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

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  slightly extended, palms back. When near him she lifted her head slightly,

  hardly daring to meet his eyes, and then she knelt before him, as before a

  master, doing obeisance onto him, her head down to the stones before his golden

  sandals, the palms of her hands, too, on the stones. This (pg. 390) was not

  appropriate, of course, even though both were slaves, as she was female and he

  male, and the obeisance thus, manifested in this instance in the persons of

  slaves, might be regarded simply as that of that of femaleness to maleness. The

  perfect obeisance, of course, the natural obeisance was that it seemed so

  perfectly to exemplify that of the female slave, literally that of the slave to

  her master, though it was performed before a male who was not only not her

  master, but himself a slave. That I found of interest. Did she think he owned

  her? Too, she did not have to perform such an obeisance in this context. It was

  not, for example, required by custom or prescribed by ordinance. Too, as he did

  not own her nor expect to encounter her he would not have had an opportunity to

  specify certain details of her relationship with him, for example, his

  preferences with respect to her manner of presenting herself before him, the

  nature of the rituals of deference or submission to be expected of her, and

  such. He was, after all, only a slave, too. Indeed, sometimes female slaves are

  quite cruel to male slaves, taunting or mocking them, and such. Let the female

  slave hope, in such a case, that she does not find herself braceleted and put to

  him in his cell, a whip tied about her neck. In such a case he is as master to

  her.

  Lavinia looked up at him, tears in her eyes. He then, I think, from his

  reaction, clearly recognized her, well recollecting her once a free female, whom

  he, as a seduction slave, had entrapped for his master, Appanius. He seemed

  stunned. I did not know if this were merely his surprise at seeing her here,

  again, from so long ago, so unexpectedly, she now in her collar, or if the

  startled response to her might be more the result of recognizing the incredible

  transformation which had taken place in her, that the mere free woman he had

  entrapped had now become, in her bondage, so astoundingly fascinating and

  beautiful. Perhaps it was both. Lavinia then, seemingly overcome, trembling, put

  herself to her belly before him, her lips and hair over his sandals, and

  beggingly, timidly, as though she feared she might be struck or kicked, began to

  kiss and lick his feet. I myself, I am sure, was little less startled than the

  fellow to whom these attentions were addressed. I had expected Lavinia to kneel

  before him and give him the message, little more. Indeed, I was not certain that

  she would have been permitted to do even this. I had thought it possible that

  she might be kicked back or cuffed away from him, if not by him, then by (pg.

  391) the fellows with him. She was, after all, a slave. If this sort of thing

  occurred, I would not be likely to interfere, of course, for that might reveal,

  or suggest, my connection with her, a relationship which I was eager, at this

  point, to conceal. I did not anticipate, of course, that she would be subjected

  to much more abuse than is natural to, or fitting for, a female slave. I was

  prepared, of course, to interfere if it seemed likely she might be in danger of

  disfigurement or serious injury. After all, she was not without value in a

  market, and one would not wish anything to happen to her which might lower her

  price.

  She slowly moved to her knees again, her head down, licking and kissing, and

  then, her knees under her, she began to raise her ministrations to his shins and

  calves. She looked up at him, again. It seemed he could not move, so stunned, so

  startled, he was. Tears were in her eyes. Then she put her hands on his legs,

  and began to kiss him about the knees, and then above the knees. She now,

  kneeling before him, close to him, had her arms lovingly about his legs, her

  head down, shaking as though with sobs. She then looked up at him again. It

  seemed there was no other place that she would rather be. She then, again,

  lowered her head, and was kissing and licking delicately at the sides of his

  legs. To serve him and give him pleasure seemed as though it might be her

  desire, her happiness, her meaning and destiny in life. Did she think she was

  his slave? Again she looked up, this time pleadingly. I saw the two fellows in

  the background exchange alarmed glances. Was the handsome fellow in some sort of

  danger? Were there risks involved which might be clear to them, if not to

  others? She then put her head to the side, brushing up the purple tunic with the

  side of her head, kissing and licking at his thigh beneath the tunic. At this

  point one of the fellows rushed forward with an angry cry and seized her by the

  hair. “Lewd slave!” he cried. He hurled her, she crying out with pain, to her

  side on the stones of the street. He then rushed to her, and she curled up,

  making herself small, and kicked her, twice, to which blows she reacted. She was

  then on her right thigh, and the palms of her hands, half-sitting, half lying,

  on the street. She looked at them. The handsome fellow had not moved. He stayed

  where he was, as though rooted to the spot. “Away, lewd slave!” snarled one of

  the men with the fellow. “Begone!” said the other.

