Blood Brothers of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "Why has the bird landed?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "It is a domestic tarn," I said. "Probably it wishes to be freed of the remains of the rider. It saw men."

  "I am uneasy," said Cuwignaka.

  "I, too," said Hci.

  "This is a great boon for us," I said. "Remove the legs from the girth strap."

  "How is that?" asked Cuwignaka. He and Hci removed the legs from the girth strap and discarded them in the grass. Sleen could find them later.

  I patted the tarn on the neck. "This is a domestic tarn," I said. "It is trained. Not only will it be unnecessary to break it but it will be of great use, in a brace harness, in training the two tarns we have already caught." This is a common method of training new tarns.

  "Mira!" I called, sharply.

  She ran to me and knelt before me, putting her head to my feet.

  "You may be pleased to learn," I told her, "that for our purposes we now have tarns enough. It will no longer be necessary, at least at this time, to put you out again on the tether."

  "Thank you, Master!" she cried and, almost uncontrollably, half sobbing, kissed my feet in gratitude.

  "Destroy the tarn pit," I said, "and address yourself to the task of concealing all signs of our activities here."

  "Yes, Master," she said, leaping to her feet.

  "And take that tether from your ankle," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, and knelt down on one knee, her hands at the knot.

  "We will fetch the kaiila and attach them to the travois," I said. "We will take this tarn to our temporary camp."

  "Yes, Tatankasa," said Cuwignaka.

  "We do not wish to remain in the open longer than necessary," I said.

  "No, Tatankasa," said Hci.

  I glanced down at Mira. She was now sitting in the grass, her fingers fighting the knot.

  "If you have not finished with your work here before we leave," I told her, "follow the travois tracks in the grass back to our temporary camp."

  "Yes, Master," she sobbed.

  "Tonight," I said, "after food and woman, losing no time, we shall proceed toward Two Feathers."

  "Good," said Cuwignaka.

  "Our plans proceed," I said to Hci, "expeditiously and apace."

  "Splendid," said he.

  "Master!" sobbed the girl.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I cannot undo the knot," she said, tears in her eyes. "You have tied it too tightly!"

  I handed the reins of the tarn to Cuwignaka. I crouched down beside the girl.

  "I have tried," she said. "I have tried! Please, do not whip me!"

  I unfastened the knot.

  "Thank you, Master!" she said.

  "Quickly now, to your work," I said.

  "Yes, Master!" she said. "Oh!" she cried, in surprise and pain. I had sped her on her way with a proprietary slap.

  I turned, grinning, to face Cuwignaka and Hci. Cuwignaka, not unwillingly, returned the reins of the tarn to me.

  "Can you ride such a beast as this, truly, Tatankasa?" asked Hci.

  "Yes," I said.

  "It amazes me that such a thing can be done," he said.

  "It can be done," I assured him.

  "Perhaps the Kinyanpi have some special medicine, some special powers," he said.

  "No," I said. "They are men, such as you and I."

  "The back of the bird, the feathers, are drenched with blood," he said.

  "It is dried now," I said.

  "It is not yet that dry," he said, pinching some between his fingers. There was a reddish smudge there, not a brownish-red powder.

  "You are right," I granted him.

  "This was done, then, not so long ago," he said.

  "That is true," I said. I had not seen any reason, earlier, to point this out.

  "The rider," he said, "surely only something from the medicine world could have done that to him. It is like finding only a foot in a moccasin."

  "Are you afraid?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Hci.

  "I find that hard to believe," I said.

  "You know what it is that I fear, do you not, Cuwignaka, Mitakola?" asked Hci.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "What?" I asked Cuwignaka.

  "It is nothing," said Cuwignaka. "It is only a matter of myth."

  "What?" I asked.

  "He fears that it could only have been the work of Wakanglisapa," said Cuwignaka.

  "Wakanglisapa?" I asked.

  "Yes, Wakanglisapa, 'Black Lightning,' the Medicine Tarn," said Cuwignaka.

  "That is foolish, Hci, my friend," I said.

