Mercenaries of Gor coc-21

by John Norman

  "No," I said.

  The blonde blushed hotly.

  "I did not think so," said Tenalion…

  The blonde put down her head.

  "You are beautiful, my dear," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  "Are you sexually responsive?" he asked.

  She looked at me, wildly. "I do not know," she said.

  "Yes," I said, "quite so, at least for one who is still substantially a free woman."

  "In your opinion," asked Tenalion, "she shows slave promise?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "May I see?" asked Tenalion.

  "Of course," I said.

  "Oh!" cried the girl. "Please no! Not here! Not like this! I beg you! Oh, Oh, Master! Master! I could scarcely hold her then, squirming, bucking, on her knees. It was almost like trying to hold a small sleen. Her body was very strong in its passion. Then she looked at Tenalion, tears in her eyes, revealed before him as a superbly responsive female, in a man's hands no more than a slave.

  "Excellent," said Tenalion.

  "I would suppose," I said, "of course, that she might improve considerably, and indefinitely, in such matters, when she is truly a slave, when she is legally and fully imbonded."

  She looked at me in wonder.

  "Of course," said Tenalion.

  The blonde put down her head, shuddering.

  "Girl," said Tenalion.

  She lifted her head.

  "Are you prepared to enter slavery?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Will you strive to be a good slave?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Many masters are not patient with slaves," he said. "Do you understand what that means?"

  "Master?" she asked.

  "You are well advised to be fully pleasing to your masters," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "It is not pleasant to be whipped," he said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Similarly, it would not be pleasant to be subjected to many other conceivable punishments, or, say, to be thrown alive to hungry sleen," he said.

  "No, Master!" she said.

  "Be a good slave," he said.

  "Yes Master!" she said.

  "Do you think being a slave is merely a matter of crawling about your master's legs, and licking and kissing, and serving his intimate pleasures?"

  "I do not know, Master," she said. "I have never been a slave."

  "Do you think you would look well dancing before your master?" he asked. "I do not know," she said.

  "Absolutely naked, of course," he said, "as you are now."

  "I do not know, Master," she said.

  I, frankly, thought she would look quite well doing this. No one, however, had asked my opinion.

  "Still," he said, "such things are only among the more obvious sexual modalities."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Your entire life," he said, "will now be pervaded with sexuality, with your femaleness. Your life will now be a sexual one, a life in which your femaleness, for the first time, will be of undeniable and paramount importance, a life in which it will be overwhelmingly central. Everything else will take its coloration and meaning from that."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "It will be a life of total femaleness, and dedication, and service and love." "Yes, Master," she said.

  "The smallest tasks in your life, how you clean your master's leather, how you set out his clothes, how you cook, and she said, how you shop, how you clean and launder, even the tiniest and most servile tasks, all such things, will become sexual, and all will become expressions of your femaleness, fitting and joyful manifestations of your worthless but helplessly proffered, gladly tendered love and service, that of only an insignificant slave."

  "I understand," she said.

  "The life of a female slave," he said, "is a life wholly given over to love. It is not a compromised life. It is not one of those lives which is part this, and part that. It is a total way of life, a total life. The female slave seeks to give all, selflessly, knowing that she, as she is a mere slave, a rightless animal owned by her master, one who can be bought and sold at his least whim, can make no claims, that she deserves nothing, and is entitled to not the least attention or consideration. There are no bargains made with her, nor arrangements."

  "Yes, Master," whispered the girl. "And it is for such women," he said, "that men are willing to die." She put down her head, humbly.

  "What do you want for her?" asked Tenalion.

  I shrugged.

  "Two silver tarsks?" he asked.

  "Fine," I said.

  "Not a thousand gold pieces?" asked the blonde.

  Tenalion smiled. "You have a very unrealistic concept of the market," he said. "Too, you are no longer a free woman, and priceless. You are now only one slave among others, and now, within certain limits, have a specific monetary value." "But so little?" she asked.

  "Prices are useful in helping women to understand themselves and rank themselves, at least in certain dimensions," he said.

  "So little?" she asked.

  "That is a high price," I told her. Indeed when Boabissia had returned herself to Tenalion, only one silver tarsk had changed hands.

  "Oh," she said.

  He reached to a bell on his desk and rang it. It was not unlike the bell which had been on his desk in his residence. Tenalion, I gathered, like most efficient people, was a creature of habit. This frees the mind so that it may better concentrate on important considerations. In a moment, as before, a fellow had entered the room.

  "This is a slave," said Tenalion, indicating the blonde. "Take her below. See that she is fittingly marked as such. We do not want there to be any confusion in the future about the matter."

  "Yes, Tenalion," said the fellow.

  The blonde saw Tenalion place two silver tarsks in my hand. She looked at them, wonderingly. The slave, she, herself, so easily, now had a new master.

  Tenalion's man, taking her by the upper arms, from behind, jerked her up to her feet.

  "You do not even know my name!" she cried to me. My right hand, reflexively, flew up, striking her across the mouth, lashing her head back.

  Tenalion's man, angrily, threw her again to her knees, before me.

  She looked up at me, startled, frightened, blood about her mouth.

