Blood Brothers of Gor

by Norman, John;

  How shamelessly she lay before me!

  Surely she knew how she lay before me. She lay before me as a curvaceous slave before her master.

  I forced myself to look away from her. I counted several Ehn. Idly, in the dirt, beside me, I traced designs. Then I discovered they were cursive Kefs, the common Kajira sign, sometimes called the staff and fronds, that sign which marks the thigh of so many enslaved Gorean beauties.

  I looked back at the girl.

  "Do I distract you?" she asked.

  "No," I said, angrily.

  "Oh," she said.

  She squirmed a little, apparently merely to change her position.

  I made an angry noise.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "It is nothing," I said.

  "Oh," she said.

  I observed how her toes were pointed, this curving her calves deliciously. Her belly, too, was sucked in a bit, accentuating the loveliness of her breasts and the flare of her hips. How lasciviously, how desirably, she lay before me, and yet with what seeming indifference, with what a seeming innocence, with what a seeming lack of awareness! She sighed, and smiled, and looked away. How inadvertently she had seemed to do that. The she-sleen! I clenched my fists. She knew well what she was doing. She lay before me with the lascivious, apparent nonchalance of a slave who, supposedly unaware, knows well that her master's eyes are upon her.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "Rest," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, and smiled. "If master should desire aught, let his slave be summoned. She will respond with instant and perfect obedience."

  "It is well," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  She then closed her eyes, pretending to sleep.

  I regarded her. I could not take my eyes from her. I owned her. Well was I pleased that she had fallen to my leather.

  She opened her eyes, and smiled.

  "Rest," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, and again pretended to sleep. There was a tiny smile about the corner of her lips. How shamelessly she lay before me, and yet with what an apparent lack of awareness!

  The she-sleen was cunning, and delicious. Well did she know what she was doing to me. I looked away from her and began to sweat. Again I clenched my fists. I must not permit myself to be diverted from the business of the day.

  I looked back upon the slave.

  She again closed her eyes, pretending again to sleep. She squirmed a little, and made a tiny noise, as though in weariness. I saw that she expected to conquer.

  "Slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You do not seem to be sleepy," I observed.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "But it does not matter, whether you are or not," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "For you are a slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Crawl to me on your belly," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, smiling.

  "Now kneel before me," I said, "with your knees wide, with your wrists crossed behind you, touching, as though bound."

  "Yes, Master," she said. She was then before me, in a posture of my dictation, and, as it is said, bound by my will.

  I withdrew an object from my pouch.

  "Master?" she said.

  I held the object before her. She regarded it with dismay. "I have already chewed sip root within the moon," she said.

  I smiled. The slut would play with me, would she?

  "Please, no, Master!" she begged. "You cannot even conceive of the taste, the horrid bitterness of it!"

  "Open your mouth," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  Female slaves on Gor, unless they are to be crossed and bred by masters, as the domestic animals they are, are commonly given "slave wine," a beverage prepared from sip root which prevents conception. The slave is not to bear young except at the will of the master. Whereas one supposes the taste of slave wine might be concealed in some fashion, it is not. Rather it is utilized to inform the slave in yet another way that she is a slave. The taste is apparently quite bitter. Some masters prefer having the slave quaff it before them, naked and unbound. Let them understand they may be used with impunity and without consequences. On the other hand, particularly in a slaver's house, the girl is commonly knelt with her hands tied behind her back, and the beverage is administered by two men, one of whom holds the girl's head back sharply by the hair with one hand and, with the other, pinches her nostrils tightly shut so that she may not breathe through her nose, while the other by means of a bota with a spiked nozzle squeezes the beverage into her mouth. When at last the miserable slave must breathe she must swallow the beverage. An experienced slave, of course, gives the slaver's men little trouble and swallows the beverage as quickly as possible, to have done with it. Indeed, it may even be poured into her mouth from a goblet. When one wishes, say, to breed the slave she is given an apparently delicious beverage, which is the "releaser," which counteracts the effects of the slave wine. She then understands that she is soon to be hooded and taken to the breeding stalls.

  "Put out your tongue," I said.

  She regarded me with agony, but obeyed.

  I then ground some of the root onto her tongue.

  She grimaced.

  She shook her head, beggingly, no!

  I then thrust the object into her mouth.

  "Chew it well," I said, "and swallow it, bit by bit."

  She grimaced, at the barest taste of the object.

  "Begin," I told her.

  She began.

  "Not so quickly," I told her. "More slowly. Very slowly. Very, very slowly. Savor it well."

  She whimpered in obedience.

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  Play with me would she?

  Too, she had been an agent of Kurii. So let her now be better apprised of the risks that such service had entailed. And let her begin to comprehend now, as much as any other slave, what it might be to be a Gorean slave girl.

