“You move as a slave girl before her master,” I said.
“I am a slave girl before my master,” she said.
The slave girl moves, and carries herself, differently from a free woman. This is evident in such small things as fetching a cup for her master or in pouring his wine. These movements, and bodily attitudes and postures, subtle and beautiful, difficult to fully disguise, have betrayed more than one slave beauty who, disguised as a free woman, has sought to flee a city. The spears of guards, lowered, to her dismay, suddenly block her way. “Where are you going, Slave?” they ask. She is then knelt and stripped, her collar and brand revealed. Returned to her master, she may be confident that her punishment will not be light.
I looked at the slave.
An Earth woman who exhibits sensuous movement is commonly ostracized or in some other way socially punished. The contempt in which the exotic dancer on Earth is held, despite the richness of her music and beauty, is a symptom of this pathology. The freedoms of the Earth woman do not extend to the point where she is permitted to move as a woman. That she is not supposed to be free to do. The freedoms of the Earth woman, in. effect, are freedoms to conform, within reasonably narrow limits, to certain socially approved stereotypes. Females of Earth, not permitted to move as women, are expected to perform what are, in effect, male-imitation movements. It is little wonder that they occasionally, crying out with frustration, dance naked before a mirror. It is little wonder that in their dreams they are roped and thrown to warriors. On Gor, of course, the woman, if she be slave, is no longer prohibited, because of cultural requirements, from expressing the kinesthetic realities of her womanhood. The slave girl learns to think of herself as deeply and radically feminine, as uncompromisingly feminine. She thus, soon unconsciously, thinks and moves as what she is, a female. Moreover there is a special modality to the movements of the slave girl. She knows not only that she is a female, but a female in the most radical and profound sense, an owned female, one at the bidding of masters. This excites her, and cannot help hut be reflected in her movements. She is the most natural, biological and profound of women, the woman at the mercy of men, who must obey and serve them, the slave girl.
The blond-haired barbarian put a bit more wood on the fire. I smiled. The men of Earth think often of sex as a simple matter of explicit congress. This is, however, much too limited. The perimeters of sex are not limited to those of physiological union. Any woman, I suppose, knows this; it is unfortunate that It is not recognized by more men. The blond-haired barbarian and I, she beneath my will, were now surely intensely engaged in sex; yet she was feet from me, and I was not touching her.
“The fire is high enough,” I said. “Now kneel before me, Slave.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Stretch like the sleek little animal you are,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Now rise gracefully,” I said, “and walk back and forth before me.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I watched her. “You are a pretty slave,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“Now stand before me, and lower your head.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Lift your head again, and lower it again,” I said, “this time more deferentially.”
“I obey, Master,” she said. She again lifted her head and, this time, slowly, gracefully, deferentially, inclined it to me.
“Excellent,” I said.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
“You now stand before your master,” I said, “your neck bent in submission.”
“Yes, my Master,” she said.
“Lift your head now,” I said, “and look at me.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. She did so.
“You are an Earth woman,” I said. “On Earth, as I understand it,” I said, “your delicious and vulnerable animality, your feminine animality, the most basic and deepest female of you, helpless and needful, was, as a matter of cultural policy, consistently suppressed and frustrated.”
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Did you daydream?” I asked.
“I fought them,” she said.
“Foolish,” I said.
“But they kept recurring,” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
She looked at me.
“Was there a common theme?’ I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “myself in a position of submission before men.”
“hat is natural,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“And at night,” I said, “occasionally erupting from the depths of your mind, indicative of your cruelly frustrated needs and desires, were certain sorts of dreams.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“Describe to me now one of them.”
“There was one of them which more than once I dreamed,” she said, “which returned to me, again and again.”
“Describe it to me,” I said.
“But such things are so private to a girl,” she said.
“Speak, Slave,” I said.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “It seems I was in the jungles of South America, a continent on my native world, Earth, or perhaps it was some other world. I do not know. I was a traveler, or tourist. There was some group involved. The details are unclear. We were examining the ruins of an ancient civilization, great blocks of stone, huge, frightening carvings.”
“Yes?” I said.
“I wore boots, and a skirt and short-sleeved blouse,” she said, “and a helmet, of lightweight material, to protect me from the sun. Too, I wore sunglasses, pieces of colored glass sometimes worn by those of Earth before their eyes, sometimes to guard their expressions and features, but usually to reduce the glare of a bright sun.”
“I understand,” I said.
“‘What is that carving?’ I asked our native guide. He was a tall, red man, handsome and strong. He wore an open-throated blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. It is like a half-tunic for the torso, with sleeves. Too, he wore blue trousers. Such a garment covers the lower body, and fits about the legs.”
“I am familiar with such garments for the upper and lower body,” I said. “They are worn in Torvaldsland and in other areas, generally in the northern latitudes.”