  "I do not think so," he said. "While I crouched in the grass, awaiting the landing of the tarn, I found something. I would like to show it to you."

  Neither Cuwignaka nor myself spoke. We watched Hci return to the place in the grass where he had waited, bow ready, for the landing of the tarn. In a moment or two he had returned to where we stood.

  In his hands he carried a large feather.

  "It is black," said Cuwignaka.

  "There are many black tarns," I said.

  "Consider its size, Tatankasa, Mitakola," said Cuwignaka, in awe.

  "It is large," I granted him. It was some five feet in length. It could only have come from a very large tarn.

  "It is the feather of Wakanglisapa, the Medicine Tarn," said Hci.

  "There is no such beast," I said.

  "This is his feather," said Hci.

  I said nothing.

  Hci examined the skies. "Even now," he said, "Wakanglisapa may be watching us."

  I, too, scanned the skies. "The skies seem clear," I said.

  "The beasts of the medicine world," said Hci, "may appear, or not, as they please."

  "Do not be foolish, my friend," I said.

  Hci thrust the feather down, like a lance, in the dirt. I looked at it. Its barbs moved in the wind.

  "Let us draw the travois ourselves," said Hci. "It will save time."

  "Cuwignaka and I will draw it, after we have tied the reins of this tarn to one of the poles," I said. "You go ahead, to fetch the kaiila, and then meet us."

  "I think it will be better if we all remain together," said Hci.

  "You feel there is danger?" I asked.

  "Great danger," said Hci.

  "We shall wait then, too, for the slave," I said.

  "It is well, unless we wish to risk losing her," said Hci.

  "Let us not risk losing her," I said. "She may be worth as much as a kaiila."

  "Yes," said Hci. It seemed not improbable that the former Lady Mira of Venna might bring that much in a bartering.

  In a few moments the slave had joined us. She had worked swiftly. She had not needed to be hastened with blows.

  "It is not necessary to tie me by the neck to a travois pole, Master," she said.

  I slapped her, snapping her head to the side.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said.

  "It seems you still have much to learn about being a slave," I said.

  "I am eager to learn," she said, her head down.

  It is pleasing to see a beautiful woman before one, her head bowed. I let her remain thusly for a moment, she savoring the joys of submission, of manifesting appropriate deference to the master, I savoring the unmitigated joys of dominance.

  Then I said to her, "Head up, meaningless slut."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Look ahead, directly," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I then fastened her to the travois pole.

  "You may now look about, as you please," I said.

  She touched the tether on her neck, lightly. She looked at me, in awe, and then looked away. "Thank you, Master," she whispered.

  Even in such small ways is a woman's slavery brought home to her.

  "I will help," said Hci.

  "No," I said. "Your wound might open."

  "I will keep watch on the skies, then," said Hci.

  "Good," I said.

/>   "What are you doing?" asked Hci.

  I had uprooted the feather and placed it on the travois, with the bound tarn.

  "I am taking the feather," I said. "It may prove useful."

  "I do not know if that is wise, Tatankasa," said Hci. He shuddered.

  "It is all right," I said. "I have an idea." If Hci were convinced that such a feather was that of the fabled medicine tarn, Wakanglisapa, perhaps others, too, might so regard it.

  I checked that the reins of the unbound tarn were bound securely to the right travois pole, looking forward. I then checked the slave's rope, that it was securely bound on the left travois pole, looking forward, and that a similar, uncompromising security was manifested in the neck-knot, at the other end of the rope, under the girl's chin.

  One does this sort of thing before one begins a journey.

  It is routine, but, too, it gives one a chance to bring the girl again within the reach of one's arms.

  Such closenesses can be, suddenly, instantaneously, irresistibly inflammatory. Perhaps that is why one brings them about.

  Seldom are they neglected by masters.

  I stood before the slave.

  I regarded her.

  "The knots are tight. I am well tethered, Master," she whispered.

  One, of course, checks such things.

  Let the slave know that her securities will be infallibly, routinely, perfectly, attended to.

  She is yours.

  And she must understand herself such.

