Explorers of Gor

by John Norman

  Kisu looked down the river. Then he put his arm about the shoulders of Tende. 'Tonight, Tende," he said, "I will not tie you."

  50

  The Lake;

  The Ancient City;

  We Will Enter the Ancient City

  "It is so vast," said Ayari.

  "It is larger than Ushindi or Ngao," said Turgus.

  We guided our canoe over the shining, placid waters of a broad lake.

  "It is, I am confident," I said, "the source of the Ua."

  "Into it must flow a thousand streams," said Kisu.

  Two weeks ago we had come to another high falls, even higher than that from which we had, long ago, caught sight of the following forces of Bila Huruma, pasangs behind in the distance. We must be thousands of feet Gorean, given the length of the river, the numerous plunging cataracts, and the plateaus and levels we had ascended, above sea level, above the entrance points, west of Ngao and Ushindi, of the brown Kamba and Nyoka into the green waters of Thassa. From the falls at the edge of this unnamed lake we had been able to see far behind us. The river had been clear.

  Here and there, emerging from the lake, were great stone figures, the torsos and heads of men, shields upon their arms, spears grasped in their hands. These great figures were weathered, and covered with the patinas of age, greenish and red. Lichens and mosses grew in patches on the stone; vines clambered about them. Birds perched on the heads and shoulders of the great figures. On ridgework near the water turtles and tharlarion sunned themselves.

  "How ancient are these things?" asked Janice.

  "I do not know," I said.

  I looked at the huge figures. They towered thirty and forty feet out of the water. Our canoe seemed small, moving among them. I studied the faces.

  "These men were of your race, or of some race akin to yours, Kisu," I said.

  "Perhaps," said Kisu. "There are many black peoples."

  "Where have the builders of these things gone?" asked Ayari.

  "I do not know," I said.

  "Let us continue on," said Kisu, thrusting with his paddle against the calm water.

  * * * *

  "How beautiful it is," said Janice.

  "There, at the landing, moored," said Ayari, "is a river galley."

  "It is the third galley," said Turgus, "the last galley of Shaba."

  Before us, more than four hundred yards in width, was a broad expanse of stone, at the eastern edge of the huge lake. It was a landing, a hundred yards deep. On it were huge pillars, with iron rings, where vessels might be moored. At the back of the landing, leading upward were flights and levels of steps, extending the full length of the some four hundred yards of the landing. At the height, on that level, set far back, was a great, ruined building, with stairs and white columns. Behind it, extending backward, was a ruined city, with crumbling walls. We could not, from where we were, conjecture its extent. A tharlarion splashed from the landing into the water. The landing was covered with vines.

  At places, and flanking the huge building at the top of the flights of stairs, were more of the huge figures of warriors, with shields and spears.

  "Shaba must be here," said Turgus.

  "He was first to the source of the Ua," said Kisu.

  I unwrapped a panga from near my place in the canoe. I freed a spear, one that we had taken from the raiders so long ago.

  "Take the canoe in," I said. "Moor it near the galley."

  "Your long quest, Tarl, my friend," said Kisu, "has now come to an end."

  I stepped out onto the landing. I slung the panga at my left hip. I carried the spear.

  "Why do you seek Shaba?" asked Turgus. "Your eyes have in them the look of one who embarks upon the business of the warrior."

  "Do not concern yourself," I told him.

  "Do you mean harm to Shaba?" he asked.

  "It will be necessary, I presume," I said, "to kill him."

  "I cannot permit that," said Turgus. "I was in service to Shaba."

  "You are in service now," I said, "to Kisu and myself."

  "Shaba treated me well," said he. "He gave me, and others, full liberty to take our leave of him when we did."

  "Have you, a brigand, honor?" I asked.

  "Call it what you will," said he, angrily.

  Kisu struck Turgus between the shoulder blades with the butt of one of the spears.

  We dragged Turgus, half stunned, to the landing. There Kisu threw him on his belly and tied his hands behind his back. He then gagged him. He then put a rope on his throat.

  I regarded the slave girls. "Onto the landing, and onto your bellies," I said.

