Hunters of Gor

by John Norman

  "She should be a general," grumbled Thurnock. Tina looked quickly at him. He slid backward in the sand. "Stay away from me!" he cried.

  The men laughed.

  "You, Master," said Tina, to a handsome young seaman, who wore a wristlet studded with purplish stones, amethysts from Schendi, "would you be so kind as to rise and come forward."

  He stood before her, appreciatively, but warily.

  "You kissed me this afternoon," she told him. "Please do so again."

  "Very well," he agreed.

  "But guard your pouch," said she.

  "I shall," said he.

  He put his hands at her waist, and bent, carefully, to kiss her.

  She stood on her tiptoes, and lifted her lips eagerly to his.

  When they parted, he reached for his pouch. He grinned. "You did not obtain my pouch!" he laughed.

  "Here is your wristlet," said Tina, handing him the amethyst-studded wristlet.

  There was much laughter.

  I and perhaps one or two of the others had seen her unbuckle it, deftly, lightly, with one hand, while his hand was at her waist. Most of those at the fire were as startled as the handsome young seaman when they saw the wristlet in Tina's hand.

  We gave her much applause.

  Chagrined, but laughing, the young man rebuckled the wristlet, and went and sat down by the fire.

  "Master," said Tina.

  He looked up.

  "Your pouch," she said, throwing it to him.

  There was much more laughter.

  "It is not always easy to unknot a pouch," I told her.

  "That is true," she admitted. She looked at me, and smiled. "The strings, of course," she said, "might be cut."

  I laughed ruefully. I well recalled how well she had robbed me in our first acquaintance on the wharves of Lydius.

  "Rim has been kind enough," she said, "from the blade of an old shaving knife to supply a suitable implement."

  Rim, from his own pouch, handed up to her a tiny steel half crescent, ground from the blade of a shaving knife. Part of it, wrapped in physician's tape, was bent and fitted behind her first two fingers. The blade, as it projected from between her two fingers, was almost invisible.

  "Master?" asked Tina.

  I got to my feet, determined not to be fooled. But when Tina stumbled against me, before I realized it, neatly, the purse strings had been cut.

  "Excellent," I told her. I reknotted the strings, tying them together. I would have a new purse tomorrow.

  "Do you think you could do it again?" I asked.

  "Perhaps," said Tina. "I do not know. You are now on your guard."

  She passed me once again. The strings were still intact. "You missed," I told her.

  She handed me the contents of the purse. I laughed. She had cut the bottom of the purse, dropping the coins into her hand.

  Then, a moment later, the purse itself was in her hand, and again the strings dangled from my belt.

  "Slave girls are not permitted weapons," I laughed.

  Tina tossed the tiny knife back to Rim.

  We all much applauded her.

  I pointed to the sand. She dropped to her knees in the sand, and put her head down.

  "Lift your head," I told her.

  She did so.

  "You are skillful," said I, adding, "—Slave."

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  I was much pleased. "Thurnock," said I, "give her wine." The men applauded.

  "Very well," grinned Thurnock. But he approached her warily.

  "Turn your back to me," he said, "and place your wrists, crossed, behind the back of your neck."

  She did so, and Thurnock, with a length of binding fiber, looped twice about her throat, and then four times about her wrists, fastened her wrists behind the back of her neck.

  "I will see where her hands are," he grumbled. There was laughter. Then he said to her, "Kneel."

  She did so, and, he holding her head back, by the hair, poured wine down her throat.

  I turned to the handsome young seaman, he with the wristlet studded with amethysts.

  I indicated Tina.

  "Take her to the wall," I said, "to where she is chained for the night in the sand."

  "Yes, Captain," said he.

  He lifted her easily in his arms. She struggled a bit, bound, but I could see that she was excited to be in his arms.

  She had picked him out from all the others.

  "Tonight," I told the young man, "she is yours to chain in the sand."

  "Captain?" he asked.

  "Tonight," I told him, "the chains she wears are yours."

  "My gratitude, Captain!" he cried.

  She, a slave, bound, turned her lips to his, carried from the fire to her chains, in the darkness of the wall, on the other side of the Tesephone.

  Rim rose and yawned. He put his arm about Cara, and together they left the fire.

  The men began to drink and talk.

  Sheera made so bold as to touch my forearm. My eyes warned her from me. She put down her head.

  I talked long with Thurnock, discussing the plans for the enterprise in the forest, and my wishes for appointments and regulations at the camp.

  The fire had burned low, and the guard had been changed, before we were finished.

  It was a hot night. The stars were very bright in the black Gorean sky. The three moons were beautiful. The men lay on their blankets in the sand, under the awnings stretched from the Tesephone.

  The sound of the river was slow and sweet, moving between its banks, flowing downward to greet Thassa, the sea, more than two hundred pasangs from this small, silent camp.

  I heard night birds cry in the forest. The shrill scream of a sleen, perhaps a pasang distant, carried to the camp. I heard the sounds of insects.

  I looked at the lines of the Tesephone in the darkness. She was a good ship.

  Before my shelter, on the sand, at the stern of the ship, there stood a figure.

