Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt

by Players of Gor [lit]

  “Make my maidens slaves,” she said. “They are good for little else. But I am a

  free woman!”

  “Do you think you are better than they?” asked Samos.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “You are no different from them,” he said. “you, too, are only a female.”

  “No!” she cried.

  “Remove your veil,” he said.

  “I am too beautiful to be a slave,” she said.

  “Your veil,” said Samos, gently. She was, after all, a free woman.

  Some of the slave girls, some naked, some scantily clad, looked at one another.

  Had they so dallied in their compliance, hesitating perhaps even an instant in

  their immediate and absolute obedience, serious punishments would doubtless have

  been theirs. They were, of course, only slaves.

  “Please, no,” said Lady Rowena.

  “You are my prisoner,” said Samos. “Doubtless you are

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  aware that you could be stripped absolutely naked at my slightest word.”

  She put her hands to the veil and, delicately, unpinned it, dropping it to the

  side.

  “Brush back your hood,” said Samos.

  She did so and, putting back her head, drew forth and freed, with both hands,

  long, golden tresses, which she arranged before her. They were in two plaits,

  one before each shoulder; they hung almost to her knees.

  “Unbind your hair,” said Samos.

  She unplaited her hair and, with her head down, shook it loose, and smoothed it.

  She then, again, lifted her head.

  “Put your hair behind your back,” said Samos.

  She did so.

  She then stood before us, regarded, as a woman.

  “What is to be my fate?” she asked.

  Samos and I regarded her admiringly. Several of the men did so as well. Several

  of them changed their position, to come about, near and behind our table, where

  they might see better. I heard soft cries from more than one of the slave girls.

  They, too, were impressed. The woman straightened her body. She could not help

  but bask in the warmth of our appraisal.

  I turned about a bit.

  I saw a blond-haired slave girl, in a brief, revealing tunic, sneak on her knees

  near to Samos. It was Linda, a former Earth girl, one of the preferred slaves of

  Samos. She was looking at the standing woman with fear and anger. She reached

  out to touch Samos’ sleeve. He shook free, a small gesture, of her touch.

  I then returned my attention to the standing woman.

  “As you can see,” she said to Samos, “I am too beautiful to be a slave.”

  I had seen thousands of slave girls who were more beautiful than she but, to be

  sure, there was no doubt about it; she was quite beautiful.

  Samos did not speak.

  “What is to be my fate?” she asked.

  “You are too beautiful not to be a slave,” said Samos.

  “No!” she cried. “No!”

  “Take her below,” said Samos to one of the two guards flanking the woman. “Put

  the iron to her body, left thigh, common Kajira mark, and, I think, for the

  time, a common house collar will do for her.” She looked at him, aghast. Then

  her two arms were seized by the guards. Samos looked down at

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  the board. “It is your move,” he said. I, too, returned my attentions to the

  board. The guards made as though to conduct the woman from our presence. The

  business with her, we assumed, was done.

  She struggled. “No!” she cried. “No!”

  Samos looked up, and the guards held her where she was. “Do you protest?” he

  asked.

  “Certainly,” she cried.

  “On what grounds?” he asked, puzzled. She was his by legitimate capture, and he

  could do with her whatever he pleased. Any court on Gor would have upheld this.

  “On the grounds that I am a free woman!” she said.

  “Oh?” he asked.

  “Yes!” she said.

  I could see that Samos was annoyed. He wished to return to his game.

  “I would rather die than be a slave!” she cried.

  “Very well,” said Samos. “Strip her.”

  In moments her clothing was half torn from her, and was down about her hips.

  “Why are you taking away my clothes!” she wept.

  “In order that the blood not stain them,” he said.

  “Blood!” she cried, in consternation. “I do not understand!”

  Then she was naked and thrown on her knees, her right side facing us. Even her

  gloves and slippers had been removed. One of the guards held her on her knees,

  bent over. The other guard took her hair in both hands and, by it, pulled her

  head down, and forward. The back of her neck, with its tiny, fine, golden hair

  was bared.

  “What are you going to do?” she cried.

  Samos signaled to another of his men, who unsheathed his sword.

  The fellow laid the edge of the blade gently on the back of her neck, and then

  he lifted the blade away and upward. He grasped the hilt with both hands, his

  left hand extending somewhat beyond the butt end of the hilt. In this way

  considerable leverage can be obtained. Several of the slave girls looked away.

  “What are you going to do!” she screamed.

  “Behead you,” said Samos.

  “Why!” she cried.

