John Norman - Counter Earth11

by Slave Girl Of Gor(Lit)

  It had been Clitus Vitellius of Ar who had first enslaved me. He had marked me with the hot iron, marking my very flesh, branding me a slave girl. He had made me serve him! He had made me love him, and had then; when it pleased him, his sport done, thrown me aside, giving me to peasants!

  A bold plan, relentless and terrible, formed in my mind. I breathed deeply, in cold fury, resolved.

  He would find that a slave girl's vengeance is not a light thing.

  I straightened myself. I parted the silk, lasciviously. I lifted my head, with the small sounds of the bells on the collar.

  He was coming toward me now, eating on the bit of cake he had purchased.

  I saw he carried no weapons. This pleased me.

  I ran toward him, with short steps, and knelt before him. I kissed his feet. At his feet I felt suddenly a wave of love for him, the helpless weakness of a slave girl overcome at her master's feet, but then I caught myself, and every bit of me became cold, and calculating and sensuous. I held the calves of his legs in my hands, and looked up at him.

  "Dina," he said.

  "My master calls me Yata," I said, "Master."

  "Then you are Yata," he smiled.

  "Yes, I am Yata," I said. I looked up at him, smiling.

  "Are you as innocent and as clumsy as before?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said, putting my head down, beginning to kiss him on the side of the leg, deeply, puffing, sucking, at the hair a tiny bit.

  "I see not," he said, laughing.

  I looked up. "I have been taught how to please men," I said.

  "Of course," he said, "you are a slave girl."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Are you good?" he asked.

  "Some masters have not been fully displeased," I said.

  "Do you think you could please me?" he asked.

  My heart leaped. I applied myself as subtly and marvelously as I could, touching his leg variously, bringing my mouth slowly, biting and loving, to the side of his knee. "No, Master," I whispered. "Yata could never please a great warrior like you."

  He looked about. "Say only `sailor,'" he said. "Here I am not a Captain of Ar, he Clitus Vitellius, but only a seafarer, a simple oarsman from Tyros, one called Tij Rejar."

  I looked up at him. "As master wishes," I said. Then I again applied myself to his legs.

  "Master will not cuff me from him, will he?" I begged.

  "Clever slut," he said.

  He lifted my head and brushed back the kerchief on my head. I reddened.

  "I was some weeks ago slave cargo," I said, my head down.

  "And pretty slave cargo indeed," he said.

  "I am pleased, if Master is pleased," I said. I held his legs, my cheek against his thigh. I wanted to cry out that I loved him, but then I checked myself, remembering my project. I knelt at his feet only to bring him low. I did not think it would be difficult if I could get him to the Chatka and Curla.

  He would pay! He would pay!

  I looked up at him, smiling. "I was once yours," I said, "Master."

  He looked down at me, almost tenderly. "Perhaps it was a mistake to have given you away," he smiled.

  I caught my breath, but remained firm. I must not relent. I would be remorseless.

  How vulnerable in a way I was, in silk and collar at his feet. But I held great power.

  "It is strange," I said. "Once you owned me. Now, in faraway Cos, on the wharves, I kneel at your feet in the collar of a paga slave."

  "It is a pretty collar," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "I see by your silk," he said, "that you work in the Chatka and Curla."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "What is your duty there?" he asked.

  "To please the customers of my master," I said.

  "It is long since I have held your hot little body," he said.

  I blushed, though I was a slave girl.

  "You are a hot, lovely slave, you know," he said.

  "In your arms," I said, "any girl, even the daughter of a Ubar, would find herself only a responding slave." I did not doubt but what this was true. I remembered myself miserable in his arms, writhing with unwanted ecstasy, then, unable to help myself, unable to hold out longer, suddenly surrendering to my enslavement in his arms. Though I had been of Earth he had reduced me to a spasmodic, yielding slave.

  "I am thirsty for paga," he said.

  "I know a place," I said.

  "The Chatka and Curla?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "But are there girls there?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Are you one of them?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It is long since I have owned you," he said.

  I looked up at him, boldly. "Own me again at the Chatka and Curla," I whispered.

  "You are a curvacious, tempting little slut," said he, "-Yata."

  "Does Yata dare to suspect," I asked, "that Master once cared for her a little?"

  "Does a slave girl wish to be whipped?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said, head down.

  "I have other matters to attend to," he said.

  I looked up, frightened. "Please, Master," I begged. "Come with Yata to the Chatka and Curla."

  "I am busy," he said.

  "But Master thirsts for paga," I said.

  He grinned.

  "And Yata," I wheeled, "was detained upon the wharves." I remembered the slave who had been set upon me by his master, to discipline me. I had been well ravished, and at length. He had forced me to respond to him, as a slave's slave. It was now well past the time when I should be at the tavern, bathing and preparing for the labors of the evening. "She is late," I said. "If she does not return with a customer, after all this time, her master may not be pleased."

