Prize of Gor

by John Norman

  “Of course you yielded,” he said. “If you had not, I would have seen to it that you were beaten.”

  She looked up at him, in reddened astonishment.

  “Slaves must yield,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Unlike Mirus then, it seemed, to her relief, that he would not think the less of her because of the commanded naturalness, and vitality, of her responses. Frigidity may be a virtue of free women, but that dignity is not permitted to slaves. His anger, then, she understood, was not directed against her, but against the Cosians, who had made use of her without his acquiescence. Who blames the kaiila who responds to the digging heels, the reins and quirts of diverse riders?

  Suddenly she was suffused with anger, and remembered that she hated Selius Arconious.

  “Can you see now?” he asked.

  She struggled to her side, and up, on her right elbow. “Master!” she said, suddenly, startled.

  For at that moment, about the wagon, carried by two Cosians, was brought the body of a gagged, bound man.

  Selius Arconious, as soon as she, saw that it was the spokesman, bound hand and foot.

  Some soldiers, and the officer, and the great, shambling beast, Kardok, came about the wagon, to the cleared space there, in the center of the camp.

  There was a great bruise on the side of the spokesman’s head, where he had doubtless been dealt a grievous blow.

  Now, however, he was clearly conscious. He pulled weakly at the thongs that bound him. His eyes were open, widely, over the gag.

  The officer was angry.

  “How came this urt to the camp?” he demanded.

  “Doubtless brought here, in the storm, or later,” said one of the soldiers.

  “No,” said another. “The grass beneath the body, where we found him, was dry.”

  “That means someone entered the camp, in the night, before the storm, between the guards, and left this tethered urt amongst us!”

  “He lay in a small depression,” said one of the soldiers. “We only saw him moments ago, in the moonlight.”

  “It will be morning in a few Ehn,” said a soldier.

  “Who can come and go thusly amongst us?” said the officer, in fury.

  “Who knows?” said one of the soldiers.

  The officer strode to the kneeling, bound prisoners. “Who?” he said. “Who?”

  “A warrior, perhaps,” said Portus Canio.

  “Let us withdraw,” said one of the soldiers.

  The officer returned to the center of the camp, near the wagon, near the place where a woman, or, better, a girl, had been subjected to diverse usages suitable for one such as she, one who was slave.

  “Remove the gag from his mouth,” said the officer.

  A dagger was thrust rudely behind the outer binding of the gag, and slashed it away. A streak of blood was then at the side of the jaw. The soldier then, with the tip of the dagger, poked through the wadding, and forced it out. The man began to choke, and then babble pathetically. “Sleen,” he said. “Sleen!”

  “Prairie sleen,” said a soldier.

  “He was a fool to leave the camp,” said another.

  “I do not like it,” said another soldier. “Sleen will follow the scent. He will have brought sleen to the vicinity of the camp.”

  “They may have been about in any event,” said one of the soldiers. “We saw two in the vicinity, some pasangs away, whilst we were in flight.”

  “Yes,” said another soldier.

  “They may have caught the scent of the gray sleen, the hunting sleen,” said another, “and surmised them to be tracking, and then followed, for days, hoping to share the kill.”

  “Possibly,” said the officer.

  “Let us take him out into the grass, and kill him there,” said a soldier. “If he has sleen on his tracks, that should satisfy them.”

  “No,” begged the spokesman. “No!”

  “Who did this to you?” asked the officer.

  “I do not know,” whined the spokesman. “I was struck in the darkness.”

  “He is well thonged,” said a soldier.

  “Bound by a warrior,” said one.

  “Or a slaver,” said another.

  Ellen shuddered. Goreans, of all castes, are skilled at thonging, braceleting, binding and such. That is to be expected in a natural society, a society in which a prized and essential ingredient is female slavery, a society in which it is an accepted, respected, unquestioned, honored tradition, an institution sanctioned in both custom and law. Even boys are taught, under the tutelage of their fathers, how to bind female slaves, hand and foot. They are also trained in gagging and blindfolding, two useful devices for controlling and training slaves.

