Kajira of Gor coc-19

by John Norman

  “Yes?” I said.

  “—almost as if Mistress has some idea of the helplessness and vulnerability of the slave.”

  “And how,” I asked angrily, “would I, a free woman, have any idea of that?”

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” said Susan. “Of course you, as a free woman, could not!” I was angry. I considered whipping the little, collared slut. She put her head down, quickly, and continued her work, menial work, work suitable for such as she, a slave.

  “Susan,” I said.

  “Yes, Mistress?” she asked.

  “Is it hard to learn the whip dance?” I asked.

  “I am not a dancer, Mistress,” said Susan, “nor are most who perform the dance. It is not even, really, a dance. One simply has one’s clothes taken away, and then one moves before strong, powerful men as such men would have a woman move before them. Then when one is sufficiently pleased, he indicates this and you serve his pleasure.”

  “How do you know what to do?” I asked.

  “Sometimes one tries different things,” she said, “for example, about or on the furniture, on the floor, about their bodies, at their feet, on your back, on your belly, hoping to find something that they will respond to. Sometimes they give you explicit instructions or commands, as when a woman is put through slave paces. Sometimes they guide you, or help you, sometimes by the whip, sometimes by expressions or cries. At other times the girl listens, so to speak, to the slave fires in her belly, and seems to become one with them and the dance, and then, soon, must beg the brutes, in her dance, and by her piteous expressions and gestures, to relieve the merciless tensions in her body, allowing her to complete the cruel cycle of arousal, allowing her to receive them and submit to them, the masters, in the spasmodic surrender of the helpless slave.”

  “But the whip,” I said. “Do you not fear it?”

  “I fear it,” she said. “But I do not think I will feel it.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Susan suddenly looked me directly in the eye. “I dance well,” she said.

  I turned away from her. When I looked at her again, she had finished her work.

  “Will Mistress be needing me further for this evening?” she asked.

  I looked at Susan.

  How chaste, how modest, how demure she seemed in her brief tunic, and collar, with her lovely face and beautiful little figure, How dainty, how exquisite! How deferential, how shy! Surely she was a woman’s slave, and only that, attentive, knowledgeable, efficient, respectful and self effacing.

  But a man such as Ligurious had bought her naked off a slave block in Cos.

  What a sweet, bashful girl she was.

  But tonight she would dance naked for guardsmen.

  “Mistress?” asked Susan.

  “You do not seem distressed that tonight you will dance,” I observed. Indeed, it seemed she might be looking forward to it.

  “No, Mistress,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Must I speak?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I love men, and wish to serve them, fully,” she said.

  “Lewd and shameless slut!” I cried.

  “I am a slave,” she said. “Forgive me, Mistress. Too, I have not been given to a man in eleven days. My fingernails are bloody from scratching at the tiles in my kennel.”

  I shuddered. I had not thought much about where slave girls might be kept at night. To be sure, I knew that they were not wandering freely about the palace. Now, it seemed, that some, at least, might be locked in kennels. This made sense, of course, considering that, like the shameless, little slut, Susan, they were animals.

  “It does not seem that the whip dance, truly, would be much of a punishment for you,” I said.

  “Ligurious has several women,” she said. “He does not know me that well. He has had me only a few times, and I have improved my skills, considerably, since then.”

  “He thinks, then, that it will be a terrible punishment for you?” I asked.

  “I would suppose so,” she said. “Doubtless he expects that I will be muchly lashed.”

  “What is it like to be in the arms of a man such as Ligurious?” I asked, as though not much interested, really.

  “He devastates a woman,” she said, “turning her into a tormented, whimpering animal, and then he makes her yield to him, fully, and as a slave.”

  “Did you spill the wine on purpose?” I asked.

  “No, Mistress,” she laughed. “I did not know that Ligurious was coming to your quarters. It occurred before his arrival. Too, I know you would not be so cruel as to assign me to the whip dance. Too, the common punishment for such a clumsiness is not the uncompromising, degrading severity of the whip dance but disciplines more prosaic in their nature, such as a restriction or change in rations, close chains or, most often, a switching or whipping.”

  “I see,” I said.

  I wondered what Susan would look like, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat, twisting and writhing before men, pleasing them as a naked slave, theirs then to be exploited and used however they might wish. She seemed such an ideal woman’s slave, such an efficient, bashful, modest girl, it was hard to imagine her in such a context. But she had told me that her fingernails were bloody from scratching at the tiles in her kennel. It seemed then that quiet, sweet, withdrawn, retiring Susan actually had sexual needs and powerful ones. These needs, too, presumably, given her appearance and curvatures, bespeaking a richness in female hormones, would be deeply feminine ones. I wondered in how many girls like Susan there might lie a pleasure slave, waiting to be uncaged and commanded.

  “I dance well,” she had told me.

  How startled I had been when she had said that. I had turned away.

