"Yes," said Hassan.
"What if we take her from you?" asked a man.
"You will not do so," said Hassan. "That would be theft."
"But what of her crimes?" asked a man.
"Those were the crimes of a free woman," said Hassan. "She is no longer a free woman. She is now only a slave."
"I love you, my master," whispered the slave, her head at his feet.
"Sheila," said Hassan.
"Yes, Master," she said, lifting her head.
"You may continue your obeisances and services in the privacy of my chambers," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said. She rose to her feet, her head humbly lowered.
"Conduct her to my quarters," said Hassan to a soldier, he who held the key to her chains, "and chain her to the slave ring at the foot of my couch."
The soldier glanced to Claudius, and then nodded. "Come, Slave," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said, and was conducted from the room.
"It has been an interesting evening," said Hassan, lifting his hand to the assemblage. "I wish you all well!"
"We, too, wish you well, Hunter," said Claudius.
"Hail, Hassan!" called a man.
"Hail, Hassan!" called others.
The men rose from about the tables, saluting and applauding Hassan. He, lifting his hands, and turning, waving to them, took his leave from the hall. I think he was eager to begin the instructions of a slave.
Men, then, in twos and threes, began to take their leave.
Menicius stood before me. He put out his hands and I lifted my chained wrists to him. He took my hands and turned them over, looking at the snug wrist rings locked on them.
"If I had my tools," he said, "I could have these off of you in a matter of Ehn."
I looked up at him, startled. I knew, of course, that he was of the metal workers.
"But without a key, or such help, you are absolutely helpless in them, aren't you?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
He smiled.
"You!" I said. "It was you who freed me in the camp of Miles of Argentum!"
"Once," he said, "you spared my life, in Corcyrus. It seemed only fitting, then, that I might, if it were within my power, grant you some small favor in return."
"But how could you have gained entrance into the camp," I said. "And there were two of you! There was another, as well, one who must have had influence, one who must have been trusted, one who must have been more highly placed!"
I saw Drusus Rencius looking at me.
"You," I whispered. "It was you!"
"Perhaps," he said.
"But you are an officer of Ar," I said. "How could you do such a thing?"
He looked at me, angrily. "I know you," he said. "Whatever might be your frailties, your weaknesses, your pettinesses, your cruelties, I could not believe you were guilty of the crimes of the Tatrix of Corcyrus. Such things I could not believe were in you. Thus, I did not free the Tatrix of Corcyrus. Rather, to prevent a miscarriage of justice, I assisted in the escape of an innocent woman. In this sense I could even regard my act as having been performed in the line of duty."
"You did not know, truly," I said, "that I was not the Tatrix, nor that I could not be guilty of such crimes. Indeed, in Corcyrus, you even identified me, explicitly, as the Tatrix!"
His face clouded with anger.
"Your motivations were more complex," I said, "and deeper, and more painful and more cruel. It was not within your province to determine my innocence or guilt. That responsibility was that of Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum, and the high council. In no way was it incumbent on you to risk your commission, your future, your honor, your life, on what must at best have been little more than a remote possibility."
He regarded me with fury.
My heart leapt with joy. "You love me!" I whispered. "You love me!"
I feared for a moment he might strike me. But he did not do so. I was another man's slave.
"I love you, Master!" I wept. "I have loved you from the beginning, when I first met you!"
He regarded me, wildly. Then he sneered, "Lying slave!"
"No, Master!" I protested. "I love you! I do love you! I love you with my whole heart!"
"What is going on here?" asked Miles of Argentum, coming over to us.
"Nothing," said Drusus Rencius.
Menicius was smiling.
Miles of Argentum took the key to my chains from the soldier who had held it. He freed me of those stern impediments, so suitable for the confinement of women such as I, slaves.
"Slave," said he.
"Yes, my master," I said.
"Go to the quarters of my women," he said.
"Yes, my master," I said and, tears in my eyes, fled to the quarters of his women.
34
Ligurious is Served by Two Slaves
I lay naked on the couch of Ligurious, in the palace in Argentum. His touch had already reduced me, more than once, to a quivering slave.
"Wine," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said, and struggled up, turning. I fetched him the goblet from a small, low table near the couch and, in a moment, after kissing the goblet, head down, kneeling, arms extended, proffered it to him. He sipped a bit of the wine, a Ka-la-na of Ar, and then returned the goblet to me. I kissed it again, and then replaced it on the table. With a gesture he indicated that I might once again crawl onto the couch. This was the last evening Ligurious was to spend in Argentum. In the morning he was to receive safe conduct from the city. I had been assigned to serve him tonight, in accord with the generosity of Gorean masters. Another girl, too, was to serve him, but I did not know who she was.
There was a knock at the door.
"Kneel, and grasp your ankles," he said.
I did so. I was then helpless, bound by his will.
He went to the door and opened it.
A slave was there. She was naked. Her head was down. She trembled. Her wrists were behind her back. She moved her wrists a little. Clearly she was frightened. I heard the small sound of metal. She was not thonged then, but shackled, and, from the light sound, by slave bracelets.
