by John Norman
Then the palanquin had passed, and more torches, and men. The second palanquin was preciously freighted with chests and boxes, colorful and bound with brass and chains. Some of these were covered over with rich cloths that sparkled under the torchlight.
I supposed that the procession was a wedding procession, and that the second palanquin carried rich gifts, perhaps the bride's dowry, or rich gifts to accompany her, perhaps to be delivered to the groom or his parents.
The wagon which followed late in the procession, that drawn by the conducted, shambling oxlike creatures, carried, I conjectured, the supplies of the retinue. The journey I gathered was long. The bride, and her maids, as I assumed them to be, doubtless had far to travel.
Then the men, the torches, disappeared in the distance, through the trees.
They were gone.
The hand left my mouth. He released me. The knife no longer lay at my throat. My knees felt weak. I almost fell. He resheathed the knife and turned me, by the arms, to face him. He pushed up my chin that I must look at him. I met his eyes, briefly, and put down my head. He knew that I had intended to cry out, to reveal our position. But I had been unable to do so.
I shook with terror, for I feared then he might slay me. I fell to my knees before him, and, though I was an Earth girl, I put down my head and, delicately holding his booted sandals, fearfully, pressed my lips to his feet.
Yes, I kissed his feet, as though I might have been no more than a beautiful, stripped, guilty, frightened slave!
How natural, and necessary, and perfect, in such circumstances, seemed this act of timid abject obeisance!
Would any girl of Earth, I wondered, so in the power of such a man, on such a world, have dared to do otherwise?
He turned about and left the forested area, and I hurried to accompany him.
He had not slain me. He had not tied me to a tree, for sleen to devour. He had not even lashed me to within an inch of my life.
I followed him.
My mind was in tumult. How confused, and shamed, I was at the immediacy, the naturalness, of my act of prostration before him, and yet, on another level, scarcely daring to admit this to myself, I knew that I had, too, perhaps inexplicably, unaccountably, felt enraptured.
I had not known such men could exist.
Then, however, I thought to myself, now I know how to deal with this man. I need only salve his vanity. I need only perform placatory gestures. I thought myself then clever, and he a fool, to be so manipulated by a girl. I did not understand at that time the incredible lenience with which I had been treated, or that the patience of such a man is not inexhaustible. I would be taught these truths shortly.
I was an ignorant and foolish girl. I would learn that ignorance and foolishness are not long tolerated in a girl such as I was to be on Gor.
3
The Camp
Angrily I tended the brazier, on my knees, fanning the coals. Sparks flew from the iron-banded fire, stinging my body.
Eta strode past me. I hated her. She was dark-haired, incredibly beautiful. Her dark hair swirled behind her to her waist. She had been given clothing. I had not. I envied her the sleeveless body scrap of brown rag, short, high on her thighs, which briefly concealed her. It was fastened with two hooks, which might be swiftly broken and torn away.
A man sat drinking to one side, a strong brew called paga. Spears were stacked to one side, and shields lay about against the sheltering, enclosing cliffs. We were in a wooded canyon, one of many in the area. A small stream, also one of several in the area, ran through the camp. Roughly as we were situated, some two thirds of the camp was closed in by projecting sides of the canyon; roughly, then, about a third of its perimeter was closed by a thick wall of recessed, cut thorn brush, some eight feet high and ten feet thick, a defense against animals. Within the camp itself and about it were several trees, some of them rather large. The camp would not be much visible from the air; similarly it would not be visible from the ground unless one should almost stumble upon it, following this small canyon, rather than various others in the vicinity. My captor and I had arrived at this camp after some four days of trekking. During this time he had not spoken to me, and I had followed him at the position and distance which he had indicated. How relieved I had been that he had not forced his attentions upon me, and used me as a female. And how sullenly and angrily I had followed him, more so each day. Was I not pleasing to him? I knew I had been very fortunate. I had been in his power, completely, and he had not pressed his advantage; he had not exploited his opportunity. How pleased I was! And how furious! How I had begun to hate him! He had not permitted me to feed except when kneeling and from his hand; he watered me similarly, except that, when a stream was encountered, he would sometimes order me to my belly on the pebbles; I would then, his hand in my hair, not using my hands, drink from the water. Was I not in his power, so much so that perhaps I was even, in some sense, a sense I scarcely dared conjecture, "his"? Was I not physically attractive to him? Why had he not forced me to serve him as a woman? He kept me under his dominance, strictly, and then, when I obviously ached for his touch, he would turn away; he would not so much as glance at me. I hated him! I hated him! The last two days of the trek we had traveled much in daylight, and he had permitted me to carry his shield. We had come then, I had gathered, out of overtly hostile territory. That this camp was sheltered and set as it was I took to be a matter of common camp practice among such men as he, and those who served him. Men such as he, in small parties, even in their own countries, seldom made open camps. Why had he not used me? I hated him!