  When my hands were at the knot she suddenly, desperately, licked and kissed at my wrists. Her eyes looked at me, beseechingly. She lifted her lips to mine. I took her nude, tethered body in my arms. It is glorious to kiss a slave, a woman one owns.

  "Let us be on our way, Tatankasa," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said. I disengaged myself from the slave, and slipped into the harness beside Cuwignaka. We would draw the travois together. We did not enter the girl into the harness. We did not wish to be slowed by her shorter steps and lesser strength. I did not doubt, however, that the girl, not having to pull, would be able to keep up with us. If nothing else the neck tether and blows from Hci would see to it.

  "Do you see anything, Hci?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "No," said Hci.

  "You do not believe in Wakanglisapa, do you?" I asked Cuwignaka.

  "Sometimes," said Cuwignaka, uneasily, "I do not know what I believe."

  "I see," I said.

  "There is the feather," said Cuwignaka.

  "It is only the feather of a large tarn," I said.

  "Something did what it did to the rider, to he of the Kinyanpi," said Cuwignaka.

  "That is true," I granted him.

  "And it is still out there," said Cuwignaka.

  "Somewhere, doubtless," I said.

  "It was Wakanglisapa," said Hci.

  "Do you see anything?" I asked.

  "No," said Hci.

  "Then do not worry," I said.

  "Tatankasa," said Hci.

  "Yes?" I said.

  "Leave the feather," said Hci.

  "No," I said. I then, followed by Cuwignaka, threw my weight against the harness. The travois moved forward easily. The tarn, even an adult one, is a bird and is light for its bulk.

  "One thing puzzles me in this," I said, after a time, to Cuwignaka. "Why would a tarn, if it was a tarn, have attacked a rider in flight. That is extremely unusual."

  "It is explained in the legend of Wakanglisapa," said Cuwignaka.

  "Tell me," I said.

  "It is said that Wakanglisapa prizes his feathers and is jealous of them, for they contain powerful medicine."

  "So?" I said.

  "Perhaps the rider had found the feather and was carrying it, when Wakanglisapa came to reclaim it."

  "I see," I said.

  "We did find the feather in the vicinity," said Cuwignaka. "Perhaps it had been dropped by the rider."

  "That is possible," I said.

  "That is why Hci wanted the feather left behind," said Cuwignaka.

  "I see," I said.

  "He is afraid that Wakanglisapa may come searching for his feather."

  I shivered. "Do you see anything, Hci?" I asked.

  "No," he said.

  40

  In the Compound of the Waniyanpi

  "There is a fire in here," said Pumpkin, from outside of the threshold. "Let me go in first."

  Hci, Cuwignaka and I sat behind a fire, in the center of the large, half-sunken, earthen-and-wood lodge of the Waniyanpi. We faced the threshold.

  "There may be danger," I heard Radish say, from outside the threshold.

  "Do you wish to enter first?" asked Pumpkin.

  "No," she said. "No! You enter first."

  "I shall," said Pumpkin.

  We sat behind the fire, in what, in a lodge of red savages, would be the place of honor.

  Mira knelt behind us, in the position of the pleasure slave. I had permitted her clothing, but clothing only of a certain sort.

  The lodge in which we waited was not untypical of the communal lodges of the Waniyanpi. It was some fifty feet in diameter, with an earthen bench or projection about the interior edges. Its roof is rounded and slopes upward towards the center. This roof ranges from five to eight feet in height, from the surface level, as opposed to the interior floor level; it is formed of poles covered with sod; it is supported at the edges of the log walls, against which, on the outside, dirt is banked, and by log stanchions arranged in a circle on the floor. At the apex of the lodge is a smoke hole and beneath the smoke hole, at the center of the lodge, is the fire hole. It was in this fire hole that we had built our fire. The smoke hole, incidentally, because of its size, and the size and structure of the lodge, tends to be somewhat inefficient. It is quite different from the smoke holes of the conelike hide lodges common with the red savages which, because of flaps, responsive to the movements of poles, function like efficient, adjustable flues.

  There are no windows in the lodges of the Waniyanpi. Even with the fire lit, they are half dark.

