by John Norman
"But these behaviors," she said, "would now be extracted from my most intimate and secret dreams."
I did not speak.
"You are a bold, demanding master," she said.
I did not speak.
"Do not make a girl so expose her needs," she begged.
"The slave girl must honestly expose her needs," I said. "The hypocrisy of the free woman, her concealment, her subterfuges, her lies, are not permitted to the female slave."
"Oh, Master," she wept, miserably.
"Are you prepared to perform?" I asked.
"Do not so violate the privacy of a girl's dreams!" she begged.
"You have no privacy," I said. "You belong to me."
"Am I not to be permitted the least vestige of my pride?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
"I am a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"I shall now perform for my master," she said.
"Do so," I said, "and precisely, in each and every detail, as in your dream."
"Yes, my master," she said. She looked at me. "Remember," she said, "that I was forced to do this, that I not be hurled to the waiting jaws of crocodiles, beasts much like river tharlarion. That I not suffer so horrible a fate I knew that I must please him well, and as the slave which I had now been proven to be."
"For your very life you performed," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said, "as a terrified slave."
"Perform," I commanded.
Almost instantaneously she seemed transformed. I was startled. I found myself, for the first time, partner to a woman's dream. How vividly she was re-enacting the experience. Nay, how intensely was she reliving it. I could sense almost the high, oblong stone, that rude, barbaric eminence, on which, cross-legged, sat her master. I could almost sense the torches, the pool of reptiles to one side, the rude altar, with its rings, in the background. I could almost feel and see the savages, those red men and women, in their ornate robes and feathers, in the midst of whom a white beauty, freshly enslaved, piteously strove to save her life by pleasing her stern red master.
I watched her perform. I marveled. I think that no one will ever again be able to lie to me about women. How incredibly exciting and marvelous they are! What a fool a man is who does not seek, and release, the deepest slave in them!
Then she was on her belly, whimpering, scratching at the turf, her face pressed against it. Delicately she extended her tongue and licked a stone. Then, moaning, she rolled onto her back and twisted, moving her head from side to side, in the dirt before me. The firelight was beautiful on her body. I think there was no aspect or attitude of her beauty which she had not, pleadingly, presented before me for my inspection and appraisal. Then she lay on her back, her knees drawn up, before me. She arched her back. Her breasts were lifted beautifully. I observed their lovely rise and fall, correlated with the respiratory cycle of her small lungs. Then she lay back, her shoulders in the dirt, and pressing against the earth with her small feet, piteously lifted before me, for my examination, and seizure, if I pleased, the deep belly of her, the sweet cradle of her slave's heat. How vulnerable are female slaves! I rose to my feet, my fists clenched. She lay back, before me, at my feet. "It was thus," she said, "that I tried to please him." I scrutinized, from head to toe, the naked slave who lay at my feet. I could feel my fingernails in the palms of my hand. I gritted my teeth. I must not now take her. She was not yet fully ready. One must sometimes be patient with slaves. The next time I took her, I resolved, she would be a well-prepared feast. On the occasion of that feast it was my intention to teach the girl who she was, truly, to free at long last the hidden slave which was her secret self, her true self, that girl which, hitherto, had been permitted to emerge only in the disguise of clandestine dreams, that piteous girl, denied and suppressed, who had been for so long so cruelly imprisoned in the dungeon of her mind. I would free the secret slave from her dungeon; then I would make her mine. I would call her 'Janice'.
The girl sat up. I sat down, cross-legged. The fire was now low.
"What then occurred in your dream?" I asked.
