Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

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by Magicians of Gor [lit]


  “No, Master,” she said.

  He then turned her about and put a leather leash collar, with its attached lead,

  now dangling before her, on her neck.

  Although I did not think that Phoebe, who was a highly intelligent girl, would

  be likely to attempt an escape, even if she were not bound to Marcus by chains a

  thousand times stronger than those of iron, the chains of love, she might be

  stolen. Slave girls are lovely properties, and slave theft, the stealing of

  beautiful female slaves, is not unknown on Gor.

  She tried to press against him, but he pressed her back, with one hand.

  “Yes, Master,” she sobbed. She was not now, without his permission, to so much

  as touch him.

  “Let us be on our way,” said Marcus.

  The girl moaned with need.

  “Very well,” I said.

  “Outside,” said Marcus to the girl, “stand and walk well.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  She was flushed, and needful, but I did not know if this would be readily

  apparent outside, among the moving bodies, in the darkness, in the wayward

  shadows, in the uncertain light of campfires.

  “You are sure you do not wish to remain in the tent for a bit?” I asked.

  “Please, Master!” begged Phoebe.

  “No,” said Marcus.

  Phoebe was quite beautiful in the tunic. It was adjusted on her by a slave

  girdle, in one of its common ties.

  The girl looked at her master, piteously.

  “Let us be on our way,” said Marcus.

  We left the tent, the girl following, bound, on the leash. She whimpered once,

  softly, piteously, beggingly, to which sound, however, her master, if he heard

  it, paid no heed.

  3 The Camp

  “Stones! Guess stones!” called a fellow. “Who will play stones?”

  This is a guessing game, in which a certain number of a given number of

  “stones,” usually from two to five, is held in the hand and the opponent is to

  guess the number. There are many variations of “Stones,” but usually one

  receives one point for a correct guess. If one guesses successfully, one may

  guess again. If one does not guess successfully, one holds the “stones” and the

  opponent takes his turn. The game is usually set at a given number of points,

  usually fifty. Whereas the “stones” are often tiny pebbles, they may be any

  small object. Sometimes beads are used, sometimes even gems. Intricately carved

  and painted game boxes containing carefully wrought “stones” are available for

  the affluent enthusiast. The game, as it is played on Gor, is not an idle

  pastime. Psychological subtleties, and strategies, are involved. Estates have

  sometimes changed hands as a result of “stones.” Similarly, certain individuals

  are recognized as champions of the game. In certain cites, tournaments are held.

  I wiped my mouth with my forearm and rose to my feet. I was now much refreshed.

  “Do not leave me, I beg you,” said the girl at my feet, on the mat. Her hands

  were about my ankle. “I would kneel to you,” she said.

  “You do not have permission even to rise to your knees,” I reminded her. She

  groaned.

  “Paga! Paga!” called a fellow, with a large bota of paga slung over his

  shoulder.

  “I belly for you!” said the girl, her head down, over my foot.

  She held still to my ankle, her small hands about it. Her hair was about my

  foot. I felt her hot lips press again and again to my foot. She looked up. “Buy

  me,” she begged. “Buy me!” the marks of the rush mat were on her back. She was a

  blonde, and short, voluptuously curvaceous. She drew her legs up then, and lay

  curled on her side, looking up at me, her hands still on my ankle. “Buy me,” she

  begged.

  “Lie on your back,” I told her, “your arms at your sides, the palms of your

  hands up, your left knee raised.”

  She did so.

  “Buy me!” she begged.

  I could not walk away from her.

  “Please,” she begged.

  Her words puzzled me. Why would she want me to buy her? Certainly I had not

  accorded her dignity or respect, or such things. Indeed, it had not even

  occurred to me to do so, nor would it have been appropriate, as she was a mere

  slave. Similarly I had not handled her gently. Indeed, at least in my second

  usage of her, purchased with a second tarsk bit placed in the shallow copper

  bowl beside her, she had been put through fierce, severe, uncompromising slave

  paces. Once, when she had seemed for an instant hesitant, I had even cuffed her.

  “I want to be your slave,” she said. “Please buy me!”

  I considered her. She was certainly a hot slave.

  “Please, Master,” she begged.

  “Are you finished?” asked a fellow behind me.

  I looked again at the female, luscious, collared, on the mat.

  “Please buy me!” she begged.

  I considered my purposes in coming to Ar, the dangers that would be involved.

  “I do not think it would be practical,” I said.

  She sobbed.

  “You are finished?” asked the fellow, again.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Master!” she wept.

  As I left, slinging about me my accouterments, I heard a new coin entered into

  the copper bowl.

  Some peasants were to one side. Every now and then, presumably at some joke, or

  recounted anecdote, perhaps one about some tax collector thrown in a well, they

  would laugh uproariously.

