Norman, John - Gor 23 - Renegades of Gor.txt

Norman, John - Gor 23 - Renegades of Gor.txt Page 51

by Renegades of Gor [lit]

  “Yes,” I said, startled.

  “You said to her,” he reminded me, “that you had no intention of imperiling your

  life for her.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Yet I think had I not spared her,” said he, “that you would have drawn your

  sword on her behalf.”

  “I said what I did,” I said, “because I knew it would not be necessary to

  imperil my life for her.”

  “How could you know that?’ he asked.

  “Because Aemilianus, and those like him,” I said, “are honorable men.”

  “You were counting on that?’ he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And had we not, in your opinion, behaved honorably?’ he asked.

  “Then I would have drawn my sword,” I said.

  “I thought so,” he said.

  “I am sorry,” I said.

  “Even were I other than I am,” he smiled, “I do not think I would have wanted

  you to draw your sword against us.”

  (pg.397) I did not respond.

  “Particularly over a woman,” he said. He held out his hand to Shirley, and she

  came quickly to kneel beside him and took his hand, and lifted it to her lips,

  kissing it, softly.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “And in particular,” said Aemilianus, “one who was soon to become a mere slave.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Shirley, holding and pressing her lips to the hand of Aemilianus, looked up at

  me.

  I smiled. Swords are often drawn on Gor over women, and particularly over lovely

  slaves. Women are prizes, perfections and treasures. It is no wonder that men

  fight over them with ferocity.

  Wars have been fought to recover a stolen slave.

  I then, quietly, withdrew from the presence of Aemilianus, permitting Shirley to

  attend him.

  I went forward. In doing so I passed some slaves and masters, amidships. How

  beautiful were the slaves in their collars and brief tunics. I then proceeded

  farther forward, taking my way beside free women, and some children, and climbed

  to the tiny bow deck, forward of the stern castle, immediately behind the prow.

  I stood there, and looked down the river. I could see the advance ships some

  quarter of a pasang, or so, ahead. I wondered what the warnings of Calliodorus,

  if Aemilianus had read him aright, might have been about.

  22 Publia, Slave

  (pg.398) Publia lay before me, on her stomach, over a pile of rope, aft on the

  Tais. Her head was down. Her neck was chained to a ring in the deck.

  “You?’ she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Please be kind to a woman who is now only a slave,” she said.

  I laughed, softly.

  She shuddered.

  She was pretty, lying on her belly, over the ropes, her head down.

  But yet, I thought, as she is a slave, surely she should be permitted to beg for

  kindness.”

  “Do not hurt me,” she begged.

  “That is muchly up to you,” I said.

  “To me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I do not have any intention, at least at present, of hurting

  you. On the other hand, if you prove to be in the least disagreeable, do not

  fear, I will not hesitate to inflict discipline, and severe discipline, upon

  you.”

  “I understand,” she said.’

  “You were once Lady Publia, of Ar’s Station,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, frightened.

  “Who are you now?” I asked.

  “Publia,” she said, “a slave.”

  (pg.399) “Lift yourself, Publia, slave,” I said.

  She cried out, softly, perhaps not anticipating the sternness of my grip upon

  her.

  “Master,” she said.

  She clutched ropes in the coils on which she lay. “Ohhh,” she said, suddenly.

  Then she began to gasp, and make helpless noises.

  The moons were full. The slave was pretty. It was late. We were two days yet

  from Port Cos.

  I then crouched beside her, and turned her, and lifted her. I held her knees up,

  close to her belly. Her body was a small, curvaceous delight. I then put her on

  her back, on the coils of rope. I bent over her and then, with one hand, behind

  the back of her neck, gripping it, lifted her head, bringing her face beneath

  mine, forcing it there. I then kissed her, and let her lie back on the ropes.

  Her eyes were wide, and soft, and frightened.

  “You were a pretty warder,” I said.

  “I am a slave,” she whispered, “only a slave.”

  “Perhaps you desire to be pleasing?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said fervently. “I desire to be pleasing!” She then reached out for

  me and put her hands behind the back of my neck. She then lifted her lips

  timidly to mine, fearing, it seemed, that her overture might be refused, that

  they might be rejected. “I do desire to be pleasing, Master,” she whispered. I

  permitted her to kiss me.

  Later we lay together, side by side.