She did not lift her head. Her hair was about her face.
About her neck, tied, was a key, doubtless to her bracelets, and a whip. There were two guards at the portal, but they were those who had been guarding it. The girl had apparently come alone through the halls to the portal, obediently, as I had.
A slave, one does not disobey masters.
But I had no doubt that it was with great reluctance, and trepidation, she had come to that portal.
But one does not disobey.
Ligurious indicated that she should enter. She did, and he closed, and locked, the door behind her.
He freed her of the bracelets and tossed them, and the key, to the side. He then removed the whip from about her neck. He regarded her. She lifted her head, fearfully.
Their eyes met.
There was a long moment of silence.
"Kneel, Slave," said Ligurious, defining the relationship between them.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Is that the fashion in which I have my women kneel before me?" he asked.
"Forgive me, Master," she said, and put her head down to the tiles before him, the palms of her hands flat on the floor.
"Lift your head," he said.
She did so.
"Kiss the whip," he said. "Again, lingeringly!"
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Now lick and kiss it," he said.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
It is difficult to bespeak with satisfactoriness the symbolism of the female slave, completely owned, fully his, in all ways, kneeling before the master, naked, in her collar, lifting her head, and licking and kissing his whip, fearfully, reverently. Doubtless the symbolism in this goes far beyond what might be suggested in mere words, for it is fundamental and primal, a thing beyond words, a thing having to do with biology and natural rightfulness, with
evolutionary selections and justifications, to be sure, expressed within the aesthetically stimulatory, specific, and enhancing context of a complex civilization unafraid to be the expression of nature, rather than her denier, rather than one fearful of her, and in flight from her repudiable but ordained raptures without which men and women must remain, ultimately, forever estranged from one another. Herein one finds the complementarity of the sexes, the meaning of the radical sexual dimorphism so obviously characterizing the human species, an acknowledgment of the geodesics of the human reality, a beautifully manifested instance of nature's deepest equation, her dominance/submission ratio.
The female, his, kneels before her master, in her place, and he stands before her, in his place. She looks up at him, and he looks down upon her. She is on her knees, as both understand is fitting, and he, as both too recognize is fitting, is standing. These postures and attitudes are articulately symbolic, speaking in their way, as you must now understand, within the context of civilization, of the decrees and orderings of nature, in their way recalling even the mute, insistent declarations of gravitation and combustion. The designs of nature facilitate the flourishing of species; her denial paves the way to the arctics of degeneration and extinction.
In his hand is the whip, his, held to her. The whip, of course, is a symbol of the mastery, and its discipline, and authority. In kissing it, and licking it, deferentially, lingeringly, she expresses her understanding of it, and what it stands for. There can be no mistaking such things. Too, she knows full well that it can be used upon her, and liberally, at the master's whim. She hopes it will not be; she wishes to be found pleasing, and fears that she may not be so found; and so, fearfully, reverentially, hopefully, even trustfully, she addresses the whip, in this lovely ritual of acknowledging her nature, and his, and her rightful subservience. She kisses, and recognizes, and submits, tenderly and lovingly, to the very instrument to which she is subject. But these words are inadequate, so inadequate! Perhaps you can never understand these things, fully, unless perhaps you, too, have so knelt, stripped and collared, and have so enacted this ritual.
Two last remarks might be made. First, this has little or nothing to do with a particular master or slave. It has everything to do with man and woman, or male or female, or masculinity and femininity, or, perhaps better, with maleness and femaleness. What is betokened here is essentially, and generically, the submission of femaleness to maleness, and this is independent of any particular master or any particular slave. For example, in a slaver's house one of the first things a new girl is taught is to kiss the whip, and therein is conveyed to her a profound message; she therein receives, perhaps for the first time in her life, an inkling into the meaning of her beauty, her slightness, and weakness, and her deepest, perhaps suddenly, dramatically sensed, needs and desires. To be sure, whereas the slave may be expected to kiss the whip of any male, qua male, because of the profound, generic meaning of these things, there is no doubt that the experience of kneeling helplessly before a powerful, exciting, overwhelmingly desirable male, or a beloved male, gives this ritual a special flavor or meaning. Second, it is not unusual. as you doubtless have by now come to suspect, for the female to find this ritual sexually arousing, even extremely so, a matter extremely clear, even in her very body, in its secretions, its heat and helplessness. In such a ritual is signified her basic, radical femaleness and its needs. But, as I suggested, the words pertaining to these things are inadequate, woefully inadequate, to even suggest what it is like to be involved in such a ritual. If you have so served, you know whereof I speak; if you have not so served, perhaps you can sense what might be involved. To be sure, the entire milieu of bondage is similarly arousing to the female, the fact that she is collared, branded, owned, ornamented, if ornamented, dressed, if dressed, to her master's pleasure, that she must obey, and be pleasing, and that any lapse in her discipline, or pleasingness, is subject to punishment, and, indeed, many other such things, all stimulatory and arousing to her. But perhaps only those who have worn the collar, and have knelt to a master, can understand these things. It is hard to say.
He then hurled the whip from him. It slid back across the tiles, until it stopped, at the door.