  She wore the brief, sleeveless garment of white wool. My collar lay at her throat.

  "Greetings, Sheera," I said.

  "In the forests," she said, "you made me carry trade goods on my back. You braceleted me, and sent me into the woods, when sleen and panthers were hunting. By the women of Verna I was much abused. I was much switched."

  I shrugged. "You are slave," I said.

  "I hate you," she cried.

  I regarded her.

  "You are making me learn to cook," she said, "you are making me learn to sew, to wash garments, to iron them!"

  "You are slave," I told her.

  "Tonight," she said, "you forced me to serve you at the feast." She looked at me, with fury. "You forced me to serve you as a slave girl!"

  "Whose collar do you wear?" I asked.

  She turned away.

  "Are you not a slave?" I asked, amused.

  She turned to face me, her fists clenched. I heard the river behind her.

  "Why did you buy me?" she asked.

  "To serve my purposes, to implement my plans," I told her.

  "And I have done so," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Then you may now sell me," she whispered.

  "Or slay you," I said.

  "Yes," she said, "or slay me—should it please you!"

  "But I am a merchant," I said, "I would not wish to take the loss. I paid three pieces of gold and five tarsks for you."

  "I am not property!" she cried.

  "Of course you are property," I told her. "You are animal. You are slave."

  "Yes," she wept, "I am slave, slave!" She turned away.

  I made no attempt to comfort her. One does not comfort a slave.

  "When in the slave market at Lydius," she challenged, "when you saw me chained at the bar, did you think then only of your plans, your purposes?"

  "No," I admitted.

  She turned to face me.

  "And your kiss," I said, "when I tasted your lips, at the bar in Lydius, I did n
ot find you without interest."

  "And in the hold," she asked, "after my branding, when at night, on the planks, you deigned to use me?"

  "I found you not without interest," I told her.

  "Does what transpired between us there mean nothing to you?" she asked.

  "It means nothing," I said.

  "I am, then, fully and unqualifiedly, a slave," she said.

  "Yes," I said. I looked upon her. She was quite beautiful, in the shadows, in the brief, sleeveless garment of white wool, the fillet of white wool tying back her hair, barefoot, my collar at her throat.

  As her seller had said, she was a beauty. And she was mine.

  "Tonight," she said, "I touched your arm." She put down her head. "It cost me much to do so. I struggled with myself for several Ahn, fighting myself. But I reached out, to touch you. I could not help myself. I reached out, to touch you. And your eyes were hard."

  I did not speak.

  "I am no longer a panther girl," she said. Then she looked up at me, and then she said, to my surprise, "Nor do I wish to be."

  I did not speak.

  "In the hold," she said, "you taught me what it is to be a woman."

  She put down her head. "You gave me no option to my submission. You took from me everything. You took from me my total surrender."

  "A woman in a collar is not permitted inhibitions," I said.

  She looked up at me, angrily.

  "Is it not time you were chained for the night?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, angrily. "It is!" She regarded me. "It is time for me to be chained."

  I saw the chains lying dark, half covered in the sand, not far from her feet.

  "I shall call one of the men," I said, turning toward my shelter.

  "I reached out to touch you tonight," she said. "But your eyes were hard."

  She looked down to the chains, half covered with sand. "Your eyes were hard," she said.

  "I shall call someone to chain you," I said.

  "Master!" she cried.

  I was startled. It was the first time Sheera had addressed me by this title.

  The word must have come hard from her.

  She was still, for practical purposes, fresh to her collar. She had, however, standing there, half concealed in the darkness, begun to sense its meaning. I supposed that I, in the hold of the Tesephone, had perhaps taught her something of the import of the obdurate steel on her fair throat. She had obviously now, as it is said, deep in her body, begun to feel her collar.

  How hard it must be, to be a woman, I thought. She, noble creature, so marvelous in her temptations and beauties, with the excellences of her mind and the determined prides of her heart, how strange that she, so much prizing her freedom, is made whole only as it is ruthlessly swept from her, that the true totality of her response, the fullness of her ecstasy is the yielding and the surrender, and the more delicious and incontrovertible the more complete.

  The Goreans claim that in each woman there is a free companion, proud and beautiful, worthy and noble, and in each, too, a slave girl. The companion seeks for her companion; the slave girl for her master. It is further said, that on the couch, the Gorean girl, whether slave or free, who has had the experience, who has tried all loves, begs for a master. She wishes to belong completely to a man, withholding nothing, permitted to withhold nothing. And, of course, of all women, only a slave girl may truly belong to a man, only a slave girl can be truly his, in all ways, utterly, totally, completely, his, selflessly, at his mercy, his ecstatic slave, helpless and joyous in the total submission which she is given no choice but to yield.

  But I was not much interested in these things.

  I saw her before me. She was only a slave.

  "Please, Master," she said, "chain me."

  "How are your lessons progressing?" I asked. I referred, of course, to those lessons which Cara was teaching her, in the menial tasks appropriate to female slaves.

  "Let it be by your hand that I am chained," she begged.

  "Are you learning?" I asked.