  “Get some food,” said the officer. “Feed the prisoners, and the slave, as well. We trek at dawn.”

  “Sir!” called Portus Canio.

  The officer went to stand before him.

  “With all due respect, sir,” said Portus Canio, “if you would save yourself, and your men, I would free us, and take your leave. I do not think those outside the camp are greatly interested in your blood.”

  “I am thinking of having all of you killed,” said the officer, “all except the slave, who would make a nice gift for some ranking officer.”

  “I want her,” said Tersius Major.

  “To be sure,” said the officer, “perhaps we will merely auction her off — sell her naked from a slave block in Cos.”

  “I want her!” said Tersius Major.

  “Be silent,” said the officer.

  “If you slay us,” said Portus Canio, “I do not think you will reach Brundisium alive.”

  “Am I to return empty-handed?” asked the officer. “The purloined gold, the fees for mercenary cohorts, is presumably gone by now. Now you would have me return without even prisoners for interrogation?”

  “For torture, you mean,” said Portus Canio.

  “The testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture,” said the officer.

  “We are not slaves,” said Portus Canio.

  “That can be changed.”

  “Torture will not obtain the truth for you, only what you want to hear.”

  “You do not know the truth?”

  “None of us do, now,” said Portus Canio.

  “I would take something back with me,” said the officer.

  “I do not know what it could be,” said Portus Canio.

  “Have those outside the camp an interest in your colleagues?” asked the officer.

  “I do not think so,” said Portus Canio. “And they are not our colleagues. They pursued us. I think they sought gold. Too, they wished, apparently, to obtain the slave, and kill her. I think they would have slain us, as well. I am not clear as to their motivations. There is more here than I clearly understand. Tension stood between us. We stood on the brink of war. You arrived. You attacked. We fought together, thrown side by side, unwilling, unexpected allies.”

  “They had forbidden weapons,” said the officer.

  “Only forbidden,” said Tersius Major, “because the Priest-Kings would keep such things for themselves.”

  “If that is their will, then it is their will,” said the officer. Then he regarded Mirus. “Who are you, and what is your business?”

  “I am a merchant of Ar,” said Mirus, “dealing in various commodities, including slaves.”

  “An urt of Ar,” said the officer.

  “No,” said Selius Arconious, bound at the wheel. “He may reside in Ar, but he is not of Ar. He has no Home Stone.”

  He is jealous, thought Ellen.

  “I see,” said the officer. “Then he is not even an urt of Ar?”

  “No,” said Selius Arconious. He cast a look at Mirus. Mirus might have been powerful, and rich, but the look directed upon him, though that of a mere tarnster, was one of superiority, of condescension, the look that one with a Home Stone might bestow upon one not so favored.

  Surely he ha
tes Mirus, thought Ellen. I think he is jealous of him. Can that be because of me? Could he be jealous because of a mere slave? What are his feelings toward me? He hates me! And I hate him! I must hate him! But he cannot be jealous. How could one be jealous of me? I am a mere slave!

  The officer threw a look at the sleenmaster, who looked away.

  “There are mysteries here, forbidden weapons, and such,” said the officer.

  Portus Canio shrugged. He knew as little of such things as the Cosians.

  “Beware the Priest-Kings,” whispered a soldier.

  “I think I know one who is voluble,” said the officer, “one who might be persuaded to speak.”

  Kardok lifted his large, shaggy head.

  He uttered a tiny sound, scarcely audible.

  His two compeers, scarcely seeming to move, joined him.

  The officer turned about, angrily, and returned to where the spokesman, thonged, had been put on the grass. “Reinforce the watch,” said the officer. Then he, several of his men about him, looked down at the spokesman. “Kneel the urt!” he said. The spokesman, still helplessly bound, was put to his knees.

