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

  Slave?”

  “No, Master,” she said, eagerly. Such texts, and numerous others, like them, are

  sometimes utilized in a girl’s training, particularly by professional slavers.

  Sometimes they are read aloud in training sessions by a scribe, a whip master in

  attendance. Most girls are eager to acquire such knowledge. Indeed, they often

  ply one another for secrets of love, makeup, costuming, perfuming, dance, and

  such, as each wishes to be as perfect for her master as it lies within her power

  to be. Also, of course, such diligence is prudential on her part. She will be

  lashed if she is not pleasing. Also, her very life, literally, is in his hands.

  Perhaps a word is in order pertaining to the Songs of Dina. Some free women

  claim that this book, which is supposedly written by Din, “a slave”, which

  continues to appear in various editions and revisions, because of its

  intelligence and sensitivity, is actually, and must be, written by a free woman.

  I suspect, on the other hand, that it is truly by a slave, as is claimed on the

  title page. There are two reasons for this. First, ‘Dina’ is a common slave

  name, often given to girls with the “Dina’ brand, which is a small, roselike

  brand. Second, the nature of the songs themselves. No free woman could have sung

  of chains and love, and the lash, and the glory of masters as she. Those are

  songs which, in my opinion, could be written only by a woman who knew what it

  was to be at a man’s slave ring. As to the matter of the poetess’ intelligence

  and sensitivity, I surely grant them to the free women, but maintain that such

  are entirely possible in a slave, and even more to expected in her than in them.

  I suspect their position may even be inconsistent. When a women is enslaved, for

  example, surely they do not suppose that her intelligence and sensitivity

  disappear. Surely they would not expect theirs to do so, if they had them. No,

  she still has them. Also, it has been my personal experience, for what it is

  worth, that slaves are almost always more intelligent and sensitive than free

  women, who often, at least until taken in hand, tend to be ignorant, smug, vain

  and stupid. Also, it might be noted that many women are enslaved nto simply

  because it is convenient to do so, the ropes are handy, so to speak, or because

  they are beautiful of face and figure, but actually because of their

  intelligence and sensitivity, qualifies which appeal to many Gorean men. indeed,

  as I have suggested, the intelligence and sensitivity of many women actually

  tends to blossom in bondage, finding within it the apt environment for its

  expression, for its flowering. This may have to do with such matters as the

  release of inhibitions, happiness, fulfillment, and such. I do not know.

  “What of the Prition of Clearchus of Cos?” I asked.

  “A Cosian?” said Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That will not be found in Ar,” he said.

  “It used to be,” I said, “at least before the war.”

  “Yes, Master,” she beamed. “I have read it!”

  “You, a free girl, have read it?” I asked. To be sure, the book is a classic.

  “Yes, Master!” she smiled.

  “Does your father know you have read it?” I asked.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “What do you suppose he would do to you, if he found out?” I asked.

  “I think he would sell me, Master,” she said.

  “And appropriately,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she smiled.

  “Stand,” I said. “Turn about. Cross your wrists behind you.”

  “Yes, Master!” she said, eagerly, complying.

  “Oh!” she said, bound.

  “Turn about,” I said.

  Swiftly she did so, and looked shyly up at me. She tested the (pg. 195) fiber on

  her wrists, subtly, attempting to do so inconspicuously, trying its smugness and

  strength, its effectiveness. She put down her head and suddenly, inadvertently,

  shuddered, with pleasure. I had used capture knots. She knew herself helpless. I

  supposed it was the first time she had ever been bound.

  “May I speak?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I am tied as a slave is tied, am I not?” she asked.

  “As slaves are sometimes tied,” I said.

  This comprehension was suddenly reflected, or exhibited, in her entire body, in

  fear, and desire and pleasure, she flexing her knees, twisting, her shoulders

  moving, and then, again, she stood before me, looking up at me, but now

  trembling.

  “It is appropriate, is it not?” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I regarded her.

  She looked away.

  She was trying to deal with her helplessness, to understand it, and its import.

  I wondered what her feelings would have been had she been a legal slave, and

  known herself totally at our mercy.

  “Will it be necessary to leash you?” I asked.

  “No,” she said.

  I then leashed her. “Now you will not run away,” I said.