  “There is no place in my holding for a free woman,” he said.

  “Enslave me!” she cried.

  “I cannot believe my ears,” he said, skeptically.

  “Enslave me!” she cried. “Enslave me!”

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  The fellow with the blade lowered it a bit, and looked at Samos.

  “Is this the proud Lady Rowena of Lydius who speaks?” inquired Samos.

  “Yes,” she wept, helpless n the grip of the guards, her body bent forward, her

  head down.

  “The proud free woman?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she wept.

  “Let me understand this clearly,” said Samos. “In spite of the fact that I am

  willing to accord you the dignity of a swift and honorable death, one fitting

  for a free woman, you would choose instead, and prefer, the degradation of

  slavery?”

  “yes,” she said.

  “Speak clearly,” he said.

  “I beg slavery,” she said.

  “You understand, of course,” he said, “that the slavery for which you beg is one

  which is total and absolute?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I smiled to myself. It would be a Gorean slavery.

  “You seemed to think earlier,” said Samos, “that such a slavery might be all

  right for your maidens, but not for yourself.”

  “I was wrong,” she said. “I am no different from them. I, too, am only a

  female.”

  The fellow with the blade lowered it. The Lady Rowena, doubtless, saw it, near

  her neck.

  “I am troubled,” said Samos.

  The Lady Rowena twisted her head to
the right, wincing, from the hold of the

  guard, with two hands, on her hair, to regard Samos. Her face was agonized. her

  lip trembled. “Grant my petition, I beg you,” she said.

  “I hesitate,” said Samos.

  “Do you hesitate,” she asked, “because of some lack of certitude as to my

  nature, for fear of some impropriety or subtle lack f fittingness in such an

  action?”

  Samos shrugged.

  “Dismiss such reservations from your mind,” she said. Her body suddenly shook

  with sobs. “My pretense to freedom was always a sham. I am now ready to be a

  woman. Indeed, in this, I sense a possible fulfillment greater than any I have

  hitherto dreamed. How marvelous to cast aside the artificiality of roles and

  become, at last, what one truly is, one’s self!”

  “Speak more clearly,” said Samos.

  “It is appropriate that I be enslaved,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked.

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  “Because,” she said, “in the deepest heart and belly of me I am a slave.”

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “It has been made clear to me in my needs,” she said. “It has been made clear to

  me in my feelings. For years it has been made manifest to me in hidden thoughts

  and secret desires, in countless recurrent dreams and fantasies.”

  “Interesting,” said Samos.

  “Enslave me,” she said.

  “No,” he said.

  She looked at him with horror. The fellow with the sword renewed his two-handed

  grip on its hilt.

  “Pronounce yourself slave,” said Samos. The fellow relaxed his grip on the hilt.

  “Do not make me do this,” she begged. “Pity me! Consider my sensibilities!”

  His face was expressionless.

  “I am a slave,” she said, pronouncing herself slave. Several of the slave girls

  cried out. There was now a new slave on Gor.

  At a gesture from Samos the fellow with the blade resheathed the weapon, and the

  two guards who had held the girl in position released her, standing up.

  She was now on her hands and knees, naked on the tiles, before the table. She

  looked wildly at Samos. “See the slave!” laughed more than one of the slave

  girls, pointing at her. They were not reprimanded. The girl, frightened, looked

  from face to face. The words had been spoken. They could not now be unspoken.

  She was now rightless, only a nameless animal, incapable of doing anything

  whatsoever to qualify or alter her status.

  “Slave! Slave!” laughed the slave girls.

  At a gesture from Samos the two guards pulled the girl to her feet and held her

  before us.

  “Take her away,” said Samos, “and throw her to sleen.”

  “No, Master!” she screamed. “Please, no, Master! Mercy, Master!”

  I could see that he was not too pleased with she who had formerly been the Lady

  Rowena of Lydius.

  “Master!” she cried.

  She was turned away from us. Her toes barely touched the tiles. She was utterly

  helpless n the grip of the guards. She looked wildly back, over her shoulder.

  “Why are you doing this?” she cried. She did not, of course, question his

  authority, or his right to do with her as he pleased.

  The guards hesitated, holding her in place, her back to us, in

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  case Samos might be pleased to respond to her. In a moment, if Samos did not

  speak, they would proceed on their way, she in helpless custody between them.

  “It is one thing to be a slave,” said Samos. “It is another to be permitted to

  live.”

  “Why would you do this to me?” she sobbed, over her shoulder. “Why would you

  have me thrown to sleen?”

