Captive of Gor coc-7

by John Norman

  Once, when I was helping Inge, she said to me, "I thought you were too delicate to be beaten."

  "I was mistaken," I said.

  She laughed.

  I no longer had an interest in lying or cheating, or shirking my work. I suppose, in part, it was that I was afraid of being punished. Surely I had not, and could not, forget the iron nor the whip's hot kiss. I much feared them. I could no longer even look on a slave whip without a feeling of terror, for I understood now the pain of its meaning, and what it might do to me. If a guard even lifted one, I would cringe. I would obey, and with promptness! Do not scorn me, until you yourself have felt the iron and the lash. But, too, somehow, perhaps unaccountably, lying and stealing now seemed to me small, and trivial, too petty to perform. I no longer regarded such behavior as clever, but now, rather, as unworthy or stupid, where one was caught or not. I had thought much in the slave box. I was not much pleased with how I had found myself to be. I knew that my body was a slave body, and that it was owned, and that it stood in constant jeopardy of fierce, swift punishment by a strong master, whether it might deserve that punishment or not. But, too, I felt I had, according to Gorean justice, well earned my beating and my branding, and my tortuous confinement in the slave box. I did not wish again to earn such punishment, not simply because I feared it, but because it seemed to me unworthy that I should have done the things for which I was punished. In the slave box, alone with myself, I discovered I did not wish to be the sort of person I had been, I had not been pleased to be locked in the box alone with myself, with such a person, forced there to face her and realize that she was your own self.

  "Pierced-ear Girl!" cried a man. "Kneel."

  I did so.

  With his foot, he thrust me from his path, laughing, and continued on his way. Sometimes the other girls would trip me when I was carrying burdens, or dirty the work which I had done, that I must do over.

  Once two warriors, for a joke, tied my ankles together and suspended me, upside down, from the whipping pole, spinning me about, and back, until I vomited and cried out for mercy. Laughing they then left, and Ute, with Rena, released me. "They are cruel," said Ute.

  I wept, and kissed her feet.

  I found that I no longer desired to serve in the evening, even should there be feasting. I wanted only my work, and to be left alone. In the evening, I wanted only the silence and darkness of the shed, with its padlocked door. In my flesh I wore penalty brands.

  "Let El-in-or be it!" cried Ute, when the girls were playing tag.

  "No," they cried.

  "Do it," said Ute.

  "Please, Ute," I begged, "let me go to the shed."

  "Very well," said Ute.

  And I went back to the shed.

  The contempt and amusement which greeted me in the camp made me form within myself a core of hardness. I became withdrawn. I no longer desired to serve in the evening, should there be feasting. I wanted only my work, and the silence and darkness of the shed, with its padlocked door.

  I wanted to be alone in the shed, behind the locked door.

  There was only one thing left to me, in which I might take pride, that I was not as other women. No matter what brands might be fixed to my flesh, nor what the leather might do to my back or the tiny dimensions of the slave box to my body, I knew I did not have their weaknesses. I recalled the circle of the dance in the northern forest, and how even Verna, the proud Verna, had, beside herself with need, writhed helplessly beneath the bright moons of Gor, a female. How I had then despised her, and the others, so helpless and vulnerable and female! How weak they were! How pleased I was that I was not as they. Gradually, in me, there built up a compensating hatred to counter my shame, and the brands that proclaimed me among the most unworthy and miserable of slaves. I began to hate human beings. I was better than they. I would be better than they. I began to do my work with great efficiency and promptness, better than the other girls. I became exact in my speech, and, though I did not much express myself, quite critical of others. In spite of my brands, I would be superior to them all. I began to wear a new morality with a smugness. I became arrogant in my virtue, to the irritation of the other girls, but I did not care, for I was better than they. I would not now lie or cheat or steal, of course, but not now because I did not care for that sort of thing, or did not wish to behave in such a fashion, but primarily because I was not the sort of person who would do that sort of thing. Virtue, I discovered, in one way in which a human being may attempt to diminish and insult others. I used the blade of cooperativeness, of virtue, of diligence, of punctuality to proclaim myself on my moral superiority as a woman, above the self-indulgent, contaminating weaknesses of their piteous need. I was not as they.

