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

Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt Page 27

by Players of Gor [lit]

The first fellow, scarcely taking his eyes off the other, glanced uneasily

  about. He could not see me, as I stood back in the

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  darkness. Both were within the cast of a quiva. I turned the blade in my hand.

  “Put away your sword,” urged the fellow who had been the confidant of the

  leader.

  “I do not trust you,” said the other.

  “Let us not fight,” said the fellow who had been with the leader. “There is

  little enough her to justify our war.”

  “There is enough,” said the fellow who had struck the leader. I saw that his

  decision had now been made.

  “It is enough for two!” said he who had been with the leader.

  “It will be more for one,” said he who had struck the leader. “What is wrong?”

  The fellow facing him had suddenly stiffened, drawing his shoulders close

  together. Then his hand fell, lowering the blade. He stumbled forward a step.

  The other, he who had struck the leader, tensed, his sword poised to fen any

  possible blow. Then the other, he who had been the confidant of the leader,

  pitched forward, falling near the fire. The girls, salves, kneeling, still bound

  helplessly, naked, their small hands jerking at the cords holding their wrists

  tight to their belly, screamed. Men, too, bound, cried out. From the fellow’s

  back there protruded the handle of a knife, the hilt of a particular sort to

  knife, that of a saddle knife, that of the sort common in the lands of the Wagon

  Peoples, that commonly known as a “quiva.” I had not thrown it hard enough,

  intentionally, to bring the point fully through the body. It is not necessary.

  The cast, as recommended, had been easy and smooth. The quiva itself, in its

  sharpness and weight, does the work. I turned another blade in my hand.

  The fellow leaped backward from the fire. Perhaps, after all, he was not as

  intelligent as I had supposed. he had not destroyed the fire. He had only

  retreated from it. I could still see him. Understandably, of course, he was

  unwilling to flee headlong, blindly, from the camp, into an unknown, unexplored

  darkness, one in which the number and position of enemies was unknown.

  “Who is there?” he cried.

  Only the night noises of the nearby woods answered him.

  “If you are magistrates,” he cried, “know that I have come on this camp of

  brigands and, in cognizance of my jeopardy, was making ready to defend myself!”

  he looked about, wildly, drawing back another pace or so. “show yourself,” he

  cried, “as befits your office, that of those who courageously do war with

  brigands, that of those who do nobly defend and support the law, or as plain

  honest men, if that you be, that I may ally myself with you, that we may then

  offer to one another, no, then

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  pledge to one another, mutual protection and succor on these dark and dangerous

  roads.”

  It was very quiet, save mostly for the rustling and clicking of insects. Too I

  heard, intermittently, from somewhere far off, the cries of a tiny, horned gim.

  “You do not show yourselves,” called the man. “Good! Know then that I am a

  brigand, too! I feared you might be magistrates. It was thus that I spoke as I

  did. A falling out occurred here in which I was forced to defend myself. I am

  Abdar, who was of the band of Ho-Dan. Perhaps you have heard of me. I am wanted

  in five cities. Approach. Though the loot here is meager I am pleased to share

  it with you, or, if you wish, surrender it to you, as a token of my good faith.

  Consider the females, if you can see them. Both, I am sure, you would find

  acceptable as slaves. If you desire them, I give them to you. Show yourselves!

  Let us enmesh our destinies. I desire to enleague myself with you. Who are you!

  Show yourselves!”

  I did not respond to him. I measured the distance between us.

  “Are you still there?” he cried. “Are you still there?”

  The, suddenly, with a cry of misery, the fellow spun about and broke into a run.

  I took one step and released the blade. he grunted and fell forward, sprawling

  to the dirt, and then lay on his stomach, a few feet from the fire. he rose to

  his knees and crawled a pace or two, and then again sank to his stomach. Then he

  lifted his upper body and head, and then fell forward again. he squirmed. He

  tried, vainly, clutching with his hand behind him, to reach the blade in his

  back. He could not do so. Then he shuddered and lay still.

  I came forward and regarded the body. I removed the knife from it, cleaning it

  on his tunic. Then I resheathed the blade, in one of the seven sheaths sewn on

  the common, supple leather backing, slung now from its shoulder strap, at and

  about my left hip. Someone, as it had turned out, had been still there.

  “You!” cried Boots Tarsk-Bit.

  I regarded the two slaves. They knew that they were now being scrutinized as

  females, basically and radically. It is a fundamental sort of inspection. The

  girl must hope that she passes it. They straightened their bodies. They did not

  dare to meet my eyes. It is important for slaves to be pleasing. Their lives

  depend on it.

