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

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  female slaves is ‘kajirae’.

  “Straighten your collar,” I said to Lavinia.

  Instantly, embarrassed, self-consciously, she lifted her hands to her collar.

  Then she looked at me, for a moment puzzled. To be sure, it was almost perfect.

  Then, shyly, with seeming demureness, but with a slave girl’s sense of

  self-display, she, her chin level, her back straight, her shoulders back,

  centered the lock, with both hands, delicately, carefully, at the back of the

  neck. This lifted her breasts, beautifully. “Are you looking at her?” I asked

  the male slave.

  “Forgive me, Master!” he said.

  “To be sure,” I said, “it is hard not to look at her.”

  “Yes, Master,” he said, putting his head down.

  Lavinia, too, lowered her head, smiling.

  “As I mentioned earlier,” I said, “you do not look well. This is doubtless

  because of having been well beaten. Indeed, from the marks, I suspect the staff

  of Appanius to have been cored with lead. I recommend you get up now and go to

  the alley. You may wish to heave there, once or twice. Then, return. In the back

  you will find water and a towel. Clean yourself. Then come back here and kneel

  again, as you are.

  “Yes, Master,” he said, rising to his feet.

  For a moment Marcus blocked his exit, but then Marcus, with a looked at me,

  stepped aside.

  “I should go with him,” said Marcus to me.

  “No,” I said.

  “Do you think he will come back?’ he asked.

  “Certainly,” I said. “I do not think he wishes to run naked about Ar. He is well

  known, and would doubtless immediately be in ropes.” Nudity is often used on Gor

  as a uniform, so to speak, of prisoners and slaves. “Too,” I said, “I doubt that

  he wants his throat cut.”

  “Probably not,” granted Marcus.

  “May I speak, Master?” asked Lavinia.

  “Yes,” I said. Let her tongue now be freed. It was acceptable to me.

  “Would you do that?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She shrank back, white-faced.

  “He might try to make it to the house of Appanius,” said Marcus.

  “He would be bound, and neck-roped, within two blocks,” I said.

  (pg. 438) “Suppose he makes it to the house of Appanius,” he said.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “If I am not mistaken Appanius would welcome him back.”

  “I think so,” I said.

  “He may wish to buy him back anyway.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “For perhaps five thousand gold pieces, or more.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “He might hide him,” said Marcus.

  “He would not be an easy slave to hide,” I said. “And we have papers on him.

  Sooner or later I think we could get his throat to our blade.”

  “Oh, Maser!” wept Lavinia.

  “What is wrong with you?” I asked.

  “Let me stand surety for him!” she said.

  “I do not understand,” I said.

  “If he runs, kill me, not him!” she said.

  “No,” I said.

  She put down her head, weeping.

  “He is not going to run,” I said.

  She looked up, red-eyed.

  “Surely you are aware,” I said, “that even were it not for the impracticality of

  escape, he would return.”

  “Master?” she asked.

  “Can you not guess?” I asked.

  “No, Master!” she cried in protest.

  “Yes,” I assured her.

  She put her hand to her breast. “But I am only a collared slave!” she said.

  “And they are the most beautiful and exciting of all women,” I said. “Wars have

  been fought for them.”

  She gasped. “He is so beautiful!” she wept.

  “He is a reasonably handsome fellow, I grant you,” I said.

  “He is the most beautiful man in all Ar!” she said.

  “Surely you do not think him as handsome as I?” I asked.

  She looked at me, startled.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Master jests,” she said.

  “Oh?” I said, not altogether pleased.

  “Apparently Master wishes to beat his slave,” she said, uncertainly.

  “Why?” I asked.

  (pg. 439) “If I tell the truth,” she said, “it seems I shall displease my master

  and be beaten, and if I should not tell the truth, it seems I must lie to my

  maser, and then, a lying slave girl, be beaten, or worse!”

  “You think he is more handsome than I?’ I asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master!”

  “But not more handsome than I?” inquired Marcus.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

  “What does a slave girl know?” I said.

  “True,” agreed Marcus.

  “Surely many women of Ar would agree!” she said.

  “You are a meaningless and lowly slave,” I said. “Be silent.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Besides,” I said, “what do they know?”

  “They are women,” she said. “Surely they are entitled to form an opinion on the

  matter.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, begrudgingly.

