Savages of Gor

by John Norman

  "I do not know, Master," she said.

  "That is the way it is on Gor," I said.

  "Yes, Master."

  "They are slaves. Therefore, let there be no mistake in the matter. Let them be revealed as what they are. They are animals, and merchandise. Let them be so exhibited, to the eyes of all. How terrible it would be to confuse a mere slave, a lowly slave, with a glorious free woman. How grievously insulting to the glorious free woman! That a woman is in bondage is to be made evident to all. That she is no more than a slave should be manifest. It must be divulged to all, with perfect clarity, given even the briefest glimpse, that she is a slave. Too, it is good for the slave to be so distinguished. Dressed in a certain way, and such, she is not likely to forget herself, not likely to forget that she is nothing, only slave."

  "Yes, Master."

  "Too, she sees that she is not unique. She sees that there are others like her. That is good for her. She sees that there is nothing special about her status or condition. It is shared by many. She is not unique in being on a chain or being fastened to a master's slave ring. She now has an identity, and is a certain sort of thing, a thing which is frequently encountered, the female slave, a thing with which she is likely to be culturally familiar. And this thing, she knows, is a thing which is acknowledged, and accepted, and taken for granted. Even many women brought from one city to another, perhaps as a result of raids or wars, take their new status and condition for granted. It is simply something which can happen to a woman. They understand it, and, from their own city, are familiar with it. Too, most welcome it, for it releases their profoundest womanhood. No longer within her heart need languish the secret slave. Too, she understands, whether this pleases her or not, that she is not only a familiar and accepted part of Gorean society, but that she, like its gardens and architecture, is one of its loveliest aspects. If nothing else, the eyes of men upon her will convince her of that. It does not take her long to realize that she, in her way, despite her meaninglessness and triviality, is something valuable, something remarkable, perhaps even ravishing or stunning, certainly something extremely appealing and lovely, and something admired, sought, esteemed and prized, at least by men. Few women, after a time, object to the realization that they are now, in the tunic and collar, something exciting, beautiful, and tantalizingly desirable."

  "I am frightened, Master."

  "Do you think that anyone who would see you as you are, in this tunic, would doubt that you are a slave?"

  "Not on Gor, Master."

  "It is called 'honesty'," I said.

  "Yes," she said. "But, surely, much must depend on the world."

  "Of course," I said. "I speak of an honest world. I speak of Gor."

  "Many women on my world, I suspect," she whispered, "—are held in bondage."

  "Why do you suspect that?" I asked.

  "From my sensing, of my needs," she said.

  "I understand," I said.

  "Do you think that any women on my world are held in bondage?"

  "Certainly," I said, "hundreds of thousands."

  "But their bondage is secret," she said.

  "Yes," I said, "for the most part."

  "Why should that be?"

  "There are many historical reasons, and, too, those who are unfulfilled and unhappy will go to great lengths to deny fulfillment and happiness to others."

  "Why is that?" she asked.

  "I do not know," I said.

  "Do they not speak much of freedom?"

  "The freedom they speak of is to be like them, and do as they demand."

  "On such freedoms," she said, "tyrannies are founded."

  "Without such freedom," I said, "tyrannies would be impossible."

  "I am confused," she said. "I do not know what I am, or what I should be."

  "Your aunt," I said, "and she whom you speak of as a female executive, seem to have been clearer on your nature than you yourself."

  "I fear so, Master," she whispered.

  "The female executive," I said, "in prescribing your garmenture, the pearls, and such, saw to it that you would be exhibited in the office, despite your upper-class background, as no more than a pretty menial, that you would be, if only in contrast with herself, displayed as, and presented as, no more than an attractive triviality."

  "How then could I appear otherwise?"

  "You were not otherwise," I said, "until you were sold in Kailiauk, until you were put on a chain. Then you became something. Then, for the first time in your life you had a clear, precise, meaningful identity, though it were imposed upon you, like a collar. Then, for the first time in your life, you had an actual value."

