Mercenaries of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “I understand,” said Boabissia.

  The slaves trembled. She was a free woman. The slave has some defense against a vital powerful male, female submission behaviors, indeed, the piteous and desperate prostration of her beauty and service at the feet of his authority and lust. This defense, however, minimal and uncertain as it may be, seldom avails her against the displeasure of the hostile free female.

  “Oh!” said Boabissia.

  Hurtha had taken her under the arms and swung her up to the wagon box.

  “Good,” said Mincon. “We must be our way.”

  To be sure, the other wagons from this camp were now more than a pasang or two down the road.

  “We will never catch up,” said Mincon.

  “On your feet, embonded sluts,” I said.

  Tula and Feiqa leapt up, Tula in her neck chain, Feiqa with the rope on her neck.

  “May I speak, Master?” asked Feiqa.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She touched her earrings. I saw that she was incredibly pleased to have them. Not only were they beautiful, though, indeed, they were not expensive, but, in Gorean eyes, they much confirmed, deeply and positively, her status upon her. I could see she was thrilled to wear them. What a slave they made her! “Master,” she said, “may I sometimes be given slave silk?”

  I smiled. None but a slave would put on slave silk. It is so tantalizingly beautiful and diaphanous that it seems to make a woman almost more naked than naked, and yet in such a way, driving a man almost mad with passion, that he can scarcely control himself, that he can scarcely rest, or think, having seen her in such a way, until he can put his hands on her, and part it, and thus reveal her as wholly bared, and helpless, and his. “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she whispered, happily. I was pleased with Feiqa. She was now beginning to get in touch with her sexuality, indeed, with the deepest sexuality possible in the human female, that of the slave.

  I saw the fists of Boabissia clench.

  “Is anything wrong?” I asked.

  “Put that slut back, behind the wagon,” said Boabissia, “where she, like the animal she is, led, may follow with the other.”

  “Please?” I asked.

  “Yes, please,” said Boabissia, angrily.

  “Very well,” I said. I decided I would do this, at least this time, in deference to the wishes of Boabissia. She was after all, a free woman. I gathered she did not wish to glance to the side and see the beautiful, collared, scantily clad slave. She preferred, for whatever reason, it seemed, but one apparently not unusual for free women, to have her behind the wagon, out of sight. I myself, on the other hand, would have preferred keeping Feiqa at the side of the wagon. Indeed, I would rather have enjoyed, from time to time, looking down approvingly on the helplessness and seminudity of my nearby, neck-roped chattel. Surely, too, I had a right to do this if, and whenever, I pleased. It was merely another of the many, unlimited prerogatives attaching to my relationship to her, that of master to slave. I considered keeping her where she was. Still, Boabissia did not want her there, and Boabissia was, after all, a free woman. I supposed I should respect her wishes, at least once in a while. Too, I had earlier decided to move Feiqa. There did not seem much point in changing my mind, now. Too, there was much to be said objectively for putting Feiqa back of the wagon. Perhaps in indulging my own pleasure in seeing her I had been, inadvertently, too permissive with her. Surely I did not wish her to grow arrogant. Too, considering what she was, it was fitting that she was behind the wagon, attached to it by her neck rope.

  “Master?” asked Feiqa.

  “Be silent,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  I untied her tether and led her to the back of the wagon. There were three rings there, the central ring, to which Tula had been chained, generally used for tethering, and two smaller, side rings, auxiliary rings, sometimes used for tethering, sometimes used for drawing a second wagon or cart. I tied her tether to the side ring on the right, as one faces the front of the wagon. She was smiling. I think she enjoyed being disturbing to Boabissia. To be sure, she should watch her step in such matters.

  I did tie her hands behind her back.

  This is a tie a female understands very well.

  I heard Boabissia gasp, and then she turned away. Such a tying makes a woman charmingly vulnerable and helpless.

  I wondered if Boabissia had thought of herself, in the instant of her gasp, as so bound.

