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

Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt Page 19

by Players of Gor [lit]

  make a sale,” he added.

  “Could you not cut me off just a little piece?” she asked.

  “A thousand gold pieces worth?’ he asked.

  “Alas,” she wept. “I could not afford even that.”

  “To be sure,” he said, “the veil is quite large, containing easily enough cloth

  to conceal an entire figure.”

  “I can see that,” she said.

  “Stinting on their work is not allowed by the magicians of Anango,” he said.

  “Everyone knows that,” she said.

  “In any event,” said Boots, “surely you would not be so cruel, so heartless, so

  insensitive, as to suggest that I even

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  consider using the scissors, that cruel engine, those divisive knives, upon so

  wondrous an object.”

  “No!” she cried.

  “I wish you well, lady,” said Boots, sadly, preparing to return the veil to his

  pack.

  “I must have it!” she cried.

  “Oh?” asked Boots.

  “I will do anything to obtain it!” she cried.

  “Anything?” asked Boots, hopefully.

  “Anything!” she cried.

  “Perhaps,” mused Boots, “Perhaps—”

  “yes!” she cried. “Yes?”

  “No, it is unthinkable!” he said.

  “What?” she begged, eagerly.

  “Unthinkable!” announced Boots.

  “What?” she pressed.

  “For you are a free woman,” he said.

  “What?” she cried.

  “It is well known that men have needs,” he said, “and that hey are lustful

  beasts.”

  “I wonder what he can have in mind?” asked the girl of the crowd.

  “And I have been a long time upon the road,” he said.

  “ I grow suspicious,” she said.

  “And I know that you are a free woman,” he said.

  “My suspicions deepen with every instant,” she informed the crowd.

  “And that the beauty of a free woman is a commodity beyond price.”

  “My mind races,” she kept the crowd informed. There was laughter. IN a sense

  what Boots was saying was correct. The beauty of a free woman was a commodity

  beyond price. This was not because there was anything special about it, of

  course, buy only because it was not for sale.

  “And so I wonder,” said Boots, “if in exchange for the wondrous veil I might be

  granted the briefest of peeps at your priceless beauty.”

  “It is far worse than I thought,” cried the girl in dismay to the crowd.

  “Forgive me, lady!” cried Boots, as though in horror at the enormity of what he

  had suggested.

  “Yet,” said the girl to the crowd, “I do desire that object mightily.”

  “I must be on my way,” said Boots, resignedly.

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  “Stay, good sir. Tarry but a moment,” she called.

  “Yes?” said Boots.

  “Would a glimpse of but an ankle or a wrist do?” she inquired.

  “I hesitate to call this to your attention,” said Boots, “but as you may not

  have noticed, as you are not hosed and gloved, such bold glimpses are already

  mine.”

  “My beauty, as that of a free woman, is priceless, is it not?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Suppose then,” she said, “that for your briefest of peeps you give me the ten

  thousand gold pieces of which you spoke, as a mere gesture of gratitude, of

  course, as the values involved are clearly incommensurate, and the veil, as

  well.”

  “Your generosity overwhelms me,” cried Boots, “and had I ten thousand gold

  pieces I would doubtless gladly barter them for such a vision, but, alas, alack,

  I lack that mere ten thousand pieces of gold!” Boots turned to the crowd; “So

  near,” he said, “ and yet so far.”

  There was much laughter.

  The free woman in the audience turned to me. “That line,” she said, “was well

  delivered.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Can you see the veil?” one of the men in the audience asked her.

  “Of course,” she said. I saw that the female had an active wit. She had not

  fallen into his trap. There was laughter. She seemed highly intelligent. I

  supposed, then, other things being equal, that she might be capable of attaining

  at least the minimum standards of slave adequacy. I wondered if she were

  attractive. It was not easy to tell, robed and veiled as she was. It would have

  been easier to tell had she been in slave silk, or nude in a collar.

  Boots, I saw, had followed this small exchange from the stage.

  “Nine thousand pieces of gold, then,” called the Brigella to Boots.

  He returned his attention to the stage.

  ““Eight thousand?” she asked, hopefully.

  Boots, with a great flourish, shook out the magic veil and displayed it

  shamelessly, so cruelly tempting her, awing her with its splendors.

  “How marvelous it is!” she cried. “Oh! Oh!”

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  “Well,” said Boots, seemingly folding the cloth, “I must be on my way.”

  “No, no!” she said. “Five thousand? One thousand!”

  “Oh, curse my poverty,” cried Boots, “that I cannot take advantage of so golden

  an opportunity!”