  She put down her head. "Yes," she said. Then she lifted her head. "Sometimes I am clumsy," she said. "You may not understand. There are skills required, sometimes delicate skills. Such tasks, seemingly so simple to you, are not always without difficulty. It is not easy to perform such tasks well."

  "Requiring skills or not," I told her, "such tasks are servile."

  "Yes," she said, "they are servile."

  "Learn them," I told her.

  "Yes," she said, "—Master."

  I turned away from her.

  "Be kind to me!" she cried.

  "No," said I, not turning.

  "Chain me!" she cried.

  I turned and faced her. "No," I told her.

  She threw herself at me, across the sand, her fists raised to strike me. I caught her fists, and held them, as she struggled.

  "I hate you," she wept. "I hate you!"

  I released her fists. She pulled at the collar on her throat, her mouth trembling, her eyes wild with tears.

  "You had me branded," she said. "You collared me!" She faced me. "I hate you!" she cried. "I hate you!"

  "Be silent, Slave," said I to her.

  Then suddenly she looked at me, boldly. She challenged me, in her stance and carriage, with her shoulders, her eyes. "Chain me!" she demanded.

  "No," I said.

  "Use me," she cried, "or give me to your crew!"

  I regarded her.

  She stepped back a foot in the sand. She was frightened. She had been insolent.

  I stepped to her. She looked into my eyes. They were those of a Gorean master.

  With my hand I cuffed her brutally across the mouth, blasting her head to one side.

  She turned back to face me, her eyes glazed, blood on her face.

  With one hand I tore the fillet from her hair.

  She tried to step back.

  "Stand," I said.

  "Oh!" she cried, in misery, as, with two angry hands, I rudely tore away the brief bit of wool I had permitted her.

  Perhaps that had been a mistake.

  It fell beside her ankles, in the sand.

  She was terrified now, and was half crouched down, in front of me.

  I bent to the sand and picked up the slave chains which, half covered with sand, lay there.

  "No!" she said.

  By the arm I thrust her, stumbling, to the darkness of the small canvas shelter at the side of the Tesephone.

  There I thrust her to the sand, at my feet. I locked the slave chains on her.

  She did not move. I sat then beside her, in the darkness, in the sand, under the canvas. Then I reached out to take her head in my hands. As I did so I felt her head turn, and heard her, in the darkness, gasp and sob. Her lips, suddenly, parted, moist, almost uncontrollably, pressed a kiss into the palm of my hand. Then I held her head between my hands. I could feel the hair at the side of her head.

  "Be kind to me," she begged.

  I laughed, softly. She moaned, I heard the chains move.

  "Please be kind to me," she begged.

  "Be silent," said I, "Slave."

  "Yes," she whispered, "—Master."

  I pressed my lips to hers. With my finger tip I touched her body, and felt its vital, obedient helpless surge. I marveled. She began to breathe heavily. As a Gorean master, curious, I gently, delicately, touched her nipples. They were sweet and high, full and blood-charged. I was pleased. I kissed them, gently. Her responses were not feigned.

  "You are an excited slave," I told her.

  She did not respond, but turned her head to one side. I heard her sob.

  Then I again touched her, my finger gentle to her body. To my incredible pleasure, that of the master of this slave, I felt her body move helplessly, spasmodically. The body of Sheera, once the proud panther girl, now only a collared slave, branded and rightless, an animal, naked, chained, leaped submissively, uncontrollably, to the slightest touch of her master.

  *
* * *

  I heard Thurnock and some of the others, begin to stir about.

  It was dawn.

  Cara had already lit a fire.

  Sheera lay against me in the sand, her head pressed against my waist. She was still chained.

  "You must be up soon," I told her, touching her head. "You will have duties to attend to."

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  I stroked her head, gently, as it lay against me.

  "I cannot help it that I am not as beautiful as the other girls," said Sheera.

  I did not speak.

  "I cannot help it," she said, "that my breasts are too small, that my wrists and ankles are too thick."

  "I find you very beautiful," I said.

  She rose on her elbows, with a rustle of chain. "Could a girl such as I please a man?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said, "very much so."

  "But I am not beautiful," she said.

  "You are very beautiful," I told her.

  "Am I truly beautiful?" she asked.

  I rose on one elbow. "You are a truly beautiful woman," I told her.

  She smiled. How beautiful she was!

  I seized her in my arms and threw her to her back in the sand. She looked up at me, happily. "And like every truly beautiful woman," I told her, "you should be a slave."

  She laughed. "I am a slave," she said. "Your slave."

  She lifted her lips to mine.

  I kissed her.

  "Today," I said, "Rim goes to Laura, to fetch paga slaves for the men. In the morning, we go into the forests."

  "Then," she said, "Master, you have nothing to do today."

  I lay on my back. "Yes," I said, "that is true."

  "If you will unchain me," she said, "I will be up and about my duties."

  "Cara and Tina can manage," I told her.

  "Oh?" she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "But what then," she asked, "am I to do today?"

  "Thurnock!" I called.

  "Yes, Captain," I heard, from outside the shelter.

  "Command the camp today," I told him.