"My master descended then from the height of the great stone," she said, "and, with his hand, indicated a direction in which I must precede him. He followed me, with a torch. I walked through the city and then, coming to a great temple, or building, with stone steps, I was told to stop. I turned about, fearfully. He indicated that I must climb upwards. The edifice was constructed of mighty blocks of stone. Its construction paid tribute to the engineering skills of his people. There were mighty carvings on many of the stones. I found the building, somehow, familiar. He then directed me to walk to my left, and I walked upon one of the broad terraces, many feet from the ground, which, like tiers, were integral to the structure of the edifice. I had the feeling I had been here before. In the light of his torch I could see that many of the carvings were colored, the natural hues and pigments not worn away by wind or rain. In the daylight the building, or temple, must be incredibly barbaric and colorful. 'Stop,' he told me. I stopped. 'Turn and kneel,' he said. I turned about, facing him, and knelt down, on the hard, broad stone of the terrace. He then lifted the torch to the wall of stone which was at my left. I gasped. Kneeling beside me, carved in relief on the great stone, was a naked girl. 'It is a likeness of myself,' I whispered. 'Yes,' he said. I could see, from the carving, and the pigments, that the girl was figured like myself, and was light-skinned, and had yellow hair and blue eyes. But she wore a yellow neck belt and I did not. I knew then why the building seemed so familiar. It was identical to that which, in ruins, had been visited by our tour. And I now knelt, as the girl in the carving I had earlier seen had knelt. 'I had this carving prepared,' he said. 'I ordered it made, sending a runner ahead, almost the first moment I saw you.' 'You had determined then,' I said, 'that you would have me as your slave.' 'Of course,' he said. He then placed his torch in an iron rack, projecting from the wall. On an iron table, to the right of the rack, there was a flat box. 'Lie on your right side, exposing your left thigh,' he said. 'Yes, Master,' I said. From the box he then took a small, curved knife and a tiny, cylindrical leather flask. I gritted my teeth, but made no sound. With the small knife he gashed my left thigh, making upon it a small, strange design. He then took a powder, orange in color, from the flask and rubbed it into the wound. 'Kneel,' he said. I did so. From the flat box he then took a yellow neck belt, two inches in height, and beaded. It is fastened with a thong, which ties before the throat. 'Say "I am a slave. I am your slave, Master,"' he said. 'I am a slave,' I said. 'I am your slave, Master.' He then put the neck belt on me, tying it shut with the thong, with what I knew must be a slave knot. From the box then he took a yellow leather disk, perhaps two and a half to three inches in diameter, which had a small hole, possibly drilled with a tiny stone implement, near its top. There was writing in some barbaric script upon it. Threaded through the tiny hole in the disk was a small knotted, suspension thong, forming a closed circle of about half of an inch in diameter. He then threaded an end of the neck-belt thong through this suspension thong, and, using the other end of the neck-belt thong, fastened the disk closely at the base of the collar, in the front, below my throat. The disk then lay flat against my collar bone. It was prominent, and could be easily read. He looked down at me. 'You have been knife branded,' he said. 'The orange mark upon your thigh will be recognized in the jungle for hundreds of miles around. If you should be so foolish as to attempt to escape any who apprehend you, seeing the mark, will return you to the city as a runaway slave.' 'Yes, Master,' I said. 'Master,' I asked, 'did the girl in the carving, in the ruined city, have such a mark on her thigh?' It could not have been seen, of course, for, as she knelt, it was only her right side which was revealed to the viewer. 'Yes,' he said. 'It has been put upon her.' 'Has?' I said. 'Yes,' he said. 'You speak as though it had just been done now,' I said. He smiled. I was frightened. 'I do not understand, Master,' I said. He seemed amused. I did not understand his amusement. 'This i
