Vagabonds of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "You are keeping her under unusual security," I said.

  "It is necessary," he said. "She has become a beauty. The men hang about, asking about her, making offers for her, and such. I fear she might be stolen at night."

  "Excellent," I said.

  I then followed Ephialtes about the wagon, and sat down, cross-legged, by their small fire.

  "What is the news of Torcadino?" I asked.

  "I do not know," he said.

  The girl in the yellow tunic served us, quietly, efficiently, deferentially. She was Liadne, a slave. She had been picked up in the vicinity of the Crooked Tarn, months ago. She was as first girl to the others, even Phoebe, the free woman.

  "It is strange," I said. "It seems surely there should be news from Torcadino by now."

  "Dietrich of Tarnburg is trapped," said Ephialtes. "It is a matter of time. He will be starved out."

  I did not think that Dietrich would be starved out. He was holding Torcadino with only some five thousand men, and that many, I thought, might subsist on produce grown within the city, in yards, in torn-up streets, in roof gardens, and such. The civilian population, helpfully, had been for the most part expelled from the city shortly after its capture. An exception had been made, of course, for enslaved women of interest. One of the duties of these women, many of high caste, now enslaved, would doubtless be the tending of the soldiers' gardens. This thought amused me, high-caste women as garden slaves. To be sure, they would also serve as pleasure slaves.

  "There is no escape for him," said Ephialtes.

  "Perhaps not," I said.

  "For his men, at least," he said. "Perhaps he, himself, and some officers, might escape by tarn, at night."

  "Perhaps," I said. I doubted, however, that Dietrich would abandon his men.

  "Have you come alone to Brundisium?" asked Ephialtes.

  "No," I said, "I came with two companions, but they are elsewhere, at my camp."

  "They are welcome here, of course," said Ephialtes. "There is room under the wagon."

  "Thank you," I said. "I am grateful for that." I had not wished to bring Marcus and Ina to the wagon of Ephialtes, of course, for it was, for most practical purposes, within the Cosian camp. From where we were I could have thrown a stone among the tents. The accent of Marcus, here, might have provoked suspicion, inquiries and such. I had left him and Ina in a large, crowded area near the periphery of the slave camp, one populated now by itinerants, peddlers, camp guards and such. In such a place there was a medley of accents and I did not think the young man and the blond female would attract undue attention, except perhaps insofar as Ina might excite interest as a possible chain slut.

  "I have kept the accounts with care," said Ephialtes.

  "You have deducted your commission, and expenses of feed, and such," I said.

  "I will do so," he said.

  We heard a coin thrown into one of the copper bowls on the far side of the wagon.

  Ephialtes bent down a little, to look across the fire, under the wagon. "A fellow is putting Amina into service," he said.

  "A tarsk bit?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Ephialtes. He sat back. "Several fellows have asked me to put Phoebe at the stake," he said, "being willing to pay an entire copper tarsk."

  "For only a brief use and handling?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "She must have become a beauty," I said.

  "She has," he said. "Shall I have her released from the sack, for your inspection?"

  "No," I said. "I may wish, however, to have her presented in the morning."

  "At your convenience," he said.

  We heard another tarsk bit strike into one of the bowls, and then rattle to a stop.

  "Rimice is in use," said Ephialtes, peering under the wagon, looking to the other side.

  "You have put their former free-woman names on them as slave names," I noted.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Excellent," I said. In a sense, of course, all female names are slave names, being the names of slaves. But, of course, not all slaves are legal slaves. With some women it is useful to give them a new name, or even to change their name from time to time, as one might change the name of any animal. With others, it is amusing to have them answering to their old names, but now merely as slaves to slave names. Much depends on the woman, for example, with respect to what most stimulates her, and makes her the most helpless. Too, things may always be changed, at the master's will.

  I heard one of the women cry out.

  "That is Amina," I said.

  "Yes," said Ephialtes.

  "She has become a slave, has she not?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  In a few moments, we heard, too, from a slightly different direction, gasps, then moans and soft cries.

  "That is Rimice," said Ephialtes.

  "She, too, is apparently becoming acquainted with her collar," I said.

  "Just wait," said Ephialtes, "until he forces her beyond the point from which she can return."

  "Excellent," I said. That would be the point at which the woman has no choice but to accept the slave orgasm, assuming, of course, that the master chooses to grant it to her.

  Naturally the master, at least eventually, at least usually, though she does not know, may be depended upon to accede to her piteous requests. A woman is very beautiful, incidentally, squirming, thrashing about, gasping, crying out, helpless in the throes of slave orgasm.

