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

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 59

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  The recent garments prescribed for state slaves, of course, as such things went,

  were quite modest. They had their supposed role to play, doubtless, in the

  attempt on the part of Cos to depress the sexual vitality of the males of Ar, to

  devirilize them and make them easier to manage. That program, of course, as I

  have indicated, was unsuccessful. That the female is a slave is far more

  important than her garmenture, pleasant as that may be, dressing her in one

  manner or another for your pleasure, for example. That the female is a slave can

  double or treble, or more, the sexual interest and vitality of the male. It also

  has a considerable effect, an astounding effect, on the sexuality of the

  enslaved female, as well. The reasons for this have to do with the order of

  nature.

  “Is Master angry with me?” she said.

  “Stand back against the wall,” I said. “Put the palms of your hands back,

  against the wall. Hold them there. Do not move.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I touched her.

  “Ohh,” she said, trying not to move.

  “You are still hot,” I said.

  “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

  “No forgiveness is necessary,” I said. “Being hot is commendable in a female

  slave. Indeed, she may be whipped if she is not.”

  Yes, Master,” she said, swallowing hard.

  “And recently,” I said, “if I am not mistaken, you were steaming, and oiled.”

  “Do not be angry, Master,” she begged.

  How exciting she had been on Tarn Court! How beautiful she had been on Tarn

  Court! I had been tempted to rush forth and seize her, putting her to my

  pleasure, I owning her. I had not, of course, done so. That would surely have

  interfered with my plans.

  “Do not be angry with me, Master!” she begged.

  (pg. 397) “To whom do you belong?” I asked.

  “To you, Master,” she said.

  “And to whom else?” I asked.

  “To no one else!” she said.

  I regarded her.

  “The slave hopes that her master is not displeased with her,” she said.

  I then took her once more by the upper arms and drew her, again, close to me. I

  held her in this fashion for a few Ihn, and then she made a tiny noise, and

  turned her head to the side, to her right.

  “You feel my closeness?” I asked.

  “Yes, my master,” she whispered.

  “And you grow excited?” I said.

  She looked up at me. “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “And you cannot help yourself?” I said.

  “No, Master,” she said, looking away..

  “And I could be any man?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “But I am your master,” I said.

  “Yes, my master,” she said.

  “You are a female slave,” I said.

  “Forgive me, Master,” she said.

  “I effect nothing critical,” I said. “Your sexuality has been taken away for

  you, and out of your control.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, frightened.

  “Do not be troubled,” I said. “It is appropriate that a female slave be sexually

  alive, vital and responsive.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Even required,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “You would not wish to be whipped for insufficient heat, would you?”

  “No, Master!” she said.

  “Think no more about it then,” I said. “Surrender, rather, as you now must, and

  wish to do, to your deepest needs and desires, to your most profound and

  helpless passions, to those truths, hitherto concealed in the most secret

  recesses of your belly.”

  “Take me somewhere, Master!” she begged. “Take me somewhere!”

  “You are somewhere,” I informed her.

  She looked wildly at me, and I then, by the upper arms, lifted her up, against

  the wall.

  She looked down at me. “Master!” she begged.

  (pg. 398) I kept her to the wall with my body, and, in an Ihn or two, got my

  hands to her waist, lifting her up. She put her arms about my neck, sobbing.

  “Oh, yes, Master!” she breathed. “I yield me, as a slave, your slave!”

  For an Ehn or two I held her.

  “Aiiii,” I breathed, gasping.

  “I am yours,” she whispered, “your slave!”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, you are.”

  Shortly thereafter I became aware of a presence behind me. I turned. There was a

  guardsmen there, a regular, not an auxiliary. I had never seen him before. He

  did not seem angry. I lifted Lavinia upward. “Ai!” I said, softly. I then put

  her to her feet in the doorway. She kissed at my arm, and kept her arms about

  me. Surely she was aware of the observer, as well. “Do you not know enough to

  kneel in the presence of a free man?” I asked her. Quickly she removed her arms

  from my body, smoothed down her tunic, and knelt, properly, in the doorway.

  “Does the whip master know where you are?” asked the guardsmen of Lavinia.

  “No, Master,” she said.

  “You are pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “These state sluts are all the same, “ said the guardsmen.

  “Oh?” I said.

  “I liked it better when they were belled,” he said.

  “That was nice,” I said.

  “It made it easier to keep track of them, in alleys, in doorways, and such.”

  “Doubtless,” I granted.