s a slave's neck belt,' he said, jerking at the snug collar on my throat. I felt it pull against the back of my neck. 'It, too,' he said, 'marks you as a slave. You are not permitted to remove it.' 'Yes, Master,' I said. 'The disk, of course,' he said, 'is a personal identificatory device. It marks you as an article of my individual property.' 'Yes, Master,' I said. 'Master,' I asked, 'how could you know that the other girl, she in the other carving, wore upon her thigh a knife brand?' 'I put it there,' he said. 'Master?' I asked. 'Recollect clearly the carving,' said he. 'Can you not now recognize the girl in it, in spite of the weathering which defaced it, in spite of the lengthy ravages of time inflicted upon it?' 'Master?' I asked. 'Think hard,' said he. 'Consider the matter deeply.' 'It was I,' I whispered. 'And the master?' he asked, standing before me, his arms folded. 'You,' I whispered. I felt faint. "The jungle,' said he, 'is a strange place. Even we, its people, do not fully understand it.' 'But the people left the city, mysteriously,' I said. 'Perhaps we never left it,' he said. 'Look about you.' I looked about, from the high tier on the temple, or building, on which I knelt. 'It is the same city,' I whispered. I shuddered. I was terrified. 'Do you not feel that it is right and fitting that you should be kneeling at my feet?' he asked. 'Yes,' I whispered, 'Master.' It was a strange feeling. "The interstices, and cycles, of time,' said he, 'are interesting.' He looked down at me. 'Have we not been here before?' he asked. 'Do you not recognize me, my fair slave?' he inquired. 'You are my master,' I whispered. 'And I have caught you again,' he said, 'and again put you to my feet.' I looked up at him, trembling. 'Then I am an eternal slave,' I said, 'and you are my eternal master.' 'You are an eternal slave,' he said, 'but you have had many masters, as I have had many slaves.' I looked up at him, terrified. 'But you, my pretty white woman, are one of my favorites. You will serve me well, and I will get incredible pleasure from you.' 'Yes, Master,' I whispered. I knew then that I was an eternal slave, and that he was one of my eternal masters. He then withdrew from the flat box the last of the objects which it contained, a slave whip. He thrust it to my mouth and I kissed it. 'Stand,' said he. I stood. Then he looped the whip about me, behind me, high on my thighs, and, drew me toward him. I felt the stiff gold of his brocaded robes against my breasts. He held me so that I could not move. I lifted my lips to his."
The blond-haired barbarian then put down her head, and did not speak.
"What happened then?" I asked.
She lifted her head, and smiled. "I do not know," she said. "I awakened."
"An interesting dream," I said. "Strange," I mused, "that in the dream of a naive Earth woman such details should occur, details such as the differential tension of the wrist straps in a beating and the extra stroke, given sometimes to remind a girl that she is a slave. Too, the kissing of the whip is a quite accurate detail, one practiced in many cities, but surely a surprising detail to occur in the dream of a girl ignorant of bondage. Knife branding, too, practiced by some primitive peoples, is quite rare. It is strange that you should have heard of it. It is a practice of which even many of those involved in cultural studies are ignorant." I looked at her. "You are quite inventive," I said.
"Perhaps I am an eternal slave," she smiled.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Do you believe," she asked, "that there can be warps in time?"
"It does not seem likely to me," I said, "but I would not know about such things. I am not a physicist."
"Do you think," she asked, "that people may have lived before, that they may have had many lives and have met one another perhaps time and time again?"
"I would not wish to rule out such possibilities," I said, "but such a thing seems to me very unlikely."
"It was an interesting dream," she said.
"I conjecture, though I do not know," I said, "that the dream was speaking to you not of truths of other worlds and other times, but of this world and this time. I suspect that the dream, in the beautiful allegory of its symbolism, was conveying to you not mysterious truths of other realities but concealed truths of your own reality, truths which your conscious mind, because of its training, could not bring itself to recognize with candor."
"What truths?" she asked.
"That woman, in her nature," I said, "is the eternal slave, that man, in his nature, is the eternal master."
"The men of my world," she said, "are not masters."
"They have been crippled," I said, "and, it seems, are being slowly destroyed."
"Not all of them," she said.
"Perhaps not," I said. "Yet if one of them should so much as question the renunciatory and negativistic values with which his brain has been imprinted he will be immediately assailed by the marshaled forces of an establishment jealously presiding over the dissolution of its own culture. Is it so difficult to detect the failure of public philosophies? Are unhappiness, frustration, misery, scarcity, pollution, disease, and crime of no interest to those in power? I fear the reflex spasm. 'But we were not to blame,' they will say, as they wade in poisoned ashes."
"Is there no hope for my world?" she asked.
