Renegades of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “Spare her!”

  I had then freed the ankles of former Lady Publia. She had nice ankles. They would look well, shackled.

  Lady Claudia began to weep.

  I put the thong which had bound the former Lady Publia in my pouch. It is not unusual for a Gorean, many Goreans, but particularly a guardsman, or a warrior, to carry various items of restraint or control in his pouch, for example, thongs, binding fiber, slave bracelets, thumb cuffs, a leash and collar, a nose ring and cord, such things. And many Gorean free women, of course, are aware of this habit. Naturally a woman views a man who carries such articles about with him somewhat differently from one who does not. Though I suppose they would deny it, it seems clear it makes them feel female, vulnerable and receptive; it intrigues them and stirs their interest; as women they take seriously men so accoutered; the effect of this comprehension is obviously stimulatory to the female, and, it seems, acutely so. Along these lines, it might be noted that Earth women, brought to Gor as slaves, soon realize they are no longer amongst the men of Earth. They are now amongst men who will view them as women, and deliciously and radically so, and will have from them what all men desire from a woman, everything.

  “Well, we had better hang this slave on the spear,” I said, removing my sword belt.

  “Why are you removing your sword belt?” asked the Lady Claudia.

  “I need it, and the sheath,” I said.

  “You never intended to put her on the spear!” she said, suddenly, elatedly.

  “She is going to hang on the spear all right,” I said. “We need that, to dispel suspicion and cover our departure.” I then removed the sword from the sheath and thrust the sheath up, between the slave’s back and the ropes, and then forced the point of the spear up, high, into the sheath. This did not do the sheath any good, distending it, but then it was not one, I reminded myself, for which I had had to put out my own tarsks. I then buckled the sword belt, making a new hole in the belt with my knife, tightly about the slender waist of the slave, up a bit, so it, too, was hidden behind the thickly coiled ropes. The spear’s point was now entered into the sheath, the sheath held in place behind the slave by her ropes, and the slave’s body held against the sheath and spear by the ropes and belt. She could not slip down the spear because of the spear’s insertion in the sheath. In this way, when the spear was placed in the mount, it would appear, I hoped, that the slave had been mounted on the spear. To see that this was not so, I thought one would probably have to be rather close. There is not much blood, incidentally, with the sort of impalement which, I had gathered, they had intended for the prisoner, as the spear itself, in such an impalement, packs the wound.

  “You are sparing her!” breathed Lady Claudia.

  “Of late,” I said, “she has been concerned to be pleasing.”

  The former Lady Publia shuddered, realizing what might as easily have been her fate.

  I then lifted the spear up and inserted it, down, into its mount.

  We heard some cheers from down on the wall, a handful, presumably greeting the appearance of the impaling spear, seemingly burdened. Most of the fellows, though, I suspected, had other things on their mind. Behind the slowly approaching towers, partly in their cover, advanced hundreds of men. The towers themselves were now little more than seventy-five yards from the wall. They had now aligned themselves, and the dropping of the bridges, when the towers were in position, would be simultaneous. Surely men should be drawn up from below to help defend the wall. The smaller probes, now, those of the scattered grapnels and single-pole ladders, had ceased. There were dozens of supporting grapnel and ladder crews, however, now approaching between the towers.

  “Wriggle,” I commanded the new slave, bound on the spear. “Wriggle well, and deliciously, or I shall set you on the spear properly!”

  She then wriggled, and writhed, helplessly.

  “Could you really put her on the spear?” asked Lady Claudia, softly.

  “Certainly,” I said. It was true.

  We heard laughter from down on the wall, and, I think, even from Cosians below the wall. They, too, had little respect for traitresses.

  Lady Claudia shuddered.

  “Not too much,” I cautioned the new slave, “mostly at first, then less. Then hold yourself tense, trying not to move.”

  The new slave, hung in the ropes, moaned her acquiescence.

  “What is wrong?” I asked Lady Claudia.

  “It could have been I, truly impaled,” she said.

  “But it is not,” I said.

  “The ram pounds the gate,” she said.

  We could feel the vibrations, even here.

  “Let us leave,” I said to Lady Claudia.

  “There is no safety,” she said.

  Down on the lower walkway we looked back to the battlements over the gate. It did look as though the former Lady Publia were on the spear.

  The towers were now but thirty yards away. There was no way their discharge, their rushing, armed effluxes could be stayed by the men here.

  “If she is rescued,” said Lady Claudia, looking back at the lovely, nude figure, seemingly mounted upon the impaling spear, “doubtless she will deny she is a slave.”

  “But even so,” I said, “she would still be a slave, and would know it in her heart.”

  “Yes,” said Lady Claudia.