  He looked at Lavinia, who lowered her head.

  “I suspect it is lonely for them, in their chains, at night,” he said.

  “I suspect so,” I said.

  “She has duties,” he said. “Do not stay here long.”

  “We shall be gone in a moment,” I said.

  He then turned about and went south on Varick.

  Lavinia was trembling.

  I had her rise and put the short cloak about her. Then, on a thought, as it

  pleased me, I had her adjust the hem of the garment she wore so that it was

  slave short. I then, too, adjusted the cloak so that it barely covered the

  raised hem of the garment. She would hold the cloak high, bunched, about her

  neck, to cover the collar. In this fashion it was concealed that she wore a

  garment resembling that of a state slave and her (pg. 399) legs, quite contrary

  to the intent of the statelength garment, were extensively and delightfully

  bared.

  “I delivered the message,” said Lavinia to me.

  “I know,” I said.

  “You saw?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She looked down.

  “Do not be afraid,” I said.

  “I could not help myself,” she whispered.

  “I effect nothing critical,” I said.

 
She looked at me.

  “You are a female slave,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, wonderingly. “That is it. I am a female slave. I have

  now become a female slave.”

  “Do you object?” I asked.

  “No, Master,” she said. “I love it!”

  “You did your work well, excellently,” I said. “I am very pleased.”

  “Thank you, Master!” she said.

  I then looked out from the doorway. The guardsman was nowhere in sight. Indeed,

  the street was deserted.

  “We will now return to the insula,” I said.

  “Shall I heel my master?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “Precede me.”

  “Yes, Master,” she smiled.

  23 A Message is to be Delivered

  “The dung of tharlarion be smeared upon the Home Stone of Ar’s Station!” cried

  the portly fellow. “Let it be spattered with the spew of urts!” He seized up the

  Home Stone from the plank on which it sat, the plank resting on two inverted

  wastes vats, of the sort used in insulae, in the park of the Center Cylinder,

  within which likes the Central Cylinder. “Not even jards of stone would pick the

  bones of this loathesome rock!” cried the fellow. There was laughter at this by

  the guards about, and several other folks, too, outside the roped-off enclosure,

  within which was the Home Stone on its mock pedestal. Indeed, several fellows,

  expecting some sort of show, had hurried to stand outside the rope, to watch.

  The guards, too, it seemed, remembered this fellow, and egged him on with their

  cries. There was (pg. 400) a line, as well, behind the fellow, awaiting its turn

  to enter the roped-off circle, and, one by one, express their contempt for the

  “Traitress of the North” as Ar’s Station was now referred to on the boards.

  “Surely I should kill him!” hissed Marcus to me.

  “You are under no obligation to do so,” I assured him, irritatedly.

  “Honor deems it necessary,” said Marcus, grimly, his hand going to the hilt of

  his sword.

  “Nonsense!” I said.

  “Yes!” he hissed.

  “Not at all!” I insisted.

  I was now alarmed. When Goreans get the idea that honor is involved they

  suddenly become quite difficult to deal with. Moreover, Marcus, an agile fellow,

  could make it over the rope and get to the vicinity of the Home Stone in

  something like one or two jumps.

  “Certainly!” he said.

  “Shhh!” a fellow, turning about. “I wish to hear this!”

  I hooked my right hand in the back of Marcus’ knife belt. This made it difficult

  for him to move forward, let along get the elevation necessary for leaping over

  the rope.

  “That was a nice blow,” said a fellow nearby, turning to me, “the concept of a

  stone jard and likening the Home Stone to unfit mineral carrion.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Deft.” The jard is a small scavenging bird. It commonly moves

  in flocks.

  “Even brilliant,” said the fellow.

  “I agree,” I said. Boots Tarsk-Bit was also, quite unwitting of the fact,

  playing with his life.

  “That is you holding the back of my knife belt, I trust,” said Marcus, not

  looking about.

  “Yes,” I said, “it is I.”

  He did not remove his eyes from Boots and the Home Stone. His gaze was intense,

  fixed and fierce.

  “Would you mind unhanding it?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” I said, “but not just now.”

  “Not even the slime slugs of Anango would take shelter beneath this rock!” cried

  Boots Tarsk-Bit, waving the stone about in his two hands.

  “Well done!” cried a fellow, congratulating Boots on this sally.

  I felt Marcus tugging at the belt.

  “I told you not to come,” I said to Marcus. “Then I told you to stay back.”