  “I will not run away,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. I looped the long end of the leash three times. She looked at

  the swinging loops, apprehensively. Most slave leashes are long enough to serve

  not only as a leash but also as a lash. The length, too, permits them to

  facilitate a binding, both of hand and foot. A common technique is to run the

  leash through a slave ring and then complete the tie as one pleases, simply or

  complexly. Many leashes, such as the one I had just put on the girl, are cored

  with wire. This prevents them from being chewed through.

  “Tarry here a moment,” I said to Marcus. To the girl I said, “Precede me.”

  She went ahead of me some paces down the alley before I stopped her. “Do not

  turn about,” I said.

  I then turned back to Marcus. I pointed to the remains of the chest and touched

  the knife at my side.

  He nodded and drew his knife. On the lid of the chest he carved a delka, and

  then set the lid against the remains of the chest, that the sign might be

  prominently displayed. As we were not in the officer’s chain of command, he in

  charge of the guardsmen of Ar whom we had earlier encountered. I did not (pg.

  196) think he would be likely to follow up the matter on the girl’s disposition.

  He would presumably take it for granted, that she might even now be in the loot

  pits of the district of Anbar, awaiting the technicalities of her enslavement.

  Had he been interested in the matter he would doubtless have seen to it himself,

  or had his men see to it. Perhaps, on the other hand, he did not trust them, as

  they were of Ar. I did not know. If an investigation were initiated, which

  seemed to me unlikely, as many women were delivered on one pretext or another to

  the loot pits, and there would not be likely to be much interest in any

  particular one of them, Marcus and I could always claim that she had come into

  the power of the Delta Brigade, and
we had thought it best not to gainsay their

  will in the matter, and indeed, I suppose, in a sense, that was true, as Marcus

  and I, were, or were of, as it seemed better to put it now, given the most

  recent information at our disposal, the Delta Brigade. Too, even if the matter

  were not perused further, there would now be at least one more delka in Ar.

  In a few moments we were out on the streets. Even though such sights were not

  rare in Ar, in the past months, a free woman, leashed, in the custody of

  guardsmen or auxiliaries, presumably having been appropriated for levies, or

  perhaps merely having been subjected to irrevocable, unappealable seizure at an

  officer’s whim, yet men turned to regard her as we passed. In spite of her youth

  she was well formed. In four or five years I had no doubt she would constitute

  an extraordinary luscious love bundle helplessly responding in a master’s arms.

  A fellow made a quick noise with his mouth as he passed her. She lifted her

  head, startled, in the leash collar. The meaning of the sound would be

  unmistakable, even to a girl, signifying as it did the eagerness and relish

  which the mere sight of her inspired in him. her face was soft and lovely,

  gently rounded. Her hair was long and dark.

  “She moves well,” commented Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I think she has just begun to sense how men might view her,” mused Marcus.

  “I think so,” I said.

  “It is interesting,” he said, “when a women first begins to sense her

  desirability.”

  “True,” I said.

  “And hers is such that a price can be put on it,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. Her desirability was so exciting that it could only be that of a

  slave.

  “Look at her,” he said.

  (Pg. 197) “Yes,” I said.

  “She is ready for the block now.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “I am sure she would perform well,” said Marcus. “And if she were reluctant to

  do so, or hesitated for a moment, I am sure any lingering scruples would be

  promptly dissipated by the auctioneer’s whip.”

  “Undoubtedly,” I said. I had seen such transformations take place many times at

  the sales. It is not so much, I think, that the lash, in such a situation, as a

  punishment, changes the woman’s behavior, that she obeys because she does not

  wish to be whipped, but rather that the whip convinces her that she is not free

  to be sensuous, sexual, marvelous creature which she is in herself and has

  always desired to be. In this sense the whip does not oppress the woman but

  rather liberates her to be herself, wild, uninhibited, free in a sense, even

  though she may be bound in chains, and sexual. To be sure, the whip is also used

  to punish women, and they do fear it, and mightily, for such a reason. Sometimes

  it is used too, of course, merely to remind them of what they are, slaves.

  “How graceful she is,” he commented.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I suspected that a perceptive master might have a woman such as she trained in

  slave dance, that she might please him also in this way. I could imagine her,

  even now, in the floor movements of the slave dance. I wiped sweat from my brow.

  How beautifully walked the girl, how conscious now, how proud, how pleased, she

  seemed, in the abundance of her beauty, her desirability and power. How

  different she was from many of the free women we had seen earlier being led

  through the streets, piteous, overfed, stumbling creatures following behind on

  their leashes, their heads down, loudly bemoaning their fate. But even those, I

  suspected, given diet, exercise and training, could in time, be transformed into

  dreams of pleasure.