  “I think,” said Samos, “there is still too much of the free woman in you.”

  “No!” she cried. “There is no more free woman left in me! The free woman is

  gone!”

  “Is it true?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she cried, “yes, Master!”

  “What, then, is left in you?” he asked.

  “Only the slave!” she cried.

  “What do you mean—in you?” he asked.

  “I spoke loosely, Master,” she wept. “Forgive me. That which I only and totally

  am is now a slave.!”

  “It is one thing to be a slave,” said Samos. “It is another to be an adequate

  slave.”

  “Master?” she asked, in misery.

  “Keeping you would be a waste of collar and gruel,” he said.

  “No, Master,” she said. “I would strive to serve well. I would strive

  desperately to be found worthy of being kept in my collar, and to be pleasing

  within it!”

  “You do not have what it takes to be a good slave,” said Samos. “You are too

  stupid, cold and self-centered.”

  “No, Master!” she cried.

  “Release her,” said Samos.

  The girl, released, turned about and threw herself in supplication to her belly

  before the table. She lifted her head. There were tears in her eyes. “Let me

  prove to you that I can be acceptable as a slave!” she begged.

  “Do you realize what you are asking?” he asked.

  “yes, Master,” she wept.

  “What do you think?” Samos asked me.

  I shrugged. The decision, it seemed to me, was his.

  “Please, Master,” begged the girl, tears in her eyes.

  “Do you think you can be pleasing?” Samos asked the slave.

  “I will try desperately, Master,” she said.

  “Stand,” he said.

  She stood.

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  “Straighten your back,” said Samos. “Suck in your stomach. Thrust out your

  breasts.”

  Tears ran from her eyes.

  “Remember, my dear,” said Samos, not unkindly. “you are no longer a free woman.

  You have now entered a new life altogether, in which rigidities and inhibitions

  are no longer permitted you, a form of life in which, in many ways, you are

  strictly and uncompromisingly controlled, but one in which, in other ways, your

  deepest desires and needs need no longer be restrained, but may be, and must be,

  fully liberated, a from of life in which you, though categorically subjected to

  the perfections of absolute discipline, that of the total slave, are,

  paradoxically, freed to be yourself.”

  She looked at Samos, wonderingly.

  “These things may now seem hard to understand,” said Samos, “but they, and their

  reality, if you are permitted to live, will soon become clear.”

  “yes, Master,” she said, gratefully. I saw that she, already, now a slave,

  deeply sensed the truth of his words.

  Then his eyes were hard, and she trembled.

  “Lift your hands to the level of your shoulders,” he said, “and flex your knees,

  slightly.”

  She complied.

  Samos then si
gnaled to the musicians, who were seated to one side, that they

  should prepare to play.

  “What is it that a man wants from a woman?” asked. Samos.

  “Everything, and more,” she whispered.

  “Precisely,” he said.

  She trembled.

  “I suggest that you do well,” said Samos.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You dance, and perform, for your life,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “yes, Master,” she whispered.

  Samos signaled again to the musicians, and they began to play a sensual, slow,

  adagio melody.

  “I have placed my Home Stone,” said Samos, turning his attention to the board.

  “It is your move.” That was true. It was my eleventh move. I considered the

  board and the placement of his Home Stone. An attack, I thought, would be

  premature. I would continue my development. I would attempt to secure the

  center, garnering thereby the mobilities and options commonly attendant on the

  control of these customarily vital routes. He

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  who controls the roads, some say, control the cities. This, of course, is not

  strictly true, not in a world where most goods can be carried on the back of a

  man, not in a world where there are tarns.

  “It is the sleen for her,” I heard a man say.

  Samos glanced at the dancer.

  I, too, glanced at her. She was not trained. She did not know slave dance. Her

  movements were those of a virgin, a white-silk girl. She had not yet been taught

  slave helplessness. No man yet in his arms had taught her the exquisite,

  transforming degradations of the utilized slave, the wrenching surrender spasms,

  enforced upon her by his will, of the conquered bondwoman, experiences which,

  once she has had them, she is never willing to give up, experiences which she

  comes to need, experiences for which she will do anything, experiences which,

  whether she wishes it or not, put her at and keep her at, the mercy of men.

  “She is clumsy,” said Samos. He was irritated. I saw he did not wish, really, to

  have her killed.

  A man laughed at her, as she tried to dance before him. “her throat will be cut

  within the Ahn,” laughed another man. Another man turned away from her, when she

  approached him, to have his goblet of paga filled by a luscious, half-naked,