  "I see," she said, "the unenslaved slave is nothing, but the enslaved slave has a value, and a meaning."

  "Yes," I said. "The unenslaved slave is adrift, lost, aimless, remote from herself, confused, understanding little or nothing, unhappy, unfulfilled. She senses that she belongs at a man's feet. That is where she longs to be. She wants to be desired, truly desired, intensely. She wants him to lust for her so mightily, so greedily, so uncompromisingly, that nothing less than her full ownership can satisfy him. He wants her that much, that he will own her and keep her, and defend her, as his property against all others. And she wants this. She wants to be so wanted, and held. She wants him to collar and chain her, as his. She wants him to ravish her mercilessly, as her imperious master. And she wants to flame with passion in his arms. And so, before him, she kneels, head down, stripped and collared. Only then does she find herself, and understand herself, and understand what she has wanted for so long, and was cruelly denied. Only then has she come home. Only then has she found her true self."

  "These things confuse me," she said. "My emotions are like a storm. I am lashed to and fro. I feel much. I understand little. I do know that I am lying on blankets spread on grass, with blazing stars above, with wild moons overhead. I know I was removed from a chain. It was locked on my neck. I was sent to you. I lie beside you and am clothed in almost nothing, the brief, flimsy tunic of a mere slave. How am I to understand these things? Am I to cry out with misery or throw my head back and howl with relief and pleasure?"

  "Be patient," I said, "and if you wish to cling to something specific, and objective, simply consider matters of monetary value."

  "Of course!" she said, bitterly.

  "Miss Millicent Aubrey-Welles," I said, "in her freedom, had no monetary value. On the other hand the slave who was once she does have such a value."

  "Oh, yes," she said, "I have value! I cost 'seven nine', I am told, whatever that means."

  "That is," I said, "seven silver tarsks and ninety copper tarsks. That is an extremely high price for a girl. Many trained girls go for much less."

  "Doubtless I should be flattered," she said.

  "Grunt thinks you are worth more," I said.

  "Now I am certainly flattered," she said.

  I did not mention to her that Grunt thought he could get five hides of the golden kailiauk for her. I did not wish to exacerbate her vanity. Too, I was not sure she would bring so much.

  She tossed her head to the side.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  She laughed bitterly.

  "Speak," I said.

  "Here," she said, "I am a slave, and I must wear, if anything, what is given to me to wear. I am clothed, if at all, and how, and to what extent, according to the will of others. I have no choice in the matter."

  "You and the other girls," I said, "have been given tunics. Many girls do not have so much. Many girls would be pleased to be given even a rag to wear." There is no need to clothe animals, of course, and slaves are animals.

  "But, too," she said, angrily, "my superior prescribed what I should wear."

  "You were free," I said.

  "If I did not comply, I would have lost my position!"

  "I see," I said.

  "Is that not, too, a form of slavery?"

  "In a sense, I suppose, " I said.

  "She was
intent upon demeaning me!" she said.

  "Perhaps, rather," I said, "she merely wished you, for your own good, to be presented to others as you actually were, not as you thought you were, or thought you should be."

  "Presented as a clothed slave!"

  "I am supposing that that would have been preferable to serving naked, in a collar, in the office."

  "Master!" she protested.

  "I assure you," I said, "some of the men would have, in effect, seen you in that way."

  "They so look upon women?"

  "Some do," I said. "In any event, there is usually a congruence between clothing and what is clothed. It is not always a concealment and lie. The clothing of the slave girl, for example, when she is permitted clothing, tunics, and such, for example, is congruent in a lovely way with what she is."

  "And doubtless a locked collar on her neck, as well!"

  "You know of collars?"

  "I saw what Ginger and Evelyn wore!"

  "Yes," I said, "and doubtless a locked collar on her neck, as well. Few Gorean slave girls are without their personal collars, those that mark them slave and, usually, identify their masters, as well."

