Vagabonds of Gor coc-24

by John Norman

  "You may raise your head," I said.

  She looked up at me, her lower lip trembling.

  "Kneel back on your heels," I said. "Open your knees, widely. More widely. Good." I did not doubt but what she would recall that she had, back on the other island, days ago, when she had had power, the backing of numerous armed men, been the issuer of such instructions, not their recipient. "Place the palms of your hands on your thighs," I said. "Lift your head."

  "This is a slave position, is it not?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I am not a slave!" she said.

  "Do not break position," I said. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  "You now wish to address a petition to me?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said.

  "Do not break position," I warned her. She kept position.

  "You may speak," I informed her.

  "Take me with you!" she cried. "Guard me! Protect me! Defend me! I cannot protect myself! I cannot defend myself! I am a female. I need male protection! I am only a female! Without your protection I will die in the delta. Without your protection I can never get out of the delta alive. I am a woman, only a woman. I need you desperately!"

  "Rencer women," I said, "live in the delta."

  "I am not a rencer woman!" she wept.

  To be sure, rencer women, as well as others, needed the protection of men. If nothing else, slavers could hunt them down and get them in their chains. All women need the protection of men, though sometimes this protection is so profound and so familiar as to escape notice. But let the barriers of civilization lapse, even for a day, and their need for men would become unmistakably apparent.

  "What hope," asked she, "would I, naked, a woman of high birth and gentle upbringing, a woman of station, a lady of Ar, have of getting out of the delta alive?"

  "I do not know," I said.

  "And I might be taken by rencers," she said, "and put out again for tharlarion."

  "That is quite possible," I said.

  "Protect me!" she begged.

  "Do not break position," I warned her.

  She moaned.

  I looked out, over the marsh. It was now late afternoon. "I think," I said, "I might myself, without great difficulty, one man, alone, escape from the delta. Taking a woman with me, however, and, in particular, one such as you, seems to impose, as you might well imagine, a handicap of a very serious nature."

  "I will be no trouble!" she said, eagerly.

  "It is not as though you were, say, a slave," I said, "a property which one would not wish to leave behind."

  "I can be enslaved," she said, an odd note in her voice.

  "Also," I said, "one may assure oneself, in virtue of the strictures of the mastership, that a slave will be little or no trouble."

  "Enslave me then," she said.

  "But you are a free woman," I said.

  "That is true!" she said.

  "And did you not suggest earlier," I said, "that you would never make a slave?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "Have you now reconsidered the matter?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  Her knees were half sunk in the sand.

  "And what is the outcome of your reconsideration?" I inquired.

  "Any woman can be made a slave," she said.

  "A perceptive insight," I said.

  "Take me with you," she begged.

  "And if I take you with me as a free woman," I said, "what conditions would you impose?"

  "Few," she said. "Only that I be treated with respect and dignity."

  "Come back!" she cried. "Come back!"

  I turned to look back at her, across the sand. She was wild in the sand. She had not, however, broken position.

  "I impose no conditions!" she cried. "None whatsoever!"

  I returned to stand before her.

  "I am a woman of Ar!" she said. "You are of Port Kar. Both of our cities are at war with Cos! We are allies, then!"

  "You are a spy of Cos," I said.

  "I impose no conditions," she said.

  "If I take you with me," I said, "I will take you with me utterly conditionlessly."

  "Agreed," she said.

  "As conditionlessly as a slave," I said.

  "Agreed," she said.

  "Moreover," I said, "I would take you with me as a captive, a full captive."

  "I understand," she said.

  "And do you understand what it is to be a full captive?" I asked.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  "You will be to me as though you might be a slave," I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "You will be mine to do with as I please, completely," I said.

  "I understand," she said.

  "You may be given away, sold, rented, slain, anything."

  "I understand," she said.

  "And I may," I said, "enslave you, or have you enslaved."

  "I understand," she said.

  "And," I said, "I may, if I wish, abandon you in the delta."

  "I shall endeavor to be such, earnestly," she said, "that you will not wish to do so."

  "You understand these things?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "And this?" I asked, holding the wicked point, the dangerous steel, still sticky from the blood of the ul, of the unsheathed sword to her bosom.

  "Yes," she said, looking up at me.

  "Lie on your back," I said, "your arms at your sides, the palms of your hands up, your knees lifted, your heels back, up a bit, your toes pressed down into the sand, your legs closely together."

  I looked upon her.

  Her wrists, on each side of her, were still encircled with thongs, their dangling ends dark in the sand.

  "Am I favorably assessed?" she asked.

  I then wiped the blade clean, carefully, using the interior of her thighs, and belly. I used also sand, and, lastly, her hair.

  "Am I again to clean myself?" she asked.

  "No," I said. "The delta is not a place for the excessively fastidious."

  "I see," she said, shuddering.

  I sheathed the sword smartly, cracking it into the scabbard.

  She reacted, shrinking down, frightened, in the sand. I saw that on some level or another she understood the sheathing of the sword.

