Players of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “Obviously,” he said, looking down upon her.

  “I thought I told you to go away,” she said.

  “I did not do so,” he said.

  “Are you being insolent?” she asked.

  “I am a free man,” he said. “Insolence, if I choose, is my prerogative.”

  “Well, I, too, can be insolent, if it pleases me,” she said.

  “An insolent female slave?” I inquired.

  “I am not speaking to you,” she said. Boots, by now, had returned to the camp. I was certain that the girl did not realize this. I saw that Boots, who had been sorting through his purchases, from the village, now looked up, in surprise. Lady Telitsia, now unburdened and relieved of the carrying straps, their marks still on her body, lay in the shade near the wheel of his wagon, gasping. It had been a long trek back to the camp from the village and the burdens under which she must struggle, bearing them for her master, had been quite heavy.

  “I do not want you in the camp,” said Bina to the player. “I told you to go away. Having you about makes us sick! You are too ugly. None of us want you here. Go away! You repulse all of us! Go away!”

  “You speak boldly to a free man,” he said. The player, too, I think, did not realize that Boots had returned to the camp. I could see him from where I stood. He was back, between two wagons, at the side of his.

  “You are a monstrosity,” she said. “Go away!”

  “You are insolent,” he observed.

  “Yes,” she said, “I am insolent!”

  “I would not advise you to speak generally in this way to free men,” I said.

  For a moment she turned pale, but then, as I made no move to correct her behavior, perhaps stripping her and throwing her to her belly, kicking her, thrusting her face into the dirt, or tying her to an elevated, spinning wagon wheel, she turned, again, boldly, to the player. Boots, of course, unbeknownst to either of them, was observing all this.

  “Yes,” she said to him, “I am insolent! I am insolent to you! I may be insolent to you with impunity, for you are not a man! You are too weak to punish me! You are only a beast, a monster, a cringing, wretched, pathetic, ignoble, spineless, monster! You are not a man at all! You are only some kind of monster, some kind of monstrosity, some kind of contemptible weakling!”

  I wondered if she thought she was speaking to a man of Earth, and not a Gorean male.

  “Weakling!” she cried. “Weakling!”

  She was very small, looking up at him. I considered her angry, curvaceous little form. How inappropriate seemed her anger, given the smallness, the softness, of her body. How absurd it seemed that the little animal should so boldly address itself to the larger, stronger brute. On what artifices, on what weaknesses, did it count? How bravely tiny animals may conduct themselves in the presence of caged larls! But how stupid are larls who will lock themselves in cages, being told to do so. But what if the larl should free itself?

  “Weakling!” she cried.

  Did she not know she was a female? Did she not know she wore a collar?

  “Weakling!” she cried.

  How the little animals would scurry if the larl emerged from its cage! Did she not know how easy it would be for her to be stripped and returned to her place in nature, at his feet? Did she in her heart fear the larl might one day say, “The joke is finished. It is enough.” Or did she long for that day?

  “Weakling!” she screamed.

  The player regarded her, not speaking.

  “Go away!” she screamed. “Go away!”

  “Have you finished?” he asked.

  “Your robes have dust upon them,” she said. This was, of course, the residue of dust remaining on them, after she had, earlier in the afternoon, kicked dust upon them. “I am a slave. Let me clean them for you!” She then suddenly, angrily, flung the pan of water upon him, drenching his robes from the chest down.

  “Kneel, Slave!” cried Boots, in fury, coming up behind her. “Head to the ground!”

  Startled, she cried out with misery. Then, immediately, in terror, she dropped the pan and assumed the prescribed position. “Master,” she cried, trembling, “I did not know you had returned!”

  “Apparently,” said Boots.

  “Forgive me, Master!” she begged. The other members of the troupe, now, and the slaves, and Lady Yanina, in her gown fashioned from a Sa-Tarna sack, gathered around. Lady Telitsia was white-faced. She had her hand before her mouth. She, now well acquainted with her own condition, that of the collared female slave on Gor, was terrified as to what might be done to the errant Bina. Rowena, too, trembled.

  “What is going on?” asked Boots.

  “I suggest that you ask the slave to give an accounting,” I said, “completely.”

  “The monster,” she said, swiftly, “was mocking you, abusing you with many insults, Master. I could stand it no longer! I took it upon myself, risking my own life, to stop him, to defend your honor!”

  “Is this true?” inquired Boots of the player.

  How clever was the little she-sleen. She knew the possible penalties for what she had done. She counted on the player to support her story, to protect her from the horrifying reprisals almost certain to be visited on a helpless slave in her position. I wondered how weak he was.

  “Is it true?” asked Boots.

  “No,” said the player.

  “Aiii!” she wept, in misery.

  “Speak,” said Boots.

  “I failed to kneel in the presence of free men,” she sobbed. “I have spoken without permission. I stepped on the robes of a free man. I kicked dust upon them. I have been insolent.”

  “Continue,” said Boots.

  “I spilled water on a free man,” she wept.

  “Spilled?” asked Boots.

  “I threw water on a free man,” she sobbed.

  “Is there anything else?” he asked.

  “Master?” she asked.

  “Surely you remember at least one more thing,” he said.

