Players of Gor

by Norman, John;

“No,” she said. “He was not a slaver. Too, I do not think he wanted any obvious connection to be noted between himself and the brigands, such as might be furnished by handling their slaves.”

  “Where were you en route?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” she said. “I was told only that we were being taken somewhere where we could be sold to a proper slaver.”

  “Besnit, Esalinus or Harfax,” suggested Boots.

  I shrugged. “Perhaps,” I said. These towns were all within a hundred pasangs of our present location. Such women could be disposed of almost anywhere, of course. Slave markets, like slaves, are common on Gor. Given the large number of slaves on Gor it is only natural that there should be an abundance of outlets for their handling and processing.

  “You apparently made camp here,” I said, “several Ahn ago.”

  “We stopped early, I think,” she said. “I think they had discovered another camp, one on which they intended to perpetrate a raid.”

  “That is correct,” I said.

  “We were left here, helplessly trussed, as men seem to find appropriate for such as we, females, to await their return,” she said.

  “They will not be coming back,” I said.

  “I see,” she said, shuddering.

  “Where are the other valuables, the moneys, in the camp,” I asked, “their accruals from the fellow with the wagon, or otherwise?”

  “It is all there,” she said, indicating it with her head, “in those packs. The gold is in a small coffer, one bound with bands of iron, one studded with silver, that closed with a heavy golden-plated lock, in the first pack.”

  “It is all yours,” I told Boots.

  “All of it?” asked Boots, incredulously.

  “All of it,” I said.

  “Thank you!” said Boots, fervently. “It will be put to good use.”

  “Perhaps you could use it in support of the arts,” I suggested.

  “My intention exactly,” admitted Boots.

  “It might be used, for example,” I suggested, “in support of some worthy but struggling theatrical company.”

  “That is a sound and brilliant suggestion,” Boots congratulated me.

  “Perhaps you have some company in mind,” I said.

  “I have just the company in mind,” he said.

  “Us,” said Lecchio.

  “A bit abruptly and crassly put,” said Boots, reprovingly, to Lecchio, “but that would indeed seem to capture the gist of the matter.”

  “Are you grateful?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Boots.

  “Eternally, undyingly?” I asked.

  “Surely,” said Boots.

  “There is then something you can do for me,” I said.

  “Name it, dear friend, you who are to me almost as a brother,” said Boots.

  “I am still interested in joining your company,” I said.

  “Out of the question,” said Boots. “Impossible.”

  “Come now,” I said.

  “Come now,” said Chino.

  “Come now,” said Lecchio.

  “Come now,” said Petrucchio.

  “Come, come now!” insisted Andronicus.

  “My mind is made up,” said Boots.

  “Perhaps you could unmake it, and start in, all over again,” I suggested, reaching to the multiple sheath of saddle knives slung at my hip.

  Boots eyed me, closely.

  “By dear Boots, do not be an ungrateful dolt,” scolded the ponderous Andronicus.

  “I have spoken,” announced Boots, grandly.

  I drew one of the blades, and turned it in my hand. “Perhaps you could speak again,” I suggested.

  “Never,” said Boots.

  “Oh?” I asked. I turned the knife again, now holding it by the handle. The point idly seemed to focus on Boots’s throat.

  “What could you do?” asked Boots, uneasily, watching the knife point.

  I flipped the blade in my hand, holding it now again by the blade. I looked at Boots, evenly. “I do a knife throwing act,” I said. “Remember?”

  “And a good one, too,” admitted Boots.

  “Let him join the company,” pressed Chino.

  “Yes,” urged Lecchio.

  “By all means,” urged Petrucchio.

  “It is little enough for all he has done,” said Andronicus.

  “We cannot take in every stray sleen who comes whining about the wagons,” said Boots. “Are we a refuge for homeless waifs, a food wagon for improvident wayfarers, a training ground for amateurs, a nomadic inn for stage-struck aspirants, an itinerant shelter for every awed, hopeful bumpkin desirous of donning the thespic mantle, and on our stage, that of the theater’s titans, of sharing our riches, tangible and intangible, our glory and largesse, that of Gor’s finest theatrical aggregation? What of our professional standards? What of our reputation?”