  "Position!" I snapped.

  Swiftly she knelt again, as she had been commanded earlier.

  "You obey with the alacrity of a slave girl," I observed.

  "If I do not," she said, "I could be punished as one, could I not?"

  "Yes," I said, "and would be."

  I walked about her, examining her. She kept her back very straight, and her head up.

  I was then again before her.

  I noted that the palm of her hands, so soft, so vulnerable, had turned on her thighs, so that they faced up. Among slave girls this is a common way of signaling need, helplessness, a desire to please. As she probably did not know that I took it to be instinctive, or semi-instinctive, perhaps a subconscious, or only partially understood, utilization of the symbolic aspects of the palm of the female's hand. One reason for thinking this is a very natural behavior is that almost all female slaves, in certain situations, will use it, even before it has been explicitly called to their attention by, say, a whipmaster or trainer. Also, it is not uncommon, in certain situations, among captive free women, as witness the Lady Ina, in the repertoire of an experienced slave, of course, it is one of her nonverbal signals, one of those numerous signals, such as need knots, body touchings, and such, by means of which she may express herself, even if forbidden to speak. It may also be used as a begging, placatory behavior. The thongs on the Lady Ina's wrists, the ends over, and down, beside her thighs, were lovely.

  "It is my hope," she said, "that your assessment is favorable."

  "You are not unattractive," I said.

  "I am pleased that I might be found pleasing," she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  " 'Why'?" she asked.

  "Yes,
" I said.

  "I suppose," said she, "that you might then be more inclined to permit me to accompany you."

  "Is there any other reason?" I asked.

  "Of course not!" she said, stammering.

  I smiled. What a mendacious, vain thing she was She, like all females, hoped to be found pleasing by men. She wished, like all females, to be attractive, and desirable.

  "Why are your palms facing up?" I asked.

  "I do not know!" she said, startled. She quickly turned them down, on her thighs. "I did not notice, or hardly noticed," she said. "I am sorry. I did not mean to break position. Please forgive me. I do not wish to be beaten!"

  "That is not normally regarded as a breaking of position," I said.

  She leaned back, in relief.

  "I shall call you 'Ina'," I said.

  "Not 'Lady Ina'?" she said.

  "No," I said.

  "And what shall I call you?" she asked, frightened.

  " 'Captor', or such," I said, "that sort of thing."

  "Ah," she breathed, relievedly.

  "You understand?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. I looked at her.

  "— captor," she added.

  "Get up," I said, "and walk in that direction."

  She walked before me, across the small island, and then, first hesitating, then urged forward with a curt word of command, waded into the marsh. In a few moments we had come to the small bar, that tiny island, much smaller than the one on which she had been bound, on which I had drawn up the raft.

  "A raft!" she said, pleased. I do not think she could have been more pleased if she had discovered her barge, intact. So simple a device as a raft might increase one's chances of survival in the delta a hundredfold. "Look," she said, "it is one of the poles from my barge! You can see the gilding there, where it is not burned away."

  The raft was heavy. I did not think she could easily draw it, as I had, yoked and harnessed. I did not even think she could well use the pole, as it was a large, heavy one.

  "We have a raft!" she said.

  "I have a raft," I said.

  "And there are supplies!" she said.

  "Mine," I said.

  "But perhaps you will give little Ina some," she wheedled, turning about, smiling.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked.

  "I am wondering of what possible value you could be," I said.

  " 'Value'?" she asked.

  "I do not think you will be of much help with the raft," I said.

  "Of course not," she said. "I am a woman."

  "Precisely," I said.

  "But some men think women have value," she said.

  "The value of slaves is clear," I said.

  "Think of me, then," she said, "as a slave."

  "That is less difficult than you may imagine," I said. She stiffened, angrily, standing in the water. Then, after a moment, she relaxed, and smiled. "I can demonstrate my value," she said, approaching me. She then stood quite close to me, and looked up at me. "You now sense that I have value, don't you?" she asked.

  "We are going to camp here, on this bar," I said, "for a few Ahn."

  She laughed, softly. I think she thought this decision had something to do with her.

  "Then we will leave," I said.

  "After dark?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Security," I said. This was even more important now that there were two of us.

  "How will you see?" she asked.

  "By the moons, by the stars," I said.

  "We will be here for some Ahn?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I think that will give me time to earn my passage," she smiled.

  "You will follow, tied, on a strap," I said.

  "My captor jests," she laughed.

  "Go to the island," I said.

  "I will do as you wish," she said.

  I looked at her.

  "I will do whatever you wish," she said, putting her finger on my shoulder, looking up at me.

  Then she turned about and ascended the bar, that tiny island in the marsh.

  In a few moments, after concealing the raft and supplies, I, too, ascended the bar. She was waiting for me, standing in a patch of soft, warm, sunlit sand.

  "The captive awaits her captor," she said, lifting her arms to me.