  "You do not have a name," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she gasped.

  I regarded her, idly. She was attractive, naked and bound, and on her knees. "Do you not wish to know who I was?" she asked.

  "Who were you?" I asked.

  "I was the Lady Lydia, she of the High Merchants, she whose wealth was in gems and land, she of the Tabidian Towers! she said.

  "An excellent catch," smiled Tenalion. "I shall enjoy having her in my pens for a time, the lovely Lady Lydia, before her sale."

  "Lydia," she said, "of the Tabidian Towers!"

  "Does it matter?" I asked.

  "No," she said, crushed. "It does not matter."

  "You are now only a nameless slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, head down.

  "Take her away," said Tenalion.

  The slave was pulled to her feet. She was roughly turned about. The hand of Tenalion's man was then in her hair, fastening itself deeply therein. It was like the closed talon of a bird of prey. She, bound, held, was helpless. She cried out softly, so held, startled, in pain. Then, bent over, her wrists confined in the cruel, encircling binding fiber, that which I had earlier put well on her, holding them mercilessly, so helplessly, behind her back, her head at his hip, stumbling, weeping, she was conducted swiftly from our presence. "She will be branded shortly," said Tenalion. "If you wish, a little later, in the afternoon, you might visit her in her pen."

  "You are a kind fellow," I said.

  He shrugged. "It is a weakness of mine," he said.

  28 Tenalion Accords Me a Favor

  "Girl," I s
aid.

  She moved in pain, in the straw. She lifted herself to a half sitting, half kneeling position. There was a sound of chain. "It is you!" she said, softly. The heavy chain was on her neck. "They branded me," she said. "I am branded." "Thigh," I said.

  She, wincing, turned toward me, in the straw. "An excellent brand," I said. It was the common kajira mark, as I had expected, a small, delicate, and beautiful, the cursive Kef, the stand and fronds, lyrically feminine, but unmistakable, a brand marking property, worn by most Gorean female slaves.

  She looked at me. How helpless and soft she was, so perfect, now that she was enslaved.

  "It is beautiful," I said, reassuring her.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  "I have not been given a name," she smiled. I too, smiled.

  "Do you think I would so soon forget my cuffing?" she asked.

  "No," I said. "I did not think so."

  "The other girl had a name, or thought she did," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  "So I shall answer promptly to the name given me," she smiled.

  "That would be my recommendation." I said.

  "I hope I am given a good name," she said.

  "You are pretty," I said. "You will probably be given a pretty name." "I hope so," she said.

  "But if you are not pleasing," I said, "it may be removed from you." "I know," she said.

  "Some masters force a girl to serve superbly for months, before being given any name, let alone a lovely one."

  "That is cruel," she protested.

  "You are at the mercy, totally, of anyone who buys you," I said.

  "I know," she shuddered. The chain on her neck made a small noise. Chains look well on the necks of women.

  "Have you received your first taking, after your branding?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  I nodded.

  "I am naked, and the straw is soft and warm, Master," she said.

  "You are very beautiful," I said. So beautiful are slaves!

  "My Master, Tenalion, of Ar, has permitted you here," she said.

  "Yes," I said, looking down at her.

  "He has doubtless planned this," she whispered.

  "Are you resistant?" I asked.

  "No," she laughed. "I am not resistant! I am a slave! I shall do my best to be responsive, and pleasing. I wish to be pleasing to my masters."

  "Perhaps you do not wish to be beaten, either," I said.

  "True," she laughed. "I do not wish to be beaten, either."

  I smiled.

  "I think Tenalion is kind," she whispered.

  "Do you think he would be slow with the whip, if you were not pleasing?" I asked.

  "No," she smiled. "I do not think he would be slow with the whip." "Does your brand hurt?" I asked.

  "A little," she said.

  "Prepare to be taken," I said. I removed my tunic. I looked down at her. She was lovely in the straw, at my feet.

  "How do you wish to be taken?"

  "I am new to my chains," she said. "Gently, lovingly, please."

  "Very well," I said, "this first time."

  29 Soldiers

  "Hist!" whispered the fellow in the doorway.

  "Ho?" I asked.

  I saw then that it was small Achiates, he who was the landlord of the insula in which I lodged, which shabby structure now lay only a stone's throw away, down the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla.

  I approached him. It was now well past the fourteenth Ahn, late in the afternoon. I had intended to be back somewhat earlier, indeed, rather in the neighborhood of dawn, but I had dallied for a time in the house of Tenalion, or, more specifically, in one of the pens, off one of the labyrinthine corridors, beneath his house. I remembered the heat and softness of her lips and beauty, her readiness and eagerness, and the chain on her. I thought she would make an excellent slave.

  "Surely the rent is not due so soon?" I inquired.

  "Here, come out of the light," he said.

  I stepped into the doorway with him. He looked about. He then drew back his head.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "What have you done?" he asked.

  "Nothing," I said. I think it is generally a good rule to protest one's innocence with vigor.

  "Come now!" he said.