  “Urt droppings,” said Chino.

  “Urt droppings?” inquired Boots.

  “Yes,” said Chino.

  “Perhaps you are ready to reconsider your position on this matter,” I said. I flipped the knife meaningfully about. The point now, again, was looking at Boots.

  “You are skillful,” said Boots. “There is no doubt about it. You are not an experienced, professional actor, of course.”

  “That is true,” I granted him. The point was now an inch or so from his neck.

  “There are, of course, many other things you might do, simple work, heavy work, say, unsuitable for more skilled personnel.”

  “True,” I said.

  “Perhaps you could help the monster,” he mused.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “The stage must be set up,” he said, “the tents put up, and so on.”

  “Yes,” I encouraged him.

  “Do not be ungrateful, Boots,” said Andronicus. “We owe him our very lives.”

  “And you still could,” I pointed out.

  Boots swallowed, hard. “I am not a stern, inflexible fellow,” he said. “It is well known that I am resilient and supple, as well as complex, subtle and talented. That Boots is a broad-minded fellow, I have often heard it said. He is easy-going and tolerant, as it is said, and, indeed, perhaps sometimes too much so for his own good, as it is also said. Yes, that Boots is a good fellow, one always ready to listen to arguments, to consider carefully the claims of reason, as they say.”

  “I take it you are reconsidering your position,” I said.

  “I am taking its reconsideration under consideration,” said Boots.

  “Let him join the company,” said Andronicus.

  “I am weakening,” said Boots. “The arguments of Andronicus are swaying me.”

  “If you do not permit him to join us,” said Andronicus, “I shall resign from the company.”

  Boots regarded him, aghast.

  “Yes,” said Andronicus, firmly.

  “We would be devastated!” objected Boots.

  Andronicus regarded him, his arms folded adamantly.

  “I am swayed,” said Boots.

  Swiftly I reversed the blade I held and tucked it under my arm that I not wound Publius Andronicus who, victorious, was heartily reaching for my hand. Chino, Lecchio and Petrucchio, too, moved about me, slapping me on the back and congratulating me. Lastly Boots himself seized my hand, warmly. “Welcome to the company of Boots Tarsk-Bit,” he said. “Remember, however, this is no ordinary troupe. In joining us you have undertaken a grave responsibility and a most serious charge. See that you struggle to live up to our high standards.”

  “I will try,” I assured him.

  “We do have a problem, however,” said Boots to the others in the troupe.

  “What is that?” asked lanky Petrucchio.

  “Where will he stay?” asked Boots. “I have no intention of sharing my wagon with someone who can handle a knife like that.”

  “He can use my wagon,” said Petrucchio. “I myself, if he be amenable, will lodge with my friend, Andronicus, wit
h whom I have lengthy discussions on the craft of the actor.”

  “On the art of the actor,” said Andronicus.

  “Craft,” said Petrucchio.

  “Art,” said Andronicus.

  “Is it all right?” asked Petrucchio.

  “Of course, and welcome,” said Andronicus. “It will give me an opportunity to train you in the one hundred and seventy-three movements of the head.”

  “I thought it was one hundred and seventy-one,” said Petrucchio.

  “In a text by Alamanius, I have discovered two new movements,” said Andronicus, “each with its several variations.”

  “Fascinating,” said Petrucchio.

  “It is settled then,” said Boots.

  “Yes,” said Petrucchio.

  “Yes,” said Andronicus.

  “Thank you,” I said to Petrucchio and Andronicus.

  “It is nothing,” they assured me.

  “Do you wish to share my wagon?” I asked my captive.

  “No!” she said.

  “You may lock her in the girl wagon, chained in her place, with Rowena and Bina,” said Boots, generously.

  “No,” I said. “Do not bother. I will simply chain her by the neck under my own wagon.”

  “Very well,” said Boots.