  Alice and Janice, and the blond girl who had been the leader of the talunas, and her second in command, the slender-legged, dark-haired girl, the latter two whom days ago we had stopped fastening in the canoe, leaving them then as innocent of canoe bonds as the other slaves, and Tende, all, left the canoe and lay on their bellies on the landing. One by one we tied their hands behind their backs, and then, with a long strap, put them in throat coffle. I gagged the dark-haired girl, for she was the slave of Turgus. She looked at me in misery. I smiled. She would be given absolutely no opportunity whatsoever to attempt to give an alarm to Shaba, should we come upon him, thinking such an action on her part might please her master. I think this was wise on my part. I had seen her squirming with joy in the arms of Turgus. She had been well conquered now, that beautifully delicious wench, and was now in his arms well owned, uncompromisingly devoted, and helplessly slave-responsive, a woman who had found her master, and certainly might now strive to serve him in just such a harrowing detail, even though it might be at the risk of her own life. The gag, preventing her from acting in such a contingency, could well save her life. It would not be necessary, then, for Kisu or I to cut her throat.

  "Follow me," I said.

  "Get up, Turgus," said Ayari, holding to his neck rope. Turgus, unsteadily, staggered to his feet.

  I started up the stairs, Kisu a step behind me. Then came Ayari and Turgus. Behind them, single file, their hands tied behind them, came five slave girls. Tende was first, for she was first girl. Then came Janice and Alice, and then the blond girl and, lastly, the slender-legged, dark-haired girl. I had, some days ago, removed the gag from the blond-haired girl. The formerly proud leader of the talunas was now well tutored in docility and deference, and already she was showing early signs of emergent growth in vitality and sensuousness. Too, she was becoming happy. Her gag, no longer necessary on her as an instructional or disciplinary device, was that which now packed the pretty face of the dark-haired girl, she who had been her second in command, who now brought up the rear of the coffle. It was as effective on her, of course, as it had been on the blonde. Such is the nature of the Gorean gag. It would permit her only the tiniest and most inconsequential of sounds.

  51

  Bila Huruma

  "Like this?" asked the blond girl of Janice.

  "Crouch down further," said Janice. "Take the tether in both hands, one above and one below your left thigh. Hold the tether tightly against your left thigh. Feel it there. Now move your hips like this."

  "Like this?" asked the blond girl.

  "Yes," said Janice.

  I watched the blond girl. How flushed and excited was her face, how free of tension and tightness, how free of anxiety and stress. There is an incredible, effusive release of energy and happiness when a woman stops fighting herself. It requires an inordinate amount of energy, of course, to maintain the stern rigidities of self-suppression and constriction. Self-denial, self-torture, pretense, hypocrisy and conformance to external, alien standards must exact their inevitable costs. Their damage and toll is torn not only from the heart, but from the tissues of the body as well. The laws are implacable, the consequences inexorable. The equations of misery are registered not only in the conscious annals of pain but, too, are tallied no less in the very chemistry of the body. The human being is the only animal we know who tortures itself. It need not do so. Yet how
few human beings understand that, and how few believe it, truly.

  "Should this not be done, really, with a chain?" asked the blond girl.

  "I have done it myself only with a tether," said Janice. "A chain, however, might be nice."

  "Surely this drilling in the stone at my feet," said the blonde, "was for a chain."

  "Probably," said Janice.

  The blonde stopped, and straightened up. She was covered with sweat. "If I learn to do this well," she asked, "do you think my master might permit me a garment?"

  Janice shrugged. "If your performance merits it, and if you are sufficiently pleasing to him in all ways, he might deign to throw you a rag to cover your prettiness."

  "I will try to be pleasing to him," said the blonde.

  "See that you do," said Janice, "but remember that he is my master before he is yours."

  "Yes, Mistress," said the blonde. The two new slaves addressed our older girls as 'Mistress.' Kisu and I thought that would be useful in keeping order among them. In any training situation, of course, it is common for the girl being trained to address a female trainer, whether the trainer is bond or free, as 'Mistress.' Strict discipline is essential in slave instruction.

  "It is hard to know what men like," said Janice.

