Conspirators of Gor

by John Norman

  “Surely as many, or more, envied you,” I said.

  “What a match, with such delightful charms, might you not have garnered for yourself.”

  “I had few repeat dates,” I said, “of the sort I wished.”

  “A serious male,” she said, “soon saw through your shallowness and hypocrisy. At best you might be of some transient interest at a slave ring.”

  “Perhaps I am different now!” I said.

  “You are,” she said, “you are now, as you should be, branded, and collared.”

  “What of you?” I demanded.

  “You dared to think of yourself as my equal, my rival,” she said.

  “Was I not,” I asked, “and one or two of the others?”

  “You were never my equal,” she said. “I was always, by far, your superior.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said. I supposed it was true.

  “How I hated you, how I despised you!” she said.

  I put my head down.

  “And now,” she said, “it is pleasant to see you again, and as you should be, and are, kajira.”

  “A slave notes,” I said, looking up, “that Mistress is camisked, and collared.”

  “Do you think you are clever?” she asked.

  “Mistress knows I am intelligent,” I said, “just as I know that Mistress is intelligent.”

  “I wonder what Mrs. Rawlinson saw in you,” she said.

  “Doubtless the same that she saw in you, and the others,” I said, “that we might do, as slaves.”

  “What do you know of Mrs. Rawlinson?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Doubtless she is on our former world, going about her work, abetting slavers, locating and assessing other girls such as we for the chains of Gor.”

  “Some of us wear the talmit,” she said.

  “I know one,” I said.

  “I trust you have been red-silked,” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said. “White-silk slaves are rare on Gor.”

  “I would have enjoyed seeing you in the hands of a man,” she said.

  “It is possible I might not appear that much different from Mistress,” I said, “were she in the hands of a man.”

  “Beware,” she said.

  “Perhaps Mistress has been red-silked, as well,” I said.

  She slashed down with the switch, striking my left shoulder.

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” I begged.

  “Now I have you amongst my girls!” she said.

  “Please be merciful, Mistress,” I begged.

  “Who would have dreamed of this, pretty Allison,” she said.

  “Please be kind, Mistress,” I said.

  She then cried out in rage, and a storm of blows fell upon me, and I went, gasping and sobbing, to all fours, and then to my belly, trying to cover my head, and then, struck repeatedly, I was twisting on the floor, back to belly, then belly to back, and then to belly, again, and then the blows stopped, and I was on my belly, trembling, my hands beside my head, my body a raging tissue of fire.

  “Who is Mistress, and who is slave!” she demanded.

  “Mistress is Mistress, and I am slave!” I wept. My insolence, my forwardness, my boldness, was at an end. I was then only a beaten slave, cringing before her Mistress, fearing to be further punished.

  This was Gor, and I was kajira.

  “You are going to be well worked,” said Nora, “and often in shackles. You will know the heaviest of labors and the lowest and most repulsive of chores. If you are in any way lax or deficient you will be whipped, as you deserve.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I sobbed, almost a whisper. I was scarcely able to speak.

  “And recall,” she said, “that you exist for men!”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “Do you understand what that means?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “And if I hear of the least dissatisfaction,” she said, “it will mean the whip. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “Now,” said she, “kajira, to all fours, and crawl to the slave quarters, through that door. The last cage on the left is yours. Enter it, and draw shut the gate. It will lock automatically.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “Hurry,” she said. “Hurry! Faster! Faster!”

  “Yes, Mistress!” I wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Have you not finished yet?” asked Chloe.

  “Do not tell the Mistress,” I begged.

  “Only if she asks,” said Chloe. “I do not wish to be lashed.”

  Chloe bit into a larma, and the juice ran down her chin. “Where is your camisk?” she asked.

  “In the slave quarters,” I said. “It is not to be soiled.”

  “You had best hope that no men traverse here,” she said. She took another bite of the larma, and sucked the juice into her mouth. “Why are you shackled?” she asked.

  “It pleased the Mistress,” I said.

  “She is Mistress to us,” said Chloe, “but she is slave to the men. She is as much in a camisk and collar as the rest of us.”

  Chloe then went her way.

  It pleased me to think of the proud Nora on her knees, her lips pressed to the feet of men.

  I was on my hands and knees, and I dipped the heavy, thick-bristled brush into the soapy water again. The strokes are to be firm, and circular. Later one rinses with rags and clear water. As I moved, I heard the chain linking my ankles move on the wood.