  How different they are then from a free woman!

  But then it does not matter, for then they are in collars; they are then only slaves.

  Who cares to what almost unendurable raptures a slave may be subjected?

  They are only slaves.

  "I am interested in clearing up our business very soon," I said.

  "Very well," said Ephialtes.

  Liadne's eyes met mine. For some reason, she seemed terrified.

  At that moment Amina cried out in helpless submission. It is a beautiful sound, and one not unfamiliar to masters. A few moments later Rimice also cried out, wildly and helplessly, her small, well-curved body, with its sensitivities and responsiveness, apparently turned against her by the mercilessness of her use-master, forcing her to endure slave ecstasy, and then, with a joyous sob, she became one with the ecstasy, and a yielding slave.

  I saw that it had been done to them, both, that both had been subjected to slave orgasm by their use-masters.

  How much pleasure had the men derived from them, and only for a tarsk-bit!

  But how much pleasure, too, had had the slaves!

  How grateful they are, given the needs enhanced and instilled within them, for the thoughtfulness of a master's touch.

  They now so desperately needed it!

  How different from the free woman, restless, ignorant and miserable, ensconced within the icy fortress of her pride and egotism!

  Both were doubtless clinging now to their use-masters, begging them to hold them for a little while longer, to permit them to subside, to give them some moments for their tumults to quiet.

  "Take the whip, and check the girls," said Ephialtes to Liadne.

  "Yes, Master," she said, leaping up.

  In a moment she was on the other side of the wagon. I turned about, peering under the wagon.

  Liadne had knelt before the fellow who had put Amina in use. "Are you satisfied with the slave, Master," she asked.

  I could see the terror in Amina's eyes.

  "Yes," said the fellow, and left.

  Liadne then knelt before the other fellow, who had risen now, next to the small, trembling, curvaceous Rimice. "Are you satisfied with the slave, Master?" asked Liadne.

  Rimice looked down, frightened, at the dirt. Her fingers were pressed down, into it.

  "Yes," said the fellow, and he, too, left.

  Liadne then leaped to her feet, whip in hand. "On your backs, hands at your sides, palms up, slaves!" she said.

  Immediately Amina and Rimice lay supine, parallel t
o one another, their hands at their sides, their palms up, the chains on their necks running to their individual stakes.

  Liadne snapped the whip.

  Both the supine slaves shuddered. I gathered they had felt the lash upon occasion.

  "You did not do badly, Amina," said Liadne.

  "Thank you, Mistress!" said Amina.

  "But you will attempt to do better next time, will you not?" inquired Liadne.

  "Yes, Mistress," Amina, the slave, assured her.

  "But as for you, Rimice!" said Liadne, threateningly.

  "Mistress?" quavered lovely Rimice.

  Liadne at that point snapped the whip again, angrily.

  "Mistress?" cried lovely Rimice, in fear.

  "I think for a moment," said Liadne, "you attempted to resist the slave orgasm."

  "I could not resist," said Rimice. "He would not permit it. He forced it from me!"

  "But you tried, did you not?" asked Liadne.

  "I could not resist it!" wept Rimice.

  "But you tried," said Liadne.

  "But I was unsuccessful," cried Rimice.

  "You tried," said Liadne.

  "But in a moment," wept Rimice, "I did yield to it!"

  "But for a moment," said Liadne, "you dared to attempt to resist."

  "I will not do so again!" cried Rimice. "I do not even want to do so again! I now know what it is to yield! I now want to yield! I know that resistance is forbidden me, but I do not even want to resist now! I want rather to behave as is fitting for me, as what I am, a slave!"

  "You are now ready to be good slave?" asked Liadne.

  "Yes, Mistress!" said Rimice. "Yes, Mistress!"

  "You wish to be a good slave?"

  "Yes, Mistress!"

  "Who wants to be a good slave?" asked Liadne.

  "Rimice wants to be a good slave!"

  "And is Rimice going to be a good slave?" asked Liadne.

  "Yes," wept Rimice, "Rimice is going to be a good slave!"

  Sometimes even extremely hormonally feminine women, fearing the latent slave in themselves, attempt to resist. They will not become whole and perfect, of course, until they become what they are, slaves.

  "Perhaps then it will not be necessary to lash you," mused Liadne.

  "No, Mistress!" Rimice assured her.

  "Are there Vennans in camp?" I asked.

  "How could there be Vennans, here?" asked Ephialtes.

  "Sell Amina to one," I said.

  "But she herself was Vennan," he said.

  "It does not matter," I said. "She is a slave now, and if she is returned to Venna she will be kept there, and serve there, as what she is, and only that and precisely that, a slave."