  "I do not think so, really, Mistress. They like slaves."

  "Oh?"

  "What man does not want, truly, in his deepest heart, to have total power over a lovely woman, to own her, to have her as his slave?"

  "Thus they like slaves?"

  "Yes."

  "And what do slaves like?"

  "—Why, of course, masters."

  "Stay away from my master," said Janice.

  "If he orders me to him, I must obey," said the blonde.

  "He owns me!" said Janice.

  "He owns me, as well," said the blonde.

  Janice regarded the blonde.

  "Mistress?" inquired the blonde, somewhat apprehensively.

  "I think you have the sort of body which men might find exciting," said Janice, "you know, the sort which might sell well off a slave block."

  "I hope so, Mistress," said the blonde, "as I am a slave."

  Janice looked away, irritably.

  "Mistress," said the blonde.

  "Yes?"

  "If Mistress would forgive the observation," said the blonde, "it is my supposition that men would find that Mistress, too, is beautifully figured, extremely so, and that men would be only too delighted to lock a collar on Mistress' neck and put her to her knees, and thrust a whip to her lips, that she might lick and kiss it."

  "Are you insolent?"

  "No, Mistress. But you would do so, would you not?"

  "Of course."

  "I would, as well."

  "Eagerly?"

  "And humbly, and lovingly, and gratefully. It is a beautiful, meaningful ritual."

  "You did not always think so, did you?"

  "Only after I understood the rightfulness, and appropriateness, of my bondage did I understand it." The blonde regarded Janice, quizzically. "Mistress is not Gorean in her origins, is she?"

  She had doubtless suspected this from some oddities in her temporary Mistress' diction. The accent of Alice, too, would betray her.

  "No," said Janice. "I am from a world called Earth."

  "It is a slave world," said the blonde. "On it we harvest women for our markets."

  Janice was silent.

  "How long did it take you," asked the blonde, "to learn that on this world your proper position before men was on your knees?"

  "In my heart, seeing the men of this world, I learned it almost instantly," said Janice. "Every instinct, the song of every cell, proclaimed it. But I long fought this comprehension."

  "Are the men of your world like those of this world?"

  "Some," said Janice, "but few."

  "Would you kneel before the men of your world?"

  "Before most, no. Before some, yes."

  "But you would kneel before the men of this world?"

  "Certainly."

  "They are such men?"

  "Yes, they are such men."

  "Do you wish to return to your world?"

  "No, never," said Janice.

  "Even though you are here a slave?"

  "Particularly since I am here a slave. I would a thousand times rather have a chain on my neck on Gor than sit upon a throne on Earth."

  "But would you not rather be a lofty, glorious Gorean free woman?"

  "No! No! Never would I want to be one of those haughty, frustrated, revered, naive females."

  "Nor I," said the blonde, "given what I have now learned, and hitherto had feared even to suspect, of the collar."

  "I understand your words," said Janice, "and as clearly the feelings which prompt them."

  "Then you are pleased to be a slave?"

  "I am overjoyed to be a slave, and to be found of even the least interest by men such as those of this world."

  "I, too, rejoice in my bondage, and that I have been found worthy, however minimally, of the collar."

  "Some women," said Janice, eyeing the blonde, "are very large."

  "Such can be beautiful," said the blonde.

  "Doubtless," said Janice. "And perhaps they are of interest to a tharlarion."

  "I am not large," said the blonde.

  "No," said Janice. "That is true. You are not really much larger than I."

