Mercenaries of Gor coc-21

by John Norman

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I gently parted her hair, putting it delicately on either side of her neck. In this way I could see the collar on her neck, and the small, sturdy lock at the back of the neck.

  "I wonder who truly loves himself, and women," she whispered, "he who is so true to himself and his nature, refusing to deny it or pretend it doesn't exist, and who fulfills women, as what they really are, or he who betrays himself, who lies to himself and who denies the true needs of women?

  "It is true," I said. "There are two sexes, and they are quite different." "Is that not heresy, for a man of Earth, to say that?" she asked.

  "This is Gor," I said. I pulled at her collar a little. "Are you not aware of that, slave?" "Yes, Master," she said. "I am aware of it."

  "In a world where nature is free, a world not subjected to ideological poisonings, a world where she is not crippled, and hobbled," I said, "what is the place of women?"

  "At the feet of men, Master," she said.

  "And where are you, Louise?" I asked.

  "At the feet of men," she said.

  "Such does not prove, of course," I said, "that Gor is the ideal world, but it does indicate that Gor possesses at least one feature of the ideal world." "Yes, Master," she said.

  "To be sure," I said, "it is not unknown for females, free women, of course, to seek power."

  "Such pursuits, to me," she said, "seem disgusting and unnatural in a woman." "They are," I said. "But perhaps they are to be forgiven when men abdicate their responsibilities. Perhaps it is fit then that they be destroyed as males." "No, Master!" she said.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "For then we cannot be truly women, Master. The equations of nature would be disrupted. It would be madness and sickness. It could mean the end of a world." "What do you think would happen if you were to seek power, Louise?" I asked. "Doubtless I would be whipped and used," she said, "and then thrown naked, chained, into a tiny cage or slave box, and kept there until I learned my lesson, and begged to be suitably subservient. I might even be killed."

  "Yes," I said, "but then you, of course, are a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You are not a free woman,"

  "No, Master," she said.

  "That makes a great difference," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "They do much what they please," I said, "even if its ultimate objective is clearly the subversion of nature, involving the reduction and debilitation of an entire sex, a sex crime than which, it seems, none could be more heinous." "How filled with hate they must be," she said.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "Unable to be men," she said, "they try to destroy them. In this they fail also to be women."

  "Perhaps," I said. "I do not know."

  "They will attempt to use law," she said, "using men against men, using them as their dupes and tools, until the last man can be destroyed."

  "That seems the intent," I said. "It is not even well concealed."

  "No, Master," she said.

  "It is an interesting concept," I said, "that legislation could be passed against manhood, that nature can be dismissed with a statute, that her reality and aristocracy can be declared illegal. Surely there is some sort of category confusion here. Laws cannot validly be passed against facts. Any such law is automatically null and void. It is like the English king who in the legend sat upon the beach and forbade the incoming waves to touch his robes."

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "He got wet," I said. "To be sure, he may have ordered the waves beaten, but, as far as we know, the ocean failed to take note of this."

  "At least he moved before he was drowned," she said.

  "Let us hope that all kings, however stupid they may be, would have that much sense at least."

  "Surely they would," she said.

  "Not necessarily," I said. "If they are sufficiently stupid, and sufficiently strongly conditioned, closing their minds to options, and such, they might remain right where they were, proceeding righteously to a watery grave. Such things are not unknown. Many people have given their lives for absurdities. Some are called heroes."

  "Surely at least some of them were idiots," she said.

  "That might seem a juster appraisal, scientifically," I admitted. "Still one might regret the tragedy involved, even in the case of the idiot."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I stood up. "Master is leaving?" she asked.

  I brushed her waist and flank with my foot. She shrank back a bit, on her belly, to the side. Women are so inutterably beautiful. I then put my foot on her, and let her feel a little of my weight, but not much. I then thrust down a bit, and stepped away from her. It had been an admiring, spurning caress. She lay there, the chain on her neck, on the mat. "I am through with you now," I said. "The hostess will soon come to unchain you, and send you back to your waiting station. The key is on its nail."

  "And thus you leave me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. I glanced over at the nearby table. The fellow who had been unconscious there, the free woman, the Lady Tutina, now chained half naked at his slave ring, she still unconscious, was showing some signs of reviving. "Master!" said the girl.