“‘Is it not obvious?’ he asked. ‘It is the carving of a naked slave girl kneeling before her master.’ I was so embarrassed. ‘Perhaps she is only a captive,’ I said, angrily. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing. ‘She wears a neck belt.’ ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘See its knot and disk,’ he asked, ‘the distinctive slave knot, and the disk, that identifying the master?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It is the neck belt of a slave,’ he said. ‘I see,’ I said. ‘She is a slave,’ he said. ‘Then,’ I said, ‘she would have to do what her master tells her.’ He then, with two hands, removed my sunglasses. He looked directly into my eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said. I trembled, for, in that instant, he had looked upon me as a woman, one perhaps containing within herself a slave. He then turned me so that I must look again upon the carving of the subservient girl, the kneeling slave at the feet of her master. I then saw it in the bright and direct light of the sun. It was clear that she was lovely, even in the rudeness of the carving. On her throat was the neck belt of bondage, doubtless tied shut with a slave knot, and, fastened to it, identifying her, the disk of the master. How horrifying it is to look upon such a reality so directly. How much better it is to deny it, or to see it only, as through colored glass, through the softened, tinted lies of civilization. He then handed me back the sunglasses. ‘Do not put them back on,’ he said. How angry I was! Immediately, angrily, I put them back on.”
“Continue,” I said. “What occurred next in this dream?”
“That night, of course,” she said, “I was captured, ruthlessly gagged and bound with black straps. For days I was carried into the jungle. I began to stink. My clothing, rotting from my sweat, and the heat a
nd humidity, began to disintegrate on my body. Too, it was half torn away from snagging on thorns, and from the lashings of branches. In the beginning I was tied on a pole, carried on the shoulders of men. Then a sack was put over my head and I was thrown on my belly in a canoe. Then, later, at some point I did not recognize, after I had again been carried into the jungle, the sack was removed. I was then, hands tied behind me, marched before my captors. I stumbled before them for days. When I dallied I was beaten with sticks. At last we came to a clearing in the jungle. There was a city in this clearing. The architecture of the city was identical to that of the ruins we had earlier visited, but this city was not in ruins. It was a living city populated, thriving, hidden in the jungle. It was not known what had become of the population of the city which had been permitted to fall into ruins. No marks of war or fire, or other forms of sudden destruction, had been discernible. Meals had apparently been left uneaten, and fires untended. At a given point, perhaps determined by their priests or chiefs, for no reason that is clear to us, the population, it seemed, had abandoned the city, marching away into the jungles. The fate of the population was one of anthropology’s mysteries. I was thrust toward the city. I, perhaps alone of all white people, now understood, or thought I understood, what had become of the population of the city which, over centuries, had fallen into wins. They had come here, it seemed, to this point in the jungle, and, here, had rebuilt their city. The numerous individuals, red men and women, in theft colorful feathers and robes, on the walks and terraces of this city, maintaining their old way of life, it seemed, were their living descendants. Sticks, pushed against my back, guided me to a narrow doorway, leading into a room, carved out of living rock, in the base of what I took to be a temple. There four red girls, who were beautiful, were awaiting me. I was unbound and turned over to the four red girls, who treated me with great deference. They fed me and, gently removing my clothing, bathed me. They combed my hair and perfumed me. I was given golden sandals to wear and a single robe, high-collared, ornate, of brocaded gold. My old clothing, and my boots, which the girls, laughing, cut to pieces with small knives, were burned. Outside the doorway, with large, curved knives, stood two huge men, warriors, on guard.”
The blond-haired barbarian looked at me.
“Continue,” I told her.
“That night they came for me,” she said. “My hands were tied behind my back. Then two straps were put on my neck and, by two men, the girls following. I was led forth. I was conducted down a long street, between mighty buildings. Men and women followed me, with long-handled, feathered fans. There was much singing. There were numerous torches, and drums. At the end of the street, before a group of men standing on the wide steps and the surface of a broad, stone platform, some ten feet in height, we stopped. The drums and singing, too, suddenly stopped. A sign was given, by one of the men on the height of the platform. The straps were removed from my neck. My hands were freed. I looked up at them. Another sign was given. The girls removed my sandals and then, gracefully, drew away my robe. I looked up again at the men. I was now stark naked. The man on the height of the platform, red, in his robes and feathers, regarded me for some time. Then, by nodding his head, and a simple gesture, he indicated his approval. There was a shout of pleasure from the crowd which made me shudder. My wrists were seized and a long thong was tied on each wrist. Men then began, by these wrist leashes, to drag me up the steps. The singing and drums had then again commenced. ‘No!’ I screamed, when I reached the top of the platform, for I then saw, before me, a large, oblong piece of stone, a massive, primitive stone altar, discolored with huge stains of dried blood, with iron rings. ‘No! No!’ I screamed. But I was lifted from my feet and, my back to the ground, screaming, carried by many men, was helplessly hurried to its surface. I was thrown on my back on the altar and my hands, by the wrist leashes, were fastened apart and over my head to iron rings. At the same time my legs, by the ankles, were jerked apart, painfully so. I felt thongs tied on my ankles. I cried out. My legs were pulled even more widely apart. Men strung the thongs on my ankles through the iron rings at the foot of the altar. I screamed. By the thongs my legs were drawn apart even more. I was then, as I wept and begged for mercy, fastened in that cruel position. The ceremony began. The priest, from a golden dish, lifted up a knife. It was long and translucent, eighteen inches in length, of slender, bluish stone. I twisted on the altar, under the torches. All about me were the robes and feathers, the savage red faces; the thongs bit deeply into the flesh of my wrists and ankles; the singing, the drums, began to intensify in crescendo; they became deafening; the priest lifted the knife. It was then that I saw him, sitting on an oblong pillar of stone, some eight feet in height, some forty feet from the altar. He was sitting cross-legged, watching, impassively. Though he now wore the robes and feathers of this savage people, I recognized him instantly. It was he who had been the guide of the tour in which I had been a member, that tour with which I had been, visiting the rums of the mysteriously abandoned city. It was he who had explained to me the meaning of the carving of the kneeling girl, who had told me not to replace my sunglasses, he whom I had disobeyed. ‘Master!’ I screamed to him. ‘Master!’”
