and he untied the gag, and drew it away.

  “Face me,” he said.

  I did so.

  He poured some fluid from the thermos into the cup of the thermos, and held it to my lips, and I drank.

  It was warm tea.

  “That is enough,” he said, withdrawing the cup.

  “Would you like to eat?” he asked.

  Again I nodded, desperately.

  He began to finish his sandwich, but before doing so, tore off a portion, and held it to me.

  I extended my head to him, to take the bit of sandwich, but he drew it back, a little, so that I must reach farther forward to take it. Then, when I had done so, he permitted me to reach it, and take it.

  He had well impressed on me that he was in control of my food.

  He finished the sandwich, and I had finished the bit permitted to me.

  “You may lick my hand,” he said.

  I licked his wrist, and the back of his hand.

  In this way, I expressed my gratitude, that I had been given drink, and had been fed.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  I had said this naturally, understandably enough, for I was afraid. Yet, almost as soon as I had said the words, I wondered why I had used those particular words, in that particular way. Surely they seemed appropriate; but they also seemed familiar. It was as though I had heard them before, or read them somewhere. Then it occurred to me that I had read them, or something rather like them, in those books which Mrs. Rawlinson had discovered in my room, which she had seized, to my consternation and shame.

  “No,” he said.

  “Shall I replace the gag?” he asked.

  I shook my head, negatively.

  He had said we were in the country, and that it would do no good to scream. Certainly that seemed plausible, given the roughness of the road. And I hated the gag. How helpless a woman feels when speech is denied her! Too, he was a powerful man, and I did not doubt that even the suspicion that I might cry out might earn me a blow which might render me unconscious. Too, I saw those large hands, and did not doubt but what they might, if he wished, snap my neck.

  I would not cry out.

  “Lie on your stomach,” he said.

  I lay on my stomach across his jacket.

  He checked the bonds on my wrists and ankles. Apparently all was in order. They needed no adjustment.

  So I lay on my stomach, under the dome light, bound, as the van sped on through the night.

  I became very much aware that he was looking at me, prone and bound, lying across his jacket, under the dome light.

  I began to suspect, trembling, what it might be for a man to see a woman so. And I was well aware that I was not unattractive. I knew that I had been accepted as a pledge to the sorority at least in part because of my beauty, as had been the other girls. We were a house of beauties. Certainly we had teased, and taunted, and dismissed, many young men who had sought our company. We were angling for the best on campus, for whom we were willing to compete. So surely I must not simply lie there before him. He was a strong man, and I was helpless. Was I not like a tethered ewe, in the vicinity of a tiger? I feared the teeth, the claws, of such a beast, but, too, I wondered what it would be to feel them on my body. I became much aware of the anklet fastened about my left ankle, the ribbon wound twice and knotted about my neck. I must attempt to distract him.

  “I beg to speak!” I said.

  Again, I had the sense that these words were somehow familiar. In any event, they expressed how desperately I wished to speak.

  “You may speak,” he said.

  “Untie me,” I said. “Let me go!”

  “No,” he said.

  “I am naked,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “You are being taken to a collection point,” he said, “from which point you will be shipped.”

  “Then there are others,” I said.

  “Several,” he said.

  “As I?” I asked, pulling a bit at the bonds.

  “Yes,” he said.

  How helpless I was!

  “Free me,” I said. “I can give you money, much money! I can make it worth your while, very much so!” I recalled that a fellow in the house had said something like ‘forty, perhaps sixty’ in response to another’s question. I could double or triple forty, or better, even sixty, thousand dollars for my freedom, simply from immediately available resources and accounts. “Whatever you, and your fellows, might get for me,” I said, “I can give you more, much more! Let me go!”

  “But what of the others?” he asked.

  “Surely they are rich, as I!” I said.

  “Not at all,” he said. “We take some who have little to commend them but their extraordinary beauty, their high intelligence, and latent, exploitable needs.”

  “If they cannot pay,” I said, “then let it be done with them as you will.”

  “It will be done with them as we will,” he said.

  “What of my sorority sisters?” I said, frightened.

  “They are all in hand,” he said.

  I thought of Mrs. Rawlinson.

  “All of them are rich,” I said.

  “No,” he said, “all are penniless, destitute, as you are.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “If you were to be freed this moment,” he said, “you would soon discover that every economic resource you had has disappeared, vanished, save, I suppose, your body, which might bring you something from time to time on the streets.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “There are ways, arrangements, documents, transfers,” he said.

  “You’re joking,” I said.

  “No,” he said.

  “You already have everything I could give you?” I said.

  “And something more,” he said.

  “What?” I said.

  “You,” he said.

  “You will never get away with this!” I said.

  “On your world,” he said, “you guard your goods, your automobiles, yachts, jewels, gold, almost everything, but not your women. We do not make that mistake with our women. Your women are like public fruit, ripe, moist, fresh, and tempting, dangling within easy reach, harvested without difficulty at our pleasure.”