  She did not need the sip root, of course, for, as she had pointed out, she had had some within the moon, and, indeed, the effect of sip root, in the raw state, in most women, is three or four moons. In the concentrated state, as in slave wine, developed by the caste of physicians, the effect is almost indefinite, usually requiring a releaser, as suggested, for its remission, usually administered, to a slave, in what is called the breeding wine, or the "second wine." When this is administered she usually understands, as suggested, that she has been selected for breeding, for crossing with a male slave, and, naturally, one supposes, it will be one, or is likely to be one, with properties which, combined with hers, are calculated from the master's point of view to produce an offspring of the sort he is looking for, one of the sort for which he is breeding her.

  Usually, on the other hand, the properties sought are obvious, and the male, commonly, is handsome and strong. Thus, if the offspring is female, she is likely to be attractive, and thus, eventually, she should prove to be of value on the auction block, and if the offspring is male he is likely to be powerful, and thus of greater utility in the performance of heavy tasks, for example, in haulage, in digging and building, in the quarries, at the oar of a galley. Indeed, he might even be freed, eventually, perhaps for training in a craft, or with weapons, for in the Gorean view, though this is seldom made explicit in deference to free women, there is a sense that the man, appropriately, should be free and the woman, appropriately, should be a slave, that the man functions best as free and the woman best as subdued, mastered slave, that the man, then, is a natural master and the female his natural slave. It might also be mentioned, however, that there is a market for handsome male slaves which caters to rich free women, and, to a lesser extent, to rich free men. There is very little male-to-male sex on Gor, though it is not nonexistent. Its relative scarcity, presumably, is a function not of repression, whi
ch does not exist, but of neglect or disinterest, a function of the nature, and naturalness, of the Gorean milieu, the innocent, unabashed complexion and constitution of its culture, its sensual and biological openness, frankness and artlessness, the absence of pathological conditioning programs designed, by means of guilt and social pressures, to confuse, divide and alienate the sexes, and the abundance and availability of beautiful, needful slave girls, who are usually, for the most part, affordable.

  Such breedings commonly take place with the slaves hooded, and under the supervision of the master, or masters. In this way the occurrence of the breeding act can be confirmed and authenticated. Sometimes a member of the caste of scribes is also present, to provide certification on behalf of the city. Usually, however, in cities which encourage this sort of registration it is sufficient to bring the papers for stamping to the proper office within forty Ahn. Such rigor, however, is usually involved only in the breeding of expensive, pedigreed slaves. Most slave breeding is at the discretion of the private master or masters involved. Slaves from the same household, incidentally, are seldom mated. This practice is intended to reduce the likelihood of intimate emotional relationships among slaves. Furthermore, male and female slaves are usually kept separate, female slaves commonly performing light labors in households and male slaves working in the fields or on the grounds. Sometimes, to reward male slaves, or keep them content, or even to keep them from going insane, a female slave is thrown to them. This is sometimes a girl of delicate sensibilities from the house who has not been perfectly pleasing; she then finds herself thrown naked to work slaves. In slave matings, since most crossings do not take place within the same household, a stud fee is usually paid to the master of the male slave. The active ingredient in the breeding wine, or the "second wine," is a derivative of teslik, a substance developed by the Caste of Physicians to enhance fertility in verr and tarsks. When one wishes to breed a white female slave in the Barrens usually one simply denies her sip root and waits for the effect of the root to wear off. Some slave wine, I am told, is available in trade, usually through the Dust Legs. In the matter of bitterness of taste, there is little to choose from between raw sip root and slave wine, the emulsive qualities of the slave wine being offset to some extent by the strength of the concentrations involved.

  "I have finished it," gasped the girl, shuddering.

  "Open your mouth," I said, "widely."

  I forced her mouth open, even more widely, with my thumbs and forefingers. I examined her mouth, closely. The sip root was gone.

  She still held her wrists crossed, touching, behind her. She was still bound, as it is said, by the master's will.

  "You are unbound," I told her. She removed her hands from behind her back.

  She looked at me, knowing that I was her master.

  "Lick and wipe your mouth," I told her. She ran her tongue over her lips, and wiped them with the back of her right forearm.

  A tear stained her cheek.

  If I should choose to kiss her I did not desire to taste the residue of sip root.

  "Hands on thighs," I said, "head down."

  She complied. It is pleasant to command women.

  "Do you think that you will conquer?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she whispered.

  "Would you like more sip root?" I inquired.

  She shook her head, rigorously. "No, Master," she said.

  She had not needed the sip root, of course.

  It is occasionally useful to have the slave perform arbitrary and unpleasant acts. It helps to remind them that they are only slaves, and are subject to the master's will.

  "Lift your head," I said.

  She did so.

  "Please me," I said.

  "After what you have done?" she asked. "After what you made me do!"

  "Please me," I said, "—and perfectly."

  "Yes, Master!" she said, frightened. She then began, anxiously and fearfully, desperately afraid, to kiss and caress me.

  I then looked down at her, in my arms, snuggled against me, lifting her lips to mine.

  "Who will conquer?" I asked her.

  "You," she said, "you, Master!"

  "You will see to it, will you not?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, desperately.