With a piece of stiff leather I fanned the coals in the brazier. An iron protruded from the coals.
Eta passed me again, a haunch of meat upon her shoulder, grease from it in her hair. She was vital, barefoot and tanned. Her body was beautiful in the brief rag she wore. Her only jewelry was a sturdy steel band, looped closely, quite attractively, rather snugly, about her throat. She was a long-legged, sensuous, hot-eyed slut. She was the sort of woman, I supposed, whom the men of Earth, in fear, would not even dare to let enter their dreams. Yet she seemed to fit in well at the feet of the mighty men of Gor who, without thought, would handle her well and get much, and all, from her.
How disgusting she was! I hated her!
I had been in the camp now for better than two days. We had arrived in the late afternoon of the day before yesterday. In the vicinity of the camp, upon our approach to it, my captor had taken his shield from me, which I had been bearing for him. One does not approach a camp, even one's own, unarmed. One does not know what may have transpired in one's absence.
He had left me alone, kneeling, while he had scouted the camp. Shortly thereafter he had returned, and gestured for me to rise and follow him.
He approached the camp singing, and striking his spear blade on his shield.
Call words were exchanged.
Royally was he greeted by the men of the camp, who rushed forth to welcome him, men among whom I gathered he was chieftain. They shouted, and clasped him, striking him upon the back and laughing. I stood back, frightened of such men. Then a long-legged dream of a girl, Eta, had stood, timidly, near the entrance to the camp, where thorn brush had been wedged aside, during the daylight hours. She had stood there, not daring to approach. Then my captor had indicated that she might enter his presence. Radiantly, joyously, she fled to him, and knelt before him, putting her head to his feet. His shield and spear, and helmet, he handed to another. At a word from him, then, she leapt to her feet and he took her in his arms, as though he might own her, and she kissed him, too, as though she might be owned. Never had I seen human beings kiss like that. It seemed a deeply sensuous complementarity that shook me to the core. It was the kiss of lovers, but more than the kiss of lovers. It was the kiss of a lover who is owned and of one who owns his lover.
Then he laughed, and thrust her to one side. Then all turned to regard me.
How I wished that he had held me and kissed me as he
did her. How jealous I was. Then, suddenly, realizing the eyes of all upon me, I was frightened.
The men, and the girl, stood about me. I stood straight. They moved about me. I reddened, assessed. Comments were exchanged. I sensed myself being discussed with open frankness, as might have been an animal. Some of the comments, I sensed, were less than completely flattering. Some, I sensed, were clearly disparaging. Most cruelly I resented the laughter. At that time I had not been brought by strict diet and enforced exercise to optimum measurements. Perhaps, too, at that time, I was not standing as well as I might have. I was standing straight, but perhaps too stiffly, too immobilely, not subtly in movement, in my breathing, the movements of my shoulders, the tiny movements of my head, almost imperceptible, but contributing to the impression of a profoundly alive body, one richly latent with the promise of incredible responsiveness. But mostly I suspect I was found wanting in subtle psychological dimensions, available to the acute observer as a consequence of almost subliminal cues. These matters are conveyed by subtleties of facial expression and physical demeanor. I was a girl raised in a culture predicated on the denial of primate biological realities, a girl from a world in which hypothetically cogent animals denied, denounced and hysterically strove to suppress their own animality, a world in whose social insanity even sexuality had now come to be politically suspect. Most simply, as a normal girl of my world, I had been negatively conditioned with respect to men and sex. In the last few years, an accretion to this form of conditioning, I had been taught that men were my equals, and that men and women were the same. If this were so why then did I feel so small and slight among the Gorean men, and tremble when they put their hands upon me? Among the men of Earth, thoughtful, and cute and kind, I had not felt small and slight, nor did I tremble when they put their hands upon me; I had felt only irritation, and would push them away; I did not dare to push away a Gorean man; I might have been put under discipline; further, I found myself longing, though I did not admit this to myself at the time, to lie lovingly in their arms, theirs. I think the major reason I so failed to impress the men at the camp of my captor was because at that time I had not yet been taught to come alive as a woman. I did not yet know what men were like, or what they could do to me. I did not then know how they in their power could wrench out my insides and bring me to my knees before them. I had not learned their manhood; accordingly I had not yet learned my womanhood. Sexually, I was, like most girls of Earth, negativistic and inert.