  I thought it odd, the expression “on your world.”

  “We harvest judiciously,” he said, “with an eye to only the finest stock, wherever found, Japan, England, Germany, France, Denmark, wherever it may be found. We are particular.”

  “I am to be flattered?” I said.

  “You and your so-called sisters,” he said.

  “I see,” I said, bitterly. My body was sore, cold, and tired, even lying on his jacket.

  “In your party,” he said, “did you notice the eyes of the boys on you, and your camisked sisters?”

  “Eve, and Jane,” I said. “Yes, it was difficult not to be aware of that.”

  “Perhaps that was the first time you were ever looked upon that way,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, “but on the beach I was not unaware of the eyes of men on me.”

  “That white, one-piece bathing suit,” he said, “was amusing, so putatively modest, and yet so subtly expressive.”

  He knew about the suit!

  “You enjoyed taunting the fellows with that,” he said.

  I did not respond.

  “And then,” he said, “when they were lured in, when they were encouraged, when they thought themselves welcomed, turning the freezing blast of a cold stare upon them, feigning surprise, indignation, and innocence. How useful was that little suit in your trivial, pretentious girl games.”

  “Let me go,” I said.

  “Surely you are aware of what I might do with you now, if I pleased,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, frightened. I wondered what it might be, to
be put to the purposes of such a man, no boy, but a man.

  “There are examination positions,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “You will learn them,” he said, “and assume them instantly upon command.”

  “I am afraid,” I said. “Please free me. I will make no trouble. I will say nothing. I will not go to the police.”

  “Do you think we do not have arrangements with the police?” he said.

  “On the street,” he said, “it may be as simple as stopping and lowering your head, while being scrutinized, and assessed.”

  “Assessed?” I said.

  “But at the party,” he said, “the look of the men was quite different, was it not?”

  “Yes,” I said, shuddering. “But I was half-naked, and I had to behave in certain ways, I had to be obedient, subservient. I was being punished, and so, too, were Eve and Jane!”

  “Did it not excite you to be so clad, to act so, to be so looked upon?” he asked.

  “‘Excite me’?” I asked.

  “Sexually,” he said.

  “How dare you!” I said.

  “I see it did,” he said.

  Bound, tears of shame welled in my eyes.

  “How do you think you were looked upon?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “You were half-naked and there were collars on your necks, locked collars,” he said.

  “So?” I said.

  “How do you think you were looked upon?” he said.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “Speak,” he said, not pleasantly.

  “As slaves!” I said.

  “You, and your sisters, are shallow, petty, vain, spoiled, mercenary, meaningless, little bitches,” he said. “You are worthless.”

  “No,” I said. “No!”

  “What,” he asked, “if you should meet not the men of your world, boys, half-men, subdued men, furtive glancers, guilty, shamed, crippled men, men trained to betray their nature, taught to suppress their manhood, but other men, natural men, quiet, unpretentious, powerful, confident, self-assured men, men who look upon women as delights, as delicious creations of nature to be fittingly brought within the ambit of one’s power, to be owned and mastered.”

  “Could there be such men?” I asked. I was terrified because I, and my sisters, in our meaninglessness, were worthy to be to such men no more than slaves. But better I thought to be the abject slave of such a man than the pampered darling of a rich weakling, of the sort to which our background and the nature of our lives directed us. Owned by such a man one would strive to please him. One would hope, trembling, to be found pleasing

  “There are such men,” he said, “even on Earth.”

  “Surely not!” I said.

  “There is nothing wrong with the men of Earth,” he said. “They are the same as those of which I speak. It is a cultural matter. It is possible that in a thousand years the men of Earth will come to understand what has been done to them, and they will find themselves.”

  “Are my resources, my wealth, truly gone?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Then I cannot use them to purchase my release, my freedom,” I said.

  “No,” he said.

  “Doubtless they are worth far more than I would sell for,” I said.

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “But my value,” I said, “is not negligible.”

  “I gather,” said he, “you are curious to know what you might sell for.”

  “Yes!” I said.

  I turned my head to him, with difficulty. He was smiling. I did not realize, at the time, that I had acknowledged myself the sort of woman on whom a price might be set.

  “It is hard to say,” he said. “We speculated that you might go from somewhere in the neighborhood of forty to sixty.”

  “So that is what a beautiful woman, one as beautiful as I, would bring on the Arab slave market,” I said, “forty to sixty thousand dollars.”

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “You intend to sell me in the Middle East,” I said, “to some sheik, some rich merchant.”

  “No,” he said.

  “To be held captive in some remote desert palace?”

  “That seems unlikely,” he said.

  “He would buy me for a wife,” I said.

  “Scarcely,” he said.

  “Surely not for less,” I said. “Surely not for a mere concubine!”