  The slave cannot free herself. She can be freed only by an owner. The condition of slavery does not require the collar, or the brand, or an anklet, bracelet or ring, or any such overt sign of bondage. Such things, as lovely and symbolic as they are, as profoundly meaningful as they are, and as useful as they are for marking properties, identifying masters, and such, are not necessary to slavery. They are, in effect, though their affixing can legally effect embondment, ultimately, in themselves, tokens of bondage, and are not to be confused with the reality itself. The uncollared slave is not then a free woman but only a slave who is not then in a collar. Similarly a slave is still a slave even if her brand could be made to magically disappear or, if she has been made a slave in some other way, if she has not yet been branded. Indeed, some masters, somewhat foolishly, I think, dally in the branding of their slaves. Indeed, some, perhaps the most foolish, do not brand them at all. Such girls, however, when they come into the keeping of new masters, usually discover that that oversight is promptly rectified.

  “The slave who lies about her slavery,” I said, “is not thereby the less a slave. It is only that she is then a lying slave.”

  “I have heard that bondage is difficult to conceal,” said Lady Claudia.

  “That is particularly so,” I said, “if one has been a slave for a time. It can be given away in many ways, by the movements of the body, by certain timidities, and deferences, dispositions to kneel, slips of the tongue, and such. Slavers, and others, it is well known, can often pick out a slave from among women all clad in the Robes of Concealment, by simply having her walk, or speak, or by looking in her eyes. She is then disrobed, the brand revealed, and given over for punishment.”

  She looked up at me.

  “I spoke of legal bondage, of course,” I said. “Perhaps you meant natural bondage, that of the woman who is by nature a slave?”

  She looked down.

  “That,” I said, “is independent of the proprieties of legal bondage, of course.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “To be sure,” I said, “the condition of the natural slave, like that of the legal slave, can be difficult to conceal, particularly under certain stimulus conditions. It need not remain, however, simply a guilty secret locked away in the heart of a frustrated, unfulfilled free woman, not yet in the keeping of her master. It can be shown by such things as her profound psychological dispositions to selflessly serve and love, her desire for, and response to, male domination, her understanding of chains and the whip, the quickening, deepening and intensification of her sexuality under conditions of bondage, her happiness and fulfillment when she finds herself pla
ced in her proper relationship to the male, her joy in fulfilling her biological role, her joy in obedience, submission and love, her elation in knowing herself owned and mastered, subdued and conquered, a condition manifested in acts as disparate, and yet strangely akin, as the tying of her master’s sandals and slave writhings in the furs, being forced to thrash helplessly in the orgasmic ecstasies he chooses to impose upon her.”

  She trembled.

  “There are women who understand such things,” I said.

  “All women understand such things,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.”

  Again she trembled.

  “But we were speaking of the former Lady Publia,” I said. “She now knows herself a slave, having said the words. Too, she knows that she, a slave, can be freed only by a master. What will she make of these things? That, I take it, is your question?”

  “Doubtless she would pretend she had never said the words,” she said.

  “That she would, in one way or another, attempt to conceal her true condition?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But, of course, she would still, in her heart, know the truth, that she was a slave.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And that only a master could free her?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Surely it might be difficult to live with such a hidden truth,” I said. “Perhaps it, irrepressible, insistent within her, might finally require some resolution. She must then take action. She might turn herself over to a praetor, hoping for mercy, as she had surrendered herself. Or perhaps she might solicit some person to make active claim upon her, such a claim, after certain intervals, superseding prior claims. Although there are various legal qualifications involved, which vary from city to city, effective, or active, possession is generally regarded as crucial from the point of view of the law, such possession being taken, no other claims forthcoming within a specified interval, as conferring legal title. This is the case with a kaiila or a tarsk, and it is also the case with a slave. In such a case, presumably the woman would expect the master who has then put claim on her to free her. That would presumably be the point of the matter. Otherwise she could simply submit herself to him as an escaped or strayed slave. Thus, in this fashion, she could reveal her hidden truth, thereby alleviating her acute mental conflicts, and her sufferings, attendant upon its concealment, and by another, as she has no legal power in the matter herself, be restored to freedom. To be sure, there are risks involved in this sort of thing. For example, when she kneels before him, his slave, perhaps he will then simply order her to the kitchen or to his furs. She is an animal, of course. Thus she cannot enter into a contract, no more than a kaiila. Similarly, no promise made to her has legal standing, no more than to a tarsk. In this way, she, ostensibly seeking her freedom, may find herself plunged instead into explicit and inescapable bondage, and will doubtless, too, soon find herself properly marked and collared, to preclude the possible repetition of any such nonsense in the future. This is the standard and recommended resolution in these cases, incidentally. It is understood as a way of trapping a slave. Otherwise it would seem that a slave is being permitted to manipulate a free person, bargain, and so on. It is usually thought however, for what it is worth, that the woman who does this sort of thing, for she knows the risks she runs and what is likely to be done with her, is actually, on one level or another, after long self-turmoil, seeking the collar. She wants the relief of at last revealing her secret, of being honestly what she is, of being at last true to herself. This thesis is borne out by the fact that the woman quickly enough, perhaps under the whip, in the barn, in the straw at the master’s feet, in his chains, putting aside her lamentations and pretended indignation, admits her conscious entry into the trap, and then begs, now, after a long dereliction in her duties, to be permitted to be pleasing to a master. To be sure, whatever is done with her, whether she is freed, or kept as a slave, or sold, or whatever, is up to the master, for he owns her.