  I looked at Boots. He swallowed, hard.

  I then crouched down near him. I began to free his arms, where they were bound

  to his body. His sigh of relief was audible.

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  “Where are the other brigands?” he asked.

  I freed his arms. “They are here and there,” I said. “Do not fear. They are all

  accounted for.”

  “How many are with you?” he asked.

  “I am alone,” I said.

  “By yourself you did this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Where did you learn to throw a knife like that?” he asked.

  “In the south,” I said, “far in the south.”

  “You have saved our lives,” he said. “Those rascals, I fear, had no intent to

  spare us.”

  “Except the slaves,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. They, after all, were usable, beautiful, salable animals.

  We then began to free the others, all but the slaves.

  “We are grateful,” Boots assured me.

  “Thank you,” said the player, surily, begrudgingly, as I freed his hand from

  behind his back. he then bent quickly, angrily, to untie the ropes on his

  ankles.

  “Do not mind him,” said Boots. “He is a puzzling chap. He would probably have

  preferred to have had his throat cut.”

  “But you are grateful?” I said to Boots.

  “Yes,” he said. “I am grateful.”

  “Eternally, undyingly?” I asked Boots, smiling.

  “Of course,” he said. “Eternally, undyingly!”

  “I think I may be of further service to you,” I said.

  “How is that?” asked Boots, interested. We finished untying Chino, Lecchio,

  Petrucchio and Publius Andronicus. We left the girls, for the time, of course,

  as they were, as they were slaves. They would
await our pleasure, that of free

  men.

  “Come with me,” I said. “And bring a torch.”

  “What is it?” asked Boots.

  “It is something I would like to show you,” I said. “I found it nearby in the

  woods, when I returned to my camp, to fetch weapons, a few Ehn ago.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Come with me,” I said. “I will show you.”

  “Very well,” he said.

  “Bring a torch,” I said.

  “Very well,” he said.

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  9 Two Women, One Free, One Bond; I Join the Company of Boots Tarsk-Bit

  “Here,” I said. “See?”

  We were in a small clearing in the woods, not far from the road.

  “Yes!” said Boots, appreciatively.

  “Lower the torch,” I said. “Look more closely.”

  The two women whimpered, looking up, blinking against the light. The torch,

  Boots crouching down, was passed slowly over their bodies. One were a long gown,

  sleeveless and white. It was all she wore, however, and it was thin. I did not

  think it was what she would have chosen to wear. It had apparently been picked

  out for her. The fullness of her beauty, at any rate, in its delicious

  amplitudes, was not difficult to conjecture beneath it. The other was excitingly

  curvaceous, too. About her beauty, however, there could be no possible mistake.

  She was absolutely naked. Both were bound tightly, helplessly, hand and foot.

  “Pretty,” said Boots.

  “Yes,” said Chino.

  “Yes,” said Lecchio.

  Petrucchio and Publius Andronicus, too, voiced their assent. The surly, hooded

  player was not with us. After he had finished

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  freeing himself from the ropes on his ankles, he had hurried to recover the cup

  which had been of such interest to the brigands. It seemed he did not wish

  others to see it, or understand its meaning. He had then, taking the cup, gone

  into his wagon. It seemed then that he had chosen, at least for the time, to

  remain there. He had not, at any rate, come with us. It seemed he was not

  particularly appreciative of what had been done for him. Perhaps he was too

  proud a man. Perhaps he resented fiercely the thought that he might owe anything

  to another. Perhaps, on the other hand, given his hatred, and the shame in which

  he seemed to live, he might not have found the cruelty of a brigand’s knife that

  unwelcome.

  I looked down at the woman in the long, thin white gown. “Have you been

  branded?” I asked.

  “No!” she said, tensely. “I am free!” This seemed to me probably true, as she

  had been put in the gown, doubtless, at least for the time, to protect her

  modesty.

  “You must understand,” I said, “that we must make a determination on that

  matter.”

  “Of course,” she said. The results of this determination could make an important

  difference in how she was treated and what might be, as a matter of course,

  expected of her. A free woman in one thing, and a female slave is quite another.

  I put her on her side and thrust up her gown, and turned her about, from one

  side to the other. In a moment or two I had checked the normal brand sites for a

  Gorean female. The most typical brand site is high on the left thigh, high

  enough, under the hip, to be covered even by the brevity of a typical slave

  tunic. In this way one often does not know what brand the girl wears. IN this

  way a bit of mystery, I suppose, might be thought to be added to her.

