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

Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt Page 30

by Players of Gor [lit]

  “Prepare,” said Boots.

  “No! No!” she cried, springing to her feet, her bare feet raising dust, her

  bound wrists, of course, still tethered to the bar.

  “Back on your knees, Lady Telitsia,” said Boots, sternly, “or you will add blows

  to your beating.”

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  Lady Telitsia, in misery, moaning, trembling, sank back to her knees, her wrists

  again now over her head.

  “Would you like me to cross and bind your ankles?” Boots asked, kindly.

  “No,” she moaned.

  I think she could see the shadow of Boots before her. Her back was illuminated

  by the morning sun.

  “I do not want to be whipped!” she cried.

  “It will be good for you to be whipped,” said Boots. “It will be good for you to

  know what it is like. It will help you to understand that you are now truly a

  slave. Too, it will help to make you a more diligent slave, one more anxious to

  please.”

  “Mercy!” she wept.

  “ ‘Slaves,’” said Boots, “ ‘are to be shown no mercy’. I heard someone say that,

  also, recently, at the Fair of En’Kara. Perhaps you recall it?”

  She sobbed, helpless in the ropes, awaiting her beating.

  “Slaves are to be shown no mercy,” she had said a few days ago at the fair. I

  recalled it. How uncompromisingly, how coldly, she had said it. Now she herself

  was a slave.

  “Do you recall saying that?” asked Boots.

  “Yes,” she sobbed.

  “Is it true?” asked Boots.

  “Yes,” she wept.

  He then struck her, once, with the lash. She cried out, startled, in pain, in

  disbelief.

  “Yes, what?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master!” she cried.

  he then struck her again. “No, no!” she cried out. “Please do not strike me

  again, Master!”

  “It will be done with you as your Master pleases,” he said.

  “Yes, Master!” she sobbed.

  He then, with a few blows, concluded her beating. It was neither a long nor a

  severe beating. Still he had placed the blows diversely and had varied their

  timing. It was in its way a kindly beating, as Boots was a kindly fellow, but it

  was also, I think, an efficient beating.

  When Boots had finished he untied the strap that had fastened her bound wrists

  to the wooden bar. She fell to her belly in the dust and reached out, her wrists

  still bound, to touch his ankles. She put down her head and, lying in the dust

  before him, pressed her lips, those of a slave, again and again, piteously, to

  his feet. Boots then turned away and went about this business. She then lay on

  her belly in the dust, collapsed, near the wooden bar to

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  which she had been tied for her beating. I went to her and turned her over with

  my foot. She looked up at me. She was in misery and in pain.

  “You are branded,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You wear a collar,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “I am a female slave,” she said, “a slave girl.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “No, Master,” she said. “Only that.”

  “It is true,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I saw in her eyes that she now knew these things to be true, that she now truly

  knew that she was a slave girl, that and only that.

  “What am I to do, Master?” she asked.

  “Go to your Master,” I said, “and beg him to forgive you for having been

  displeasing.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said. She rose painful to her feet and went slowly,

  painfully, to where Boots was sitting cross-legged, near the small fire between

  the wagons. He was now in the midst of enjoying a second breakfast. Chino and

  Andronicus were with him. She knelt down near him, her bound wrists on her

  thighs. She dared not speak. After a time, Boots, sucking his fingers, removing

  the grease from fried tarsk strips from them, turned about. She quickly, under

  the eyes of her master, put her head down to the dirt. “Did you wish something,

  girl?” asked Boots.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You may speak,” said Boots.

  “I beg your forgiveness, Master,” she said, her head still down, “for having

  been displeasing.”

  “Mend your way in the future,” cautioned Boots, sternly. “Next time it may not

  go as easily with you.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, trembling.

  Boots then helped himself to some more rolls and slices of fried tarsk.

  Lady Telitsia, as it seemed she would be called now, at least for the time, then

  lifted her head and straightened her body. She remained kneeling, of course, in

  the immediate vicinity of her master.

  “Good rolls,” said Boots to Chino.

  “Yes,” agreed Chino, helping himself to another, as well.

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  “Excellent vulo eggs, excellent tarsk,” said Boots, his mouth full.

  “Quite,” agreed Andronicus, wiping his fingers fastidiously on his tunic.

  Lady Telitsia eyed the food, hungrily, pitiously. She squirmed. I heard her

  small, lovely, rounded belly growling.

  “Did you say something, my dear?” asked Boots.

  “No, Master,” she said, quickly.

  Boots returned to his repast. I wondered how long it had been since Lady

  Telitsia had been fed.

