Witness of Gor

by John Norman

  "You are a slave," he said.

  "And I rejoice that I am, Master."

  "Slut," he said.

  "Forgive me my slavery," I said. "I am a woman!"

  "How I have fought my weakness, my loving you!" he exclaimed. "I put you from me. I avoided you. I held you in contempt. I abused you. I kept you at a distance. I treated you with coldness and cruelty! But each instant I was fighting myself, wanting to seize you, to sweep you into my arms, to crush you to me!"

  The room seemed to rush about me. It grew dark for a moment. I gasped for breath. I feared I might lose consciousness.

  "Yes," he cried. "I love you!"

  I fought to remain conscious. Then, again, I was fully conscious. I regarded him, he in such misery, such torment, across the room.

  "I must not love you!" he cried. "I must not permit myself to do so!"

  I struggled to my knees.

  I was in the presence of a free man, indeed, of my master.

  He looked at me, wildly.

  "But I cannot help myself," he said. "I love you!"

  "You gave no sign of this, Master," I said.

  "I do not know whether I hate myself or you," he said, "or both, I for my weakness, you for having done this to me, and for being the most exciting and desirable female in all the world!"

  "Master finds me of interest?" I asked.

  "To see you is to want you!" he said, in fury.

  He turned about, again, and again struck the wall. "I must not love you," he cried.

  "Surely some men, Master," I said, "love their slaves!"

  "You are a mere collared barbarian!" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He spun about, in fury. "And in hating you, and loving you," he said, "I sensed the role you had to play, and the dangers which might attend upon it. I knew that those in the house, of those of Cos, might be among the very few who could recognize you again. I therefore guarded my feelings, confessing to no one the torment in my heart, occasioned by a mere branded slip of a slave. Thus it was that in recruiting one to seek you out and cut your throat it was I who came first, and naturally, to the attention of my superiors, they aware of my hatred for you, my loathing for you, but not of my lust for you, my unquenchable desire for you. Indeed, other guards declined the office, unwilling to hunt you down and cut your throat, which says much for your popularity, you rampant, exquisite, arrant little charmer."

  "I am grateful for your deception, Master," I said. "I owe my life to you."

  "I did not know how I would behave until the moment I had the knife at your throat," he said, "but then I knew I could not, at least at that moment, end your life, even though you were the most unworthy of slaves."

  "'At least at that moment'?" I asked, uncertainly.

  "You are a slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  We are subject to the masters in all things.

  "I have dreamed of owning you," he said.

  "I am yours," I said.

  He retrieved the knife and replaced it in its sheath. I was pleased to see it disappear therein. He reached down and recovered the whip. He coiled it. He then came to where I knelt and put the coils under my chin, lifting it up.

  "Yes," he mused. "I think anyone would find you quite pretty."

  I did not speak.

  "Those from whom I purchased you said that you begged for use, and had to be cuffed."

  "I begged for use," I said. "It is not my belief that I had to be cuffed."

  "You should be whipped," he said.

  "As master wishes," I said.

  But he turned about, and put the whip, coiled, on the small table in the room.

  Then he returned to stand before me, musingly.

  "You would crawl, begging, to the feet of any man," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You would have begged use from me, even without the threat of the whip, even before you knew who I was," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He then struck me, lashing my head to the side, with the back of his hand. I lost my balance, and fell to my side, to the stones. I lay there, a chastised slave.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. "Recall that I am only a slave."

  "On your knees," he said.

  I struggled, again, to my knees. How could he blame me for crawling to men, for begging use? Did he not understand that I was a slave, truly! Did he have some unreasonable concept of what I should be, something in his mind, something with little, if any, relation to my realities? Could he not accept me as I was, truly, a helpless female, and slave? Other men had not been critical of this!

  "I am appetitious, Master," I said. "I am the prisoner of my needs. I am subject to the forces within me. I cannot help myself. I am what I am, nothing else. Please do not expect me to be other than I am."

  He regarded me.

  "It is my hope," I said, "that you will permit me to be what I am. Please do not ask me to pretend to be other than I am."

  "How strange that I should care for you," he said, "for that is what you are, truly, a mere slave."

  "That I am a slave," I said, "I trust does not make me less attractive."

  "No," he said. "It makes you a thousand times more attractive."

  I smiled, shyly.

  "Why do you smile?" he asked.

  "Perhaps master's anger with me, with my needs, my appetites, and such, has less to do with his criticality of such things in a slave, for he surely realizes that they are expected, and even required in her, as it has to do with other matters."

  "Yes?" he said.

  "Perhaps master is jealous, perhaps he is angry that I might be found pleasing by others."

  "Beware," he said.

  "Perhaps he is possessive," I said, "perhaps he wants me, somehow, all to himself."

  "Be silent," he said, angrily.

  "Yes, Master," I said, falling silent.

  How attractive he was!

  I spread my knees before him, scarcely aware of my action.

  "There!" he said, suddenly, pointing. "See! There! That is what I mean, you little barbarian slut!"