  She regarded me angrily, and squirmed in her bonds.

  Then, seeing my eyes upon her, she abruptly stopped, and, frightened, lay very still. She had suddenly sensed, doubtless, how provocative might appear to a male her vain struggles, those of a woman writhing helplessly, frustratedly, futilely, within the coils of secure bonds. Seeing a woman in bonds, as is well known, tends to stimulate the lust of a man. Also, however, interestingly, there is a complement to this on the part of the bound female. Knowing herself vulnerable and helpless tends to increase her receptivity. Doubtless this has to do with dominance and submission, and the complementarity of the sexes. The female, of course, need not be fully bound. Something as simple as a collar may suffice. The point is that she knows herself his. Nudity, of course, is also helpful, as it dramatically increases her sense of vulnerability, and then every inch of her skin and body is exposed, and aware, and alive to even the slightest breath of air, the tiniest fold of a cloth surface, to the least and gentlest touch.

  Briefly did I ponder such things.

  Are they truly so esoteric, I wondered, a message lurking in some ancient palimpsest, propositions expressed in secret, forgotten languages, a doctrine concealed within strata of meticulous encipherments, so deep as to be fathomed only after years of study, so subtle as to be detected only by a gifted, trained cognoscenti, introduced into a final sanctuary of at last unveiled mysteries?

  I did not think so.

  I thought rather the palimpsest was within us, the languages not so much forgotten as sometimes denied, that one dealt here indeed with deep and profound matters, but not really with obscure encipherments; rather one was here dealing with a doctrine written indelibly and ineradicably, indisputably and irrecusably, in the blood and heart of a species, a doctrine that spelled out the fundamental words of human nature, words that explained us to ourselves.

  Women desire to submit; they hope to encounter a man to whom they must submit; women desire to serve; they hope to encounter a man whom they must serve; the deepest desire of a woman, fight it though she may feel she should, is to be owned and mastered; it is their fervent hope to some day encounter a man who will satisfy this desire, a man who will put them to their knees before him, a man by whom they will be owned and mastered.

  “Gather up those boxes and packs, and that which might seem to be of any value here,” said Boots to his fellows. “In particular do not neglect a small coffer, bound with iron, studded with silver, closed with a golden-plated lock, reputed to be in the first pack. These things we shall transport back to our own camp. Victory has been ours. The loot, thus, in its various items, of which I shall keep a careful list, in its various natures, quantities and qualities, is also ours.”

  “No!” protested the other woman, she who lay in the dirt, absolutely naked, helplessly bound, hand and foot, next to my own captive.

  “Did you speak, my dear?” asked Boots Tarsk-Bit.

  “Yes!” she said. “Free me!”

  “Why should I do that?” asked Boots.

  “I am a free woman!” she cried.

  “Chino, bring a torch closer,” said Boots.

  Chino came from the area of boxes and packs, with one of the torches.

  “As you are perfect gentlemen, you will free me,” she said. “I can count on that as a free woman!”

  I smiled. Goreans tend to be less gentlemen, than owners and masters of females. In the order of nature they tend to acquire and dominate them, making them uncompromisingly their own.

  “Who are you?” asked Boots.

  “I am the Lady Telitsia of Asperiche,” she said.

  “Ho, ho, ho!” cried Boots, gleefully, triumphantly, rubbing his hands together.

  “I do not understand,” said the woman.

  “Hold the torch closer,” said Boots to Chino.

  “Oh!” cried the woman, as I turned her roughly to her right side in the dirt, this exposing her left thigh.

  “Aha!” cried Boots, triumphantly.

  “I have never been collared!” she cried. “I have never worn a collar!”

  “That can be remedied,” Boots informed her.

  “I am not a slave!” she cried.

  Her thigh, however, belied her protestation. It bore, clearly, indisputably, unmistakably, a brand, the common Kajira brand. It was as clear on her body as on that of any other slave. The brigands, it seemed, had, or had had her, reduced to slavery.

  “It is only a mark!” she cried.

  “I think it is a little bit more than that,” said Boots. “It is a slave brand.”