  "Remain on your stomach until unchained." I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I then stepped away from her, looking about myself. I had received a note to come to this place. I had waited, but no one, it seemed, had attempted to make contact. There could, of course, be various reasons for this. I did not think, however, that among these reasons would have been the inability to recognize me. Presumably the individual, or individuals, would be familiar with my appearance, either from the plaza near the Central Cylinder or from a description. This made it seem plausible, then, as they had not yet contacted me, that their business with me might be of a clandestine nature. One might think then in terms of the possible transmission of secret information, or, perhaps more likely, of the enterprise of the assassin, the covert business of unsheathed daggers.

  I looked about. I did not think there would be more than two of them. I considered the openings to the Tunnels. The main egress, which served also as the entryway, would surely be under observation. The hostess, in earlier speaking to me of the free women brought in for a joke, had spoken of putting her out back in the morning, naked, and, if she had been used, with her hands tied behind her, with a punched tarsk bit tied on her belly. That suggested a rear exit. If they thought I were making for the that they might move swiftly, hastily, too hastily. It would be dark in the tunnel. I glanced back at the Earth redhead on the mat. She was still on her belly, as she had been commanded. She looked back and up at me, pleadingly. I then left her. She was only a slave.

  I walked past the waiting station. The only girl there now, the only one not now on a chain, this testifying to the traffic of the house, was Birsen, the brown-haired girl who seemed as though she could have been a fashion model on Earth, "head down," I said. Immediately, kneeling, she put her head to the floor, the palms of her hands, too, resting on it. It is pleasant to own and master women. Too, it is correct to do so. Bondage is merely an institutional recognition and formalization of the proper and natural relationship between the sexes. In a moment I had come to the low opening of the Al-Ka Tunnel, the first tunnel. I glanced back. In the light I could not detect whether or not anyone was noting my entrance into the tunnel. Somehow I felt, however, that my entry therein would not go unnoticed.

  26 I Take my Leave of the Tunnels

  In a moment I was into the tunnel. Behind me there was a bit of light coming from under the door.

  In a bit, however, I was beyond it. Soon I had to crawl. The ceiling of the tunnel, in this part, I now on all fours, was about a foot over my head. In parts the tunnel was carpeted, in other parts not, and one must move on the tile or stones. There were leather-curtained alcoves here and there along the tunnel, the openings of which were circular, and about two feet in width. Occasi
onally there was a small lamp within, its light detectable through the cracks in the leather curtain, and about it and under it, feebly illuminating the tunnel outside. For the most part, however, the tunnel was quite dark. In two or three of the alcoves, where there was a lamp, and the curtain was not fully drawn, I saw a master and a slave. One girl was kneeling naked with her back to the wall and her hands chained up and behind her, at the sides of her head, over her shoulders. She looked at me, wildly. Then she jerked back, the master caressing her with the whip. In another alcove a girl was chained on her back, her harms and legs widely apart, spread-eagled. She was lifting her body piteously to a man who now, apparently having aroused her to a point where she was in an agony of need, was merely toying with her. I supposed he might later concede to her pleas, if only because she was quite beautiful. In another alcove there was a girl on her stomach, her wrists tied to a slave ring. I did not know if she had been put in that position for love, or for punishment, or for both.

  Most of the alcoves, however, like the major lengths of the tunnel, were quite dark. Some were doubtless empty. I hoped so, for I might have need of them. On the other hand many of the alcoves which were in total darkness were not empty. From within many I could hear, as I moved past, the small sounds of chains, sometimes pathetic sounds, responding doubtless to the restricted, helpless movements of small, fair limbs on which they were locked, and the soft love moans of used slaves. Many of these women were doubtless forbidden to speak. They found themselves responding in the darkness to unseen masters merely as helpless, anonymous love objects. In some of the other alcoves, of course, those not empty, there were presumably slaves, girls waiting alone in the darkness, in their chains, knowing that they would be at the mercy of whoever might enter the alcove. In the Delta Tunnel, in Alcove Twenty-One, the girl, Lale, I supposed, she now reduced to the modality of the she-quadruped, might be so waiting. Too, in at least one of these alcoves, I recalled, though I did not know which one, in this very tunnel, there was a chained, gagged free woman. I was suddenly very quiet. I could hear something approaching me down the tunnel. I expected of course, that anyone interested in me would be behind me. I unsheathed my quiva. I smelled paga. Then a fellow crawled past me in the tunnel.

