Kajira of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Emily and her class rose and quickly formed a line. Later, I supposed, later in their training, the line would have an exact order, probably being arranged in order of height, with the tallest girls first.

  "I wish you well, Emily!" I said.

  "I wish you well, Tiffany!" she said.

  We kissed.

  "To the cages," called the whip master.

  I watched Emily leaving. I wondered if I would ever see her again.

  I watched Tupa perform for a moment or two, and then, exhausted, I lay down on the floor.

  "Very good, Tupa," I heard the floor manager say. He, too, was weary.

  "On your backs, all of you, on the floor," said the whip master, "right knees raised, hands at your sides, palms of your hands facing upwards."

  We assumed this position. We felt the tiles on our backs. We had worked hard. We were exhausted. The whip master then conversed with the floor manager and his aide. While they talked we lay on the floor, resting, but each of us, by the will of the whip master, in exactly the same position, a slave position.

  "We will take delivery," I heard.

  In a few moments the whip master walked amongst us, stepping over a girl here and there, and went to the door.

  In another moment or two, two large men had entered. One of them, over his left shoulder, carried several loops of light chain.

  "Line!" called the whip master.

  We sprang to our feet and swiftly aligned ourselves, single-file. The line was arranged in order of height. In it we each knew our place. I was toward the back of the line. I heard snaps behind me. My left wrist was pulled back. I must keep my eyes ahead. Then I felt the manacle close on my wrist. It was snug. I felt a light chain, dangling, brush my thigh. Then the man was ahead of me, pulling back the left wrist of the woman ahead of me, her eyes, too, fixed forward. I saw the manacle close on her wrist. Then he was moving forward again. I looked down at my wrist. It was locked in a small, shining, steel manacle, chain extending to it, attached to a ring, from the rear, and from it, from another ring, to the front. I was in coffle. We were trained girls and would not be likely to bolt, but, still, as in common practice, we were shackled from the back to the front, eyes forward. The lead girl, Claudia, was now shackled. This completed the coffle. On the chain there were precisely twenty wrist shackles. That, too, exactly, was our number.

  "Take them to the agency," said the whip master. "Tomorrow they will begin work."

  At a sign from the coffle master, the larger of the two men, he who had not carried the loops of chain, we stepped forth with our left foot, as is common in beginning movement in a coffle.

  We were then marched forth, naked, chained slaves.

  I looked back once at the school.

  We had graduated.

  29

  Hassan, the Slave Hunter

  "Oh, no," I begged. "Please, not him, Master!"

  "This is not like you, Tiffany," said the floor manager, the feast master. "You are one of our best girls. What is wrong?"

  "He terrifies me, Master," I wept. I knelt suddenly before the feast master, with a jangle of slave bells, and kissed his feet. I looked up at him. "Please, no, Master!" I begged.

  "He has indicated interest in you," said the feast master.

  "Please, no, Master," I begged.

  "To him, Slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I then rose to my feet, trying to compose myself. The feast master had turned away.