  A fellow brushed past me, drawing behind him two slaves, their wrists extended

  before them, closely together, pulled forward, the lead chains attached to their

  wrist shackles.

  I was looking about for Marcus and Phoebe.

  (pg. 36) I glanced over to the walls of Ar, some hundred or so yards away,

  rearing up in the darkness. Here and there fires were lit on the walls, beacons

  serving to guide tarnsmen. The last time I had been to Ar, that time I had

  received the spurious message, to be delivered to Aemilianius, in Ar’s Station,

  there had been no need of yellow ostraka, or permits, to enter the city. Such

  devices, or precautions, had in the interim apparently been deemed necessary,

  doubtless for purposes of security or to control the number of refugees pouring

  into the city which, even earlier, had been considerable. Many had slept in the

  streets. I had rented, at that time, a room in the insula of streets. One

  permitted residence in Ar received the identificatory ostrakon, for example,

  citizens, ambassadors, resident aliens, trade agents, and such, was a function

  of heir owner’s possession of such ostraka. Others might enter the city on

  permits, usually for the day, commencing at dawn and concluding at sundown.

  Records were kept of visitors. A visitor whose permit had expired was the object

  of the search of guardsmen. Too, guardsmen might, at their option, request the

  presentation of either ostraka or permits. Ostaka were sometimes purchased

  illegall
y. Sometimes men killed for them. The nature of the ostraka, for

  example, taking different colors, being recoded, and so on.

  I saw some fellows gathered about a filled, greased wineskin. There was much

  laughter. I went over to watch. He who manages to balance on it for a given

  time, usually an Ehn, wins both the skin and its contents. One pays a tarsk bit

  for the chance to compete. It is extremely difficult, incidentally, to balance

  on such an object, not only because of the slickness of the skin, heavily coated

  with grease, but even more so because if its rotundity and unpredictable

  movements, the wine surging within in. “Aii!” cried a fellow flailing about and

  then spilling from its surface. There was much laughter. “Who is next?” called

  the owner of the skin. This sort of thing is a sport common at peasant

  festivals, incidentally, thought there, of course, usually far from a city,

  within the circle of the palisade, the competition is free, the skin and wine

  being donated by one fellow or another, usually as his gift to the festival to

  which all in one way or another contribute, for example, by the donations of

  produce, meat or firewood. At such festivals there are often various games, and

  contests and prizes. Archery is popular with the peasants and combats with the

  great staff. Sometimes there (pg. 37) is a choice of donated prizes for the

  victors. For example, a bolt of red cloth, a tethered verr or a slave. More than

  one urban girl, formerly a perfumed slave, sold into the countryside, who held

  herself above peasants, despising them for their supposed filth and stink, had

  found herself, kneeling and muchly roped, among such a set of prizes. And, to

  her chagrin, she is likely to find that she is not the first chosen.

  I was brushed by a fellow in the darkness. While I could still see him I checked

  my wallet. It was there, intact. The two usual modalities in which such folks

  work are to cut the strings of the wallet from the belt, carrying it away, or to

  slit the bottom of the wallet, allowing the contents to slip into their hand.

  Both actions require skill.

  I saw a line of five slave girls, kneeling, abreast, their hands tied behind

  their back. bits of meat were thrown to them, one after the other. A catch

  scored two points for the master. A missed piece might be sought by any of the

  girls, scrambling about, on their bellies. She who managed to obtain it received

  one point for her master. The girls were encouraged from the sidelines, not only

  by their masters but by the crowd as well, some of whom placed bets on the

  outcome.

  “Would you like to purchase a yellow ostrakon?” asked a fellow. I had hardly

  heard him. I looked about, regarding him. His hood was muchly pulled about his

  face. Were his offer genuine, I would indeed be eager to purchase such an

  object.

  “Such are valuable,” I said.

  “Only a silver tarsk,” he said.

  “Are you a resident of Ar?” I asked.

  “I am leaving the city,” he said. “I fear Cos.”

  “But Cos is to be met and defeated on the march to Ar,” I said.

  “I am leaving the city,” he said. “I have no longer a need for the ostrakon.”

  “Let me see it,” I said.

  Surreptitiously, scarcely opening his hand, he showed it to me.

  “Bring it here, by the light,” I said.

  Unwillingly he did so. I took it from his hand.

  “Do not show it about so freely,” he whispered.

  I struck him heavily in the gut and he bent over, and sank to his knees. He put

  down his head. He gasped. He threw up into the dirt near the fire.

  “If you cannot hold your paga, go elsewhere,” growled a peasant.

  The fellow, in pain, in confusion, in agony, looked up at me.

  (pg. 38) “It is indeed a yellow ostrakon,” I said, “and oval in shape, as are

  the current ostraka.”

  “Pay me,” he gasped.