  “I lied to my master!” she sobbed, trembling. “I lied to my master!”

  “And were these various things done inadvertently,” asked Boots, “or deliberately?”

  “Deliberately, Master,” she sobbed.

  Certain of these things, such as failing to kneel in the presence of a free man, may be regarded as a capital offense on the part of a Gorean slave girl, even if it is inadvertent. If intent is involved in such an omission, it can be an occasion for death by torture.

  “Mercy, Master!” she cried.

  “What shall be done with you?” asked Boots. “Shall you be sold for sleen feed? Shall we contrive exquisite tortures for you, say, cutting off bits of your body and cooking them, and forcing you to eat them, until from the loss of blood and tissue, you die, or should we bind you and sew you in a sack, your head exposed, with rabid urts, or shall we merely cut your throat swiftly, in disgust, and be done with it?”

  “Please, Master,” she wept, throwing herself to her belly before him, clutching at his ankle, putting her forehead down to his foot, “please, please, Master!”

  “Perhaps we should be merciful, sparing your miserable life,” said Boots, angrily, “and just throw you on your belly under a wagon, your ankles up and projecting out through the spokes, tied there, in order that your feet may be cut off?”

  She sobbed, lying before him.

  “You are a frigid little slave, and worthless,” he cried.

  “Spare me, Master,” she begged. “I will become hot, dutiful and subservient!”

  “What would be a suitable punishment, for a meaningless, nasty little slut like you?” he asked. “Death? A thousand lashes?”

  “I beg to be permitted to become a perfect slave, in all things!” she wept.

  “Who begs?” he demanded.

  “Bina begs!” she wept. “Bina begs!”

  “What does Bina beg?” he demanded.

  “Bina begs to be permitted to become a perfect slave, in all things!” she wept.<
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  “I know what I shall do,” said Boots.

  “Master!” she wept.

  “I shall ask someone to decide what your punishment is to be,” said Boots, “he whom you have most offended, our hooded friend, the player.”

  “No, Master,” she sobbed, “not he, please, not he!”

  “Player?” asked Boots.

  He looked down upon the prone slave.

  She crawled suddenly to him, desperately, sobbing, and lay before him on her belly. She took his sandaled foot in her small hands and, putting her head down, placed it on her head. “Bina begs the forgiveness of master,” she wept. “Bina is sorry. Bina lies on her belly before master! Bina acknowledges that she is less than the dust beneath his feet! Bina is only a slave! Be kind to Bina! Please be kind to Bina!”

  “The robes will dry,” said the player. “I can clean them later.”

  “What is her punishment to be?” inquired Boots.

  “The matter is unimportant,” said the player. “I am not concerned with it. It is nothing.”

  Bina lay quietly, trembling, startled, beneath his foot.

  “It is your recommendation, then,” asked Boots, “that she be permitted to live?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What punishments, in lieu of death, then, do you suggest for her?” asked Boots.

  The player lifted his foot from her head, and stepped away from her, smoothing his robes. She put her head up, the palms of her hands in the dust, looking at him; then she again lowered her head, trembling.

  “As I suggested,” he said, “it is not an important matter. I am no longer concerned with it. It is, accordingly, acceptable to me that she go unpunished.”

  Bina sobbed with relief.

  “It is not acceptable to me,” said Boots, “that she go unpunished.”

  The girl looked suddenly, wildly, frightened, at Boots.

  “She is yours,” said the player. “You may, of course, do with her as you wish.”

  “Kneel here, before me, Slave,” said Boots.

  Swiftly the girl knelt before him.

  “The player has shown you incredible mercy, girl,” said Boots.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “I, on the other hand, shall not be so merciful,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  “Hear your punishment, slave,” said Boots.

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, trembling.

  “First,” said Boots, “you will surrender your slippers.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, delightedly, and, sitting down, slipped them from her feet. She then knelt again before him, and handed him the slippers. In a different situation, of course, this might have constituted a suitable and humiliating punishment, involving a public reduction in her status, particularly before other girls. The removal of her footwear might have served to punish her for some flaw in her performance, such as a crookedly sewn seam or a poorly served meal, or might, say, have indicated some fall on her part from the favor of the master. Similar punishments can involve the changing of a woman’s clothing or its removal altogether. In this situation, of course, such a punishment, the removal of her right to footwear, was almost absurdly trivial. Indeed, most Gorean slaves are not permitted footwear at all. They are commonly kept barefoot.

  “Your second punishment,” said Boots.

  “Yes, Master?” said the girl, somewhat apprehensively.

  “You have been insolent,” he said, “and seem to have forgotten that you are a slave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, frightened, putting her head down.

  “Accordingly,” said Boots, “you are herewith instructed to remove a panel of material, four horts in width, and curved at the top, near your waist, from the skirts of your slave tunics at the sides, thus well revealing both thighs to the waist, or almost to the waist. In this fashion, in a balanced manner, your thighs will be exposed to the view of free men. In this fashion, too, of course, your brand will be always clearly visible. Perhaps in this way you will be more likely to keep it in mind that you wear it, and what it means.”