  “Yes,” whispered Lady Claudia, not taking her eyes off the small figure suspended on the spear, on the battlements over the gate.

  I looked over the wall. The towers had now stopped, aligned, some twenty yards or so from the wall. They would overtop it. When they advanced, they would do so, together.

  “You had best go now,” I said.

  “I do not want to leave you,” she said.

  “When the towers spill their troops onto the wall,” I said, “I do not think they will be stopping to make slaves. Go, hide. Perhaps later, when the citadel is burning, when resistance is ended, when the blood lust has to some extent lessened, you may receive an opportunity to strip yourself for captors.”

  “What of her?” she asked, pointing to the former Lady Publia.

  “The slave?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “She is already stripped,” I said.

  “True!” she laughed.

  “You had best leave,” I said.

  “You never intended to impale her, did you?”

  “Not on the spear of execution,” I said.

  “I see,” she said.

  “Unless perhaps she might prove displeasing or in some way uncooperative.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “There are, however, many other forms of impalement quite suitable for such as she,” I said.

  “Doubtless!” she laughed.

  “And for you,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, “for me as well!”

  “Go,” I said. “The towers will advance at any moment.”

  “Why did you let us believe you would impale her?” she asked.

  “Surely the genuineness of her terror added to the effectiveness of our disguises,” I said, “as did your own authentic concern.”

  “You manipulated us as women, and slaves!” she said, her eyes flashing.

  “And you are a clever woman,” I said, “biding your time here against my will.”

  “I am a free woman,” she said. “I think I shall remain here, by your side.”

  “Free woman or no,” I said, “I wish I had a slave whip. I would teach you docility and compliance quickly enough.”

  “And I would offer them to you without the whip,” she said, “—Master.”

  “Fortunate for you that you are not a slave!”

  She laughed, merrily.

  “I would you were naked at my feet, in a collar,” I said, angrily.

  “Ah,” she said, “I would that I were there, too, my master, but I fear that that pleasure, if pleasure it be, seeing me so, having me so, will go not to you, but, if luck be with me, to a Cosian.”

  “That is not unfitting,” I said. “You are a traitress. You declared for Cos. It seems not unfitting, then, that you should belong to a Cosian.”

  She tossed her head, angrily.

  “Go,” I said.

  “I do not want to go,” she said.

  “I will not be able to protect you here,” I said, “nor, in a few moments, will these others.”

  “I will remain here,” she said.

  “Here you will be in the way,” I said. “You would jeopardize others, concerned for you.”

  She looked at me, her eyes angry.

  “Go,” I said. “You do not belong here.”

  “And do you?” she asked. “You are not of Ar’s Station. You are not even of Cos!”

  “Go,” I said. “The work of men is soon to be done in this place.”

  “And what is the work of women?” she asked.

  “To be soft and beautiful,” I said. “To wear chains, to hope for mercy, to cower under the whip, to hurry to serve, to dance naked, to squirm and juice for masters.”

  “And I am a woman, a female,” she said.

  “Do you not know it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know it. I learned it in the cell.”

  “Do you object?” I asked.

 
“No,” she said.

  “That you are pleasantries for men, spoils for the victors?”

  “It is what we are,” she said.

  “Go,” I said, “lovely traitress.”

  “I may not see you again!” she said.

  “I wish you well,” I said.

  “I must do this!” she wept.

  “Stop!” I said. But she had knelt down before me, though she was a free woman, and lifting her veil, pressed her lips to my sandals.

  She then lifted her head to me, tears in her eyes. “I would that I were at your feet as a true slave, my master,” she said.

  “Go,” I said.

  Her eyes regarded me, piteously.

  “Go,” I said.

  She rose to her feet and turned away.

  “Female,” I said, kindly.

  She turned.

  “I would, if I were you,” I said, “while any of Ar’s Station are about, with a sword in their hand, keep my veil.”

  She nodded, frightened. She then looked once more at the former Lady Publia, now a roped slave, suspended on a spear, and then again at me, and then hurried from the wall.

  I then turned to look across the twenty yards or so of space between the somber, looming towers, aligned, and the wall of the citadel. I could see cracks in the wood. Through some of these I could see numerous shapes, on various levels. The hides hung profusely about the outsides of the towers, especially on the frontal surfaces, were dark with water. The ram was still pounding at the gate.

  The men on the wall, others coming up to join them from below, prepared to meet the onslaught. Groups bunched before each tower. Others scattered down the wall to meet the grapnel crews and the scalers, with their ladders. Weapons were unsheathed. Tridents were readied. Buckets of oil on the long poles were ignited.

  I would have thought Aemilianus, commander of the citadel, would have come to the wall, but I did not see the helmet with the crest of sleen hair.

  It occurred to me that I had not much business here, really. This was not my fight. I was no lover of Ar or Cos.