  * * *

  "Tonight," cried Ute, happily, "you will serve, all of you!"

  The girls cried out with pleasure.

  This afternoon, for the first time in weeks, the raids of Rask of Treve had been successful. Eleven girls had been brought in, and much treasure. Laughing, bloody tarnsmen, with strings of pearls thrown about their necks, and cups and goblets tied at their saddles, and their saddle packs bulging with the weight of golden tarn disks, had brought their tarns down, wings beating, to receive the greetings of the camp. Merchants brought sides of bosk, and thighs of tarsk, and wines and fruits to camp, and cheeses and breads and nuts, and flowers and candies and silks and honeys. There was much bustle and laughter about the camp, much preparation and shouting. In the women's tent, eleven girls, tomorrow to be collared, crouched in fear. Slave girls staggered under the plunder, carrying it to the tents of the warriors.

  "Tonight," had cried Rask of Treve, blood on his shield, his eyes like those of laughing tarns, "we will feast!"

  The men had clashed their weapons on their shields and the girls had scurried away that the feast might be prepared.

  I would not serve, of course, for Ute would excuse me. She knew I was not as the other girls. In the shed, scornfully, I watched them, eagerly speaking about the evening, laughing and joking. Such might well serve men.

  Then, at Ute's call, they went from the shed, happily, to receive silks and bells.

  How I scorned them, such pitiful weaklings!

  I remained in the shed. I would retire early. I would need rest, for I must work tomorrow.

  "El-in-or, come forth!" I heard. It was Ute's voice.

  I was puzzled.

  I got to my feet and went outside the shed. There was a mirror there, and cosmetics and silks and bells. There were no men about. The girls were preparing themselves.

  I looked at Ute.

  "Remove your clothing," she said.

  "No!" I cried. "No!"

  I quickly, in anguish, removed the garment. There was a jangle of slave bells, wrapped in a bit of silk, as Ute threw me bells and silk.

  "Please, Ute!" I wept. "No!"

  The other girls looked up from their work, and laughed.

  "Ute," I begged, "please, please no!"

  "Make yourself pleasing, Slave," said Ute, and turned away.

  I slipped on the bit of silk. I looked in the mirror and shuddered. I had been naked before men, many times, but it did not seem to me that I had been so naked as this. It was Gorean pleasure silk. Not naked, I seemed more than naked. I waited my turn before the mirror and applied the cosmetics of the Gorean slave girl. I knew well how to do this, for I had been trained.

  I buckled the slave bells on my left and right ankles, and then I went to Ute. "Please, Ute," I begged.

  She smiled. "You come to ask to be belled?" she asked.

  I put my head down. Ute was adamant. "Yes," I said.

  Ute took the other slave bells and buckled one strap, with its two small buckles, like the ankle straps, except smaller, about my left wrist, and then buckled the other strap, with its two small buckles, about my right wrist.

  I was belled.

  I stood about, miserably, while the other girls finished their primping. How exciting they were in their silk, their be
lls and cosmetics.

  "You are not unattractive," said Ute to me.

  I said nothing. I was miserable.

  In a few minutes, Ute, who retained her work tunic, and would not serve, reviewed us, commenting here and there, and recommending small changes upon occasion. We were her girls, and she wished us to present ourselves well. She stopped before me.

  "Stand prettily," she said.

  Furiously, I did so.

  Ute went to the chest of silks and bells and brought forth five more slave bells, which she tied with bits of scarlet ribbon to my collar.

  "There is something missing," she said, standing back.

  I did not respond.

  She went again to the chest. The girls gasped. As I stood there two large, golden earrings were thrust through the piercings of my ears and fastened on me. There were tears in my eyes.

  "And here," said Ute, "lest the ardor of the men become too strong, this!" The girls laughed. She took a white, silken ribbon and wrapped it five times about the collar, not tying it.

  I had been marked white silk.

  Inge and Rena laughed. "Do not laugh," smiled Ute, "for you, too, will be so marked, lest Raf and Pron, huntsmen of Treve, in a careless moment, devour my two other white-silk pretties."