  (pg. 401) “But then I would not have been cognizant of these insults!” said

  Marcus.

  “That is true,” I admitted.

  “Seremides,” cried Boots, “tried to throw this miserable rock into a wastes vat.

  Do you know what happened? The wastes vat threw it back!”

  There was laughter.

  Marcus made a strange noise. Hitherto I had heard such sounds emanating only

  from larls and sleen.

  I tightened my grip on his knife belt.

  “Note these waste vats,” cried Boots, indicating the two inverted vats on which

  the plank rested, on which the Home Stone was kept. “They are taking no

  chances!”

  There was more laughter, even applause, at this.

  “That is enough,” said Marcus, grimly.

  I restrained him from lunging forward.

  Boots turned his head to one side and sneezed.

  “At least he missed the Home Stone,” said Marcus.

  “Do not be too sure,” I said.

  “There is a line,” said the officer of the guard, his eyes filled with tears, so

  amused had he been. “I do think another should now have his turn.”

  There were some cries of protest, even of dismay, about the outside of the

  roped-off circle.

  “No, no!” cried Boots to the crowd, cheerfully, pacifying it. “It is true. The

  general is quite right! Let others have their chance, as well. Let me not

  monopolize time better distributed amongst the needs of my fellow citizens of

  free and glorious Ar! Let not this loathsome particle of disgusting gravel,

  fitting Home Stone for knaves and traitors, receive the impression that it might

  be I alone to whom the perfidy of its city is evident!”

  He then moved about, bowing graciously, to one side or another, acknowledging

  applause and comments, smiling, waving, touching people here and there, and then

  took his way from the roped-off circle.

  I removed my hand from Marcus’ knife belt.

  Marcus stood there. Now he seemed not angry, but shattered.

  “Come away,” I said.

  “He failed,” said Marcus to me.

  “Come away,” I said. I literally drew Marcus away from the rope. We then walked

  away, across the park and thence across the Avenue of the Central Cylinder.

  Another fellow was not within the circle. He was spitting, and crying out

  insults.

  (pg. 402) “We must go back, and try with blades,” said Marcus, suddenly.

  “No,” I said. “We have been through that. That is not practical.”

  “Then he must try again, tomorrow!” said Marcus. “He must make a new attempt!”

  “No,” I said.

  “No?” asked Marcus.

  “No,” I said.

  “We must have the stone!” said Marcus. “I shall not leave Ar without it!”

  “Concern yourself with the matter no longer,” I said.

  “I should have let him use magic,” moaned Marcus.

  “What?” I asked.

  “In recommending that th
is be done by mere trickery,” said Marcus, “we have lost

  the stone!”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “He could have done it by magic,” said Marcus, angrily. “And it was I who

  discouraged him from doing so!”

  “Do not be too hard on yourself,” I said.

  “Surely you remember his recounting of his powers? Surely you remember him

  asking if I wished the Central Cylinder moved, if I wished the walls of Ar

  rebuilt overnight, if I wished a thousand tarns tamed in one afternoon!”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think I recall that.”

  “Yes,” he said, miserably.

  “Perhaps you should have asked for the Central Cylinder to be moved, instead,” I

  said.

  “Purloining the Home Stone would be child’s play,” he said, “compared to moving

  the Central Cylinder.”

  “Probably,” I admitted.

  “I would think it very likely,” he said.

  “You are probably right,” I said. “But I am not an expert on such matters.”

  “It is all my fault,” he said.

  “Recall clearly now,” I said. “he only asked you if you wished the Central

  Cylinder moved, and such things. Certainly it would have been easy enough for

  you to have wished for that, and such things.”

  “What?’ asked Marcus.

  “It is obviously one thing for him to find out if you wished to have the Central

  Cylinder moved, and quite another for him to move it.”

  (pg. 403) “I do not understand,” he said.

  “It is not important,” I said.

  “It is all my fault that we do not have the stone,” he said.

  “How do you know we do not have it?” I asked.

  “Do not jest,” he said, angrily.

  “I am serious,” I said.

  “I saw,” he said. “I watched. I did not take my eyes from him. I watched with

  care. I watched with attention. I watched closely. I watched like a tarn.

  Nothing escaped me. Nothing, not even the tiniest of movements!”

  “You did watch carefully,” I said. I certainly had to give him that. He would

  have been watching more carefully than anyone there, unless perhaps myself. The

  others about, of course, would not have been watching as we were. They would not

  have known anything might be afoot. They would not have been suspecting

 

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