  "Forgive me, Master!" I said. "Shall I close my knees?"

  "Close your knees?" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Do not dare to close your knees," he snarled, "slave! You are before your master!"

  "Yes, Master," I said, happily. I saw that he would be strict with me, that he would truly own me, that he would get much from me.

  How pleased I was to belong to him!

  He was such as knew the handling of a slave.

  I would be helpless in his hands.

  "I own you," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "I am yours, totally yours!"

  "Do you wish to be totally mine?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Liar!" he said.

  "No, Master!" I said.

  "But whether you wish it or not," he said, angrily, "it is true!"

  "I know, Master!" I cried, delightedly.

  "Seeing you I become enflamed," he cried. "I cannot help myself! No longer can I resist!"

  "Take me!" I wept.

  "Slut, slut!" he murmured, lifting me by the arms half from my knees.

  "Yes, Master," I begged him. "Own me! Own me!"

  In his heat, his frenzy, he pressed me back to the stones, making use of the slave.

  "You are my master!" I cried.

  "You are my slave!" he cried.

  "Yes, my master!" I wept.

  He then confirmed upon me, in merciless rapture, his ownership.

  I was in no doubt of it.

  I had felt the first time I had seen him, the first time I had knelt before him, looking up at him, the first time I had kissed his whip, that I was somehow his, that it was to him that I belonged. And I am sure I would have felt this way even had I not been in chains, even had I not been within the institution of bondage, where such as I was subject to explicit legal ownership. Bu
t more astonishingly rewarding to me was the now-present suspicion, if not revelation, that the chemistries involved, the fitting together of parts, must have been mutual. As I had looked up and seen my master, so, too, he must have looked down and, at his feet, seen his slave.

  Again I squirmed. Again I writhed, in his arms.

  Again, to my joy, he showed me no mercy.

  I screamed out, in the dark basement, my love for him, and again, and again, my submission.

  Later he thrust me to his feet, and I lay there, in my collar, like a dog.

  I was enraptured, that he permitted me to remain near him, he finished with me, I, only a slave.

  "How is it that I could care for a slave?" he asked, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  I did not respond.

  "I love you," he said.

  "When you tire of me," I said, "you may sell me."

  "I will never tire of you," he said.

  I kissed at his ankles.

  I whimpered.

  "You are insatiable," he said.

  "I beg that my hands might be freed, that I might caress you," I said.

  "Ah," he said, absently, "I did forget to free your hands, did I not?"

  "Yes, my master," I smiled.

  "Since when does a slave require her hands to be freed, that she may caress her master?" he asked.

  "True, Master," I laughed.

  I rose to my knees beside him, and put my head down, to his body.

  "You learned the lessons of the pens well," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  Slaves must be superb lovers. If they are not, they may be whipped.

  There are a thousand ways to please a man, even when one is bound.

  In scarcely moments, however, he had again seized me. I looked up into his eyes, those of my master.

  I was then put again to his purposes.

  I later lay at his side, at his thigh, docile and grateful. "I love you, I love you, my master," I murmured.

  "We shall see," he said.

  "Master?" I asked.

  He rolled over, and reached to one side, drawing to him his belt, with the sheathed knife upon it.

  He then extracted the knife from the sheath.

  I regarded this action with apprehension. Had he now recalled, in some fearful sense, I wondered, the putative object of his venture to this city?

  Had he tired of me so soon?

  Surely it was not necessary to kill me. Surely he could simply give me away or sell me!

  Had he dealt with me as he had, merely for his amusement, only as one might toy with a meaningless slave?

  Did he hate me so?

  Had he now determined to comply with the wishes of his superiors, those who had dispatched him to this city, now that he had made me squirm, and cry myself his? Had such compliance been within his intent from the beginning?

  "Kneel," he said. I faced him, frightened.

  "Turn about," he said. Apprehensively I did so.

  Then I cried out with relief, as I felt the knife part the cords on my wrists. My hands came forward, weak, freed, and I was on all fours, beside him, shaken.

  "What is wrong," asked he, "slave?"

  "Nothing, Master," I sobbed, in relief.

  "Ah!" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Turn about," he said.

  I was then, again, kneeling, facing him. I rubbed my wrists.

  Suddenly I was startled, for, on the stones, the knife lay before me. He was lying on his back, looking up, at the ceiling. His hands were behind his head, pillowing it, his elbows to the side.

  I looked down at the knife.

  "You see the knife?" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Consider it," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

  "Do you think you could seize it, lift it, and, before I could resist, or defend myself, plunge it into my heart?"

  "I have no wish to injure my master," I said.

  "Do you think you could do what I said?"

  "I do not think so, Master," I said. Surely at my first movement he could turn and seize me.

  "Pick it up," he said.

  "Surely I may not touch it, Master," I said. "It is a weapon." In many cities, it is a capital offense for a slave to touch a weapon.

  "Must a command be repeated?" he asked.

  "No, Master," I said. I lifted the knife, timidly.