  More noises emanated from her pretty belly. She put down her head in

  embarrassment.

  “Lady Telitsia,” said Boots. “Clean my hands.”

  She came forward and began to lick his cupped hands and then to suck his

  fingers, removing the grease from them. Meanwhile he continued to talk with

  Chino and andronicus.

  “Slowly and more sensuously,” said Boots.

  “Yes, Master,” she groaned. She looked up at him. Their eyes met. Their exchange

  of glances was quite meaningfull. Then she complied, as best she could, given

  that she had only recently been a free woman. She, apparently half starved, had

  been too eagerly licking and sucking at the grease on his hands and fingers.

  “Better,” he said. “Better.” Then he dried his hands, aprtly on her body, partly

  on her hair, and returned his attention to his companions. As he had touched her

  body I had noted that she had gasped and, ever so lsightly, had pressed against

  his hand. I do not think, however, this action had been lost on Boots, either.

  The slave, “Lady Telitsia,” had in her, I suspected, superb slave potential. Up

  to now, of course, as a free woman, given her conditioning and what was expected

  of her in her cluture, she had undobtedly, possibly even agonizingly, resisted

  her sexuality, fighting to control and suppress her slave drives. Now, of

  course, now that she had been freed of th
e psychological chains, the confining

  restrictions, the imprisoning inhibitions of the free woman, I had little doubt

  that she, and perhaps even soon, would prove to be a helplessly arousable,

  helplessly yielding slave, a joy both to herself and her masters.

  “That is enough,” said Boots.

  “Master,” she said.

  “Yes?” said Boots.

  “May I have permission to speak, Master?” she asked.

  “You need only ask—sometimes,” siad Boots.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said, gratefully. “Master—”

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  “Were you given permission to speak?” asked Boots.

  “No, master,” she whispered. “Forgive me, Master.”

  Boots regarded her, sternly.

  “But you said I need only ask,” she whispered, frightened.

  “I said, ‘You need only ask—sometimes,’” said Boots. “This is not one of those

  times. You may not now speak.”

  ‘Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.” She then knelt back on her hells,

  not permitted to speak, a chastened slave.

  “Ah,” siad Boots, seeing me. “Are you hungry? Come join us.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and sat down with them, cross-legged. It was still rather

  early. Soon I was helpign myself to a heaping serving of vulo eggs, tarsk strips

  and rolls.

  “Perhaps you should feed our captive soon,” siad Boots. He referred to the free

  woman, the Lady Yanina, shackled and chained by the neck under my wagon.

  “Yes,” I said. “I will take her a plate of food when I am finished here.” One

  must show concern for her, of course. She was a free woman.

  “You are going with us at least as far as Brundisium?” said Boots.

  “That is my plan,” I said.

  “What takes you to Brundisium?” asked Boots.

  “Mainly Petrucchio’s wagon, I would suppose,” I said. “and his tharlarion. He

  was kind enough to loan them to me. I may walk opart of the way, of course.”

  “Seriously,” said Boots.

  “I am quite serious,” I said. “Walking is an excellent exercise.”

  “It is quite early in the morning for wit as scintillating as yours,” observed

  Boots.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Have you ever considered a career upon the stage?” he inquired.

  “No,” I said.

  “It is probably just as well,” he speculated.

  “Perhaps,” I admitted, somewhat grudgingly, not altogether convinced.

  “What are you going to do in Brundisium?” asked Boots.

  “That will depend, I expect,” I said, “on what I find in Brundisium.”

  “Come now,” said Boots.

  “Business,” I informed him.

  “I see,” said Boots. “I am glad that is cleared up.”

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  I bit on some crisp tarsk strips.

  “You are certainly a communicative fellow this morning,” said Boots.

  “The tarsk is good,” I said.

  “I am glad you like it,” said Boots. “Brundisium, as I have warned you earlier,

  may be dangerous. The7 seem quite suspicious of strangers the last year or so.”

  “You do not know why, though?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “You are a good fellow, Boots,” I said. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “I think I know how you intend to use your captive, at least as far as your

  participation in our show is concerned,” said Boots, “but beware. If she is of

  Brundisium, or is known in Brundisium, it could be very dangerous for you

  there.”

  “In the vicinity of Brundisium, or within her walls,” I said, “I could keep her

  hooded. If it seemed desirable, too, of course, I could always have her reduce

  to slavery before nearing, or entering, the city. She would then be of no legal

  interest to anyone, for whe would then be only a slave, only chattel.”

  “Of course,” said Boots.