Only on Gor, in the presence of my captor, had I, at times, begun to suspect that there was an incredible, glorious world of experience, not forbidden on this planet, to which my nature as a female fully entitled me, could I but dare to be myself. But my fear was groundless. I needed not dare. I needed not decide to become myself. Gorean men do not tolerate pretense and hypocrisy in a girl such as I was to be. Against my will, I would be forced to be what I was.
Much did my captor's men jest with him on the deficiencies of his prize. Laughing, did he strike and kick at them. And the girl, taking his arm, smiling, kissing at him, pulled him away from me. They turned, the entire party, and went into the camp, leaving me outside. I stood aside, alone. I was furious. I had, in effect, been spurned, rejected. Nothing in my experience had prepared me for this treatment. I felt the gravel of the canyon under my feet, the sunlight reflected from the walls. My fists were clenched. Who did these barbarians think they were? I was the most beautiful girl in the junior class at an elite girls' college on Earth, perhaps in the college as a whole. The only exception might perhaps have been the beautiful senior in anthropology, Elicia Nevins. We had been great rivals. But she had only been an anthropology major, whereas I was an English major, and a poetess. But then I recalled the beautiful, intelligent-seeming, hot-eyed slut in the brown rag. In a world where there might be such women, I realized, gasping, Judy Thornton's beauty and even that of an Elicia Nevins would not be particularly outstanding. As I would later learn, the value placed on girls such as we were, a Judy Thornton or an Elicia Nevins, girls of our quality, would commonly be a tiny sack of copper coins, a few more, a few less.
I went inside the brush wall, and knelt down. I wanted to be protected and fed. I would do what they wished to pay for my lodging. Behind me, the thorn brush, so thick and high, by means of hooked poles, was pulled into place, closing me in the camp with the men, and the girl.
* * * *
I had now been in the camp for two days. Angrily I tended the brazier, on my knees, fanning the coals. Sparks scattered about. My body was stung by them. I used a squarish piece of stiff leather to fan the coals. From the brazier, protruding, was the handle of an iron.
Many were the menial tasks which I was forced to perform in and about the camp.
I was not pleased.
I had been forced to build fires and help cook the food. I had been forced to help serve the food, and to pour wine and paga for the men, as though I might be a servant. I had been forced to help put food away afterwards, and clean goblets and utensils, and clear away the litter and debris of the feeding. I had been forced to sew rent garments, and once, not satisfied with a seam, Eta had had me rip out the thread and perform the entire task again, doing it well. To my humiliation, too, I was taught to wash clothing on rocks, pounding and rinsing, on my knees, at the edge of the tiny stream which moved through the camp. Outside the camp I was set to picking berries and gathering armloads of wood. Outside the camp I would be accompanied by one of my captor's men. On Earth, I had enjoyed a rather elevated socioeconomic status. In my home we had always had, as long as I could remember, both a maid and a cook. From the age of fifteen I had enjoyed giving them orders, as an equal, but not quite. I was not the sort of girl who was accustomed to perform menial tasks, or be of service to others. That was for women of a rather different class, one beneath mine. But here, in this camp, I was helping Eta to cook, and clean and sew, and performing even more degrading tasks, such as serving men at their meals. That might be all right for Eta. I did not know her class. Judging by her garment it was low. But it was not all right for Judy Thornton. I was a brilliant girl, and I wrote poetry. Sometimes, when no men were about, I would refuse to help Eta. She would then, not speaking, not protesting, but sullenly, perform the task herself. When men were about, I would do what tasks she set me. I was afraid of the men.