  "Approach," said he. "Hold it with both hands."

  I knelt over him then, the hilt of the knife gripped in two hands. That was well, otherwise I think my hand would have shaken miserably, helplessly.

  "Put it to my heart," he said.

  "Please, no, Master!" I begged.

  He turned his head to regard me, and I, quickly, frightened, put the knife over his heart.

  "Could you now thrust downward before I could resist, or defend myself?" he asked.

  I considered the position of his hands, behind his head, the quickness with which the knife might thrust down, the nature of the blade, its sharpness.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "None know you are here," he said. "You could find your way out. You could frequent dangerous areas, where you might well be seized as a strayed slave, not to be returned to a master, but to be sold illicitly, in a black market. You might be out of the city in a week."

  "I do not even have clothing, Master," I said.

  "Surely you have seen naked slaves in the street," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I had seen them, at least, in Treve. I myself, on the other hand, had never been put naked into the streets. It is normally done as a punishment. Normally, too, the slave is locked in the iron belt.

  "You would have to be careful not to be picked up by a guardsman," he said.

  "I do not understand what master is saying," I said.

  "Surely you have lied to me," he said, "suggesting that you might care for me."

  "No!" I said.

  "The knife is in your grasp," he said. "You need pretend no longer."

  "I love you, truly," I said.

  "You are a barbarian," he said. "I am a Gorean."

  "You are a man," I said. "I am a woman."

  "Barbarian," he said.

  "Do not hold my origins against me," I said. "I am now only a Gorean slave girl, and am as eager, or more eager, to serve you as any girl of your own world!"

  "You could not care for me," he said, "for I would be a stern master."

  "Be so," I said.

  "I am not the sort of male which I have heard you women of Earth prefer," he said.

  "Do not believe all you have heard, Master," I said.

  "Oh?" he said.

  "Do you think we truly prefer manipulable weaklings who have surrendered their dominance?" I asked. "Do you think such can exact from us the depths of our womanhood? I cannot speak for all women of Earth, but I can speak for one, for myself. I want a man of strength, of power, one who will relish me, and desire me, with might and passion, one who will put me in my place, and keep me there, as a woman, and will see to it, to his joy and fulfillment, and mine, that I am well mastered. I want a man so strong, so intelligent, so energetic, so powerful, so overwhelming, so uncompromising, so mighty, that I can, before him, be no more than his abject slave."

  "You are truly a slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Do the women of Earth desire true men?" he asked.

  "Master?" I asked.

  "In the biological sense," he said, "as opposed to some political sense or another, whatever is current."

  "Yes, Master," I whispered. "We cry for them, in the darkness, Master."

  "My life," he said, absently, gazing at the ceiling, "is now worth very little."

  "Master?" I said.

  "I have not complied with the orders set to me," he said. "I have betrayed my superiors. They are not such, I assure you, as to look lightly upon such omissions. I can no longer return to Telnus. Ther
e is little, if anything, left for me now. Presumably I will be hunted down, and slain. If you were with me, you, too, would die."

  "Then I, too, would die," I said.

  "Lie no longer," he said. "You may now kill me."

  "I do not lie," I said. "And I would rather plunge the dagger into my own heart."

  "You may kill me," he said.

  "Never," I said.

  He closed his eyes.

  "Strike," he said.

  The point of the dagger was over his heart. In an instant I might have leaned forward and, with all my weight, slight as it was, moved that thin blade deeply into his body, to the hilt, even through the heart.

  "No," I said.

  He opened his eyes.

  "No," I said. "Forgive me, Master."

  "Must a command be repeated?" he asked.

  "Repeat it a thousand times," I said. "I will not do it."

  "You disobey?" he asked, puzzled.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. "Yes, Master."

  "Why?" he asked.

  "I love you," I said.

  "You are prepared to die, for having been disobedient?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  He regarded me.

  It occurred to me that if he slew me, he would, in this way, fulfill his orders. What would it matter to his superiors how it was that I came to be slain?

  "Strike," he said.

  "No," I said. "Forgive me, Master."

  "There is no other way," he said.

  "But there is another way, Master," I said.

  "What?" he asked.

  "This!" I cried, and lifted the knife, it held in both hands, and turned it toward my own breast. I closed my eyes. I plunged the blade toward me.

  But it never reached my heart for his mighty hands, moving like lightning, seized my wrists. I cried out with pain, helpless in that grip. The knife fell to the stones. "Little fool!" he cried. He pulled me to my feet by the wrists, and regarded me, fiercely, and then forced me back down, on my knees, before him.

  "Hear me!" he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You may not take your own life," he said. "I forbid it."

  "Yes, Master," I said, frightened.

  He then threw me to the stones, angrily, before him. He reached down and retrieved the dagger, which he replaced in its sheath. He then threw the sheath and belt to the side. He picked up his cloak, and dropped it down, beside me.

  "Keep your head down," he said.

  I dared then not lift my head.

  "Why did you not kill me?" he asked.