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  In my opinion, this constituted little, or no, punishment at all. Many slaves are kept in the common camisk, a narrow, poncholike garment, little more than a long, narrow rectangle of cloth, generally cheap cloth, with an opening for the head. It is drawn on over the head and is normally belted snugly with a double loop of binding fiber. It is, of course, open-sided. Many other girls learn swiftly to be grateful for as little as a strip of cloth suspended from a knotted string about their waist. Many other slaves, particularly in their masters’ houses, are kept naked. Lady Telitsia, for example, in our own camp, had not yet even been permitted clothing. Yes, her punishment, if punishment it was, seemed light indeed.

  “Hereafter,” said Boots, “you will be expected to mend your ways.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, humbly, her head down. But I saw her smile, slyly. How easily she had gotten off! How light had been her punishment! I saw her sneak a scornful, victorious glance at the player. He had been too soft, too weak, to have his vengeance on her. He had been too stupid, too weak, it seemed, to seize his opportunity to discipline her. How successful, too, had been her placatory efforts with her master! How indulgent he was! Was he not too easy with his slaves? Did he not spoil them? It seemed now she could do as she pleased with impunity. What had she to fear? She had won!

  “There is one other thing,” said Boots.

  “Yes, Master?” she said.

  “Regard the monster,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  She looked at the “monster.” He, hooded, garbed in black, tall, straight, his arms folded, was, too, looking upon her. She was a nasty little female, but she was a pretty one, too; that could not be denied.

  “Until further notice,” said Boots, “your use is his.”

  “No!” she screamed, wildly. “No! No!”

  The other slaves, and even Lady Yanina, gasped, and shrank back in horror.

  “No, Master, please!” cried Bina.

  “You will cook, sew and wash for him, and perform for him all the other duties of the female slave. You will be to him in all things as his own slave. You will serve him in all ways, intimate or otherwise, and perfectly, as he may wish or direct.”

  “Please, no, Master!” she wept.

  “It has been said,” said Boots.

  “Thank you,” said the player.

  “It is nothing,” said Boots.

  “Do I also have full discipline and whip rights over her?” asked the player.

  “Of course,” said Boots.

  “Good,” said the player, approvingly.

  The girl put her head in her hands and began to sob, hysterically.

  “Go now, slave, to the wagon of your use master,” said Boots to the girl, “and close yourself inside, awaiting him.”

  “Yes, Master,” she wept and, springing up, hurried to the player’s wagon. The other girls looked after her, with horror. None of them, I think, had expected that her punishment would be so grievous.

  “The rest of you females,” said Boots, clapping his hands sharply, “get back to your work!”

  Swiftly the girls scattered from his sight, seeking various labors. Even the Lady Yanina fled from his sight, as promptly as though she, too, might have been only a common slave.

  “I will need her, of course, for the performances,” said Boots to the player. “I hope that is understood.”

  “Of course,” said the player.

  “Do you think little Bina now knows she is a slave?” asked Boots.

  “Yes,” I said. “I think she now knows it well.”

  Boots then turned away, making his way back to his wagon.

  “Congratulations,” I said to the player.

  He shrugged.

  “You are pleased, surely?” I said.

  “I have never even had a woman,” he said.

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nbsp; “Try them,” I said. “I am sure you will enjoy them.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “They make splendid recreations,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “They are absolutely delicious properties,” I said. “They are the loveliest thing a man can own.”

  “What has she to do with Kaissa?” he asked.

  “Very little, I would suppose,” I said.

  “In my life, hitherto,” he said, “I have been concerned primarily with Kaissa.”

  “Perhaps you could broaden your interests,” I suggested.

  “What should I do with such a woman?” he asked.

  “For most practical purposes,” I said, “she is yours. I would do with her, then, if I were you, whatever I pleased.”

  “That seems a splendid suggestion,” he said.

  “You know the sort of woman she is,” I said. “Make her grovel, and crawl, and be perfect for you.”

  “I will,” he said.

  “Are you strong enough to punish her?” I asked.

  He looked across the area of the camp to his wagon. He looked at the door of the wagon, reached by climbing the flight of steps at the back of the wagon. The door was now shut. The girl would be behind it, awaiting him.

  “Yes,” he said.

  13

  Nim Nim

  I clutched the bars of the narrow cell window, looking out onto the courtyard. I stood on a table which I had dragged to the side of the wall, in order to be able to look out. Behind me, on his straw, crouched the small, narrow-shouldered, spindle-legged representative of the urt people.

  “I had warned you,” had moaned Boots, in his camp, “but you would not listen!”

  Five days ago I had been returning to the camp of Boots Tarsk-Bit, coming back from a nearby village where I had gone to fetch Sa-Tarna grain, from which the girls, back at the camp, using stones and flat rocks, sifters and pans, would produce flour. This was somewhat cheaper than buying the flour directly, for then one must pay the cost of the peasant women’s work or that of its millage. I carried the sack across my shoulders. It was not heavy. It weighed only a little more than an average female. I had been surprised to see Lady Telitsia running towards me down the road. She flung herself to her knees before me. “Run, Master!” she had cried. “Run! There are men at the camp, come looking for you!” “Who are they?” I asked. “What do they want?”