  Kardok and his two compeers were now scarcely noticed. They were curled together, as she had seen them before, as though for warmth, a mass of heat and fur, innocent domestic animals, harmless trained beasts, gentle, massive, slothful creatures who might, prodded into movement by a ribboned wand, delight children at the fairs. It seemed like a single, somnolent mountain of fur. Ellen knew it was alive. She could sense its breathing. It seemed almost unnaturally still. It was not far away. Perhaps it was asleep. But, no, Ellen did not think so. The eyes of Kardok were open.

  “There are two prairie sleen beyond the perimeter!” called a soldier, from several yards away.

  “I was followed by sleen, two sleen,” said the spokesman. “I was running, through the night. I saw them. They stayed with me, some yards away, they drew closer, silently. I ran. I was struck. I lost consciousness!”

  “The tarsk drew them here!” said a soldier, irritably.

  “They may have been with us on the march,” said Mirus. “I may have seen one of them once. I am not sure. Sometimes we saw spoor.”

  “How many are there?” asked a soldier.

  “Two,” said one of the soldiers.

  “We do not know,” said another. “Others, local sleen, might gather in.”

  “Yes,” said another, looking about.

  “There is little to fear if we are armed, and alert,” said the officer.

  “They are closer now than is common, to a camp,” said one of the soldiers, uneasily.

  Needless to say, the common prey of the wild sleen is not the human being, but the human being is not safe from them. He lies within their prey range. Indeed, they will attack animals larger than humans, kaiila, wild bosk, and such.

  The officer then directed his attention to the spokesman. “You do not know who struck you, or how many?” he asked.

  “No,” said the spokesman.

  “It would be easy to put you outside the camp,” said the officer.

  “Do not do so!” begged the spokesman.

  “We are civilized,” said the officer. “We could mercifully untie you, and then turn you out with our best wishes for your health and safety.”

  “Let me stay! Protect me!” said the spokesman.

  “And how will you buy your rent space within the camp?”

  “I will speak! I know things! Things on which hang the fate of worlds! I can speak of gold beyond that which you sought! Gold compared to which that is a paltry sum! I can speak of weapons which can devastate cities in a moment, leaving no more than poisonous ashes! I can make Cos the mistress of Gor, and you the master of Cos!”

  “You are mad,” said the officer.

  “No! No!” said the spokesman. “Ask those who were with me, ask them!”

  “He is mad,” said Mirus.

  “He is mad,” said the sleenmaster.

  The slave noted that Mirus cast a glance to one side, to a thick patch of heavy grass. She turned, as she could, but saw nothing there. Then she forgot, for the time, this seemingly puzzling inadvertence or inattention on his part.

  “Speak,” said the officer.

  “Secure the beasts!” said the spokesman.

  The officer threw a hasty glance at the three beasts, seemingly no more than a somnolent mound of fur.

  “Do not be absurd,” said the officer.

  “If you are finished with us,” said Portus Canio, “free us, and we will harness the tharlarion and move on, with the wagon.”

  “I will keep the slave,” said the officer.

  “Free us,” said Portus Canio.

  “Kill them all!” cried Tersius Major, the pistol in hand.

  “Consider the matter,” said Portus Canio. “If those in the grassland wished, several of you would now be dead. The great bow can strike from a distance. The camp was entered secretly last night. Your throats could have been cut. If you would return alive to Brundisium or see the coasts of Cos once more, release us. Within the walls of Ar we might be mortal enemies; here, in the grasslands, in this place, in this moment, we may be mere wayfarers, fallen in with one another, in the midst of a desolation.”

  “Kill them all!” cried Tersius Major.

  “But we have apprehended you,” said the officer.

  “Perhaps,” said Portus Canio, “you never saw us.”

  “I have lost men,” said the officer, angrily.

  “Bandits,” said Portus Canio. “And did you not slay the entire band?”

  The officer looked about, from man to man.

  “I have never seen these men,” said a soldier.

  “Nor I,” said another, looking out over the grasslands.

  “Kill them all!” screamed Tersius Major.

  “Free them,” said the officer. “And return their weapons to them.”

  “No!” said Tersius Major.

  “I will not risk my men,” said the officer.

  The pistol then was leveled at the breast of the officer.