  It was near morning now. I had waited until the crew had finished with her,

  until late, before I had approached her. In this way I could have more time with

  her. I supposed that in an Ahn or so a fellow would come by, to release her from

  the chain, to return her to the hold. They were no longer kept in the tiny

  cages. They were free in the hold, though the hatch was locked. Claudia had been

  put at the ring earlier and returned to the hold earlier. Publia had been put at

  the ring later, and would be returned to the hold later. For a time during the

  evening, both had been at the ring. Tomorrow night, as it was on alternate

  nights, Claudia would be put at the ring later, and Publia earlier.

  “On the day after tomorrow,” I said, “we reach Port Cos.”

  (pg.400) “I know,” she whispered.

  “The ship will be decorated,” I said. “You and Claudia will be displayed at the

  prow.”

  “I have heard that,” she whispered. “How will we be dressed for that honor?”

  “You will be naked,” I said.

  “And in chains?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “or perhaps ropes. You surely know how women are displayed at

  prows.”

  “How will it be done?” she asked.

  “You will probably be hung there,” I said, “one on each side of the prow.”

  “Doubtless it is a great honor,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said. “But do not fear, I am sure that both of you, even if there were

  a cargo of superb captures aboard, would still be excellent candidates for the

  honor.”

  “I am not accustomed to thinking of myself as an ornament,” she said.

  “It is one of the purposed to which a slave girl may be put,” I said.

  “But now I find myself intrigued by the idea of serving so,” she whispered.

  “Oh?” I said.

  “Yes,â�
� she whispered, “of being found so beautiful that men would display me so.

  Oh, I fear it, but, too, I find it exciting, and meaningful and thrilling. I am

  coming to understand now how marvelous it is to be beautiful and attractive to

  men. I feel so much myself, and so real, and female! Will not other women, I

  wonder, resent and hate me that it was I who was put at the prow and not they?”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Sometimes, when I was a free woman,” she said, “I wondered, secretly, of

  course, what it might be like, to be so displayed.”

  “You will soon know,” I said.

  “Am I beautiful?” she asked.

  (pg.401) “Yes,” I said, “and you will discover that in bondage you will become

  even more beautiful. Indeed, you will find you have little choice in the matter.

  There are many reasons for it, physical and psychological.”

  “I want to be beautiful,” she said, “and I am proud to be beautiful!”

  “Beware of free women,” I said.

  “Surely masters will protect me from serious harm,” he said.

  “They will usually endeavor to do so,” I admitted.

  “I will be proud, being put at the prow!” she said.

  “Beware of becoming too proud,” I said.

  “Maser?” she asked.

  “Do you wish to be whipped again?” I asked.

  “No!” she said. She had been whipped on our second night out, from Ar’s Station.

  “The whip is an excellent device for taking pride from a woman,” I said.

  “I do not doubt it,” she said.

  “Or, generally,” I said, “for bringing about reforms in her character.”

  “Yes,” she laughed, “and for bringing us to you in any way you please to have

  us.”

  I then kissed her, and left her.

  23 Claudia, Slave

  (pg.402) The slave lay before me, on her stomach, over a pile of rope, aft on

  the Tais. Her head was down. Her neck was chained to a ring on the deck.

  “Is it you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I am afraid of you,” she said. As a slave she had a right to this fear, indeed,

  a right to the fear of any man.

  “Do you wish to beg for mercy?” I asked.

  “Would my pleas be meaningful?” she asked. “I am a slave. Will masters not do

  with me as they please, regardless of my pleas?”

  “They will do with you as they please,” I said, “but if they harken to your

  pleas, then it may be that what will please them will be to do with you as you

  plead.”

  “Then by all means,” she said. “I plead for mercy!”

  “But will it be shown to you?” I asked.

  “I do not know, Master,” she whispered.

  “That, you see,” I said, “is what the masters will decide.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You were once Lady Claudia, of Ar’s Station,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Who are you now?” I asked.

  “Claudia!” she said, “a slave.”

  She was pretty, lying on her belly, on the ropes, her head down.

  (pg. 403) “Lift yourself, Claudia, slave,” I said.

  “Oh!” she said.

  She was then held helplessly. She could not so much as move without giving me

  great pleasure.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  “I am afraid I will yield to you,” she whispered.

  “And what is wrong with that?” I asked.

  “But as a shameless slave!” she wept.

  “Do so,” I said.