  “It means nothing!” she cried.

  “It means a great deal, as I am sure, sooner or later, you will agree,” said Boots.

  “No!” she cried.

  “You are a slave,” said Boots.

  “Free me!” she begged. “I beg you to free me!”

  “You will be the first item on my loot list, Lady Telitsia, as I may choose to call you for a time,” said Boots.

  “Surely you jest! Surely you will free me!” she said.

  “Do I seem a fool to you?” asked Boots.

  “No!” she said, hastily.

  “Only fools free female slaves,” said Boots. “Surely you are familiar with the saying.”

  “I am of high caste, and am rich!” she said.

  “Once perhaps,” said Boots, “but neither is true any longer. With your branding you became only an animal, a property. With the iron’s first touch you ceased to be a legal person. You are now casteless. You now own nothing. Rather it is now you yourself, slave, who are subject to being owned, as much as any other object or property.”

  “No, no!” she cried, squirming in the thongs that bound her. She was attractive, doing so. She could not free herself, of course. She was absolutely helpless. She had been bound by Gorean men.

  “I think we can find some chains for you in the girl wagon,” said Boots. “Perhaps, on occasion, I will have you come to my own wagon.”

  “No, no, no!” she wept, struggling.

  Boots looked down upon her, beaming.

  “Surely you have no intention of keeping me!” she cried.

  “Your body, as I now see,” said Boots, “now that you are naked, now that the pesky, interfering, obscuring robes of the scribe have been totally removed from it, not inconceivably might be of interest to a male.”

  She regarded him with horror. Too, he had surely understated the case. I had little doubt but what she would bring a fine price in a slave market. Indeed, those slave curves of hers, even routinely put up for sale on a block, would be almost certain to elicit active and serious bidding.

  “Too,” said Boots, “I think you are highly intelligent, and, if I am not mistaken,
you have also, at the fair, earlier, given us some subtle indications of possessing a great deal of talent.”

  “I do not understand,” she stammered.

  “Gather around, everybody,” called Boots.

  Petrucchio, Andronicus, and Lecchio joined Boots, myself and Chino near the bound woman.

  “On your knees, my dear,” said Boots to the bound woman.

  “Never!” she said.

  “Bring a slave whip,” said Boots to Chino.

  “No,” she said. “No, please!”

  She then, moaning, struggled to her knees.

  “Say,” said Boots, “‘I am kneeling before you.’”

  “I am kneeling before you,” she said.

  “—‘as a slave,’” Boots added.

  “—as a slave,” she said.

  “Gentlemen,” said Boots, “may I present Lady Telitsia, as, for the time, as it pleases me, I shall refer to her.”

  “Greetings,” said Lecchio.

  “Greetings,” she whispered.

  “Perhaps you remember her from the fair,” said Boots.

  “Yes,” said Chino. “We remember her—well.”

  The slave shuddered.

  “Behold her,” said Boots, cheerfully. He took her by the hair and pulled her head back. Yes, I thought, she would bring a high price.

  “Pretty,” said Chino.

  “Pretty,” agreed Lecchio.

  “That we have acquired her,” said Boots, “we may account a stroke of great good fortune.”

  “How is that?” asked Lecchio.

  “She comes to us, does she not,” asked Boots, “at a peculiarly opportune time, at an instant when we are struggling in desperate straits, at a time when we find ourselves in agonizing and desperate need.”

  “She does?” asked Lecchio, a golden necklace draped about his neck, taken from the loot of the brigands.

  “Yes!” said Boots.

  “Ah, yes!” mused Chino.

  “I have consented to Lady Telitsia’s joining our company,” announced Boots.

  “No!” she cried, her head back, wincing, her hair in Boots’s grasp.

  “Yes!” reaffirmed Boots. “Too, she comes to us just in time to solve one of our most pressing problems.”

  “Yes, indeed,” agreed Andronicus.

  “I do not understand,” said Lecchio.

  “Is the matter not clear?” asked Boots.

  “No,” said Lecchio.