  “Discard it,” said the officer. “Put it with the others, at the edge of the camp, while there is still time. You are living surely only with the sufferance of Priest-Kings.”

  Mirus smiled.

  “No, no!” said Tersius Major. Then he howled with anguish and lowered the pistol. But he made no effort to put the weapon with the others. Five such pistols, of six, the slave recalled, had been accounted for. In the pistol which Tersius Major held there was left, allegedly, one cartridge, and but one cartridge. The other weapon had doubtless been lost, somewhere, in the fray.

  “That one,” said the officer, indicating Selius Arconious, bound at the wheel, “free from the wheel, but keep bound.”

  “The slave?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “Unhobble her,” said the officer. “Those in the grasslands will not be interested in mere domestic stock. She is a well-curved little thing, though somewhat young. She will look well on an auction block in Cos.”

  “Please, no, Masters!” wept the slave. She cast a wild glance at Selius Arconious, who pulled angrily at his bonds, at the wheel.

  The officer then climbed to the surface of the wagon and held up a spear, but with the point down.

  In this fashion was a cessation of hostilities proposed.

  It was impossible to know, of course, if this token was seen, or, if seen, accepted.

  The heavy hobbles were removed from Ellen’s ankles and she was lifted to her feet, where she stood, for a moment unsteadily.

  Her eyes met those of Selius Arconious. He was her master. Quickly, as naturally as the movement of a cloud, the bending of a stalk of grass, the fluttering of a leaf, she hurried to kneel before him and put her head down, and kissed his feet.

  “Oh!” she cried in pain, yanked up and back, away from him, cruelly, by the hair, and thrown to her side in the grass, much where she had been before.

  She looked up in terror
at one of the soldiers.

  “You belong to Cos, slut,” she was told.

  Meanwhile Portus Canio, freed of his bonds, had risen awkwardly to his feet, rubbing his wrists. Fel Doron, and the third fellow, Loquatus, skilled with the crossbow, soon joined him. Mirus, the sleenmaster and their wounded fellow were left bound, as was the spokesman. Selius Arconious was freed from the wheel, but his wrists remained tied behind his back. He glared balefully at the officer, who paid him no attention. Some weapons, which had been those of Portus Canio and his fellows, were put on the grass, near the wagon. They did not yet arm themselves.

  Selius Arconious, though freed from the wheel, continued to stand near it, angrily, bound.

  Portus Canio regarded Tersius Major. “We shall find you,” he said. “We shall hunt you down, traitor to Ar.”

  “I do not fear you,” said Tersius Major, lifting the pistol. “I am the equal of a Priest-King!”

  Then Tersius Major turned to the officer. “You will take me with you to Brundisium,” he said.

  “Only if you discard the forbidden weapon,” said the officer. “I will not risk my men.”

  “Coward! Coward!” said Tersius Major. “There is no danger, no danger! You are a coward!”

  “I am responsible for my men,” said the officer. “Else I might respond to you appropriately, in a different time, in a different place.”

  “Coward!”

  The officer turned to Portus Canio and his fellows, who were backing the tharlarion toward the wagon, to hitch it in place.

  “I would keep the young fellow bound for a time,” he said, indicating Selius Arconious. “I do not think he will be able to follow us in the grasslands. But if he attempts to follow us, and finds us, and tries to regain this animal, our curvaceous little she-beast there on the grass, we will kill him.”

  Ellen cast a wild glance at her master. She pulled at her braceleted wrists.

  “Leash her,” said the officer.

  “Stand,” said the soldier nearest Ellen, he who had drawn her away from the feet of her master, Selius Arconious.

  Ellen stood, instantly. Gorean slave girls obey masters, instantly and with perfection. Goreans, you see, do not coddle their slave girls. The least hesitancy can be cause for discipline.

  The soldier then took a length of rope and knotted it to the length of rope which was already on her neck, that which Mirus, in his attempt, during the fray, to make away with her, had slashed short, an attempt foiled by Selius Arconious. The knot was jerked tight. Ellen was leashed.