  “Slave!” hissed a free woman to the girl. Then she was behind us. Her voice

  fraught with hatred.

  “She thinks you are a slave,” I said.

  “Yes,” laughed the girl, delightedly.

  For some reason free women hate female slaves. They are often quite cruel even

  to those whom they themselves own. I am not certain of the explanation of this

  seemingly unreasoning, inexplicable hatred. Perhaps they hate the slave for her

  beauty, for her joy, her truth, her perfections, her desirability, her

  happiness. At the root of their hatred, perhaps, lies their own unhappiness and

  lack of fulfillment, their envy of the (pg. 198) slave, joyfully in her rightful

  place in nature. In any event, this attack on the part of the free women, which

  happily had been only verbal, as they often are not, and the abused slaves in

  any event dare not protest or object, as they are at the mercy of free persons,

  was in its way a profound compliment. So beautiful and exciting was the girl

  that the woman had naturally assumed she was that most marvelous, helpless,

  lovely and degraded of objects, the female slave.

  “Turn left here,” I said to the girl.

  “Masters?” she asked, stopping.

  “Left,” I said. As she was free I did not demur to repeat a command. Also,

  punishment for having to repeat a command is always at the option of the master.

  For example, a command might not be clearly heard, or might not be clear in

  itself, or might appear inconsistent with the master’s presumed intentions.

  Whether punishment is in order or not is then a matter for judgment on the

  master’s part. In this case, of course, as we were on Tarngate, at Lorna, she

  has every reason to question my direction.

  “Masters,” said the girl, “may I speak?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “This is not the way to the district of Anbar,” she said. Perhaps she thought we

  were strangers, brought in as auxiliaries, and did not know the city. To be

  sure, there were many areas in Ar which I did not know.

  “That is known to me,” I said.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “We are taking you home,” I said.

  “No!” she cried, aghast.

  I regarded her.

  “You are to take me to the loot area in the district of Anbar!” she said. “When

  I was within the chest I heard it so said!”

  “You are going home,” I said.

  “We could sell her,” said Marcus.

  “Yes!” she said. “Sell me!”

  “No,” I said. “You are going home.”

  She tried to back away but in an instant was stopped, the inside of the leash

  collar tight against the back of her neck. “Perhaps you have forgotten that you

  are leashed, female,” I said.

  She approached me and fell to her knees before me, the leash looping up to my

  hand. She put her head to the stones, at my feet. I think she then, better than

  before, understood her helplessness, and the meaning of the leash, and why I had

  put it on her.

  (pg. 199) “I thought you said you would not run away,” I said.

  She lifted her head. “I cannot run away,” she said. “I am leashed!”

  “Yes,” I
said.

  “I am in your power,” she said. “You can do with me as you wish. I beg to be

  taken to the loot pits. I beg to be taken there, or sold?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Keep me then for yourselves!” she said, looking from me to Marcus, and back

  again.

  “No,” I said.

  “Surely you do not doubt that I am a slave, and need to be a slave!” she wept.

  “I do not doubt that,” I said. “But I think it is a bit early to harvest you.”

  “Surely that is a matter of opinion,” said Marcus.

  “True,” I granted him.

  “Surely you have seen such slips of girls chained in the loot lines of conquered

  cities,” he said.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “They do no discriminate against them there, do they?” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “And surely you have been pleasured in various taverns by such,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Even though they do not yet have the full perfections of their

  femaleness upon them.”

  “What scruple then,” asked he,” gives you pause?”

  “She is rather young,” I said. “Also we owe something to her father.”

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “He is a brave man,” I said.

  “Brave?” asked Marcus. “Did you not observe his wringing of hands, his wailing

  unmaniless, his terror, his obsequiousness, not see to what extent he would go

  to accommodate himself to Cosian will?”

  “It is true, Masters,” said the girl, “if I may speak, as I gather I may, as you

  seem to insist upon treating me as a free woman. My father is a negligible

  coward.”

  “No,” I said. “He is a brave man.”

  “I believe I know him better than you,” she said.

  “Surely Marcus,” I said, “you would not begrudge the fellow (pg. 200) a certain

  dismay over the destruction of his shop and the grievous impairment of his means

  of livelihood.”

  “His reaction was excessive,” said Marcus.

  “Exaggerated, you think?”

  “If you wish,” he said.

  “For the benefit of whom, do you suppose?” I asked.