  “Surely you believe that men are entitled to form an opinion on the beauty of

  women,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “And it is important that we do so. In many cases, we must

  buy and sell them.”

  “But then,” she said, “if men may form opinions on the beauty of women, so, too,

  surely, women may form opinions as to the handsomeness, or beauty, of men.”

  “Very well,” I said. “Your point is granted.”

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “But your opinion, even if it might be shared by some others, is still only the

  opinion of a lowly and meaningless slave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “And it is thus of no significance,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Master,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do not think poorly of Milo,” she begged.

  “I do not think poorly of him,” I told her.

  “Did you not see his “Lurius of Jad”?” asked Marcus.

  “I thought it was rather good,” I said.

  “It was terrible,” he said.

  “You are just not an enthusiast for Lurius of Jad,” I said. “Besides, you are

  angry that Phoebe liked it.”

  “Your friend, Boots, would not have liked it,” he said.

  “Probably because his Telitsia would have liked it,” I said.

  “Do not be jealous of Milo, if he is more handsome than you,” said Lavinia.

  “Very well,” I said, â�
�œâ€”if he is.”

  “Excellent,” she said. “If he is more handsome than you, (pg. 440) then you will

  not be jealous of him, and if he is not more handsome than you, then, as there

  would be no need, you will not be jealous of him.”

  “Of course,” I granted her. The logic here seemed impeccable. Why, then, was I

  not better satisfied? Whereas intelligence in a slave is commonly prized on Gor,

  it is not always without its drawbacks.

  “Am I to be whipped?” she asked, suddenly.

  “No,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “At least not at the moment,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  “Do not fret, Master,” she said. “Even if you are not Milos, you are both

  strong, handsome, attractive men. Too, there is something different and special

  in you, something distinguishing you from many other men. It is the mastery.

  Women sense in men such as you, or can come suddenly to sense in men such as

  you, sometimes to their terror, their masters, and this makes you unbelievingly

  exciting and attractive to them. This puts you beyond compare with other men.

  Women then wish to kneel before you and serve you, to please you and love you.

  And that has nothing to do with the regularity or smoothness of one’s features,

  which may characterize even weaklings.”

  “All men are masters,” I said.

  “I do not know,” she said. “But that is what the woman desires, her master.”

  “Why were you on the couch when I entered the room?” I asked.

  “He put me there,” she said.

  “Very well,” I said. One might have expected her to have been put to the floor,

  on furs, at the foot of the couch, as she was a slave.

  “The slave is returning,” said Marcus.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Lavinia gasped with relief. I recalled that she had been ready to die for him.

  Too, I recalled he had, to the best of his ability, attempted to shelter her

  from the blows of the irate Appanius. These things I found of interest. To be

  sure, I did not think I would encourage dalliance among my slaves. It might be

  interesting, of course, to keep them within sight of one another but in

  anguished separation.

  In a few moments Milo had washed in the back and returned to kneel in the front

  room.

  “Put your head down and extend your left wrist,” I said to him.

  (pg. 441) He did so, and I locked a silver slave bracelet, resembling the one he

  had previously worn, on his left wrist. On this bracelet, in fine, tiny

  lettering, were the words, “I belong to Tarl of Port Kar.”

  I then threw him a common tunic, one of the things I had brought with me. “Put

  it on,” I told him.

  “Yes, Master,” he said.

  “What time do you think it to be?” I asked Marcus.

  “It must be near the seventh Ahn,” he said.

  “The magistrates should arrive any moment,” I said.

  “Presumably they will come to the back,” he said.

  “I would think so,” I said. Surely they would have been here often enough in the

  past. Too, it did not seem likely they would wish to be seen entering by the

  street door. They would be, as far as they knew, keeping their appointment with

  Appanius and his men. When they arrived, of course, they would discover that a

  change of plans had occurred, and that it would not be Appanius for whom they

  would render their services, but another.

  “Are you looking at the female slave again?” I asked the male slave.

  “Forgive me, Master,” he said.

  “Keep your head down,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” he said.

  “I will explain to you in a moment what I wish you to do,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” he said.

  “In the meantime,” I said to Marcus, “let us readjust this net.”

  “Did you bring the bracelets, with linked shackles?” asked Marcus.

  “Of course,” I said.

  26 A Free Woman; A Female Slave

  “You may assist me with my wrap,” she informed the handsome slave. “Your hand

  trembles,” she smiled.