  I continued on my way.

  "More! More! I beg more! I beg more!" I heard a girl's voice coming from one of the alcoves to my right. "Please, Master, do not stop! No! Do not stop! Please! I beg more! I beg more!" I heard the movement of chains, jerking helplessly against rings. "Please, Master!" she wept. "Please! Please! I am helpless! I am at your mercy! Please, Master, I beg it of you! Oh, yes, Master! Yes, Master! Yes! Yes! Yes! Aiiiiii! Oh, thank you, Master, kind master! Ohhhh. Ohhhh. Oh. I am yours! You have made me yours! Buy me, I beg you. I want to love and serve you! Buy me, take me home with you! Own me! You have made me yours!" I then heard her breathing, and gasping, and a small movement of chains. "Master?" she asked, with a small movement of the chain. "Master?" Oh, Master! You are going to do it to me again? No, sweet Master, I cannot prevent you. I must endure whatever you choose to impose upon me. You choose to make me again such a helpless, squirming, screaming thing, so much outside of myself, so helplessly at your pleasure? Do so, then, for I am a slave! I sense it! I sense it! Do so, then. I cannot stop you. Nor do I wish to do so. I am a slave. I am yours. Do with me as you will. Begin, I beg you. Oh, yes, yes, Master!"

  I then continued again on my way.

  The tunnel became more winding. It did not, however, become roomier. One can tell the alcove numbers by feel, if one does not have a lamp. I now felt the number to my right. It was Twenty-Six. The next alcove would be Twenty-Seven. It would be ahead and to the left. The alcoves are staggered. I suppose this is primarily for the sake of privacy. This arrangement also, of course, tends to reduce the number of unexpected face-to-face encounters in the hall. Goreans are sometimes nervous about such things. I conjectured I must be quite deep in the tunnel. The rear entrance, or the entrance into a rear corridor, I did not think, should be too far beyond this point. Perhaps I could simply leave by the rear exit, without difficulty. That might be very nice. I stopped. I listened. I was patient. Then I heard it. It was not a loud sound at all, but it was unmistakable, the sound of the movement of a piece of metal on the stones. For such a sound I supposed there might be many explanations. One of them, of course, which I found especially fascinating, would be that of a knife carried in the hand of a fellow crawling in the tunnel.

  I continued crawling down the tunnel. "Cicek," I she said. "Where are you? Where are you, little Cicek?"

  "Hold," said a voice.

  "Tal," said I. "Did Cicek come this way? Did you see a slave come this way?" "One sees nothing down here," growled the fellow.

  "Perhaps you felt her then?" I said. "That might have been pleasant," "You are drunk," he said.

  "Not at all," I said.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked. "What does anyone do in the tunnels?" I asked. "What are you doing here?"

  "Speak," he said, menacingly.

  "To be honest, not much," I said. "Are you sure that Cicek did not pass you?" "No one has passed me," he said, a bit grimly, I thought.

  "Perhaps she went the other way?" I said.

  "Hold, who are you?" he asked.

  "I am called Bosk," I said.

  "Is there anyone else in the tunnel?" he asked.

  "I think so," I said.

  "Not in an alcove?"

  "No," I said.

  "Where is he?" he asked.

  "He is ahead of you," I said. That was certainly true. I was ahead of him. "Thank you, Citizen," said he.

  "You are welcome," I said. I then turned about and began to crawl back down the tunnel. "Cicek," I called. "Where are you?" Fortunately none of the girls in the alcoves were named Cicek. Otherwise it might have been rather embarrassing. If there was no one at the other end of the tunnel, I supposed I might just as well go out through the front door.

  "Cicek," I called.