  I thought it would be pleasant to bind her. Indeed, I had enjoyed doing so the previous evening. It is pleasant to bind a lovely woman. To be sure, I had perhaps bound her somewhat more uncomfortably than had been necessary, but then she had been annoying. Binding is useful in teaching a woman a lesson. One of the most obvious lessons is that men are stronger than she, and they can do that to her, if they wish. That is useful for a free woman to understand. The slave, of course, is under no delusions on this score. She is used to being tethered, being bound and chained, and such. It is appropriate for her. She is an animal. She expects it; she is a slave.

  There are many reasons for tying or chaining a slave, other than simple considerations of custody and security. It is often done for purposes which are, for example, aesthetic, instructional, or psychological. Chains and bonds, as the collar, and brand, can display and enhance the beauty of a woman, rather as necklaces, bracelets, and such. The contrast of a closely linked dark chain with soft flesh, for example, is aesthetically pleasing. Too, female vulnerability enhances attractiveness, and thongs, chaining, and such, leaves no question as to vulnerability. Indeed, most importantly, the entire condition of the female slave, merely that she is a slave, bound or unbound, bespeaks the delicious and exciting factuality of her profound vulnerability. Binding, too, of course, can be used for instructional purposes, monitory, educational, disciplinary, and so on. Being bound by the master certainly teaches the slave, for example, that she is his, that he can make her helpless, that she is at his mercy, that she is his to do with as he pleases. The most important functions of binding, and such, however, aside from the obvious aspects of restraint, safekeeping, security, and such, seem to be clearly psychological. This becomes clear when it is understood that for all practical purposes there is no escape for the Gorean slave girl. She is marked, and collared, and slave clad, in a culture which not only accepts and supports her bondage, but approves of it, and, indeed, celebrates it. If some bold fellow steals her from a given master it is not to free her, but to keep her as his own. Consider an analogy: If a fellow steals a tarsk, he does not steal it to free it, but to keep it for himself. The female slave, like the tarsk, has some value. To be sure, a female slave is commonly regarded as far more valuable than a tarsk, but, then, too, commonly, of considerably less value than a trained sleen. Female slaves are cheap; sleen are not. Once this sort of thing is understood, one begins to realize something of the psychology involved, certainly at the least that it would be a mistake to overlook or underestimate the psychological concomitants of binding, chaining, and such. These things speak of the equations of nature, of dimorphism, of complementarity, of the desire and need to possess and the desire and need to be possessed, of the joys of the mastery on the part of the man and the ecstasy of being overwhelmed, audaciously ravished, dominated, and owned, literally owned, on the part of the woman, of having no choice other than to submit, and wholly, to yield unqualifiedly as she must, as no more than what she then is, a helplessly aroused, begging, meaningless slave. A girl may begin by fighting the chain which holds her to the ring at the foot of the master’s couch, but she will soon hold it lovingly, and kiss it softly. Being put where her master wishes her means much to her. That is where she wants to be. And even if she did not wish it that is where nonetheless she will be, for he has put her there, on her chain. This is meaningful to her. She is desired. Even the tiny sounds of the links of her chain can be arousing to the slave girl. Even being thonged or chained can bring a slave girl to the brink
of orgasm. Sometime one chains her to the side, while one works. She is a slave. She must wait. “Go to your chains,” is a command she hopes to hear, and one with which she hastens to comply.

  I saw Boabissia turn and look back at Feiqa, on her neck rope. For an instant Feiqa straightened her body, almost insolently. I hoped she would be more careful of that in the future. Such a movement might provoke a beating from a free woman even more tolerant than Boabissia. Feiqa must learn greater deference in the presence of free women. In a city, after a few switchings, I was sure Feiqa would learn a common lesson of slave girls, namely, that compared to free women she was less than dirt beneath their slippers, less than garbage in the sewers, that she would learn to avoid them if at all possible, and, if addressed, kneel before them, head to the ground, in servile, groveling terror.