  “Only this morning I was at the sun gate,” I told him, “where the current lists

  are posted, the intent of which is to preclude such fraud as you would

  perpetrate.”

  “No,” he said.

  “The series of this ostrakon,” I said, “was discontinued, probably months ago.”

  “No,” he said.

  “You could have retrieved from a carnarium,” I said. This was one of the great

  refuse pits outside the walls.

  I broke the ostrakon in two and cast the pieces into the fire.

  “Begone,” I said to the fellow.

  He staggered to his feet and, bent over, hobbled quickly away. I had not killed

  him.

  “They may have to give up ostraka,” said the peasant sitting cross-legged by the

  fire.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It is dangerous to carry them,” he said. “Too many folks are killed for them.”

  “What then will Ar do?” I asked.

  “I think she will shut her gates,” he said.

  “But her forces are interposed between her gates and Cos,” I said.

  “True,” said the peasant.

  I then continued my search for Marcus and Phoebe. He was, of course, quite proud

  of her. I did not doubt but what he was now circulating about, seemingly merely

  wandering about, but showing her off. She would surely be one the most fetching

  slaves in the area.

  How lofty, I thought, are the walls of Ar. Yet they were only of stone and

  mortar. They could be breached. Her bridges could be, as the Goreans have it,

  washed in blood. But there were forces of Ar between her walls and banners of

  Cos. It was well.

  I stopped for a moment to watch an amusing race. Several slave girls are

  aligned, on all fours, poised, their heads down. Then, carefully, a line of

  beans, one to a girl, is placed before them. She must then, on all fours, push

  the bean before her, touching it only with her nose. The finish line was a few

  yards away. “go!” I head. The crowd cheered on its favorites. On this sport, as

  well as on several others, small bets were placed. Sometimes a new slave, one

  who has recently been a haughty, arrogant free woman, is used in such a race.

  Such things, aside (pg. 39) from their amusing, and fitting, aspects, are

  thought to be useful in accommodating her to her new reality, that of the female

  slave. In them she learns something more of the range of activities that may be

  required of her.

  I passed two fellows wrestling in a circle, others watching.

  Another group, gathered about a fire, were singing and passing about a bota, I

  presume, of paga.

  I passed a pair of fellows intent over a Kaissa board. It seemed they were in

  their own world.

  A female slave passed me, looking shyly down. She moved, excellently. I saw

  another regarding me. She was on her master’s leash. I recalled that Phoebe,

  too, had been on a leash. Perhaps by now, I though, Marcus would have returned

  with his slave, suffering in her need, to the tent, if only to satisfy himself

  with her, for he, too, I was certain, was in an agony to have her. Yet,
in spite

  of his need, his intense desire for her, which it seemed he would choose to

  conceal from her, and her obvious, even explicitly expressed piteous need, which

  he chose to ignore, thereby supposedly, I suppose, indicating to her its

  meaninglessness to him, he had, as though nothing were afoot, simply taken her

  from the tent, as though merely to take in the sights, to see what might be seen

  in the camp. If Marcus had returned to the tent by now, of course, I did not

  think it would do for me to drop back, at least just yet. I wondered if, even

  now, Phoebe might be writhing at his mercy in an intricate slave binding, one

  which might make her so much the more helpless under his touch. Yet, given what

  I knew of Marcus, and his will, and determination, he was probably still about

  in the camp. But how long, I wondered, could he hold out. Certainly Phoebe had

  been superb in her tunic, adjusted on her by the slave girdle. The mere sight of

  her had led me to hurry to the mats. I supposed, however, that they were

  somewhere about. Knowing Marcus I would suppose so. He was excellent at gritting

  his teeth. I wondered if Phoebe had dared yet, in her need, to come close to

  him, on her leash, or even, perhaps, to brush against him, perhaps as though

  inadvertently. If Marcus though such a thing deliberate on her part it might

  have earned her another cuffing. To be sure, it doubtless amused Marcus, or

  seemed fitting to him, to lead her about on her leash, suffering in a need which

  might be detectable even in the darkness and the shifting shadows. He might

  regard that as quite appropriate for a “slut of Cos.”

  There was, from one side, a sudden sound of grunting and the cracking of great

  staffs, and urging cries from men. Two fellows, brawny lads, in half tunics,

  were doing staff contest. (pg. 40) Both were good. Sometimes I could scarcely

  follow the movements of these weapons. “Watch him!” called a fellow to one of

  the contestants. “Cheers for Rarir!” called another. “Aii!” cried one of the

  lads, blood at the side of his head and ear, stumbling to the side. “Good blow!”

  cried an onlooker. But the lad came back with redoubled energy. I stayed for a

  moment. The lad from Rarir, as I understood it, then managed to pierce the guard

  of his opponent and thrust the staff into the fellow’s chest. He followed this

 

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