  "No, Mistress," said the blonde. The blonde was about five and a half feet tall, and would have weighed, I conjecture, about twenty-nine stone, Gorean, about one hundred and sixteen pounds. Janice was perhaps a bit smaller. Both were exquisitely beautiful. Both were excellently suitable for slaves. Both belonged in the collar. I had never put them back to back. If one were to prepare slave papers on them, of course, their height would be one of the items to be recorded, together with a large number of other measurements, for example, measurements pertaining to the sizes of the waist, breasts, hips, wrists, ankles, throat, and such. Fingerprints and toe prints may be taken, as well. Sometimes a few strands of hair are included in an attached envelope. A detailed description is also likely to be included, and sometimes a sketch. Her lips, too, may be rouged and she may be forced to kiss the papers, this signifying not only her reverence of them but supplying an additional means by which, because of the subtle, delicate differences among the lips of slaves, she can be identified. Too, of course, the papers will specify her brand type and its location, and her slave history, from her first capture or, in the case of a bred slave, her conception in a breeding facility, to the date of the last entry. They will bear, too, various endorsements, names of owner, names given to her, and so on. On the other hand, most slaves do not have papers. It is enough that they are branded. Too, of course, commonly, they are collared, and "clad kajir," or limited to the revealing garments, if any, regarded as appropriate for slaves. The brief garments of the female slave identify her instantly as slave, comply with recommendations of Merchant Law, brazenly display her flesh which is that of an animal for the delectation of free men, impress upon her her lowly status, and, interestingly, keep her in a state of sexual readiness, and, indeed, of subtle arousal. A girl on an errand in a city walks proudly and gracefully, well aware that male after a male has considered her, assessed her slave beauty, and conjectured what it might be to own her. It is hard to be clad as a female slave and not feel, acutely, the sensitivities, desires, needs, hopes, and vulnerabilities of the female slave. Quickly she returns to her master.

  "Now sit down and cross your ankles," said Janice. "Loop the tether about them, as though they were bound. When I give the signal, unloop the tether as though it were unbound. Rise then, and stretch, as a slave girl, before your master."

  "Yes, Mistress," said the blonde.

  I smiled to myself. Never when she was on Earth, I conjectured, had Janice thought that she would one day be giving instruction in, of all things, the arts of pleasing a man. Earth women, it is well known, are above such thi
ngs, unless perhaps they are brought naked to Gor and placed in steel collars. They then, quickly enough, become desperately eager to learn the delightful and sensuous arts. This makes sense. Their lives depend on it.

  "Not bad," said Janice.

  "You will teach me things to do with my mouth and tongue, won't you?" begged the blonde.

  "Perhaps," said Janice, "if you gather wood for me, and wash clothing for me, with the exception of that of my master."

  "I will, I will," said the blonde. Girls seek eagerly to learn from one another.

  "That is enough," said Kisu. He pulled apart Turgus and the dark-haired girl. They were still gagged, and had their hands tied behind them. Kisu then crossed and bound the ankles of each.

  I looked about the great room. It was perhaps two hundred feet in width and depth, with tall columns. It was filled with great blocks of stone, which had fallen, perhaps centuries ago, from the roof. The walls were still, generally, intact. The floor, save where it was cluttered, was generally smooth, save for certain drillings, through which chains might be passed. Some chains, little more than fragile collections of rust, ready to crumble at a touch, lay about. The room was reached by a broad flight of stairs. And, in the rear of the room, there was another broad flight of stairs, leading upward to another landing and walk. On the walls, which circled about, still largely standing, there were dim mosaics. The chamber had apparently, long ago, been used in the enslavement and training of women, doubtless taken in the raids and wars of those who had built these mighty halls. Some of the mosaics showed the clothing of miserable captives being taken from them; others showed them being tied and whipped, doubtless to introduce them quickly and mercifully to the concept of being under discipline; others showed them being marked by hot irons and placed in collars; others showed them kneeling, head down, in submission, before their masters; others showed them being danced before their masters; others showed them serving the intimate pleasures of their masters.

  We had chosen this room in which to camp, because of the girls. They had been thrilled with the mosaics. Almost fainting they had begged to dance and be used. Women learn from example. If one presents them only with masculine images, presented in approval contexts, they will often attempt dutifully to conform to these alien models. If one, on the other hand, permits them to be aware of genuine female images, presented within contexts of honesty, openness and permissibility, it is natural for them to feel deep biological affinities for what is portrayed. For what it is worth women tend on the whole to be unsuccessful in conforming to masculine images, and tend to take gracefully and naturally to feminine images, toward which they seem to have genetic predispositions. Perhaps that is because that is what they really are, not men but women. Sex is not superficial. Not one cell in the body of a woman is the same as that in the body of a man.