  “I must have it,” she wailed to the audience, “but I do not know what to do!”

  Many were the suggestions called out to the bewildered Brigella from the

  audience, not all of which were of a refined nature. This type of participation,

  so to speak, on the part of the audience is a very familiar thing in the lower

  forms of Gorean theater. It is even welcomed and encouraged. The farce is

  something which, in a sense, the actors and the audience do together. They

  collaborate, in effect, to produce the theatrical experience. If the play is not

  going well, the audience, too, is likely to let the actors know about it.

  Sometimes a play is hooted down and another must be hastily substituted for it.

  Fights in the audience, between those who approve of what is going on and those

  who do not, are not uncommon. It is not unknown, either, for the stage to be

  littered with cores and rinds, and garbage of various sorts, most of which have

  previously, successfully or unsuccessfully, served as missiles. Occasionally an

  actor is struck unconscious by a more serious projectile. I do not envy the

  actor his profession. I prefer my own caste, that of the warriors.

  “May I make a suggestion?” inquired Boots.

  “Of course, kind sir,” she cried, as though welcoming any solution to her

  dilemma.

  “Disrobe in private,” he suggested, “and while disrobing consider the matter.

  Then, if you decide, in your nobility, to deny me even the briefest of peeps,

  what harm could possibly have been done?”

  “A splend
id suggestion, kind sir,” she said, “but where, in this fair meadow, at

  the side of a public road, will I find suitably privacy?”

  “Here,” said Boots, lifting up the veil.

  “What?” she asked.

  “As you can see,” said Boots, “it is as opaque as it is beautiful.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  “You can see it, can’t you?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

  “Of course! Of course!” she said.

  “Then?” asked Boots.

  “Hold it up high,” she said.

  “Boots obliged. “Are you disrobing?” he asked. The men in

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  the audience began to cry out with pleasure. Some struck their left shoulders in

  Gorean applause.

  “Yes,” called the Brigella.

  She was quite beautiful.

  “I shall mention this in my complaint to the proper magistrates,” said the free

  woman from her position near the stage.

  “Are you absolutely naked now?” asked Boots, as though he could not see her.

  “Totally,” she said.

  “A silver tarsk for her!” called a fellow from the audience. The Brigella

  smiled. It must have been he, then, who had expressed a interest in her.

  “A silver tarsk, five!” called another fellow.

  “A sliver tarsk, ten!” called another.

  These offers clearly pleased the Br9igella. They attested her value, which was

  considerable. Many women sell for less than a silver tarsk. Too, the fellows

  bidding all seemed strong, handsome fellows, all likely masters. There was not

  one of them who did not seem capable of handling her perfectly, as the slave she

  was. I suspected that this Brigella was not destined to long remain a member of

  the troupe of Boots, Tarsk-Bit.

  “Do not interrupt the play,” scolded the free woman.

  “And not a tarsk-bit for you, lady,” laughed one of the men.

  The Lady Telitsia of Asperiche stiffened angrily and returned her attention to

  the stage. “You may continue,” she informed the players.

  “Why thank you, lady,” said Boots Tarsk-Bit.

  “Are you being insolent?” she asked.

  “No, lady!” exclaimed Boots, innocently.

  “She sho8uld be whipped,” said a man.

  The Lady Telitsia did not deign to respond to this suggestion. She could afford

  to ignore it, disdainfully. she was not a slave. She was a free woman, and above

  whipping. Too, she was perfectly safe. She was on the protected ground, the

  truce ground, of the Sardar Fair.

  “Here I stand by a public road, stripped as naked as a slave,” said the

  Brigella, confidently, to the audience, “but yet am perfectly concealed by this

  wondrous veil.”

  “Are you truly naked?” asked Boots.

  “See?” she said to the crowd.

  “To be sure!” called one of the men, one of the fellows who had bidden on her.

  “Yes,” she called out to Boots.

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  “But how can I know if you are truly naked?” inquired Boots, ogling her.

  “You may take my word for it,” she said, haughtily, “as I am a free woman.”

  “With all due respect, noble lady,” said Boots, “in a transaction of this

  momentous nature, I believe it is only fair that I be granted assurances of a

  somewhat greater magnitude.”

  “What would you wish?” she asked.

  “Might I not be granted some evidence of your putative nudity?” he inquired.

  “But, sir,” she said, “I have not yet decided whether or not to grant you your

  peep, that moment of inutterable bliss for which you will, willingly, surrender

  the wondrous veil to me in its entirety.”

  “Do not mistake me, kind lady,” cried Boots, horrified. “I had in mind only

  evidence of an ilk most indirect.”