  "How pleasant for the masters!"

  "Many slave girls," I said, "are quite pleased with their collars, and are delighted, and proud, to wear them. Not every woman, for example, is permitted to wear a collar. Commonly only the finest, the most exquisite, the most feminine, the most desirable females are enslaved, for those are the ones that appeal most to men. Who would think of enslaving another sort? Except perhaps as an act of vengeance, or such. Many women are not thought worth a collar. The collar, in its way, is a symbol of quality, a sign of merit, a mark of value, a badge of superiority, a lovely and distinguishing token of female excellence."

  She looked up at me.

  "Do you see?" I asked.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "And someday," I said, "in one way or another, you will doubtless have a collar."

  Her fingers went timidly to her throat. It was as though she might touch a band there, of steel, or perhaps of beaded leather, laced shut.

  She was silent.

  "And such things, like the brand, are recommended by Merchant Law."

  "Of course!" she said, suddenly, angrily, as though recollecting herself.

  "Merchant Law," I said, "is the only law common to many Gorean cities."

  "I see," she said.

  "That is better than nothing," I said.

  "I am sure it is," she said.

  "And several of its provisions," I said, "have to do with domestic animals."

  "Kaiila?"

  "Yes," I said, "kaiila, tarsks, verr, slaves, and such."

  "Slaves?"

  "Yes."

  "I am a domestic animal?"

  "Yes," I said. "And the female executive simply, I conjecture, had you clothe yourself in such a way that a satisfactory congruence obtained between your nature and your garmenture."

  "No!" she said.

  "I think so," I said.

  "I should have been permitted executive garmenture, pantsuits, broadcloth shirts, neckties, and such!"

  "Did you object, truly, to the clothing you were expected to wear?" I asked.

  "No," she said, "not truly. I like pretty clothes, and the eyes of men on me."

  "As a Gorean slave girl," I said, "you will often find the eyes of men on you, though whether or not you will be permitted clothing will be a function of the decision of your master."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "How were you taken?" I asked.

  "After work," she said. "It was dark. I was driving back to my building. I stopped at a red light. Suddenly, to my horror, a narrow chain was looped about my throat. 'Drive as I direct,' said a male voice, from behind me. I could not scream. The chain was tight. I was terrified. He had been hidden in the car, behind the back seat. He tightened the chain a quarter of an inch. I could not breathe. I realized he could, if he wished, strangle me in an instant. A car honked behind us. 'The light has changed,' he said. He relaxed the chain, slightly. 'Continue on this street,' he said, 'in the outside lane, at a speed not exceeding twenty-five miles an hour.' I pulled away from the intersection. 'You will obey all my directions,' he said, 'immediately and to the letter, and you will address me as "Sir."' 'Yes,' I whispered. The chain tightened. 'Yes, Sir,' I whispered, fighting for breath. The chain then relaxed, slightly."

  "You were already being taught to obey, and to treat men with respect," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "'Do not try anything foolish,' he said, 'such as stalling or damaging the vehicle, for I can slay you in an instant, before I make my departure.' 'Yes, Sir,' I said. 'You may look in the rear-view mirror, if you wish,' he said. 'You have my permission.' I looked in the rear-view mirror, terrified. About my throat, closely looped, was a narrow golden chain. It was controlled by two narrow wooden handles, in his hands."

  "It was a girl-capture chain," I said. "It is to be distinguished sharply from the standard garrote, which is armed with wire and can cut a throat easily. The standard garrote, of course, is impractical for captures, for the victim, in even a reflexive movement, might cut her own throat."

  "Whatever it was," she said, "it was very effective. It controlled me perfectly."

  "Of course," I said. "That is why it is used."