  It was now two months since we had graduated from the school. It had been, on the whole, a wonderful two months. In the beginning we had had to serve at a feast or banquet only every third or fourth day, or so, but, as our reputation had spread, our engagements had multiplied dramatically. It had now become necessary for the slave masters of Aemilianus to insert open dates in our schedule, that we might remain fresh and rested. Even as of now our services had to be arranged several days in advance. There had apparently been a readiness or need for crews or teams of competitively priced feast slaves in the city. Aemilianus, with that sense of business which seemed to run in his family, had been sensitive to this. Thanks to Aemilianus the luxury of the high feast could now be enjoyed more widely in Ar than heretofore. No longer did one have to have a household filled with slaves to mount such a feast or the wealth of a "Mintar" to arrange for musicians, caterers, serving slaves and dancers. To be sure, we did not come cheap. I, like most of the other girls, was, on the whole, very pleased to be owned by Aemilianus and to be held in this form of slavery. Our work was light and, since we were often used at these feasts, and well, and sometimes many times, it was not necessary to spend much time whimpering and clawing in our kennels. Too, after the first week in the agency, in which we were kept in chains when not serving, we had received a great deal of freedom. Now, during the day, we were generally free to wander about the city as we might please. We needed only obtain the permission of the agency's doorkeeper and be certain to return in the early evening, by the time to report to the feast master. Slave girls, generally, incidentally, enjoy a great deal of freedom. Our requiring the permission of the doorkeeper, or of another free person, before being permitted to leave the agency, incidentally, is a very familiar sort of thing. Slave girls must commonly obtain the permission of a free person before leaving a house or domicile. Once outside the agency, of course, we might wander about almost as we might please. It seemed we could go almost anywhere. To be sure, we would not be permitted outside the gates unless in the company of a free person. In these jaunts we would normally wear loose, modest, white tunics. To be sure, the throats of these tunics must be open, that our collars would always be in plain sight. This is in accord with an ordinance in Ar. Sometimes, incidentally, we would serve at feasts at which free women were present. At such feasts, of course, we would be modestly garbed and serve decorously. Similarly, the dancers would be garbed rather differently than they usually were for an all-male audience, and a similar adjustment or accommodation would be evident in the dances which they performed.

  I looked at the man at the table, he who had supposedly indicated an interest in me.

  I found him terrifying. Why could he not have wanted Claudia, or Crystal, or one of the other girls?

  He was the guest of honor at this feast, a feast held by Eito, an Oriental, a member of the caste of merchants, a citizen of Ar, a dealer in salt, one with connections with some of the towns near the Tahari. Some of his salt was said to come even from Klima, somewhere deep within the Tahari itself. The guest of honor was from the river port of Kasra, on the Lower Fayeen. Kasra lies west of Tor, which lies at the northwestern edge of the Tahari, the great desert, the Wastes. I was not certain as to the race of the guest. He may have been Oriental, like Eito, but, too, he may have been a mix of Oriental and Tahari stock. He was, at any rate, quite different in appearance and carriage from Eito. Eito was gracious, civilized, polite, humane and affable. The guest was huge, ugly and merciless. His chest was largely bared. He wore black, heavy, leather, studded wristlets. His head was shaven, except for a swirling knot of jet-black hair just behind and below the crown. He was not of the merchants. He made his living in another fashion. He was here presumably because he was something of a celebrity. Too, he was from Kasra. Much salt passes through Kasra. Although his race might be Oriental his name was not. He had a reputation on Gor. I had heard of him in the school. His name was spoken in fear by slaves. He was Hassan, the Slave Hunter.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes with a bit of slave silk. I straightened my body. I then hurried to the vicinity of the guest, who was sitting at the right hand of Eito, the host. I knelt before the guest, putting the palms of my hands on the floor and my head to the tiles. I then lifted my head, keeping the palms of my hands on the floor. "Did Master indicate an interest in Tiffany?" I asked.

  "Strip," he said, "and come about the table. Address yourself to my pleasures."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  In a moment I, naked, kneeling beside him, behind th
e table, he sitting cross-legged there, began, somewhat timidly, to lick delicately at him, and to softly kiss and caress him. He paid me little attention in this. He continued to drink, his goblet replenished from time to time by Crystal, to eat, from foods served by the other girls, and to talk with Eito. I was only an attentive slave, pressing softly, closely, about him. His back was broad and the muscles of his arms and shoulders were large and powerful. There was little hair on his body.

  "It is said that you have the finest hunting sleen on Gor," said Eito.

  "They are good hunters," said Hassan. "They have been bred for it."

  "The trail of the slave Asdan was said to be two months old," said Eito.

  "That of the slave Hippias was three," said Hassan.

  "Amazing," marveled Eito.

  I pressed myself against the shoulder of Hassan, and kissed and licked, softly, at the side of his neck.

  "What brings you to Ar, if I may ask," asked Eito.

  "I am hunting," said Hassan. "I, my men, and the animals."

  "And what luckless slave is now your quarry?" inquired Eito.