  “No,” he said.

  “Then?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “No, no!” I said.

  He was silent for a bit. I sensed the van making a turn.

  “I am a free woman!” I said.

  “Free women,” he said, “regard themselves as priceless. You did not.”

  “What then,” I asked, “do you think I am?”

  “That should be clear,” he said.

  I struggled in the bonds.

  “You will not be sent to the Middle East,” he said.

  “Where then?” I said.

  “Gor,” he said.

  “Do not tease me,” I said. “Be kind! Be merciful! Do not sport with a stripped, helpless captive!”

  “Gor,” he said.

  “That is fiction,” I said. “It is only in books, only in stories, only in stories!”

  “Gor,” he said.

  “I told you in the house,” I wept. “There is no such place! There is no such place!”

  Then the van had stopped, I had no idea where.

  Then I was aware of a hand in my hair, which pulled my head up and back, and, from the side, from my left, a soft, folded bit of white cloth, some six inches square. This square of cloth was damp, with some chemical. It was placed over my nose and mouth, and held in place, closely. I struggled for a moment, and then lost consciousness.

  * * * *

  “You look well in chains,” he said.

  I was well illuminated in the light of the torch.

  “Please give me clothing!” I begged.

  “Clothing is not necessary,” he said, “as you are a slave.”

  “I am not a slave!” I said.

  He pointed to his feet.

  I crawled to him, the chains on my wrists and ankles dragging on the large, flat stones, and, head down, frightened, pressed my lips to his feet.

  “See?” he said.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “—Master.”

  He then exited, bending down, and the small iron gate closed behind him. A moment later I heard a key turning in the lock, and was in darkness.

  I realized I was on Gor.

  Chapter Six

  In the small room, with the panel bolted on the outside, where we were commonly housed when not serving in the large outer room, the Gorean girl, well collared, had accosted me, demanding that I, a mere barbarian, should kneel before her. I had refused. She, with her beauty, her marked thigh, her encircled neck, was no more than I!

  “How then did they recognize you as a slave?” she had asked.

  “I have no idea,” I had said, though, in truth, I had an idea of such matters.

  “You must have been assessed,” she had said.

  “Doubtless,” I had said.

  Suddenly the door had been unbolted from the outside, and Tela, first girl, entered. All of us in the small room immediately went to our knees, and put our heads to the floor, the palms of our hands on the floor beside our heads.

  “I am frightened,” said Tela. “Something is wrong.”

  We dared not change position, as we had not received permission to do so.

  “Be as you would,” said Tela.

  We looked up.

  Usually Tela’s switch dangled from her wrist.

  It was not there now.

  She was clearly frightened, and her alarm spread to the rest of us, not now serving. I was the only barbarian in the room. We feared Tela, for she was first girl, our switch mistress. I had neve
r seen Tela frightened before, except before the masters. There were two of us in the outer room, who would be, as far as I knew, serving.

  “What is wrong, Mistress?” asked Midice.

  “The guests have fled,” she said.

  I did not understand this, for the tables, the games, did not close until the early morning.

  “I fear the masters are undone,” she said. “They have departed.”

  “What is going on, Mistress?” asked Midice.

  “Listen!” said Tela.

  “Oh!” whispered Lucia.

  “The drums of guardsmen,” said Daphne.

  “They are coming closer,” said Cara.

  “Closer!” wept Portia. I gathered she had had dealings with guardsmen before. She seemed very much afraid.

  “What of the masters?” said Dina. She wore the tiny Dina brand, “the slave flower.” The Dina is a familiar slave brand, but not nearly as common as the cursive Kef. The girls who wear that brand are often called “Dina,” doubtless from the mark.

  “I do not think they will escape the city,” said Tela.

  Our house was one of several on the Street of Chance in Ar.

  Outside the drums had stopped, and we heard shouting, and pounding, from the sound of it, the pounding of spear butts, on the door.

  “You know nothing!” said Tela.

  I sensed that Faia and Tirza, in the outer room, must have hastened to the door, and, struggling, removed the long, heavy beam which secured it. I would later learn that the masters, as they departed, had instructed them to set the beam in place. In this, they may have been hoping to gain time.

  The doors burst open and there were heavy footsteps, as of high, military sandals. I heard Faia and Tirza scream. There were shouts, and a crashing, and piling, of furniture.

  In a moment I sensed fire, and, through the door, saw wild shadows cast on the walls, of armed men, breaking tables, hurling them to the center of the room. I smelled smoke.

  “Run, run!” said Tela, hastening back, into the larger room.

  We, in our serving tunics, crying out with fear, hurried out, into the larger room. Smoke was now billowing from the flaming heap in the center of the room, the tables, the wheels, the boards, the boxes of gaming pieces. We fled toward the welcome of the opened door, but our passage was blocked by a lowered spear.

  “Where is your master?” said a voice.