  It is occasionally useful to enlist the woman's aid in her own conquest. If she is not conquered, authentically, and in her own understanding, and to the master's satisfaction, she is subjected to severe punishment, and may even be slain. Accordingly, with all of her will and feeling, she bends every effort toward her own defeat. She does not rest until she knows herself, and her masters know her, to be naught but a submitted, vanquished slave.

  I kissed her, and her lips, open, hot, seemed to melt beneath mine. How well her slave's body, hot and naked, yielding, felt in my arms!

  "Be cruel to me," she begged. "I am yours. I am owned. I am a slave!"

  Some women can resist, for a time, some masters, but what woman can long resist both herself, turned against herself, by the master's will, and the master, as well? What a splendid ally the woman makes, in her own conquest! Should she not be used more often? Too, when a woman has aided in her own conquest, her defeat, brought about in part by her own will, has a special memorableness for her, a special, self-revelatory significance for her. She has, in her defeat, of her own will, acknowledged herself a slave. This understanding, and acknowledgment, openly made, is often the difference in a woman between joy and fulfillment, and egotism, hostility and frustration.

  "Who has conquered?" I asked the woman.

  "You have conquered, completely, Master," she said. "I am a slave. I am yours alone."

  "Strictly," I said, "you belong to Cuwignaka. It is your use which is mine."

  "Yes, Master," she sobbed.

  "You are his alone, as of now," I said. "But if he should give you away, or sell you, then you would belong to another."

  "To you," she wept. "To you!"

  "To anyone," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she sobbed.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because I am a slave, only a slave," she wept.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Yes, my Master," she sobbed.

  "Hold!" I said. "Listen!"

  She clutched me, her eyes closed.

  I heard the two notes, as of a fleer.

  "Do you not hear it?" I asked.

  "It is a fleer," she said. "It is only a fleer."

  She moaned as I thrust her from me. I licked my lips. I could still taste a little of the sip root, kissed from her mouth. It was bitter.

  She extended her hand to me. "Master!" she said.

  I crouched in the pit. I lifted my head, peering through the larger of the two apertures in the ceiling of the pit.

  Again we heard the two notes, as of a fleer, more insistently.

  I stood then in the pit, my head and shoulders outside of the opening.

  "Master," she said.

  "It is not a fleer," I said.

  I crouched down again, then, in the pit. I yanked at the rawhide rope, twice looped, tied, on her right ankle. It was tight. Its other end was looped twice about the hobbling log. I then seized the woman, my left hand in her hair, my right hand in her collar, and pulled her up, beside me.

  "Master!" she cried, in misery.

  I thrust her up, through the opening.

  "Do you see it?" I demanded.

  "Yes," she said, after a moment. "It is very high."

  "Is it circling?" I asked.

  "It is hard to tell," she said. "I think maybe it is."

  "Good," I said. "Then it is probably hunting." The leisurely, high-altitude hunting circles of our prey sometimes manifested a diameter of pasangs.

  "Does it see you?" I asked.

  "I do not think so," she said.

  "Move a little, walk about," I said. I saw the rawhide tether shift.

  The distance vision of our prey would be truly remarkable. It is particularly good at the detection of move
ment. It is said it can see an urt move across open ground at a distance of two pasangs. It is said it can detect an irregular movement of grass, not correlated with wind direction and velocity, from a distance of one pasang. I was confident we could rely on its vision.

  "It is circling," she said.

  "Does it see you?" I asked.

  "Now," she said, frightened. "Now I think it does."

  "Do not lose track of it," I said. "Do not appear to notice it, but do not lose track of it. Your life could depend on this. Note exactly, as well, the location of the opening."

  "I know well where it is, Master," she said. "Do not fear."

  "The matter must be close," I said. "You understand that?"

  "Yes, Master," she said, "yes!"

  Our quarry must not be allowed a great deal of time for investigation.

  "It sees me!" she moaned.

  "Good!" I said. "Do not appear to much notice it."

  "It is coming!" she said. "It is coming, very swiftly!"

  "Do not appear to much notice it," I said.

  "I am frightened!" she said.

  "Breathe deeply," I said. "Keep your body ready, a little tense, but not tight."

  "It is coming very swiftly," she said.

  "Do not lose track of it," I said. "Keep in mind clearly, as well, the location of the entrance of the pit."

  "I am frightened!" she cried.

  Suddenly the tether seemed to jerk from the pit and then, in a moment, it had jerked tight. I heard her cry out with misery. I thrust my head and shoulders from the pit and saw her, on her belly, in the grass, her right leg stretched out, almost straight, behind her, the tether tight on it. She had tried to run.

  I hoisted myself out of the pit, screaming and cursing, waving my arms. The quarry, startled at my unexpected appearance, veered away, passing within feet of me, the great shadow suddenly between me and the sun, and then the sun again blazed on the late-summer grass, tumultuous and whipped, twisted, by the passage of the quarry. The sweat on my face felt cold, from the wind which had rushed past.

  "On your feet," I said.

  Tremblingly, she rose to her feet.