  The other girls laughed. I could see, to my irritation, that Inge and Rena did not much care to wear the white ribbon. I could not understand this. Did they wish to be used as helpless slaves by handsome, powerful Raf and Pron? I supposed they did, and I despised them in their weakness. Inge had been of the scribes and Rena had been free. She had been even the Lady Rena of Lydius! Now they seemed to be naught but female slaves. I was pleased that I was not such as they.

  But how shamed I was, that I, Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, must appear before men and serve them, so clad and so belled.

  Ute touched me, and the others, then, with a bit of perfume. I was in anguish. "Serve, Slaves!" laughed Ute, clapping her hands, and the girls fled to the center of the camp, where I heard the shouting of pleasure of men, welcoming them.

  Ute and I stood facing one another.

  "Serve, Slave," said Ute.

  Angrily I, perfumed and rouged, belled and silked, turned and followed the other girls to the center of the camp, near the great tent of Rask of Treve, of scarlet canvas lined with scarlet silk, on its eight poles.

  * * *

  "Wine! Bring me wine!" shouted the warrior.

  I, a slave girl, with a rustle of silk and slave bells, hurried to him, a master, to serve him.

  Kneeling, I filled his cup.

  The music of those of the caste of musicians was heady, like the wine. There was shouting and laughing, the pleasurable moaning and crying out of girls used beyond the rim of firelight.

  There was much feasting, and drinking.

  On the sand, before the warriors, belled, in scarlet silk, the girl, Talena, danced.

  Some of them shouted, and threw bones and pieces of meat at her.

  I tired to rise, but the warrior whose cup I had filled had his hand in my hair. "So, you are a liar, and a thief, and a traitress? he asked.

  "Yes," I said, terrified.

  He turned my head from side to side, looking at the earrings. He was drunk, and I could tell that he was aroused. "More wine," he said.

  I again filled his cup.

  "Your ears are pierced," he said, shaking his head, trying to clear his vision. "If it please Master," I whispered. "If it please Master."

  "Wine!" cried the other man.

  I tried to rise.

  Talena was driven from the sand and another girl, belled, stood forth to please the men.

  At the head of the feast sat the magnificent Rask of Treve, in his victory. At his side, cross-legged, sat Verna, the panther girl, who was served by we girls as might have been a warrior. How I envied her her freedom, her beauty, her pride, and even the simple opacity of the brief garment she wore. She was not clad in a bit of silk, a touch of cosmetics, a scent of perfume and the bells of a slave.

  The man whom I had served wine reached clumsily for me.

  "I am white silk!" I cried, shrinking back.

  "Wine! cried the other man.

  I tried to rise, but the man's hand was knotted in the silk. If I moved I would strip myself.

  Another girl, on her knees, reaching for him, holding his head, insinuated herself between us. "I am red silk," she murmured. "Touch me! Touch me!" His hand left my silk and I darted away.

  I fled to the other man and served him.

  "Wine!" called Verna. I ran to her and, kneeling, filled her cup.

  "Wine," said Rask of Treve, holding forth his cup.

  I could not meet his eyes. All of me blushed red before him, my master. I filled his cup.

  "She is pretty," said Verna.

  "Another girl, with jeers, was driven from the sand, and another took her place. "Wine!" cried another man, about the circle.

  I leaped up and, carrying the vessel, with a clash of slave bells, ran to serve him. I tipped the vessel, but the wine was gone. I must fetch more. "Run, Girl!" he cried. "Fetch wine!"

  "Yes, Master!" I cried.