“‘Master’?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “I called him ‘Master’.”
“Why?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “It startled me, that I should have called him that. Yet the utterance came naturally, helplessly, from deep within me, an irrepressible, incontrovertible acknowledgment.”
“You called him ‘Master’,” I said, “because, in your heart, you knew that he was your Master.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. “That is it. I suppose I had known from the first instant I had seen him that he was my Master, and I was his Slave, but how could I, an Earth woman, have admitted that, even to myself, let alone to the superb, red brute.”
“What occurred then in the dream?” I asked.
“He lifted his hand and spoke out to the priest and the men about the altar.
“I lay there, helpless. He pointed to me and said something in his own tongue. I could tell that it was scornful.
“The priest, angrily, returned the knife of blue stone to the golden dish. Others, too, were angry. The thongs at my ankles were cut free. My wrist leashes were untied from the iron rings. The crowd began to become ugly. By a hand on my arm I was thrust from the altar. It seemed now they did not want me on the altar. I was struck by a man. I cowered. My wrist leashes were seized by two men and I was dragged before the pillar of oblong stone on which sat he to whom I had called out ‘Master’. The anger of the men, and the crowd, I suddenly realized, was not directed at the red brute sitting upon the stone, but, startingly, frighteningly, at mc. They were not angry with him for interfering with their ceremony but somehow, for no reason I understood, with me. I shuddered, held naked by the wrist leashes before the stone, the object of the contempt and wrath, the scorn and fury, of the multitude. I, terrified, felt their hatred directed upon me, almost as though it came in waves. ‘Why did you not tell us you were a slave?’ he asked of me. He spoke in English. ‘Forgive me, Master,’ I begged. ‘To our gods,’ he said, ‘the offer of a contemptible slave would be an insulting sacrifice.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. The first time I saw you,’ he said, ‘I thought you were a slave. Yet when I ordered you not to replace your sunglasses, you did so.’ ‘Forgive me, Master,’ I said. ‘Surely you know that any free man has authority over a slave girl? he asked. ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. ‘When you did not obey,’ he said, ‘I then thought perhaps that I had been mistaken about you, that perhaps you were not a slave, but a free woman, and thus might serve as a suitable sacrifice to our gods.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I said, my head lowered. ‘But, as I had originally thought,’ he said, ‘you were only a slave.’ ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. I did not raise my head. ‘When I ordered you not to replace your sunglasses, you did so,’ he said. ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Forgive me, Master
,’ I said. ‘You were disobedient,’ he said. ‘Yes, Master,’ I said. ‘Whip her,’ he said.”
The blond-haired barbarian looked at me.
“Continue,” I said.
“There were two rings before the stone, about five feet apart,” she said. ‘They knelt me down.”
“Kneel down,” I said, “precisely as in your dream.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. She knelt down. “My wrist leashes,” she said, “were then slipped through the rings, the free ends of each in the hands of a standing man.”
“It is interesting that that should be in your dream,” I said. “It is a device for maintaining a differential tension in the body of a beaten girl.”.
“It seemed natural,” she said.
“It is natural,” I said. “Now place your wrists exactly as they were at the beginning of your beating.”
“Yes, Master,” she said. She extended her wrists downward and to the sides.
“What then occurred?” I asked.
“I was beaten,” she said.
“How many strokes?” I asked.
“Eleven,” she said. “Ten for disobedience, and one, to remind me that I was a slave.”
“Interesting,” I said. “That, too, is sometimes done.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“You will now,” I said, “count the strokes, and, after each count, react as you did in your dream.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I observed her. The beating, in her dream, had apparently been quite efficient I studied her facial expressions, the movements of her body. Sometimes under the blows or in fearful anticipation of them she twisted or changed position, once sitting, sometimes crouching, once on her stomach; most of the blows were across her back, but two had been delivered frontally, and two to her left side, and one to her right side. In all this I was conscious, in her movements, of how the two men with the wrist leashes, tightening or slackening them, toyed and played with her, as one sometimes does with a slave, skillfully managing her in her beating.
Norman, John - Gor 13 - Explorers of Gor.txt Page 38