  "It is nothing to me," said he, "if a girl is tied at the slave ring and put under the leather."

  "Of course not, Master," I said. But then I looked up at him. "But Yata," I said, softly, begging him, supplicating him "desires to serve Master paga." I knelt before him, on the boards of the wharf, eyes lifted, holding him. "Have me with the cup Master," I begged. "Please, Master."

  He looked down upon me.

  "Have pity on a slave, Master," I begged. "Have me with the cup, Master. Please, Master.

  He smiled. "Conduct me to your tavern, Slave Girl," he said.

  "Thank you, Master!" I breathed. I put down my head, so that he might not see the smile of victory, of triumph, that suffused my features. Submissively, with the sound of bells, those on my collar and ankle ring, I rose lightly to my feet, turned, and, excited, scarcely daring to breathe, barefoot, as a slave girl, led the way toward the Chatka and Curla.

  I heard him following me.

  The double gate, of barred iron, shut behind me.

  I turned, suddenly, screaming, pointing to he who had followed me within.

  "He is of Ar!" I cried. "He is an enemy! Seize him!"

  Clitus Vitellius looked at me, startled.

  "Seize him!" I cried. His hand had gone to his left hip but the short sword in its scabbard did not now hang there.

  Strabo, assistant to Aurelion of Cos, leaped upon him, and was struck back. Clitus Vitellius looked about himself wildly.

  "Seize him!" I cried.

  Two of the men who worked within the tavern hurried toward the gate. Men leaped up from tables.

  Clitus Vitellius turned to the double gate and tore at the bars, but could not fling them hack, for the bolts had slipped into place.

  A man leaped on him and he shook him off. He bent to Strabo, to rip the keys from his belt. There were many keys. He cut with the keys, holding their ring, at the face of the second man of the tavern, who fell screaming, bloodied, reeling back. He slashed about him with the keys, long and heavy on their thick ring, some six inches in width. A man leaped at him, low, seizing his legs. Two others leaped bodily upon him. They struggled. Then two others sped to him, an
d then there was a sword at his chest, where the tunic of the sailor had been torn away. Four men held him, back against the bars of the gate. Aurelion of Cos rushed forward. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

  I pointed to the powerful, bloodied captive.

  "He is Clitus Vitellius of Ar," I cried. "He is a captain of Ar!"

  "A spy!" cried a man.

  "Kill the spy!" cried another.

  "He says he is Tij Rejar, an oarsman of Tyros, but he is of Ar, of the Warriors! He is Clitus Vitellius! He is of Ar! He is a captain!"

  Aurelion looked at me. "It would not be well for you, Slave," said he, "to be mistaken in this matter."

  "I am not mistaken, Master," I said.

  "Who are you?" asked Aurelion.

  Suddenly I was frightened, If his identity were sufficiently well established so as to truly appear an oarsman from Tyros it might not go well for me. I might be boiled alive in the oil of tharlarion. I began to sweat.

  "I scorn to conceal my identity from those of Cos," he said. "I am Clitus Vitellius, a captain of Ar."

  I laughed with pleasure. "See!" I cried.

  "Bring chains," said Aurelion.

  Clitus Vitellius looked at me. I shrank back. Chains were placed upon him.

  "He is securely manacled," said Strabo, whose face was swollen as a consequence of the blow of Clitus Vitellius.

  Ankle chains were then placed, too, upon the warrior of Glorious Ar, and a chain ran, too, from his wrists to the chain on his ankles.

  A collar, with two guide chains, one on each side, was fastened on his neck.

  "Kill the spy," said a man.

  "No," said Aurelion. "We will take him to the magistrates."

  The double gate was unlocked by Strabo, who had recovered his keys. Four men made ready to conduct Clitus Vitellius from the tavern.

  "It is the heavy galleys for spies," said one man.

  "Better to kill him now," said a man.

  "No," said Aurelion, "conduct him to the magistrates. They will have much sport with him before he is chained to a bench."

  The heavy galleys were round ships, large ships, which usually carried bulk goods, such as lumber and stone. It was usually impractical to employ free oarsmen on such ships.

  Clitus Vitellius looked once more upon me. I saw that he was securely chained.

  I approached him. "Ho, Clitus Vitellius," I said. "It seems you now wear chains like a slave."

  He did not speak tome.

  "You will soon be slave in the heavy galleys," I said. I posed before him, as a slave girl, opening my silk. Men laughed. "Look well, Master," I said, "for there are few girls in the rowing holds." I turned before him, and again faced him. "Do not forget Yata, Master," I said. "Remember it was she who put you in chains, who puts you upon the bench of the galleys!"

  He regarded me, not speaking.

  I went to him and, suddenly, with all my might, slapped him. He scarcely moved.

  "The vengeance of a girl," I said, "is not a light thing."

  "Neither," said he, looking at me, "is the vengeance of a warrior."