  She had looked into my eyes, in that instant, not as a slave into the eyes of a free woman, but as one woman into the eyes of another. I had felt then, in that instant, that we were both, ultimately, only women, that we were identical in our femaleness, that we were united in the bonds of a common sisterhood and what, in relationship to men, it entailed. We were both, ultimately, only women; we were both, ultimately, though I was free and she was a slave, representatives of the slave sex.

  I wondered if I, too, could dance well. I knew that if I did not, I would be lashed.

  “I will have no further need for you tonight, Susan,” I said. “I think that you should soon report to your masters of the evening.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she said. “Thank you, Mistress.”

  “Susan,” I said.

  “Yes, Mistress?” she said.

  “Is there unrest in the city?”

  “I do not know, Mistress,” she said. “I am seldom outside the grounds of the palace.”

  I had resolved upon a bold plan.

  “Before you report to your temporary masters,” I said, “inform Drusus Rencius that I wish to see him. He is to report to my quarters within the Ahn.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” she said.

  “It will not be necessary to inform Ligurious of this action on your part,” I said.

  “As Mistress wishes,” she said.

  “It is my recommendation, ” I said, “that in reporting to your temporary masters you are a little late, but just late enough to increase their eagerness, not late enough that you are lashed for tardiness.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” smiled Susan. “Thank you, Mistress!” She then sped from the room.

  I then went again to the barred window, and looked out, over the city.

  I myself had been outside of the palace grounds only infrequently in weeks, since my visit to the house of Kliomenes. I had been out, of course, in the grand victory parade, staged shortly after the seizure of the mines.

  I then turned away from the window. I would now await the arrival of Drusus Rencius. I had seen him privately scarcely at all since the house of Kliomenes and the inn of Lysias. Our relationship was totally professional. Twice he had requested to be relieved of his duties, to
be assigned to a new post, but I had refused to grant this request. That he might be restless, tortured or bitter in my presence meant nothing to me. I was a Tatrix. He was a soldier. He would obey me. I considered his apparent discomfort in my presence. I smiled. It pleased me. Let him suffer.

  Chapter 10 - I HAVE TAKEN COGNIZANCE IN CORCYRUS; WE ARE RETURNING TO THE PALACE

  Through the darkened street, along the crooked way, Drusus Rencius and I were making our way back to the palace. He carried a torch. The smaller streets of Gorean cities are often dark at night. The pedestrians carry their own light.

  “I would prefer,” said Drusus Rencius, “that we had kept to the main thoroughfares.”

  “I wished to speak to citizens in lesser known districts, as well,” I said.

  “Is Lady Sheila satisfied?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, “on the whole, though the people often seemed reticent, or frightened.”

  “Times are troubled,” said Drusus Rencius.

  I had stopped many passersby, particularly in the larger streets, making inquiries. I had even stopped in some of the more respectable taverns, those in which free women, without difficulty, might enter. The people seemed enthusiastically appreciative of the governance of the Tatrix and made light of shortages. They discounted and belittled rumors of discontentment or unrest in Corcyrus. Things in Corcyrus, it seemed, were much as Ligurious had assured me. The people were supportive of the policies of the palace, loyal to the state and personally devoted to their beloved Tatrix.

  “Many of the shops,” I said, “are boarded up.”

  “Many merchants have left the city,” said Drusus Rencius, “taking their goods with them.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “They are afraid,” he said. “The Street of Coins is almost closed.”

  This was actually a set of streets, or district, where money changing and banking were done. There are other types of establishments in the area, too, of course.

  “Private citizens, too, many of them,” said Drusus Rencius, “their goods on their back, have taken their leave of the city.”

  “Craven rabble,” I said. “Why can they not be brave like the others?”

  “Wait!” said Drusus Rencius, stopping. He lifted the torch, which he carried in his left hand, increasing the range of its illumination, and put out his right hand, holding me back, a barrier to my advance.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I heard something,” he said. “Stay back.”

  I stepped back. The sword of Drusus Rencius left its sheath. I now understood why he, though right-handed, had been carrying the torch in his left hand. It facilitated an immediate draw.

  “I do not hear anything,” I said.

  “Be quiet,” he said.

  I suddenly saw, emerging from the darkness, three shapes. “Tal, Soldier,” said one of them.

  “Tal,” said Drusus Rencius. He backed against a wall. I stood very near him, frightened.

  “We are lost,” said one of the shapes, ingratiatingly. He drew a sheet of paper from within his tunic. “I have directions here, on a sheet of paper. You have a torch.”

  “Do not approach,” said Drusus Rencius.

  The fellow smiled and, slowly, in his fingers, wadded up the sheet of paper, and dropped it to the street.

  Three swords then left their sheaths.

  “Give us the woman,” said the man.

  “No,” said Drusus Rencius.

  I suddenly cried out, seized from the side, and I saw Drusus Rencius, the torch flung to the side, lunge toward the man who had been in the center of the first two. One man, one of two who had been approaching us from the side, threw me back against a wall. I could not move because of his presence. My veil, not even unpinned, was wadded and thrust back, deeply in my mouth. I heard swords clashing.