  But there had been little mistaking Feiqa’s look, or, I suppose, its justification. In effect, it said, “Behold, I am on a man’s neck rope; I wear a slave tunic; I am branded; I am collared; my hands have been tied behind my back; I am desired; I am so beautiful that I have been made a slave; I am better than you, free woman; I am a thousand thousand times better than you!”

  Boabissia turned angrily about. I was pleased she made no attempt to punish Feiqa for her indiscretion.

  Her forbearance, I suspected, was connected with her knowledge that I might forbid, or limit, her projected chastisement, this being an embarrassment or hindrance she had no wish to accept or brook.

  The thought passed through my mind, idly, that Boabissia might look well in slave silk. To be sure, her mien was not that of a slave. It was still muchly that of a free woman, though, interestingly, much less so than that of the preceding evening. Sometimes the mien of a slave, the acknowledgment of her sex, her sudden entrance into a vulnerable, obedient, ready-to-serve, exquisite femininity, occurs almost simultaneously with the locking on of a slave collar.

  I regarded Feiqa on her neck rope and Tula on her chain. They would follow the wagon, on these tethers. No Gorean would think twice about this, these two beauties so following the wagon. It is not unusual to tie animals behind carts, and so take them with you. That is often done with verr and tarsk, for example. They follow behind, led on their tether. And so, too, then, would Feiqa and Tula, as both being slaves, both were animals.

  I wondered why Boabissia had come to the wagons. I wondered why she had arrayed herself in a dress. Perhaps, I thought, what had occurred to her yesterday evening had somehow affected her, had somehow made some difference. How startled she had seemed, to find herself so easily stripped and so helplessly bound. Why had she been so startled? Did she not know she was a female? I recalled the awe with which she had watched Feiqa dance. I recalled the small disk, on its thong, about her neck. That disk, I did not doubt, held the secret to her identity, lost for so many years. But perhaps she wanted, like Hurtha, to see more of the world, or to make her fortune. To be sure, it is hard for a woman on Gor to set out to make her fortune. She is more likely to contribute somewhat to the fortune of another, with her sales price. Too, it might be hard for her to remain now with the wagons, after her mannish garb had been stripped from her, and after she had been so easily and summarily bound, and put publicly before the free men and women of the Alar camp, as though she might have been no more than a helplessly trussed, naked slave.

  “We are ready,” I called.

  “Ho!” cried Mincon to his beast. He shook the reins and cracked the whip. The wagon moved forward, and rolled up onto the stones of the Genesian Road. In a bit we were moving forward. Hurtha and I walked beside the wagon. Boabissia, moving with the motion of the wagon, swaying with its motion, rode on the wagon box. Tula and Feiqa, her hands tied behind her, followed behind. I looked back, and they looked down, not meeting my eyes. Both were lovely. It was fitting, of course, as indicated, that they followed on their tethers, as both were domestic animals.

  “We will never catch up,” said Mincon, grumbling. Then he cracked the whip again.

  6

  Hurtha’s Feast

  “Hurtha,” said I, “what have you there?”

  “Fruits, dried and fresh, candies, nuts, four sorts of meats, choice, all of them, fresh-baked bread, selected pastries,” responded he, his arms full, “and some superb paga and delicate ka-la-na.”

  “Where did you get such things?” I asked.

  “They were intended for the mess of the high officers, up the road,” he said.

  “They did not arrive there, apparently,” I said.

  “Have no fear,” he said. “I purchased them honestly.”

  “You bought them surreptitiously from sutlers,” I speculated.

  “To be sure,” he said, “the negotiations were conducted behind a wagon. On the other hand, it is surely not up to me to criticize the discretion of such fellows, nor how and where they conduct their business.”

  “I see,” I said. I hoped earnestly that if these dealings were found out that any penalties which might be involved, in particular, such things as torturings and impalements, would be visited upon the sutlers and not on their customers, and particularly not on folks who might be traveling with their customers. To be sure, the rigors sometimes technically contingent upon such discoveries and exposures seldom actually resulted in the enactment of dismal sanctions, maimings, executions, and such, bribes instead, gifts and so on, usually changing hands on such occasions.