"Fetch," he said.
The girl, on her hands and knees, went to the whip. She put down her head at the heavy, locked door and picked up the whip, delicately, in her teeth. She then, the whip in her teeth, turned from the door and, head down, on her hands and knees, returned to the center of the room.
"Kneel," he said, "in the position of the pleasure slave." She knelt, then, back on her heels, her knees spread widely, her back straight, her shoulders back, her belly sucked in, her head up, her hands on her thighs. Between her teeth was the staff of the whip.
"Whip," said Ligurious.
She gave him the whip, extending her head towards him, opening her mouth, letting him take it from between her teeth. She then, unbidden, resumed the erect, graceful, beautiful position of the Gorean pleasure slave.
He shook out the blades of the whip and dangled them before her eyes.
She swallowed, hard.
"Face that direction," said Ligurious, pointing.
She rotated her body about a hundred degrees to her left.
"To your belly," he said.
She went to her belly, her hands at the sides of her head. He changed his position a little. He was now a bit behind her, and to her left. He was right-handed.
She began to tremble.
He looked down at her.
I, kneeling, tightened the grasp on my ankles. I was sweating.
I looked at the branded female on the tiles.
Sheila, who had once been the Tatrix of Corcyrus, now a slave girl, lay at the feet of Ligurious, who had once been her first minister, positioned.
How she had used him, and tortured him! How cleverly she had manipulated him, how insidiously and cunningly she had exploited him!
He let the blades of the whip, idly, brush her back. She whimpered.
I recalled her words, two evenings ago, in the banquet hall, how she had said that she had made him dance like a puppet to her will, how she had deprived him of his leadership and manhood.
He drew the blades back, away from her body.
"What are you?" he asked.
"A slave, Master," she said.
"And what else?" he asked.
"Naught else, Master," she said.
I wondered if she retained power over him yet. I saw the whip swing back now, and to the side. He held it with both hands. On Earth a woman may reduce, diminish and destroy a man with impunity. This, however, was not Earth; it was Gor. I saw the whip pause at the height of its arc. I wondered if she retained power over him yet. Then I saw his eyes. In them I saw that the spell which she had exercised over him was broken.
I cried out and averted my eyes, swiftly, as the whip fell. The beating lasted only a few moments.
Then I looked back. Sheila was on her side, her body flaming with burning stripes; she was gasping and sobbing; she looked wildly up at Ligurious, a Gorean master. Then she looked away from him, not daring to meet his eyes. She, a female, lay now at the feet of a male, he totally dominant over her. She was now in her place in nature.
"Do you wish to be whipped further?" he asked.
"No, Master!" she sobbed.
"You will serve well, and yield perfectly," he said.
"Yes, Master!" she said, fervently.
Ligurious turned to face me. "You may break position," he said.
Swiftly I released my ankles and slipped from the surface of the couch, to stand beside it.
"Bring furs from the surface of the couch, and spread them here, on the tiles," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. I saw that, in his use of her, he would not permit Sheila the dignity of the couch.
"Kiss the furs," said he to her, "and crawl upon them."
She did so.
"On your back," said he to her, "split your legs, part your lips, lift your
arms to me."
The slave complied. He forced her to hold the position for a few moments and then he crouched down near her and took her head in his hands, pulling her up to a seated position, and crushed her lips beneath his. She murmured and moaned, and then, when he thrust her back, I saw there was blood at her mouth. She whimpered, frightened. I think he had waited years for that kiss. Then, patiently, and with uncompromising authority, he addressed himself to her beauty. In moments, choiceless, she was a sobbing, aroused, begging slave.
"You amuse me," he said.
"Please, Master," she begged. "Please!"
But he continued to tease and torment her, toying with her emotions and passions. She writhed in his arms, pleading, helpless and needful, performing and commanded. She might have been a paga slave or a girl rented on a mat in the back streets of Argentum.
"You juice well," he informed her.
"Thank you, Master," she sobbed. "Please, Master! Please!"
I lay on my side, at the edge of the furs, near them. I watched with fascination, learning what a man could do to one who was now no more than one of my sisters in bondage.
Then, after a time, at last, he permitted her her slave's yielding, and in it she cried out her slavery, and her submission to men, and, specifically, to he who was her master of the evening.
Then she lay in his arms, softly and tenderly, an overwhelmed, submitted slave.
I thought the vengeance he had taken on her had been exquisite. In his arms she had found her bondage well confirmed upon her.
Ligurious, Sheila in his arms, looked over at me.
I then lay, my belly sucked in, my legs slightly flexed, my toes pointed, as seductively as possible before him. I, too, was a slave, and at his disposal this evening.
He rolled to his back, looking up at the ceiling.
"I did not know that you were such a man," she whispered.
"Nor I," he smiled, "that you were such a woman."
"You were harsh with me, Master," she smiled.
"Do you object?" he asked.
"No," she said.
I then crawled to him, and kissed him gently on the thigh. I did not wish to be forgotten.
"A fortunate man am I," said Ligurious, "to be served by two Tatrices."
Kajira of Gor Page 49