  “It was a good breakfast,” I siad. “I had better take her some food now.”

  “Yes,” said Boots. “You must not keep her hungry. You must show her

  consideration. She is a free woman.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  I slowly, carefully, piled a plate high with rolls, eggs and fried vulo strips.

  It had probably been a long time since the Lady Yanina had eaten. She had been

  in the care of the brigands. She was probably quite hungry. I could always watch

  her feedings later, giving attention to theri possible effect on her figure.

  That would be if I decided, later, to turn her into a love captive, or, if it

  pleased me, a thousand times lower, nay, a thousand thousand times lower, nay,

  even uncountably times lower, nay not even on the same scale, a slave. Boots’s

  slave, Lady Telitsia, eyes the plate hungrily, desperately. I thought I heard

  her whimper, softly. Certainly there were some piteous noises at any rate which

  suddenly, unexpectedly, perhaps to her embarrassment, emanated from her pretty

  belly.”

  “Did you say something?” asked Boots.

  “No, Master,” she said, hastily. She had been warned to silence.

  I rose to my feet.

  “May I have the plate a moment?” asked Boots.

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  “Surely,” I said. I handed it to him.

  He held it before Lady Telitsia. “It smells good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. She leaned forward, her eyes closed. She breathed in,

  deeply, relishing the odor of the fresh-cooked breakfast. She opened her eyes,

  looking at her master, piteously.

  Boots handed the plate to me, and I carreied it between the wagons until I came

  to my wagon.

  There, beneath my wagon, sitting down, her knees drawn up, was the Lady Yanina,

  once my captor. On her neck was an iron collar. By means of this collar and its

  chain, the chain fastened about the wagon axle, she was secured in place.

  I put down the plate of food. “Ankles,” I said.

  She turned a little and, angrily, lowering her knees slightly, tugging the hem

  of her garment closely about her lower claves, exteneded her ankles toward me. I

  checked the gyves. All was in order. There was no sign of the metal having been

  tampered with, for example, scratched about the lock, or makred on the bands, as

  though haveing been struck futilely with a stone. Similarly her ankles were not

  cut or abraided as though she might have tried to slip the iron from her fair

  limbs. Such an action, of course, would have been ludicriously irrational. The

  Lady Yanina was not a foolish, panic-stricken Earth girl, new to bondage, its

  possibility scrcely having earlier entered her ken, frenziedly, absurdly trying

  to remove fetters from her body, but a Groean woman. She well knew that females

  locked in Gorean iron do not escape. Its stern, inflexible clasp is not designed

  to be eluded by she whom it confines and ornamen
ts. Women in such bonds must

  ehlplessly await the pleasure of their captors. I thrust back her ankles.

  “As you can see,” she said, bitterly, “I continue to be held, perfectly.”

  Her ankles looked beautiful, confined in the steel. Too, she had spoken the

  truth.

  I then checked her collar, and the attachment points of the chain, both at the

  collar and at the double loop where it was fastened about eh axle.

  “I am perfectly secured,” she said, angrily.

  “I am sorry if chain check distresses you,” I said. “You comprehend its

  rationale, of course.”

  “Yes,” she sasid, angrily.

  “It is procedurally recommended by the caste of slavers,” I said.

  “I am not a slave,” she said.

  page 215

  “Chains, I suspect, do not much care whether it is a noble free woman whom they

  confine or a mere slave.”

  “Are you satisfied?” she asked, insolently. “Do I pass chain check?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You are perfectly secured.”

  She looked frightened for a moment, and her tow hands closed on the chain

  dangling from her collar. She drew on it a moent, almost inadvertently, and felt

  the tug at the collar ring. Then she removed her hands from the chain and

  regarded me, again the free woman, again insolent.

  “See what you have given me to wear,” she said, angrily lifting the hem of the

  garment I had fashioned for her last night.

  “I gathered you did not apporve of the htin white gown the bringands had put you

  in,” I said. “Surely it had little purpose other than to display you well for

  sale to a slaver and, in its piteousness, to invite its casual removal.”

  “I am a rich woman,” she said, angrily. “I have status and position. In

  Brundisuim I hold high station, being a member of the household of Belnar, her

  Ubar. I am highly intelligent. I am educated and refined. I have exquisite

  taste. I am accumstomed to the finest silks, the most expensive materials. I

  have my gowns, my robes, even my veils, especially made for me by high cloth

  workers!”

  “I am not a high cloth worker,” I said, “but I did make it especially for you.”

  “Your skills leave something to be desired,” she said.

  “You are probably right,” I said.

 

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