  "No slave," said Hassan, chewing on the leg of a roasted vulo, tearing meat from it with his teeth.

  "I thought you hunted only slaves," said Eito.

  "Kassim, the rebel pretender to the throne of Tor, whom my animals tore to pieces, was no slave," said Hassan.

  I shuddered. Then I again kissed him, softly, almost unobtrusively, about the shoulder. I did not wish to intrude my presence too obviously upon him. This was not merely because I feared him but had to do also with the situation in which I found myself. It was not my role, in a situation of this sort, to truly distract him. I must not interfere, truly, for example, with his conversation. I must be in the background, almost like background music, in a situation of this sort, unless summoned forth. Yet, in spite of my will, I felt heat and moistness between my thighs. I could not deny that his closeness, and his might and power, in spite of my fear and my will, were arousing me. I was close to him, and servile and soft, and was becoming excited. How small and soft I seemed next to his might and power. Here there could be no confusion of natural relationships. It was obvious that such as he were the masters and such as I were the slaves. I restrained a whimper. How conscious his presence made me of my nudity, and my collar. My entire body was becoming extremely sensitive. I had been a free woman, on Earth, tutored in the false myths of my culture. Here, in a natural world, I found myself in my place, a collared slave, in attendance on a master.

  "Who, then, is your quarry?" asked Eito. "Who is he?"

  "It is not a 'he,' " said Hassan, tossing the vulo bone on his plate. "It is a female."

  I drew back from Hassan, frightened.

  "One who is well-known?" asked Eito.

  "Yes," said Hassan.

  "May I inquire who?" asked Eito.

  "It is no secret," said Hassan.

  "Who?" asked Eito.

  "Sheila," said Hassan, "the former Tatrix of Corcyrus."

  I drew back even further. I began to tremble, uncontrollably.

  "But why are you in Ar?" asked Eito. "Surely she would not be in Ar. Ar would surely be one of the last places in the world in which one would expect to find her."

  "That is what she, too, will think," said Hassan. "That is why I am certain she is here."

  "I understand there is a high reward for her capture," said Eito.

  "Yes," said Hassan. "It is now fifteen hundred gold pieces. But I am interested in more than the money. I have heard much of this proud, haughty woman. I intend to bend her to my will."

  "I see," said Eito.

  Hassan then turned and regarded me. "Lie down," he said, "and split your legs."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Excuse me," said Hassan to Eito.

  "Of course," said Eito, then directing his attention elsewhere, beginning to engage in conversation with the fellow on his left.

  "What is wrong?" asked Hassan, bending over me.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. "I am afraid of you. Too, I fear for poor Sheila, the Tatrix of Corcyrus."

  "I noted your responses," said Hassan.

  "I know your reputation as a huntsman, Master," I whispered. "I fear she has little more chance than a slave."

  "She is a proud, free woman," said Hassan, "but I will hunt her like a slave."

  I moaned.

  "What is your concern with her?" he asked.

  "We are both, ultimately, women," I said, "who must fear and serve men."

  "It is not my fault," said Hassan, "that you are both, ultimately, of the slave sex."

  "No, Master," I said.

  "You are a pretty slave," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said. "Are you going to hurt me?"

  "Are you going to be absolutely compliant and fully pleasing?" he asked.

  "I will be absolutely compliant," I said, "and I will attempt to be fully pleasing."

  "Good," he said.

  "Am I to be hurt, then?" I asked.

  "It will be done with you as I please," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "It is interesting," he said. "Earlier you seemed warm and ready. You were weak and almost panting. I could smell you. Now you seem cold, and tight."

  "Forgive me, Master," I said.

  "Do you juice well?" he asked.

  "Usually, Master," I said.

  "Perhaps I can warm you," he said. He then began to touch me. I dared not resist that touch, and I was helpless under it.

  "Have you ever seen the Tatrix of Corcyrus, Master?" I asked, beginning to twist under his hands.

  "No," he said.

  "Ohhh!" I said. His touch was now reminding me, clearly, that I was in a collar.

  "I think you are going to juice," he said.