  I was turned to the side and my robes of concealment were pulled forward and down, over my head. A narrow strap was then slung about my head and pulled back, deeply between my teeth, and tied tightly behind the back of my neck. This secured the entire arrangement. I then, in my own garments, had been effectively gagged and hooded. I was then turned to the wall and my hands were jerked behind my back. In a moment, with two or three loops of cord, they were fastened in place. I then felt myself lifted to the shoulder of a man. I was utterly helpless. I heard another sword, quite near me, sliding from its sheath. “Run!” I heard a man cry. I was flung then from his shoulder, striking my own shoulder against a wall, and sliding down to the street. I heard feet running away.

  “They are gone,” I heard Drusus Rencius say.

  I whimpered as loudly as I could. Only such tiny, piteous noises were permitted me by the gag.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. “There you are,” said Drusus Rencius.

  I heard a sword laid on the stones behind me. Then, feeling about my head, Drusus Rencius undid the strap that held my gag and hood in place. The fresh air felt good on my face. I could hardly see him, but inches from me. The torch had gone out. He, in the darkness, adjusted my veil.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Who were they?”

  “Probably slavers,” he said. “I do not know. They are gone now.”

  “Slavers?” I whispered, in horror.

  “Probably,” he said. “It was you they were interested in. They did not appear to be young ruffians out for an evening’s sport. Too, they seem to have handled you with an efficiency that comes with training and practice.”

  I was then silent, trembling.

  “They are gone now,” said Drusus Rencius.

  “My hands are tied,” I whimpered.

  “Forgive me,” he said. He then, after a moment, had freed my wrists. He then picked up his blade. He then rose to his feet. I was on my knees, then, before him. I held him about the legs, and put my face against his leg. I was terrified from what had occurred. I was still trembling.

  “Get up,” he said, angrily. “Your behavior seems too much like that of a woman.”

  “I am a woman,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “You are a Tatrix.”

  I sobbed.

  “Get up,” he said.

  “I could have been carried into slavery,” I said, frightened, holding him.

  “You torturing slut,” he snarled, suddenly, “I am tempted to put chains on you myself.”

  “Are you so attracted to me, Drusus?” I said, startled. “So attracted to me that you would be satisfied with nothing less than my total submission?”

  “Torturing slut!” he said. “Get up!”

  “You do desire me!” I said. “You desire me with the most powerful desire with which a man can desire a woman, that he own her completely, that she be his total slave!”

  “I hate you, and despise you!” he said.

  “And want me!” I said.

  “Let us return to the palace,” he said, “before I leave you here in the darkness, a prey to those who, more than I, would see to it that you get what you deserve.”

  “And what is it that I deserve, Drusus?” I asked, at his feet.

  “A marked thigh,” he said, angrily, “and a collar-encircled neck.”

  “Do you think that I am a slave?” I cried.

  “You would make an ideal slave,” he said.

  “Insolence!” I cried.

  “Truth,” he said.

  I cried out in rage.

  “But you are not a slave,” he said. “Get up.”

  “It is fortunate for me that I am not a slave, isn’t it,” I asked, “at the feet of a man such as you?”

  “Yes,” he said, “it is very fortunate for you.”

  “And what would you do with me,” I asked, “if you did own me?”

  “That,” he said, “own you, and as a woman is owned, fully.”

  “Give me your hands,” I said.

  He then helped me up.

  I smoothed my robes. “It is interesting to know that you desire me,” I s
aid.

  He was silent.

  “Indeed,” I said, “it is quite amusing. Perhaps I should have you whipped for insolence. Do not aspire above your station, Drusus. I am a Tatrix. You are nothing, only a guard.”

  “Yes, Tatrix,” he said.

  “I hold you in contempt,” I said. “I scorn you. I am worlds above you.”

  “Yes, Tatrix,” he said.

  “And do not forget it,” I said.

  “No, Tatrix,” he said.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. I had seen his arm move, with the blade.

  “I am cleaning the blade, wiping it on my tunic,” he said.

  “Cleaning it?” I asked.

  “In driving the men off, I wounded two of them,” he said.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. I resisted an impulse to kneel before him, begging to lick the blood from the blade, begging him then to dry it in my hair.

  “Is it clean?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Do not sheathe it until we reach the palace,” I said. “The streets are dark.”

  “I have no intention of doing so,” he said.

  “At least,” I said, “I have satisfied myself as to the condition of the citizenry and the status of the city.”

  “How is that?” he asked.

  “You heard, surely,” I said. “The people make light of privations. They are loyal. They are devoted to their Tatrix.”

  “Such are the answers to be given to such questions in Corcyrus,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “The people are afraid,” he said. “You have inspired terror. Your rule is one of iron.”

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “Too, your spies are everywhere,” he said. “The people to whom you spoke probably mistook you, ironically enough, for one of your own spies.”

  “I have no spies,” I said.

  “I can name seven,” said Drusus Rencius. “How many you have, of course, I do not know.”

  I shuddered, confused. These spies, if, indeed, there were any, must be reporting to someone else, perhaps to Ligurious.