  "He is coming in," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said.

  The lodges of the Waniyanpi, as I have suggested, are communal lodges. The entire community lives within them. One advantage of such lodges, and of communal living, generally, is that it makes it easier to impose social controls on the members of the community. It is natural, accordingly, for certain sorts of authoritarianisms to favor such arrangements. Where there is no place for difference it is natural that difference will have no place. The strongest chains are those a man does not know he wears.

  "It is a large man," said Cuwignaka.

  "It is Pumpkin," I said.

  I despaired, then, for a moment, of my plan. But then, I reminded myself, how insuppressible is man, how tenacious is truth.

  "Is it you?" asked Pumpkin, coming forward, blinking against the light of the fire.

  "Greetings," I said. "We have made ourselves your guests."

  "You are welcome," said Pumpkin, ungainly in his Waniyanpi garb.

  "Is it safe?" called Radish, from outside the threshold.

  "Yes," said Pumpkin. "Come in."

  Pumpkin then saw Mira.

  She wore a brief halter of Waniyanpi cloth which, by design, did little to conceal the beauty of her breasts; about her waist a string was tied; two pieces of Waniyanpi cloth, about a foot wide and two feet long, were thrust over and behind the string, one in front and one in back; these two pieces of cloth could be casually jerked loose, if one wished; similarly, the knot, at the left hip, was made so that a mere tug could free it, causing the garment to fall; in this fashion the lower garment may be removed from her a bit at a time or, as a whole, if the master wishes; a similar knot, joining the halter's neck and back strings, could be similarly freed. The slave, accordingly, can be stripped a bit at a time, or almost instantly, as one wishes. Such garments are not unusual for slaves.

  Pumpkin stared at Mira, unbelievingly.


  "Master?" she asked.

  "Is it you—Turnip?" he asked.

  "I am Mira," she said, "the slave of Red Bull."

  "Are you not Turnip?" he asked.

  "I was once Turnip," she said. "I am now no longer Turnip. I am now Mira, the slave of Red Bull."

  I had had two major purposes in mind in dressing her as I had. I wished, first, for the Waniyanpi males, and females, too, to see her as she was, as what she was, a slave, an owned woman, one who belonged to men and must please them. Secondly, I wished for them all to see, and see clearly, how beautiful and desirable she was, the lovely slave.

  I saw that the Waniyanpi men, and women, too, looked upon her. Some of the Waniyanpi males tried to avert their eyes but, in a moment, gazed eagerly again upon her. She was simply too beautiful and exciting to look away from.

  I smiled. The Waniyanpi could not take their eyes from her. She lowered her head, timidly, blushing, startled at suddenly finding herself the object of this attention. The Lady Mira of Venna, the free woman, I speculated, had never found herself looked upon in this fashion, with such awe, with such desire and admiration, with such rapture and pleasure. But then she was not a slave.

  "Get her out of here!" screamed Radish. "Can you not see? She is a slave!"

  Radish ran about the fire and struck Mira, striking her to her side on the dirt floor. Mira, on her side, cowered at her feet.

  "Get out of here!" screamed Radish. "Get out of here! There is no place for such as you here! Get out! You are an animal! Go graze with the verr! Go swill with the tarsk! Get out! Get out!"

  Mira, frightened, trying to cover her head, looked to me. "She does not have my permission to leave," I informed Radish.

  "Get out! All of you!" screamed Radish.

  "I have bidden them welcome," said Pumpkin.

  "I am the leader here!" cried Radish.

  "I thought we were all Sames," said Pumpkin.

  "Send them away!" cried Radish.

  "I have bidden them welcome," said Pumpkin. His voice was not pleasant. Radish, suddenly, frightened, backed away. I think she suddenly realized, perhaps for the first time, explicitly, in her life, what a man such as Pumpkin, with his power, and his will, might do.

  "You are welcome," said Pumpkin, turning to us.

  "Thank you," I said.

  "Tonight," said Pumpkin, "share our kettle."

  "That is a Gorean invitation," I said. "Where did you hear it?"