  "Of course," said Ephialtes.

  "Accept any reasonable offer," I said.

  "Very well," he said.

  "The fellow who just used Rimice," I said, "he who made her yield so well, and in so short a time, was, I think, a Cosian."

  "Yes," said Ephialtes. "He has come back to use her almost every evening."

  "Seek him out and see if he will make an offer on her," I said.

  "I have little doubt he will make an offer on her," said Ephialtes.

  "Accept any reasonable offer," I said.

  "She was, of course, before being reduced to animal status, before becoming a domestic animal, a Cosian," he said.

  "And how do you think the fellow will see her?" I asked.

  "Only as what she is, a slave," said Ephialtes.

  "And will treat her, and handle her, accordingly?"

  "Of course," said Ephialtes.

  "Excellent," I said. "She may then, barefoot in the streets of Telnus, or Jad, or wherever, where once she may have walked in haughty pride, wear her collar, as any other slave."

  Liadne returned to our side, put down the whip, to one side, and knelt near Ephialtes.

  "We have been considering business," said he to Liadne. "In the morning I will attempt to sell Amina and Rimice. We have buyers in mind, and do not anticipate difficulty."

  Liadne turned white.

  "Later in the morning," he said, "Phoebe is to be prepared for presentation."

  Liadne began to tremble.

  I wondered what was wrong with her.

  "Hopefully," said Ephialtes, addressing Liadne, but not seeming to take notice of her apparent agitation or distress, "we will clear accounts with my friend, Tarl, by tomorrow evening."

  She swayed, and I was afraid she might swoon.

  "What is wrong with Liadne?" I asked.

  "What is wrong with you, girl?" inquired Ephialtes.

  "Oh, Master!" she wept, suddenly, and threw herself to her belly, putting out her small hand piteously to him.

  "What is wrong?" asked Ephialtes.

  "What of Liadne!" she wept.

  "You are not even a free woman, as Phoebe," said Ephialtes. "You are a slave, a property, as Amina and Rimice."

  "I know, Master," she wept. "I know!"

  Ephialtes looked at her, puzzled.

  "Do not sell me!" she wept. "Do not sell me, Master!"

  "I do not understand," said Ephialtes.

  "I love you, Master," she said. "I love you!"

  "I am not your master," he said. "Tarl, of Port Kar, is your master. I have been holding you for him."

  "Do not sell me, Master!" she begged.

  "I do not own you," said Ephialtes. "You are not mine to sell."

  She began to sob, uncontrollably.

  I now understood what had been troubling Liadne. I should have thought of it before.

  "Has she been a good first girl?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Ephialtes, "but an even better camp slave."

  "Do you like her?" I asked.

  "I am used to having her about," he said. "She is useful, for example, slept at one's feet, to keep them warm on cold nights."

  "I can imagine," I said. Liadne was a beauty.

  He shrugged.

  "I had thought," I said, "you might have taken a fancy to her."

  "She is only a slave," he said, evasively.

  "Perhaps you would care to make an offer on her?"

  "I was intending to speak to you about such a matter," he admitted.

  Liadne looked up, startled.

  "What do you think she is worth?" I asked.

  Liadne, on her belly, looked at us, hanging on every word.

  "I am prepared to offer you ten silver tarsks," he said.

  "Oh, Master," wept Liadne. "I am not worth so much!"

  "I am well aware of that," said Ephialtes, irritably. Liadne, even though a beauty, in the current markets, in this area, where most women were being wholesaled in lots, would probably not have brought more than a silver tarsk or two. Most women were being sold for copper tarsks, some even for a few tarsk bits.

  "It seems you have taken a fancy to her," I said.

  "She is only a slave," he said.

  I smiled.

  "Fifteen silver tarsks," he said.

  "I doubt that your wagon and goods, and tharlarion are worth so much," I said.

  "Do you accept my offer?" he asked.

  "I think you have taken a fancy to her," I said.

  "How could that be," he said. "She is only a slave."

  "It seems to me a possibility," I said.

  "Absurd," said he.

  "I see," said I.

  "Do you accept my offer?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  Liadne put her cheek to the dirt, sobbing.

  "I do not understand," he said.

  "I cannot sell her," I said.

  "Why?" he asked.

  "Because then I could not give her away."

  "'Give her away'?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "Would you like her?"

  "Of course," he said.

  "Then she is yours," I said.

  "Master!" cried Liadne, joyously.

  "Subject to one condition," I said.

  "Yes?" he said.

  "Liadne," said I. />
  "Master?" she asked.