  "Yes," I said. "Yes!"

  "I have received detailed descriptions of her, of course," he said. "For example, it might be interesting to you to know that you, apparently, at least in general outlines, resemble her." He drew back from me, regarding me. "It is interesting," he said. "You would probably resemble her rather closely."

  "Master?" I asked.

  "There is the same eye color and hair color, and general coloring," he said. 'Too, your figure would seem to be quite similar to what hers was conjectured to be, and you would certainly seem to be quite similar to her in general size, with respect to height and weight. Too, there would seem to be a similarity in such things as conjectured wrist, ankle and collar sizes."

  "You seem to have been furnished with rather complete descriptions," I said. I was surprised that he had been furnished with estimations of wrist, ankle and collar sizes. One does not usually think in terms of such things where free women are concerned. On the other hand, such measurements, I supposed, are pertinent to any woman. An experienced slaver, incidentally, can usually tell a woman's wrist, ankle and collar sizes almost at a glance. I took a number-two ankle ring and a number-two wrist ring. I took a ten-hort collar. These are common and standard sizes. The most commonly worn wrist and ankle rings are the twos and threes. The most common collar sizes are the ten-, eleven- and twelve-hort sizes.

  "Yes," he said. "And you seem to fit these descriptions rather well."

  "Perhaps I am she," I suggested.

  "Perhaps," he said. He then again bent over me. I turned my head to the side. I felt his hands on me.

  "How do you know I am not she?" I said. "Oh, Oh!"

  "It does not seem likely that she is a squirming slave," he said.

  "Oh!" I cried. "But you have never seen her," I said.

  "No," he said.

  "How, then, will you know her?" I asked.

  "I will not know," he said. "The sleen will know."

  "Master?" I asked. I tried to hold myself tense. I tried not to feel.

  "In Corcyrus," he said, "I was furnished with clothing which she had worn. It is with me, even in Ar now, as are my men and the sleen. The hunt begins tomorrow."

  "But Ar is
a great city," I said. "It must contain, surely, more than a million people." It must contain then, older and newer, some more faded, some fresher, millions of trails. Surely it would be impossible to pick out single trails from among such eroded, collapsed and jumbled strata of scent.

  "It is true that it will not be easy," said Hassan.

  "She may not even be in Ar," I said.

  "She is here," he said, his hands then again on my body, forcing me to feel.

  "Surely not," I gasped. "She must be in Cos, or Tyros, places allied to Corcyrus. Surely she must by now be safe in such places, or elsewhere. Surely all think so!"

  "I do not," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I gasped, trying not to feel.

  "You seem to know much of the politics of these matters," he said.

  "Very little, Master," I said, "but one hears such things, in the streets, in the pens."

  "Spies have not suggested that she is on Tyros or Cos," he said. "I find that unlikely, too, given times and shipping, and the unlikelihood that her presence would be undetected on either island. Indeed, Chenbar, he of Tyros, and Lurius, he of Cos, would presumably flaunt her presence if she were luxuriating within the compass of their hospitality, if only to spite Argentum, and Ar. I think she is here, as it would seem the last place one might look. Too, there are rumors that she is here. Indeed, some have even claimed to have seen her here. In any event, I shall search here."

  "Yes, Master," I moaned. "Oh!"

  His hands were powerful, and sure, and he had them on one who was no more than a slave.

  "Please be gentle, Master!" I begged.

  Then, suddenly, he was gentle with me. I leaped gratefully under his touch. Then again he was strong with me, reminding me that I was owned.

  Then I reared helplessly to him, at his mercy.

  "How are you going to yield to me?" he asked.

  "However Master wishes," I cried.

  "Do not try to resist me further," he said. "I do not like it."

  "No, Master!" I said.

  "Feel," he said. "Feel, deeply."

  "Yes, Master," I said. Then I began to feel, and feel deeply, as a helpless, commanded slave. I felt him beginning to turn me inside out with sensation. I began to moan and whimper. Then I could no longer even think of resisting him. I sobbed, and begged for his penetration.