  “But what could that be?” she inquired, dismayed.

  “I dare not think on the matter,” he lamented.

  “I have it!” she cried.

  “What?” he asked, winking at the crowd.

  “I could show you my clothing!” she cried.

  “But of what relevance might that be?” asked Boots, innocently.

  “If you detect that I am not within it,” she said, “then might you not, boldly,

  infer me bare?”

  “Oh, telling stroke, bold blow!” he cried. “Who might have conjectured that our

  problem could have succumbed to so deft a solution!”

  “I bundle my clothing,” se said, “and place it herewith beneath the edge of the

  veil, that you may see it.”

  There was much laughter here, at the apparent innocence of this action. This was

  extremely meaningful, of course, in the Gorean cultural context. When a female

  places her clothing at the feet of a man she acknowledges that whether or not

  she may wear it, or other garments, or even if she is to be clothed at all, is

  dependent on his will, not hers. Boots, in effect, in the context of the play,

  had tricked her into placing her clothing at his feet. This is tantamount to a

  declaration of imbondment to the male.

  “Hold up the veil,” said Boots to the Brigella.

  “Why, good sir?” she asked.

  “I must count the garments,” said Boots, seriously.

  “Very well,” she said. “Oh, the veil is so light!”

  “It is exactly like holding nothing up at all,” Boots granted her.

  “Exactly,” she said. Boots then made a great pretense of

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  counting the garments. The Brigella turned to the audience, as though holding up

  the cloth between herself and them. “He is so suspicious, and has such a

  legalistic mind,” she complained. Meanwhile Boots thrust the garments into his

  pack.

  “I trust that all is in order,” said the Brigella.

  “It would seem so,” said Boots, “unless perhaps you are now wearing a second set

  of garments, a secret set, which was cleverly concealed beneath the first set.”

  “I assure you I am not,” she said.

  “I suppose even in matters this monumentous,” said Boots, “there comes a time

  when some exchange of trust is in order.”

  “Precisely,” said the Brigella.

  “Very well,” said Boots.

  “I do not see my clothing about,” said the Brigella to the crowd, “but doubtless

  it is hidden behind the veil.”

  “Then!” cried Boots.

  “Yes,” she said, “you may now, if you wish, infer, and correctly, sir, that

  behind this opaque veil I am bare.”

  “Utterly?” he asked.

  “Utterly,” she said.

  “Oh, intrepid inference!” cried Boots. “I can scarcely control myself!”

  “You must struggle to do so, sir,” she said.

  “Hold the veil higher,” said Boots. “Higher, lest I be tempted to peep over its

  rippling, shimmering hori
zon, daring to look upon what joys lie beyond. Higher!”

  “Is this all right?” she asked.

  “Splendid!” said Boots.

  She now stood with the veil raised high above her head with her arms spread.

  This lifted the line of her breasts beautifully. Women are sometimes tied in

  this posture in a slave market. It is a not uncommon display position.

  “Ah!” cried Boots. “Ah!”

  “The sounds you utter, sir,” she said, “would almost make me believe, could I

  but see them, which, of course, I cannot, that your facial expressions and

  bodily attitudes might be those of one who looked relishingly upon me.”

  “Yes,” cried Boots, “it is my active imagination, conjecturing what exposed

  beauty must lie perfectly concealed behind the impervious barrier of that

  heartless veil.”

  “And I am a free woman,” said the girl to the crowd, “not even a slave.” There

  was laughter. All that she wore now, in actuality, not in the context of the

  play, of course, in which she was, by convention, understood to be utterly

  naked, was her

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  collar, concealed by a light scarf, and a circular adhesive patch on her left

  thigh, concealing her brand.

  “Ah!” cried Boots.

  “I had best not permit him more than the briefest of peeps,” she said, to the

  audience, “lest he perhaps in rapture go out of his sense altogether.”

  Boots pounded his thighs.

  “Imagine what it might be if he could truly see me,” she said.

  “Let me, dear lady,” said Boots, “hold the veil. Though it be as light as noting

  itself, yet, by now, your arms, if only from their position, must grow weary.”

  “Thank you, kind sir,” she said. “Do you have it now?”

  “Of course,” said Boots, as though astonished at her question.

  “Of course,” she said, lightly. “I just did not wish you to drop it.”

  “There is little danger of that,” he said. “I mean, of course, I will exercise

  considerable caution in its handling.”

  He now held the cloth up between them.

  “Have you given some thought to the matter of whether or not you will permit me

  the peep of which we spoke so intriguingly earlier?” he asked.

 

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