  "In a few moments, the man made an adjustment in the chain, spinning one of the wooden handles. He could then control it with one hand. He tightened it, half choking me, and then released it, slightly. He had well displayed his power over me. He then released it a bit more. 'That's better, isn't it, Baby?' he asked. 'Yes, Sir,' I said. 'Good,' he said, 'we have a long drive ahead of us.' We then drove on, I terrified, he giving me directions. From other cars it would have seemed merely that a man, leaning forward, perhaps smiling, perhaps conversing with me, was in the back of my vehicle. If any saw the slender golden chain about my throat they did not, doubtless, conjecture its significance."

  "He was not masked?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  "A mask would have aroused suspicion," I said.

  "Yes," she said. "'Do not fear to look upon my face, if you wish,' he said, 'for you will not see it again, after you have been delivered.' 'Delivered!' I exclaimed. 'Yes,' he laughed, 'delivered, my pretty goods.' We then drove on. He let me engage in what, I suppose, are the standard threats and pleas of the captured girl, but, then, when he grew weary of this amusement, he stopped me. A slight pressure on the chain sufficed. We then drove on. The terrain became more remote, more desolate. Soon we were driving on graveled roads. Then we were driving on dirt roads, dark and lonely, lined with trees. I grasped very little of what was going on. I was terrified. The chain was on my throat. The beams from the headlights seemed wild on the road ahead of me. 'Slow down here,' he said, 'and pull into those trees, and stop.' I obeyed his commands. I switched off the car lights and turned off the car engine. I had delivered myself, though to whom, or what, or for what I had no idea. He took me from the car by the chain and soon I was in the hands of other men. He left, dropping the chain, with its handles, in the pocket of his jacket. I was thrown to my stomach in the grass. My hands were fastened behind me in some sort of metal restraining device. It was snug, and inflexible. My ankles were crossed and tied together with a short piece of rope. A metal anklet of some sort was fastened on my left ankle."

  "A girl's identificatory anklet," I said. "It is removed after her delivery to Gor."

  "A boxlike device was then placed near my head," she said. "It was hinged at one end and, on the other side, where it opened, there were matched, semicircular openings. My head then, by the hair, was placed in this box, and it was closed, enclosing my head, and shutting snugly about my neck. This opening was then further closed by wrapping a thick cloth about my neck and thrusting it up, so that it filled the space between my neck and the edges of the now-closed semicircular openings."

  "Interesting," I said.

 
"My head enclosed in the box," she said, "I heard a car being driven away. It was doubtless my own, driven by the fellow with the chain."

  "That is quite likely," I said. "He would wish to have a means to return to the city and, of course, it would be important to abandon or dispose of the car far from the scene of the abductors' rendezvous."

  "And I must remain behind," she said, bitterly.

  "Of course," I said. "You were then only a delivered capture."

  "A gas was then entered into the box," she said. "I tried to struggle. A man's foot held me in place. I lost consciousness. I awakened, I do not know how much later, in a grassy field on this world, chained by the neck with other girls."

  "Interesting," I said. "I do not know, but you may have been stored for a few days, perhaps even a few weeks."

  "Stored?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said, "perhaps hibernated. Then, when the order was complete, it could have been shipped in its entirety."

  "You speak of me as though I might be an object," she said, "a mere commodity."

  "You are," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I thrust the slave tunic up and then, pulling her to a sitting position, I pulled it off, her arms rising, over her head.

  "Do you object?" I inquired.

  "No, Master," she said. "I may not object. I am a slave."

  I cast the scanty garment to the side, on the grass.

  "Lie down," I told her, "on your back, with your arms at your sides, the palms of your hands up, facing the moons of Gor."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Lift your left knee, slightly," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said. I stood and looked down at her.

  "I now lie exposed before you, as a slave, Master," she said.

  "Is that fitting and proper?" I inquired.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because I am a slave," she said.

  "The answer is correct, and suitable," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Are you a new slave?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "That is incorrect," I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "The only sense in which you are a new slave," I said, "is that it has not been long since your legal embondment"