  I shrank back, frightened.

  "Take him away," said Aurelion.

  Clitus Vitellius was conducted from the tavern.

  "You did well, Slave Girl," said Aurelion.

  "Thank you, Master," I said. Then, suddenly, I knelt before him. I had rendered great service to the state of Cos. "Free me, Master," I begged.

  "Bring a whip," said Aurelion to Strabo.

  "No, please, Master!" I cried.

  "Put her at the slave ring," said Aurelion, "and give her ten lashes, and then throw her a pastry. She has done well."

  "I shall, Aurelion," said Strabo.

  In moments I knelt at the slave ring, my small wrists crossed and bound to it, the silk pulled away from me, down about my calves. I was struck ten times, and then released. A pastry was thrown to the floor before me. "You did well, Slave Girl," said Strabo. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. I reached for the pastry. The whip stayed my hand. "Forgive me, Master," I said. I took the pastry in my mouth.

  "Chain her in the kennels," said Aurelion.

  On my hands and knees, as a punished slave girl, holding the pastry in my mouth, I crawled from the floor to the kennels, followed by Strabo. There, at the concrete wall, on my blankets, I lay down. The chain and collar was fastened on my neck. Strabo left. I took the pastry in my hands, and began to eat it. What a fool I had been to beg my freedom. I had only to look in a mirror to see that I would never be free on Gor. I lay in the darkness of the long kennel, on my blankets, in my place, chained by the neck. I was a Gorean slave girl. Then I cried out with anguish, weeping, and hurled the pastry from me. I pounded at the concrete beneath the blankets. I wept. I had betrayed Clitus Vitellius, my master!

  Strabo, accompanied by Narla, approached me. He poked me with a whip. "Be quiet," he said. She carried a lamp. She was eating the pastry which I had discarded. Strabo unlocked the collar on my neck. "There is a sailor here," said he, "who is drunk, from the Cords of Tharna, who is calling for you."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  I recalled the fellow who had had the red-haired girl who had bested me in combat on the wharf. I had said to him that I could please him more than she. He had now, apparently, come to the Chatka and Curla, calling for me.

  "Please do not make me serve," I begged.

  "Narla," said he, "will help you ready yourself. Be quick."

  "Do you want some pastry?" asked Narla holding a piece out to me.

  "No," I said. I looked up at Strabo. "I betrayed Clitus Vitellius of Ar," I wept.

  "You did well," he said. "Now hurry."

  "Please, Master!" I begged.

  He struck down with the lash and I cried out in pain. "I hurry!" I wept. "I hurry!"

  I fled from the kennel, followed by Narla, to the room of preparation.

  I could hear the fellow on the floor calling for me.

  21

  A Convoy Departs From The Harbor Of Telnus; I Appear On The Cargo Manifest Of One Of Its Ships

  I scarcely noticed as my wrists were braceleted behind my back. I wore a brief, yellow slave tunic, of closely woven rep-cloth. I stood near the gate of the Chatka and Curla.

  "Come, Yata," said Strabo, taking his direction toward the wharves.

  I, barefoot, braceleted, head down, followed him.

  I knew now that I truly loved Clitus Vitellius of Ar. Yet to my misery I had betrayed him. How I would if I could have undone that deed. How I would if I could have tried to pit my small strength against the heavy oar which he would now draw. I would if I could have changed places with him. Better that I, if I could, be chained to a bench, an oarsman slave, than he. I, a worthless slave girl, in her vanity and pettiness, had laid low not a warrior, but my own beloved. What mattered it that he cared naught for me, that I was but rude collar meat in his mighty hands? It mattered nothing. I loved him more deeply than I realized one could love. He had stirred such emotion, such rage, such hatred, in me that I would not have believed it possible. I had lived for my vengeance, dreaming of it, and, when I had attained it, I found it only misery and ashes, and unspeakable anguish, for it had cost me my very self, he whom I loved, Clitus Vitellius of the city of Ar.

  The men in the tavern, and the girls, too, had been pleased that I had designated Clitus Vitellius. How excited and pleased all had been. "You did well," they assured me. I had been thrown a pastry. But, alone with myself, I wept with misery.

  I had not known I could so love. I would have given all to undo that deed.

  He had not treated me well, but it did not matter. All that mattered was that I loved him.

  Yet I had betrayed him.

  How small a thing itwas that he had sported with me and then, in his simple cruelty, given me to a peasant. Did I not know I was a slave girl? What did I expect? To be treated as a free woman? How vast a thing, how vicious and disproportionate it was that I, a mere slave girl, for so small a fault, if fault it
was, had sentenced him to the tortures of the galleys.

  I had done well! I cried out in anguish. I loved him. I loved him!

  I should have served him in the tavern, and then kissed him farewell, surrendering him to his glory and freedom, I remaining behind, forgotten, a girl whom once he had owned and discarded. I could then have known him free.