  "Hold," said another voice. This fellow sounded fully as grim as the last fellow. The voices were not those of fellows that one, or most folks, at any rate, would be likely to look forward to meeting in a dark alley, or, as the case might be, tunnel. I couldn't see him any better than the other one, nor, I assume, could he see me.

  "Did a slave pass you in the tunnel?" I asked. "Cicek? She is not very big, but she is very nicely curved."

  "No," he said, "Who are you?"

  "Bosk," I said.

  "Have you seen anyone else in the tunnel?" he asked.

  "It is pretty hard to see anything in the tunnel," I said.

  "Is there someone in the tunnel who is not in an alcove?" he asked. "Yes," I said.

  "Where is he?" he asked.

  "He is ahead of you," I said. That is exactly where I was.

  "What is he doing?" asked the man.

  "He is just staying in one place," I said. That is what I was doing at the time, of course, just staying in one place.

  "I thought so," said the fellow, decisively. "Thank you, Citizen." "That is all right," I said. "You are sure you have not seen Cicek?" "No," he said.

  "Maybe she is in the other direction," I said. I turned about and started down the tunnel.

  "Enter an alcove," said the man. "Keep the tunnel clear."

  "Do you know a good one?" I asked.

  "Move," he said.

  "Very well," I said. I saw no point in being disagreeable. They were all probably nice enough.

  I moved back down the tunnel. I was reasonably well pleased. As far as I could tell there were only two of them, one at each end of the tunnel. They were two in number doubtless to spring a trap in a tunnel. The invitation had been to the Tunnels. They might have assumed, thus, that I, sooner or later, from curiosity, or, perhaps growing wary, and attempting to escape, would enter one of them. Too, surely they would not wish to wait until morning to locate their quarry. I no longer found it judicious to speculate that their intent was merely to m
ake polite contact and transmit information. I suspected somewhat more serious things were on their minds. As I had not emerged from the tunnel, or tried to emerge from it, they would assume that I was waiting within it. They would also assume, presumably, and I had encouraged them in this belief, that their quarry might be in the tunnel and not in an alcove. In a tunnel he might swiftly move in whatever direction seemed opposite danger. In an alcove, it might seem he could be too easily trapped. Actually, of course, given the structure of the alcoves, as I had determined it, it could be extremely dangerous to attempt to enter it if it were defended. Indeed, one would only have to stay there until morning, at which time, presumably, they would feel obliged to make away. The fellow I had left behind me was probably the leader. Presumably he would wish to signal his fellow down the corridor in some way.

  I heard, in a few Ehn, a soft whistle behind me. It carried well in the tunnel. It was answered, momentarily, by another soft whistle, ahead of me. I moved ahead. I felt the alcove numbers. There was another whistle behind me, closer now. The answering whistle, however, was still rather toward the end of the tunnel. The fellow there, not the leader, it seemed, was less eager to move forward into the darkness. I, for one, did not blame him.

  I had then come again to the area of Alcove Twenty-Six. It was well down the tunnel. I had felt it before. I thrust back the curtain. "Master?" I heard, within, and a sound of chain. I then again closed the curtain. I moved to the next alcove. That was Twenty-Seven, on the left. I moved back the curtain. I heard nothing within. This one, I thought, would do nicely. I then entered the alcove. I then listened to the whistles approaching more closely.

  It is normal practice, in a situation of this sort, to separate the enemies, meeting first one, and then the other, substituting two one-to-one conflicts, so to speak, for one two-to-one conflict. This works best, of course, when one can see what one is doing. Too often, darkness neutralizes skill; too often chance thrives in darkness. There are, of course, tactics for fighting in the darkness, such as misdirection, the casting of pebbles to encourage an opponent to make a move, the use of back kicks, giving extension to one's striking capacity while providing a minimum exposure of vital areas, the attempt to lure a blow from a distance, with full-arm knife probes, to encourage an opponent to lunge and overextend himself, and so on, but, in the true darkness, very different from what commonly passes as "night fighting," there is probably no really satisfactory way to reduce risk levels to tolerable limits. I prefer to avoid it. Accordingly, in entering the tunnel I had determined, from the beginning, in the event it was unlighted, that I would prefer to arrange matters in such a way that the considerable risks involved be taken by the other fellows. I myself did not care for the odds.