  The mystery in most cases, however, if one is truly interested, is usually no

  more than temporary. It is only necessary to lift her skirt. Sometimes bets are

  mad on this matter. In such bets, of course, the odds are with he who wagers on

  the graceful, cursive, Kef. This is the most common Kajira brand. “Kef” is the

  first letter in “Kajira,” the most common expression in Gorean for a female

  slave. It is sometimes, too, spoken of as the “Staff and fronds.” This is

  doubtless because of a fancied resemblance to such objects. Also, of course,

  this involves an allusion to beauty under discipline, indeed, to helpless beauty

  under absolutely uncompromising discipline. I also checked certain less common

  brand sites, such as the lower left abdomen, the interior of the left forearm

  and the high instep area of the left foot. If there is

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  such a mark on a girl, it would not be well to miss it. Imagine the

  embarrassment of relating to a woman as though she were free and then

  discovering only later that she had been a legally imbonded slave all the time!

  Too, how dreadfully perilous would such a deception be for the female! I would

  surely not wish to be the female who might be found out in such a deception.

  “Her body seems clear of brands,” I said. “Apparently she is free.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes!”

  I pulled her gown down from where I had thrust it up, above her breasts, for my

  convenience in examining her body for brands, and then I worked it down, inching

  it, carefully, over her body and hips. It was thin and fit her closely. I did

  not wish to tear it. I then pulled its hem down to where it was supposed to be,

  at about her ankles. I then made my final adjustments of the gown, that her

  modesty might be as well protected, or about as well protected, as such a flimsy

  garment permitted. To be sure, I did, here and there, pull it a bit more snugly

  about her body than was perhaps necessary. This was excusable, of course. She

  was beautiful and bound.

  I had made a stop at my own camp, incidentally, before coming to this place in

  the woods.

  “As she seems to be free,” I said, “I will claim her, she in the modality of the

  free captive.”

  “No!” she cried.

  “Very well,” said Boots.

  “No, no!” she wept, struggling in the ropes.

  I knew this female.

  I pulled her to a seated position. I looked into her eyes. “You are my captive.”

  “Please, no!” she said.

  “It is up to you, at least for the time,” I said, “to decided what sort of

  captive you will be.”

  She looked at me, frightened.

  I removed some metal from my pouch, that which I had brought from my camp, but

  moments ago, to this clearing in the woods. I dangled it, in its small, sturdy

  rings and four heavy, close-set links, before her eyes. “Do you desire it?” I

  asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Close-chains.”

  I put the shackles on her ankles. Her ankles were now shackled only some four

  inches apart. She had decided that she wished to be kept in honor and modesty.

  To be sure, aside from the obvious consideration of the inflexible efficiency of

  the shackling itself, given the large number of ways in which a woman

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  may be used for a man’s pleasure, the matter was primarily symbolic. then ankle

  ri
ngs snug on her I removed the bonds of the brigands from her ankles. Her

  ankles parted, to the brief extent permitted by the chain linkage of my

  shackles. her wrists were still tied behind her. “How did you come to be

  captured by the brigands?” I asked.

  “My superiors were dissatisfied with me,” she said. “My lackeys were removed

  from me. I was put in a brief tunic, almost as though I might be a slave. I was

  forbidden even to wear a veil. I was given a small purse of coins, one

  sufficient for my projected expenses, and instructed to report back to my

  headquarters, alone and on foot.”

  “Alone, and on foot?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, bitterly.

  “It is my conjecture,” I said, “that they did not expect you to complete your

  journey successfully.”

  “It seems they were right,” she said, bitterly.

  I smiled. I did not think that her superiors were likely to be any more unaware

  of the dangers of Gorean highways than anyone else. A lovely woman, scantily

  clad, not even veiled, alone, on foot, did not seem a likely candidate to travel

  the Gorean wilderness with impunity. Their instructions, it seemed, had been,

  for most practical purposes, tantamount to an enslavement sentence. I did not

  think they expected to see her again, unless it might be in the rag of a slave

  and a collar.

  “I was caught by the brigands last night,” she said.

  “You do not appear to be clad as might be a slave,” I said.

  “The garments in which my superiors had placed me,” she said, “were removed by

  the brigands. They regarded them as inappropriate for a free woman. They put me,

  instead, in the gown in which you now see me.”

  “That was thoughtful of them,” I said.

  “But it is so thin and flimsy!” she protested.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I suppose it does mark me as a free woman,” she said, “and in that sense might

  perhaps raise my price somewhat in case they were readying me for sale to a

  slave merchant.”

  “Too,” I said, “with all due respect it is, in spite of its length and nature,

  rather flattering and revealing. Doubtless, too, it would give the merchant

  pleasure to remove it from you in your assessment, thereby revealing your

 

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