There were sixteen men in the camp, including my captor, though seldom, during the day, were there more than four or five within its confines.
My captor himself had set me the work of tending the coals in the brazier, where the iron was heating.
I did not dare disobey him.
I was not surprised that there were coals for the brazier, as, on my first full day in the camp, moving about it, I had discovered that it was well stocked with supplies. It was in the nature of a cache camp, which might be returned to now and again. In a cave in the adjoining cliff there were several boxes. Several were locked, but others were open. There were flasks of wine there, and bottles of the brew called paga; stores of salt, grains, dried meats and vegetables; tunics, cloths and blankets; too, there were tools and utensils, and threads and needles; I found some perfumes and jewelries; I did not dare to bedeck myself with them, though I was curious to do so; they were quite barbaric; the girl, Eta, I noted, wore as her only jewelry a sturdy band on her neck; this suggested to me that one were not simply free to help oneself to such finery; doubtless if the men wished me to wear such jewelries they would throw them to my feet and order me to don them, or perhaps, more frighteningly, they would, with their large hands, put them on my body themselves; I found a chest containing medicines and bandages; too, there were some rolls of furs; a box of leather goods, too, I found, which contained strips of leather, pieces of leather, and straps of various sorts; I found two whips, but I did not understand their function, as the men seemed to have no animals on which to use them; also, though heavy enough, they seemed rather short-bladed for the ponderous beasts I had earlier seen in the retinue, those
shambling, oxlike beasts drawing the wagon; their soft leather blades were not more than a yard long; indeed, the blades of one were scarcely wider than a girl's back; there was also a box of chains there; I did not look at them closely; I did not understand their purpose. To one side had lain the sacks of coals and some irons.
I tended the brazier.
It was now late afternoon.
A few yards away, Eta was roasting the haunch of meat on a spit. I could smell the roasting meat.
I was hungry.
In the confines of the camp my captor had continued to restrict my feeding to his degrading handouts, which he would place in my mouth, or make me reach for, kneeling, not using my hands.
How I hated him!
How he kept me on my knees to him. How I hated him! And yet he was the most magnificently attractive man I had ever seen. I hoped he would let me have a scrap of the roast meat. How relieved I had been on the trek that he had not abused me, not used me for his pleasure, as would have been so easy, I, his helpless, naked captive. And yet, too, how angry I had grown, so amorous, so weak, so frustrated. Had I not been, in effect, "his"? Was I not physically attractive to him? I knew now I was no Eta, but surely I was better than nothing. Why had he not taken me, if only, throwing me to the grass, briefly, brutally? He had kept me under his dominance, strictly, and then, when I had obviously ached for his touch, he would turn away, not so much as glancing at me. One night when I had laid near him, bound hand and foot, I had literally whimpered in my need, trying to put my head against him. He had put wadding in my mouth, and lashed it in with binding, gagging me, then pushed me from his side that he might sleep. I slept little that night, rolling and squirming with misery. Two days later, after we had stopped to camp, my need so much upon me, I knelt before him and, tears in my eyes, began kissing at his feet and legs. I lifted my eyes to him, filled with tears. "Rape me," I begged. "Rape me!" And even though we did not know one another's language, there could have been no mistaking the nature of my needs, and the import of my petition. But he had turned away. That night, in my bonds, for hours, I had wept and squirmed. I was then a virgin. I did not even know, fully, then, what a man could do to me. Yet, even then, had I been told how it is that girls of a certain sort, of a sort which I was soon to find myself to be, could sometimes in their need scream and writhe in the grass, could sometimes dance wildly beneath the moons, clawing at them, could sometimes tear their fingernails bloody scratching at the cement of their kennels, could sometimes bruise their bodies hurling them against the bars of their cells or tear their flesh pulling against their shackles to touch a guard, I would have dimly understood. How cruel men are sometimes, not to satisfy such a woman.