  In the back room I tracked these matters by means of one of the observation

  portals. One of the two magistrates, he who was senior, Tolmar, of the second

  Octavii, an important gens (pg. 442) but one independent of the well-known

  Octavii, sometimes spoken of simply as the Octavii, or sometimes as the first

  Octavii, deputy commissioner in the records office, much of which had been

  destroyed in a recent fire, was at the other portal. His colleague, Venlisius, a

  bright young man who was now, by adoption, a scion of the Toratti, was with him.

  Venlisius was in the same office. He was records officer, or archon of records,

  for the Metallan district, in which we were located. Both magistrates wore their

  robes, and fillets, of office. They also carried their wands of office, which, I

  suspect, from the look of them, and despite the weapons laws of Cos, contained

  concealed blades. I was pleased to hope that these fellows were such as to put

  the laws of Ar before the ordinances of Cos. I had requested that they dismiss

  their attendant guardsmen, which they had done. I did not anticipate that they

  would be needed. Whatever force, if any, might be required could be supplied by

  Marcus and myself. Similarly it seemed that Marcus and I could handle any other

  matters of the sort in which they might customarily have been utilized. Too,

  certain matters might prove sensitive, and I saw fit to limit the number and

  nature of witnesses.

  “Must I remove my own wrap?” she inquired.

  “No, no, Mistress!” said the male slave.

  “Mistress?” she said. “It seems you have learned deference.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said. He knelt quickly, trembling, his head down.

  “It is not like you,” she said.

  “Forgive me, Mistress,” he said.

  “But I find it charming,” she said. “And you look well, my dear Milo, on your

  knees.”

  “Thank you, Mistress,” he said.

  “But I do not understand this new deference,” she said.

  “What but deference,” said he, “could be in order, before one such as you?”

  “I think we shall get along very well,” she said.

  He was silent, kneeling before her, bent at the waist. He kept his head down. He

  trembled. I did not really blame him.

  “It is as though, suddenly, it had been recalled to you, that you are a slave,”

  she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” he said.

  I was pleased that his back had not been opened by the staff of Appanius. It

  would not have done, at all, if stripes of blood had appeared on the back of his

  tunic, soaked through.

  “Interesting,” she said.

  “Before you,” he said, “what man could not be a slave?”<
br />
  (pg. 443) “Flatterer!” she chided.

  I smiled to myself. He had a nimble, flattering tongue. He was able in his work.

  Doubtless he had been of great value to Appanius, in many ways. Then I smiled

  grimly to myself. How susceptible was the chit to his blandishments. How little

  she understood of herself. Before what man, I wondered, should she not be a

  slave? Indeed, before any man, she, and other women, should be slaves.”

  “My wrap!” she said, irritably.

  He leaped to his feet and delicately, courteously, removed her outer cloak, with

  its hood. She had been well covered in it, from head to toe. He put this on a

  peg to one side.

  “Your guards are without?” he asked.

  “I have come alone,” she said. “Surely you do not think me a fool?”

  “No,” he said.

  She brushed back the light inner hood and unhooked the collar of her robe.

  “You will never believe the difficulty I had in escaping from the Central

  Cylinder!” she said. “It is almost as though I were a prisoner there. Seremides

  is so careful! His spies are everywhere. Who knows who they are, or which of

  them is watching you at any given time? Whom can I trust? It is hard to leave

  without an escort of a company of guardsmen. What do they fear, I wonder. The

  people love me.”

  “You are too glorious and marvelous to risk,” said Milo.

  “Alas,” she said, “sometimes I myself grow weary of the preciousness and dignity

  of my person. It seems it has always been thus. Long ago when I was a girl it

  was the same, and then, in my time of troubles, after the misunderstanding with

  my dear father, Marlenus, I was sequestered, and then, later, now that the war

  has been concluded to the mutual benefit of Ar and Cos, with victory for us

  both, thanks to the mercies of Cos, and the noble Lurius of Jad, and we have

  become allies with our former enemies, now our dearest of friends, the Cosians,

  it seems the same again.”

  “Mistress is Ubara,” said he. “Simply order them to desist from their

  attentions.”

  “Of course,” she smiled.

  The handsome slave regarded her, puzzled.

  “But I eluded the guards,” she said. “It was not really too difficult. They are