  I fled from the firelight. I stumbled over two figures, rolling in the darkness. A warrior cursed. I suddenly saw, rolled on her back, her dark hair loose, under the moons of Gor, Techne, her lips parted, reaching for the warrior. I fled into the darkness, toward the kitchen shed. Before I reached it I felt myself seized in a man's arms, and felt his leather. His bearded face pressed to my softness. "No!" I cried. He took my face in his hands. There were bells on my collar. "You are the slave, El-in-or," he said, the little liar, the thief and traitress." I tried to twist away. He saw the earrings of gold, and I felt his hands hard on my arms, hurting them. "I am white silk!" I cried. He shook his head and looked at the collar. About it, wrapped there by Ute earlier, was the ribbon of white silk. He was furious. He did not release me. I could hear, from back at the fire, yet another girl jeered from the sand. "Please," I whispered. "I am white silk! I am white silk." Another shout from the fire indicated that a new girl now addressed herself to the pleasure of the feasters, and one, it seems, pleasing to them. "I would like to see you dance, little traitress, " he said. "I must fetch wine," I said, and twisted away, running toward the kitchen shed. There I found Ute. "Do not send me back, Ute!" I wept. "Fetch your wine and return," said Ute. I dipped the wine vessel into the great stone jar, again filling it. "Please, Ute!" I wept. I could hear more shouting back at the fire. "El-in-or!" I heard shout. "El-in-or, the traitress!"

  I was terrified.

  "They are calling for you," said Ute.

  "Come, Slave, to the sand!" ordered a man's voice. It was the fierce, bearded fellow, who had accosted me as I had fled to the kitchen shed.

  "Hurry, Slave!" cried Ute. Hurry!"

  With a cry of misery, spilling wine over the brim of the vessel, I slipped past the man in the doorway of the kitchen shed, and ran back to the firelight.

  When I reached the feasters another girl took from me the wine.

  I was thrust rudely to the center of the sand. I felt a hand tear away the bit of silk I wore. I cried out in misery and covered my face with my hands. "Liar!" I head cry.

  "Thief!" "Traitress!" I heard cry.

  The musicians began to play.

  I fell to my knees.

  The girls began to jeer. The men shouted angrily. "Bring whips!" I heard cry. "Dance for your master, Slave," I heard Verna call out.

  I extended my hand to Rask of Treve, piteously. I was suddenly aware, behind me, of a warrior, standing. In his right hand, the lashes looped in his left, he held a slave whip. I cried out with misery, my hand extended to Rask of Treve, my eyes pleading. He must show Elinor Brinton mercy!

  Burt she would be shown no mercy.

  "Dance, Slave," said Rask of Treve.

  I leaped to my feet, my hands held over my head. The musicians again began to play.

  And Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, of Earth,
a Gorean slave girl, danced before primitive warriors.

  The music was raw, melodious, deeply sensual.

  I suddenly saw, scarcely comprehending, the awe in their eyes. They were silent, their fierce eyes bright. I saw their hands tighten, the shoulders lean forward. I danced.

  Well had I been trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba. Not for nothing had it been I and Lana who had been among the most superb of the slave females then in the pens.

  In the firelight, in the sand, before warriors, I danced. My feet, belled, struck in the sand. The perfume was wild about me, swift in the brightness and the shadows. On my lips I wore slave rouge. I danced.

  I could see the eyes of the men, the movements of their bodies. I realized, suddenly, in the dance, that I had power in my beauty, incredible power, power to strike men and stun them, to astonish them in the firelight, to make them, if I wished, mad with the wanting of me.

  "She is superb!" I heard whisper.

  I danced toward him, he who had said this, and he leaped toward me, but two of his fellows seized him, holding him back. I danced back, my hands held to him, as though I had been torn from him.

  "Aiii!" he cried.

  There were shouts of pleasure.

  I saw the girls watching too, their eyes wide, too, with pleasure.

  I threw back my head and the bells flashed at my ankles and wrists, and in my body the music, in its bright flames, burned.

  I would make them mad with the wanting of me!

  I would do so.

  Something deep and female within me emerged, something I had never felt before. I would torture them! I did have power. I would make them suffer!

  I was white silk!

  It was safe to dance before them as I pleased.

  And so Elinor Brinton danced to torment them.

  They cried out with anguish and pleasure. How pleased I was in my power! As the music changed so, too, did the dancer, and she became as one with the music, a frightened girl, new to the collar, a timid girl, delicate and submissive, a lonely slave, yearning for her master, a drunken wench, rejecting her slavery, a proud girl, determined to be defiant, a raw, red-silk slave, mad with the need for a master's touch.