  At this point Lavinia swiftly knelt, her knees in proper position, that of the

  female slave who is used also for the pleasure of men, reach to her tunic, and

  from within it, from where she had concealed it, from where it rested, at her

  bosom, withdrew the note which she then held, her arm extended, to the handsome

  (pg. 392) fellow. One of the other two strode forward to seize the not but

  Lavinia drew it back, clutched in her tiny fist, held it to her body, and shook

  her head vigorously, negatively. This note, it seemed, was to be delivered to

  the slave alone. The fellow reached for it again and she put down her head to

  the stones, rather as in common obeisance or in kneeling to the whip, holding

  the note beneath her. “No, Master!” she said. “Forgive me, Master!”

  “Slut!” he cried, and kicked her, again.

  “Hold,” said his fellow. “You are under orders?” he asked the slave.

  “Yes, Master!” said the girl. “The note may be given to one, and one alone!”

  “Very well,” said the second fellow.

  Lavinia then, gratefully, rose to her feet, and went to kneel before the slave.

  How well she knelt before him! how well she looked at his feet, though he were

  only a slave. She then lifted the note to him, her head down between her

  extended arms, holding the note in both hands, proffering it to him, much as in

  the manner in which a slave offers wine, and herself, to a master. The fellow

  gasped, and seemed shaken by this, the sight of the beauty so before him. I

  almost feared he might fall, so beautiful she was. Never I suspect had he had a

  woman so before him. In that instance I think he may have first begun to sense

  the glories, the exultancies, the fittingness, the perfections and powers of the

  m
astery. I watched Lavinia surrender the note to him. it was almost as though it

  were her own note, offered pleadingly to him on her own behalf, and not

  putatively the note of another, in whose transit and delivery she was merely

  humble courier. To be sure, she had written the note herself. I was much puzzled

  by her behavior. I was also much impressed by it. I had never hitherto realized

  she was that beautiful.

  “You have delivered your note, slut!” said one of the men, angrily. “Now, be off

  with you!”

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  He drew back his hand, angrily, as though contemplating giving her a cuff.

  “Yes, Master!” she said, and scrambled to her feet, not at all gracefully, in

  her haste, and raced past me, going west on Tarn Court. Clearly she would not

  have relished further attentions from the fellow. Already she was a bruised,

  thrice-kicked slave. I do not think that he intended striking her that time,

  incidentally, but was only threatening to do so. The threat, however, had been

  sufficient to speed her on her way, and had she not (pg. 393) leaped up and

  departed with suitable dispatch I did not doubt but what her lovely face in an

  instant, flashing and burning scarlet, might have suffered the sting, and

  perhaps more than once, of that ready, harsh masculine hand.

  “She is pretty,” said one of the fellows, he who had questioned her, looking

  after her.

  “But she is only a female,” said the other, he who had threatened her.

  “And a slave,” said he who had questioned her.

  “Yet they are the prettiest and best, “ said he who had threatened her.

  “Yes,” said he who had questioned her. “There is no comparison.”

  The handsome slave stood in the street, under the trellises, in the light and

  shade, looking after the slave, wonderingly. In his hand, neglected, was the

  note. It seemed he could not take his eyes off the retreating figure of Lavinia.

  Could it be that he found her of interest, and in the most profoundly sexual way

  in which a man may find a woman of interest, of slave interest? I had not

  counted on that. I trusted that this would not disrupt my plans.

  “Read the note,” ordered one of the fellows.

  Absently, almost as though not aware of his surroundings, except for the now

  tiny figure of the slave, hurrying away, he opened the note. He could,

  apparently, read. I had counted on that. He was a high slave. Too, it would have

  been difficult for him, I supposed, as he was a well-known actor, to have

  learned parts without being able to read. To be sure, some actors do, having the

  parts read to them, and they memorizing them from the hearing of the lines. This

  is particularly the case with women, as most parts of women on the Gorean stage,

  other than those in high theater, which tend to be acted by boys or men, are

  acted by female slaves, many of whom cannot read. Also, of course, as is well

  known, singers, scalds in the north, and such, transmit even epics orally.

  Because there are many Goreans who cannot read, many stores , shops, and such,

  will utilize various signs and devices to identify their place of business. For

  example, a large, wooden image of a paga goblet may hang outside a tavern, a

  representation of a hammer and anvil outside a metal-worker’s shop, one of a

  needle and thread outside a cloth-worker’s shop, and so on. I have known

  extremely intelligent men on Gor, incidentally, who could not read. Illiteracy,

  or, more kindly, an inability to read and write, is not taken on Gor as a mark

  of stupidity. These things tend rather, in many cases, to be associated with the

  caste structure (pg. 394) and cultural traditions. Some warriors, as I have

  indicated earlier, seem to feel it is somewhat undignified for them to know how

  to read, or, at least, how to read well, perhaps because that sort of thing is

  more in the line of, say, the scribes. One hires a warrior for one thing, one

  hires a scribe for another. One does not expect a scribe to know the sword. Why,

  then, should one expect the warrior to know the pen? An excellent example of

  this sort of thing is the caste of musicians which has, as a whole, resisted

  many attempts to develop and standardize a musical notation. Songs and melodies

  tend to be handed down within the caste, from one generation to another. If

  something is worth playing, is it worth remembering, they say. On the other

  hand, I suspect that they fear too broad a dissemination of the caste knowledge.