  Nora would usually give me my assignments in the morning, as I knelt before her, specifying the times they should begin and the times within which they were to be completed. This was usually done in such a way that I could not complete the task in the allotted time. I would then be punished. Usually the punishment was not as serious as a lashing, though I had been bound and lashed twice. More often I was given a harsh scolding before the other girls, concluded with a stroke or two of the switch. The point of this was more to demean and humiliate me before my sister slaves than really hurt me. Indeed, Nora would have been treading a thin and dangerous line if she were to diminish my value. Often my punishment would consist of nothing more than being ordered to enter my small cage well before locking time, or being denied a meal. One expects a first girl to have her favorites, and those she least favors, but, I think, it was clear to all that for some reason I was very much in our first girl’s disfavor, and indeed, unusually so. I suppose most of the other girls thought me indolent or lax, or my work slovenly, but Jane and Eve, at least, realized that this hostility had nothing to do with those matters for which I was commonly castigated, but was of long standing, dating back, even, to a distant venue, one on another world. As long ago as my former world, I had sensed myself a slave, and this intuition or comprehension had been explicitly and undeniably confirmed at the party. Under Nora’s switch, she clad in regalia akin to that of the Gorean free woman, I actually camisked at her feet, I had cringed as the slave I was, being beaten. I had feared her afterwards, on my former world, and even here, on Gor, as Mistress, and knew myself fittingly a slave at her feet, or at the feet of any such as she. I wept at my work. How cruel she was! How helpless I was! Surely she must understand that I was trying to please her, and was striving desperately to do so. Could she never be satisfied? Could she not understand I was no longer what I had been, her haughty, pretentious, shallow, despised rival, Miss Allison Ashton-Baker, but was now only a humbled, helpless kajira at her mercy?

  “Allison,” said a voice.

  I went immediately to my belly on the wet, slick floor. I was terribly frightened. “Please do not beat me, Mistress!” I begged.

  “How is the task proceeding?” she asked.

  “I have not yet finished!” I said, trembling.

  “That is obvious,” she said. “When was the task to be finished?”

  “The Fourteenth Ahn,” I said.

  “It is past that time,” she said.

>   “I have not even begun to rinse the floor, Mistress,” I said.

  “That is obvious,” she said. “Do you think you could finish by the Seventeenth Ahn?”

  “Yes, Mistress!” I said.

  “Do not dally,” she said.

  “No, Mistress!” I said.

  “Have you pleased men?” she asked.

  “As they have summoned me,” I said.

  “Have they been pleased?” she asked.

  “It is my hope that they have been pleased,” I said. “I have striven to please them.”

  “Have slave fires begun to burn in your belly?” she asked.

  “A little, Mistress,” I said.

  “I see,” she said.

  “I cannot help myself, Mistress!” I said.

  “Have you been in the hands of Kleomenes?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  I went to my knees before her, as was appropriate, for she was first girl. I looked up. She touched her collar, dreamily.

  “Mistress?” I said.

  “We are all kajirae, Allison,” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “Am I beautiful?” she asked.

  “Extremely beautiful, Mistress!” I said.

  “Today,” she said, “I was put to the slave ring of Kleomenes.”

  “Chained?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Your beauty would grace any ring,” I said.

  “Do you think so?” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said.

  “I have been severe with you, Allison,” she said. “Tomorrow you will be unshackled. Tomorrow it will be with you, as with the others.”

  “Mistress!” I exclaimed.

  I threw myself to my belly before her on the wet floor, and pressed my lips to her feet, again and again. My eyes were flooded with tears. “Thank you!” I said. “Thank you, Mistress!”

  “There is to be no slacking in your work,” she said, “or in the pleasures you give the masters. If I am not satisfied, or if I hear complaints, you will lashed, and well.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said. “Thank you, Mistress!”

  “Now return to your work,” she said, “and do not dally.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I said, and seized up the brush, immersed it in the soapy water, and bent again to my task.

  “I will have Jane and Eve hold a plate for you,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mistress,” I said.

  The strokes are to be firm, and circular.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Lord Grendel!” I exclaimed.

  He lifted his head, behind the heavy bars, but did not otherwise acknowledge my outburst.

  A Kur guard crouched, as though somnolent, a few feet behind me, near the gated portal through which I had been admitted to the place of cells, the prison area, bearing the tray of food and drink. It was my first visit to this place.

  “What are you doing here, Lord Grendel?” I asked. “The Lady Bina is in this place. Others, too. Where have you been? What has happened to you? I do not understand. I am sure the Lady Bina would desire to speak with you. I have seen the blind Kur in a feast room, but not you. How is it you are here?”

  I heard sounds of Kur from the guard. They had a hint of menace about them. Though the guard seemed quiescent, even distant, I knew that those huge shaggy forms, sometimes almost like an enormous ball of muscle and fur with eyes, could spring alive in an instant, raging and snarling.

  With an easy movement, and an extension of his long arm, the guard, turning about, unhooked a translator hanging on its chain of iron links from a peg on the wall behind him.

  Again I heard some sounds in Kur, to my ears still little more than a bestial rumbling, reminiscent of sounds which one might expect from something like a larl, or sleen, but, oddly enough, different, seemingly articulated. Shortly thereafter, I heard, in Gorean, “You need not speak to him, kajira. He cannot understand you, he has no translator.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “Thank you, Master. Forgive me, Master.”

  The tray I bore was heavy.