"Very little," I said. "Perhaps, here and there, men will form themselves into small communities, where the names of such things as courage, discipline, and responsibility may be occasionally recollected, communities which, in their small way, might be worthy of Home Stones. Such communities, emerging upon the ruins, might provide a nucleus for regeneration, a sounder, more biological regeneration of a social structure, one not antithetical to the nature of human beings."
"Must my civilization be destroyed?" she asked.
"Nothing need be done," I said. "It is now in the process of destroying itself. Do you think it will last another thousand years?"
"I do not know," she said.
"I fear only," I said, "that it will be replaced by a totalitarian superstition uglier than its foolish and ineffectual predecessor."
She looked down.
"Men would rather die than think," I said.
"Not all men," she said.
"That is true," I mused. "In all cultures there are the lonely ones, the solitary walkers, those who climb the mountain, and look upon the world, and wonder."
"Why is it," she asked, "that the men of Gor do not think and move in herds, like those of Earth?"
"I do not know," I said. "Perhaps they are different. Perhaps the culture is different. Perhaps it has something to do with the decentralization of city states, the multiplicity of traditions, the diversity of the caste codes."
"I think the men of Gor are different," she said.
"They are, presumably, or surely most of them, of Earth stock," I said.
"I think, then," she said, "that, on the whole, it must have been only a certain sort of Earth man who was brought to this world."
"What sort?" I asked.
"Those capable of the mastery," she said.
"Surely there are those of Earth," I said, "who are capable of the mastery."
"Perhaps," she said. "I do not know."
"Stand, Slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You have moved well this night, Slave," I said. "You have well earned a brief rag for your thighs."
"Thank you, Master," she said. I do not think she could have been more pleased if I had considered allowing her a sheath gown of white satin, with gloves and pearls.
I cut a length from the red bark cloth, about five feet in length and a foot in width. I wrapped it about the sweetness of her slave hips and tucked it in. I pushed it down so that her navel might be well revealed. It is called the "slave belly" on Gor. Only slave girls, on Gor, reveal their navels.
"You make me show the 'slave belly,' Master," she said.
"Is it not appropriate?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said, "it is."
"Do you like it?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are a slave, aren't you?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said. I liked it, too. It reveals, well, the roundness of her belly a
nd, low at the hips, the beginning of subtle love curves.
"Do you understand the meaning of the tuck closing on the skirt?" I asked.
"Master?" she asked.
I then, rudely, tore away the garment, spinning her, stumbling, from me. She gasped, brutally and suddenly stripped. She looked at me, frightened, again naked before her master.
"Do you now understand?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I threw her the garment again.
Hastily she put it on again, not neglecting to thrust it well down on her hips, that the slave belly would be well revealed.
"Excellent, Slave," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
I then reached into a sack, near the fire. I drew forth from it a handful of strings of beads. I threw her a necklace of red and black beads, which I thought was nice.
"Master," she asked, pointing, "may I also have that string of beads."
Tende and Alice each had two strings of beads. I saw no reason why the blond-haired barbarian might not be similarly ornamented.
I handed her the second string of beads and put the others back in the sack. She had already put the first string, that of red and black beads, about her throat. She looped them twice and still they fell between her lovely breasts, one loop longer than the other. The second string of beads was blue and yellow. Both strings were of small, simple wooden beads, suitable for slave girls. "Master," she asked, holding out to me the blue and yellow beads, "would you not, please, put this string upon me?"
"Very well," I said, standing behind her, looping them twice, one loop smaller than the other, about her throat. Each loop, as with the red and black beads, fell between her sweet breasts.
"Why did you want this string?" I asked.
"Are blue and yellow not the colors of the slavers?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. Blue and yellow are often used for the tenting of slave pavilions, and in the decor of auction houses. The wagons of slavers often have blue and yellow canvas. Sometimes they bind their girls with blue and yellow ropes. Sometimes their girls wear yellow-enameled collars, and yellow-enameled wrist rings and ankle rings, with chains with blue links. In his best, a slaver will usually wear blue and yellow robes, or robes in which these colors are prominent. He will, normally, in his day-to-day business, wear at least chevrons, or slashes, of blue and yellow on his lower left sleeve.