  “Feast heartily,” said Hurtha, unloading, half spilling, his acquisitions near the fire at our campsite.

  “You should not have done this,” I said to him.

  “Nonsense,” he said, depreciatingly, smiling, letting me know that lavish gratitude on my part, however justified, was not even necessary.

  “This is the food of generals,” I said.

  “It is excellent,” agreed Hurtha.

  “It is the food of generals,” I said.

  “There is plenty left for them,” Hurtha assured me.

  “You should not have done this,” I said.

  “It is time that I paid my share of the expenses,” he said.

  “I see,” I said. It was difficult to argue with that.

  “These are Ta grapes, I am told,” he said, “from the terraces of Cos.”

  “Yes, they are,” I said. “Or at least they are Ta grapes.”

  “Cos is an island,” he said.

  “I have heard that,” I said. “These various things must have been terribly expensive.”

  “Yes,” said Hurtha. “But money is no object.”

  “That is fortunate,” I said.

  “I am an Alar,” Hurtha explained. “Have a stuffed mushroom.”

  I pondered the likely prices of a stuffed mushroom in a black-market transaction in a war-torn district, one turned into a near desert by the predations of organized foragers, in particular, the price of such a mushroom perhaps diverted at great hazard from the tables of Cosian generals.

  “Have two,” said Hurtha.

  My heart suddenly began to beat with great alarm. “This is a great deal of food,” I said, “to have been purchased by seventeen copper tarsks, and two tarsk bits.” That was, as I recalled, the sum total of the monetary wealth which Hurtha had brought with him to the supply train, that or something much in its neighborhood.

  “Oh,” said Hurtha, “it cost more than that.”

  “I had thought it might,” I said.

  “Have a mushroom,” said Hurtha. “They are quite good.”

  “What did all this cost?” I asked.

  “I do not recall,” said Hurtha. “But half of the change is yours.”

  “How much change do you have?” I asked.

  “Fourteen copper tarsks,” he said.

  “You may keep them,” I said.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “I am quite hungry, Hurtha,” said Boabissia. “May I have some food?”

  “Would you like to beg?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Oh, very we
ll,” said Hurtha. He then held out to her the plate of mushrooms. It did not seem to me that she needed to take that many. “Ah, Mincon, my friend, my dear fellow,” said Hurtha. “Come, join us!”

  I supposed he, too, would dive into the mushrooms. Still, one could not begrudge dear Mincon some greed in this matter, for he was a fine driver, and a splendid fellow. We had been with him now four days on the road. To be sure, we had received a late start on each of these days, and each day later than the preceding. It was difficult to get an early start with slaves such as Tula and Feiqa in the blankets. Boabissia, a free woman, must wait for us, of course, while we pleasured ourselves with the slaves. I think she did not much enjoy this. At any rate, she occasionally seemed somewhat impatient. Too, her irritability suggested that her own needs, and rather cruelly, might quite possibly be upon her. Feiqa and Tula, those lovely properties, hovered in the background. I supposed that they, too, would want to be fed. I dared not speculate at what time we might be leaving in the morning. I hoped we could arouse Mincon and Hurtha at least by noon. There was even paga and ka-la-na. Mincon began to pick mushrooms off the plate and feed them to Tula. Did he not know she was a slave? “Thank you, Master,” she said, being fed by hand. Sometimes slaves are not permitted to touch food with their own hands. Sometimes, in such a case, they are fed by hand; at other times their food might be thrown to them or put out for them in pans, and such, from which then, not using their hands, on all fours, head down, they must feed, in the manner of she-quadrupeds, or slaves, if it be the master’s pleasure. Another mushroom disappeared. Had Tula not had some bread earlier?

  “Have a mushroom,” said Hurtha.

  Mincon even gave a mushroom to Feiqa. I was watching. He was certainly a generous fellow with those mushrooms.

  “No, thank you,” I said. I wondered if, in the eating of such a mushroom, one became an inadvertent accomplice in some heinous misadventure.

  “They are good,” Hurtha insisted.