  The guard, who now had the translator slung about his neck, presumably that it might be convenient, as I was about, reached back and, with a small mallet, removed from a peg, struck a hanging bar, which emitted a sharp, clear note, in response to which signal a second Kur shortly appeared at the portal and, the gate open, entered. He carried a large bow-like device, with four tiered, horizontally placed quarrel guides, each guide containing its missile. There were four triggers on the device. The slotted quarrels were heavy, and of iron, almost like short javelins. The four cable tensions, tiered, were such that I supposed few but a Kur could have readied the weapon. It seemed to me a terrible weapon, one which might splinter beams, perhaps shatter rocks, but, also, I supposed that it complied with the weapon laws of the Priest-Kings. It was, in its way, a form of complex crossbow. It would have been difficult for a human to lift, and, if it were not mounted, to fire.

  The guard, backed now by the second Kur, the armed Kur, motioned that Lord Grendel should retreat to the rear of his cell, which he did. The gate to the cell was then opened and I entered, bearing the tray. I put it down on the floor toward the center of the cell. Lord Grendel’s eyes watched me, closely. I knew he required no translator to understand me, and I knew, too, he could speak, in his way, Gorean. Clearly these things were not understood by the guard.

  As I was preparing to withdraw, Lord Grendel said something in Kur to the guard.

  The guard stood at the gate to the cell. I tried to slip past him, but was prevented from doing so. “Master?” I said.

  “The prisoner would be groomed,” said the guard, by means of the translator. “Do you know how to groom?” he asked.

  “Please, let me go,” I said.

  “Human females on the steel worlds,” he said, “are often kept as pets, and groom their masters. I see no reason why a kajira, who is even less than a pet, might not do so, as well.”

  “I am afraid,” I said.

  “Do you not groom your masters?” he asked.

  “We attend to them in all the ways of the slave,” I said. “We may dress them, tie their sandals, bathe them, and such.”

  “It is an honor for you to do so, is it not?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “It is a great honor and privilege for a slave to be permitted to serve her Master.”

  “How much more so then,” said he, “for you to serve a Kur.”

  “Let me go!” I begged.

  I was thrust back in the cell.

  “Groom him,” said the guard.

  “How is this to be done?” I asked.

  “You will be instructed,” he said.

  He then backed through the gate and swung it shut. I ran to the gate and extended my hands and arms through the bars. “Please let me out!” I begged. “Let me out! Do not leave me alone with him! I am afraid!”

  “I hope,” said the guard, “that the meal you brought is sufficient for the prisoner. Otherwise you may be eaten.”

  “Let me out!” I begged.

  I trusted this was a joke on the guard’s part, but I was not altogether sure of it.

  “If you groom well,” said the guard, scratching at his side, “I may permit you to groom me, as well. On this world we miss our pets.”

  He then spun about, hopping a little, which I took to be a sign of amusement. Shortly thereafter, the prisoner’s meal having been brought, and delivered, he, and his fellow, the large bow cradled in his arms, took their leave.

  I hurried to Lord Grendel, and knelt before him. “Master,” I said.

  “You are a clever slave,” he said. “You did well. I will be able, I am sure, to request your presence from time to time. You will be my eyes and ears.”

  “I am only a slave,” I said.

  “But a very pretty one,” he said.

  “How would Master know?” I asked. He was, after all, a beast.

&nb
sp; “I am part human,” he said. “You must forgive me. I cannot help that.”

  “Can you see me, as a human male might see me,” I asked, “and have emotions, feelings, desires, such things?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I am afraid,” I said.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said. “Why should I not be able to see how attractive you are, and how stimulating is your body?”

  “Master!” I protested.

  “Stimulating, indeed,” he said. “I expect that it, stripped and exhibited, well posed, well presented, would bring a good price off the slave block.”

  “I did not know this sort of thing,” I said.

  “What sort of thing?” he said.

  “How you might see me, or others,” I said.

  “You did not anticipate it?” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “You are quite fetching as you are,” he said, “your lineaments scarcely concealed, your neck in a collar.”

  I began to tremble.

  “That you are pretty, that you might be of interest to men, was important from the beginning to the Lady Bina,” he said, “who thought it might occasionally be found useful, for her purposes. Renting you out, or such. Now it seems I may rejoice in your charms, for I might, too, find some application for them.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “Where men are,” he said, “kajirae are welcome.”

  “Master?” I said.

  “You, and through you, Jane and Eve, too, may prove useful.”

  “I am afraid,” I said.

  “You remember how to groom me?” he asked.

  “Surely Master,” I said, “from the domicile, in the house of Epicrates, before contact was made with the blind Kur.”

  “That was largely to leave my scent upon you,” he said, “which was done that my fellow, who was blind, would know a Kur scent, and follow you, and, of course, not be likely to kill you. Now, of course, it will be necessary to give you some training, as an actual Kur pet, the biting, the nibbling, the use of your teeth, the swallowing of lice, and such.”