  "I do not know," I said. "I have done quite a few things. Have you anything particular in mind? Has the room been damaged?" I feared Hurtha might have been practicing with his ax. Another alarming possibility was that he might have decapitated, either as an honest mistake, or intentionally, another tenant, perhaps one who had been so bold as to object to the declamation of poetry in the halls. Hurtha had the habit of composing orally. Still that would be something he had done, not that I had done.

  "No," said Achiates, nervously.

  "See," I said.

  "They are waiting for you," he said.

  I watched a free woman hobble by, carrying a sack of suls on her back.

  "Hurtha and Feiqa, the slave?" I asked. I blinked. Perhaps I had not had enough sleep the night before. That was possible, I thought, as I had not had any sleep.

  "No!" he said.

  "You are thinking of raising the rent?" I asked.

  "No!" he said. But I had noted his eyes and glinted for an instant. I should not have said that. It had been the lack of sleep, I gathered. One must be careful how one speaks to his landlords. One must be careful not to put ideas into their heads. It is generally better to complain loudly and frequently, keeping the fellow on the defensive, so that the very thought of having the rent raised under such conditions would seem an unthinkable, outrageous affront.

  "Who then?" I asked. I noted a slave passing by in the street, the lower portion of her body in shadows, the upper portion bright in the late afternoon sun. She was shading her eyes. Her collar was close-fitting. Her dark hair fell about it. She was probably on an errand. A coin sack was tied about her neck. Some slaves are not allowed to touch money. Many, on the other hand, on errands, carry coins in their mouth. This however, is not unusual on Gor, even for free persons. Gorean garments generally lack pockets. She was barefoot. She moved well. In time, I supposed, the former Lady Lydia, whom I had left behind me in one of Tenalion's pens, one of his newer acquisitions, would be put on the block and sold, and would then, eventually, in one city or other, probably not Ar, find herself only such a girl. Such slaves are not allowed outside the city gates, unless accompanied by a free person. I recalled how the former Lady Lydia had showed me her brand. It had been an excellent one, a lovely one. How pleased she had been that that was the case. I smiled. Slave girls are so vain about their brands.

  "Soldiers," he said.

  "What?" I said. I felt suddenly alert. This seemed, suddenly, a serious business.

  "Soldiers," he repeated, looking about himself.

  "City Guardsmen?" I asked.

  "No," he said, "soldiers."

  "Taurentians?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "Soldiers."

  "What do they want with me?" I asked.

  "I do not know," he said.

  "Did you ask?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "What did they say?" I asked.

  "Nothing," he said. "They only wanted to know when you would return." "What did you tell them?" I said.

  "I told them I did not know." He said.

  "How long have they been there?" I asked.

  "Only a little while," he said. I found that of interest. Planned arrests are normally made at dawn.

  "Why are you informing me of this?" I asked.

  "You are a tenant," he said. "Too, you have paid your rent. Too, I do not want any arrests made in my insula. That might be bad for its reputation."

  "Thank you," I said. I pressed a coin into his hand.

  "That is not necessary," he said, but took it. He was, after all, a businessman. "You are Tarl of Port Kar?" asked a man.

  "Aiii!" moaned Achi
ates.

  "Yes," I said, "Captain."

  "May I have your sword, please?" he inquired. There were now some fifteen or twenty fellows behind him. There was not much room in the doorway to draw, let alone to wield the weapon. Yet I was not covered by crossbows. Too, none of the men had lowered their spears or drawn their weapons.

  "On what grounds?" I asked. "You are under arrest." He said.

  Achiates moaned.

  "You may leave, Citizen," the fellow informed Achiates. Achiates then, like an urt, spotting an opening between sleen, darted away, hurrying toward the insula. "Your sword, please," said the captain. Surely he realized men do not lightly surrender their weapons. Too, clearly he must realize that I could force myself from the doorway, and, in an instant, be in the open, the blade free. I wondered if it were his intent to encourage such a movement on my part, in order that this might provide a plausible, legitimizing circumstance for the employment of their own weapons. But I really did not think so. They could always attack, surely now that Achiates was gone, and we were alone, as they wished, and fill out their reports, if necessary, in any way they saw fit. In that way they would have risked very little, if anything. Too, they had permitted Achiates to slip away, in spite of the fact that he must have been engaged in the business of warning me. I did not think he was in league with them. If he were he could simply have let me walk into their midst as I entered the vestibule of the insula. Interestingly enough, I did not think the officer was engaged in making a standard arrest. His generous treatment of Achiates suggested this.

  Interestingly enough, I did not think he anticipated any resistance.

  "Please," he said.

  I handed my blade, in its sheath, the straps wrapped about it, to him.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "I do not wish to be bound," I said.

  "That will not be necessary," he said.

  "What is going on here?" asked Hurtha, coming up to us.

  "Do not interfere," I said to Hurtha.

  "It appears," said Hurtha, unshouldering his ax, "that a battle to the death is in order."

  "Who is this?" asked the captain.

  "My friend," I said.

  "Greetings," said the captain to him.

  "Greetings," said Hurtha. Hurtha was a friendly Alar. He was not one of the suspicious, remote, aloof ones. He enjoyed being on good terms with fellows he was preparing to fight to the death.