  "Is this how a captive awaits her captor?" I asked. "Shall I go, and then return?"

  Quickly she knelt in the sand, as I had taught her, or nearly so.

  "Your knees," I said, "they are to be more widely spread." She complied, her knees moving the sand to the sides, making small furrows.

  "You may now say," said I, "what you said before."

  "The captive awaits her captor," she said.

  "You may now bow your head, submissively," I said.

  She did so, frightened.

  I then regarded her. She was lovely in this position of submission.

  Slaves sometimes, when prepared for love, when ordered to the furs, perhaps from an instruction issued in the morning, or such, greet their masters rather in this fashion, kneeling, with some such formula. I think it likely she knew this, for her substitution of the word 'captive' for 'slave' and 'captor' for 'master' suggested it. Many free women know more of the behaviors of slaves, and details of the relationships between them and their masters, than many free men give them credit for knowing. Indeed, many free women, while expressing disinterest in such matters, or disgust at their very thought, tend to be fascinated by them, and inquire eagerly into them. Perhaps there is a practical motivation for such interests. Perhaps they wish to know such things in case they should one day find themselves being pulled from a branding rack, their own flesh marked. To be sure, no free woman knows really what it is to be a slave, for that is known truly only to the slave herself. Similarly, there is much in the relationship between a slave and her master that cannot be known to a free woman, much that she cannot even suspect. She is likely to learn these things, so precious, intimate and secret, so profound, wonderful and rewarding, so fulfilling, to her astonishment and revelation, only when,the collar is on her own throat. She will then understand why many slave girls would rather die than surrender their collars. In the collar they have found their joy and meaning. To be sure many slave girls are worked hard and live in fear of the whip. Many serve in the public kitchens and laundries. Many carry water in the quarries and on the great farms. Such, sooner or later, long for a private master.

  "You may raise your head," I said.

  She lifted her head.

  I saw that she would attempt boldness.

  "Is your little ritual finished?" she asked.

  "Put your head down again," I said.

  She did so, quickly, frightened.

  "Ritual," I said, "is important. It is fulfilling, and meaningful. It is beautiful. It is symbolic, mnemonic and instructive. It establishes protocols. It expresses, defines and clarifies conditions. It is essential to, and ingredient within, civilization. Similarly, do not overlook the significance and value of symbolism. Even chains on a slave are often largely symbolic. Where is she to run to, slave-clad, collared and marked? She would be promptly returned to her master."

  "Yet her chains are chains, and they are real, and they hold her helplessly, and perfectly," she said, head down.

  "True," I said.

  She shuddered.

  "What are various slave rituals?" I asked.

  "The kissing and licking of the master's feet, she said, "the bringing to him of his whip or sandals, in one's teeth, on all fours, kneeling, prostration before him, the performance of obeisances, such things."

  "And you understand the appropriateness, the rightfulness, of enforcing such things on slaves?"

  "Of course," she said.

  "Perhaps you now understand the importance of rituals?" I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "You may raise your head," I said.

  This time she raised her head
timidly.

  "But I am not a slave," she said. "I am a free woman."

  "True," I said.

  "Had I been a slave, would I have been punished?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "What would you have done to me?" she asked.

  "I do not know," I said, "perhaps cuff you a bit, perhaps lash you with my belt."

  She shuddered. "It is no wonder that slaves are obedient," she said.

  "Yes," I said. "Slaves are obedient."

  "I, too," she said, "can be obedient."

  "Stand," I said.

  She did. She was in the sand, to her ankles.

  "Approach me," I said.

  She did so, until she was quite close to me. I could reach out and take her in my arms. "You see," she said, "I can be quite obedient." I did not move. She then lifted her arms and put them about my neck. "I am now ready to earn my passage," she said.

  "Your passage?" I asked. Surely she remembered what I had told her, that she would follow, tied, on a strap.

  "My keep," she smiled.

  "Doubtless it will be the first time that you, a free woman, ever earned your keep," I said.

  "In a sense, yes!" she laughed.

  "You are sure you can stand it?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "I am sure!"

  She then lifted her head and rose up to her toes, to kiss me, but I drew back and removed her arms from about my neck. I then held her, by the arms, before me, facing me.

  She looked up at me, puzzled.

  "Turn about," I said, "and get on your belly in the sand."

  "I do not understand," she said.

  "Are you a disobedient captive?" I asked.

  "No!" she said, and swiftly turned about and lay in the sand, prone.

  I discarded my tunic and accouterments.

  "Oh!" she cried, seized, held helplessly. "I am a free woman!" she cried, protestingly.

  I cried out, exultantly.

  "You cannot do this to a free woman!" she informed me. "Oh!"

  Again I cried out. There were tears in my eyes. I tried not to make so much noise. I did not want rencers, or animals, to be attracted to the island.

  She squirmed, and struggled. She reared up, on her elbows, in the sand.

  Again I uttered the intensity of my relief, my pleasure, my satisfaction.

  How long it had been since I had had a woman!