  Physicians, interestingly, perhaps for a similar reason, tend to keep records in

  archaic Gorean, which is incomprehensible to most Goreans. Many craftsmen,

  incidentally, keep such things as formulas for certain kinds of glass and

  alloys, and manufacturing processes, generally, in cipher. Merchant law has been

  unsuccessful, as yet, in introducing such things as patents and copyrights on

  Gor. Such things do exist in municipal law on Gor but the jurisdictions involved

  are, of course, local.

  “What does it say?” asked the fellow.

  The slave clutched it to him. “It is private,” he said, “and, I fear, personal.”

  “Let me see,” said one of the fellows.

  “Better that only I and Appanius see this,” he said. He seemed white-faced,

  shaken.

  “Very well,” said the fellow who had spoken, stepping back. He had judged from

  the slave’s response, it seemed, that the matter was not one for just anyone to

  press.

  “Is it important?” asked the other fellow.

  “I am afraid,” said the slave.

  “Let us return to the house,” said the first fellow.

  They then again took their way east on tarn Court and, in a bit, once beyond the

  trelliswork, went to the right side of the street, which now, given the lateness

  of the afternoon sun, was the shady side. Normally Goreans keep to the left

  sides of streets and roads, as is proper, given that most men are right-handed.

  In this fashion the sword arm is on the side of the stranger. A similar,

  interesting historical detail, though are particularly pertinent to Gor, as most

  Gorean garments have buttons, is that, on Earth, men’s shirts, jackets, coats,

  and such, have the buttons on the right side, so that the opening of the garment

  is held down, and to the right. This is because the (pg. 395) sheath of the

  knife or sword is, by right-handed men, commonly worn on the left, facilitating

  the across-the-body draw to the right. In this arrangement of the garment’s

  fastenings, thusly, the hand, or sleeve, or guard of the weapon, will not be

  caught or impeded in its passage to the ready position. A similar provision does

  occur, incidentally, in various Gorean garments, having to do with pins,

  brooches and such. Also the male tunic of the wraparound variety has its overlap

  to the right, presumably for a similar reason. Warriors, in situations of

  danger, commonly carry the scabbard over the left shoulder. The scabbard is held

  with the left hand and the draw takes place with the right. The scabbard and

  strap is then discarded, to be recovered, if practical
, later. Obviously the

  scabbard attached to a belt is not only an encumbrance but it is something which

  someone else might seize, cling to, and perhaps use to his advantage.

  I watched them withdraw. I was not even certain that the slave would show the

  note to Appanius. On the other hand, since he had been witnessed in receiving

  it, which I had not known would happen, it seemed highly likely he would do so.

  My plans, as I had laid them, of course, did not require that the note be seen

  by Appanius. Appanius did, of course, figure significantly in my plans. The note

  did not, as far as Appanius was concerned. It could do its work with or without

  his knowledge.

  I now went west on Tarn Court.

  In a few Ehn I had come to the rendezvous point, on Varick, west of Aulus, which

  I had arranged with Lavinia. I waited there, near the doorways. She would not be

  loitering in the vicinity, of course, as that would attract attention. She

  would, rather, pass this point at certain intervals, in one direction or

  another. She may have passed it once or twice already. I would then, in the

  concealment of one of the doorways, put her in the small cloak she had worn

  before, now folded in my wallet, and we would then make our way home.

  I observed her approaching.

  How beautiful she had been, how fetching she was now.

  “Master,” she said.

  “In here,” I said, gesturing to the doorway.

  She stepped within the sheltered area and I took her by the upper arms and

  turned her about, and thrust her back, sharply, against the wall, to the right.

  “Master?” she said.

  I looked down into her eyes. I held her by the upper arms, facing me, slave

  close. It is not unpleasant to hold a woman (pg. 396) thusly. There were the

  tracks of tears, some only half dried, on her cheeks. She had thus wept even

  after leaving Tarn Court, probably while hurrying along.

  “You are fortunate that you were not cuffed,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You are not unattractive,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  I stepped back a little, not releasing my hold, and looked down at her.

  “Even in such garments,” I said.