  Then, sobbing, then gasping with elation, with relief, she yielded. I could

  hardly hold her for a moment, even with her small body, so grateful, so wild, so

  eager she was in her sudden, joyous, spasmodic helplessness.

  Then she was on her belly, sobbing, pressing down into the ropes, as though she

  would hide herself in them. Her head was down, turned to one side, the side of

  it pressed against the ropes. She sobbed wildly, helplessly, poignantly, not

  able to understand her own behavior, shamed.

  I crouched beside her.

  “So that is how a slave is used!” she gasped.

  “Sometimes,” I said.

  “Surely no free woman would be used in such a manner!” she said.

  “Presumably not often, at any rate,” I granted her. I did know that free women

  might be, and occasionally were, used in that way, for example, to insult them,

  or prepare them for the collar. To be sure, the man who used them in that

  fashion might as well be, I supposed, for most practical purposes, their master.

  “Do you presume, incidentally,” I asked, “to arrogate to yourself the rights or

  modesties, or the least of the prerogatives of the free woman?”

  “No, Master!” she said.

  “Do you presume, further,” I asked, “to inquire into even the least of the

  sexual habits or activities of free women, whatever they might be?”

  “No, Master!” she said. Her response amused me. Naturally both free women and

  slaves, as both are women, are very much interested in one another’s sexual

  activities. It is very natural. To be sure, unless the slave is a bred slave,

  most of this interest is on the part of the free women, for the (pg.404) slaves

  have usually, at one time or another, been free women, and have a very good idea

  of how narrow, dull, limited and mediocre is the sex life of the free woman.

  indeed, the matter is paradoxical, for the free women have a tendency both to

  inquire eagerly into the behaviors expected of slaves, and enjoined upon them,

  and, at the same time, commonly profess horror and scandal at what they hear.

  “Such things are no longer of concern to you, are they?”

  “No, Master!” she said.

  “And you are a little liar, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Forgive me, Master!” she said.

  “In any event,” I said, “you need not concern yourself any longer with the

  sexual activities, the proprieties, and such, of the free woman. Your attention

  is now to be more properly focused on your own business and concerns, for

  example, such things as the many intricate, exciting, complex and delicious

  sexual modalities and behaviors of the female slave.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  The moons were full. The slave was pretty. It was late. We were one day out from

  Port Cos.

  I then turned her, and lifted her, as I had Publia, holding her knees up, close

  to her belly. Her body, like Publia’s, was a small, curvaceous delight. I then

  put her on her back, as I had Publia, on the coils of rope.

  She turned her face away from me, that out eyes not meet.

  “Look at me,” I said.

  She turned her eyes toward mine, reluctantly, but helplessly, commanded to do

  so. They were filled with tears. Her lip trembled.

  “Surely,” I said, “you have been richly used before now.
This is not your first

  night at the ring.”

  “But I know you,” she said.

  “And do you think any man can be known as well as a slave knows her master,” I

  asked, “or that any woman can be known as well as a slave is known by her

  master?”

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “No,” I said. “The relationship of master and slave is the relation of total,

  helpless intimacy.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened.

  “To be sure,” I said, “the knowing of a master by his (pg.405) slave, and of a

  slave by her master, cannot occur immediately. It is a natural relationship, and

  thus like any other natural relationship, for example, between a sleen and its

  master, it will take time.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “Do you have any questions?” I asked.

  “How can a man who truly knows a woman treat her as a slave?” she asked.

  “It is easy,” I said.

  She regarded me, frightened.

  “His knowledge even facilitates the matter,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “It would.”

  “There is even a special pleasure in doing so,” I said, “in mastering, and

  commanding, she who is most intimately known.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “Similarly,” I said, “the nature of women, what they truly are, most deeply

  within themselves, apart from, and beneath the gross, accumulated encrustations

  of artificialities and conventions, which must be peeled away, to reveal the

  true woman, naked and loving, is important.”

  “I love men,” she confessed, seeming scarcely daring to whisper it.

  “Are you ashamed of that?’ I asked.

  “Should I not be?’ she asked.

  “No,” I said. “You are no longer a free woman. You no longer need to conceal

  your feelings. You may now openly and freely admit your interest in men and your

  love for them.”

  “The intimacies of which you spoke, the knowledges, the closeness,” she said,

  breathlessly, holding to me. “Such things are at the discretion of the master,

  are they not?”

  “Largely,” I said.,

  “And not all masters grant them, do they?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. I could not deny to her that some masters are

 

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