Raiders of Gor

by Norman, John;

  She had made little attempt to conceal her beauty from me. Indeed, she used it to torment and shame me, using it, like blows and abuse, to increase my miseries.

  This morning, before dawn, she had affixed my collar.

  I had spent the night in the open, a foot or two from her tiny hut on the rence island, my wrists tied to my ankles, my neck tethered to an oar pole thrust deep through the rence of the island.

  Before dawn her foot awakened me.

  "Awake, Slave," she had said.

  Then, as casually as one might untether an animal, fearing nothing, she unbound me.

  "Follow me, Slave," she had said.

  At the edge of the rence island, where her rence craft was drawn up on the shore, as well as several others, together with some rafts for transporting cut rence, she stopped, and turned, and faced me. She looked up into my eyes.

  "Kneel," she had said.

  I had done so, and she had drawn out a handful of rence paste from the wallet at her side, and she had fed me.

  "Stand," she had said.

  I did so.

  "In the cities," she asked, "they have slave collars, do they not?"

  "Yes," I said.

  Then she had taken a length of marsh vine from a packet on her rence craft.

  Then, looking up into my eyes, smiling, close to me, her arms about my neck, she insolently wound the vine five times about my neck, and knotted it in front.

  "Now," she said, "you have a collar."

  "Yes," I said. "I have a collar."

  "Say," said she, her arms still about my neck, "I am your collared slave."

  My fists clenched. She stood within my grasp, her arms on my neck, taunting me with her eyes.

  "I am your collared slave," I said.

  "Mistress," she taunted.

  "Mistress," I said.

  She smiled. "I see," said she, tauntingly, "that you find me beautiful." It was true.

  Then she struck me suddenly, with savagery. I cried out with pain.

  "Dare you aspire to me!" she cried. "I am a free woman!" Then she hissed out, "Kiss my feet, Slave."

  In pain, on my knees, I did so, to her laughter.

  "Put now the rence craft in the water," she said, "and attach to it a raft for cut rence, Slave. We must cut rence today, and be quick, be quick, My Slave!"

  * * * *

  I cut another rence stem, lopping away the tufted head, and throwing it onto the rence craft. And then another, and another.

  The sun, though it was late afternoon, was still hot, and it was humid in the delta of the Vosk, and my hands ached, and were blistered.

  "If you do not obey me in all things, and swiftly," had said the girl, "I will have the men bind you and throw you to tharlarion. And there is no escape in the marshes. You will be hunted down by the men with marsh spears. You are my slave!"

  "Over there," said the girl. "Cut there."

  She moved the craft to a new thicket of rence, and I obeyed.

  It was true what she had said. Naked, without weapons, alone in the delta, without aid, I could not escape. It would not be hard for the men of the rence islands, in their hundreds, to cut off escape, to find me, if the tharlarion did not manage to do so first.

  But most I was miserable in my heart. I had had an image of myself, a proud image, and the loss of this image had crushed me. I had lived a lie with myself and then, in my own eyes, and in those of others, I had been found out. I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death. I now knew the sort of thing I was, and in my worthless heart it so sickened me that I did not much care now whether I lived or died. I did not even much care that I might spend the rest of my life as an abject slave, abused on a rence island, the sport of a girl or children, the butt of the cruelty and jests of men. Such, doubtless, was deserved. How could I face free men again, when in my own heart I could not even face myself?

  It was hot, and the coils of marsh vine about my throat were hot. Beneath the coils my neck was red, and slippery with sweat and dirt. I put my finger in the collar, to pull it a bit from my throat.

  "Do not touch your collar," she said.

  I removed my hand from the collar.

  "There, cut there," said she, and again I cut rence for my mistress.

  "It is hot," she said.

  I turned.

  She had loosened the cord that laced the tunic, refastening it more loosely. In the narrow innuendo of the slightly parted tunic I sensed her perfection.

  She laughed. "Cut rence, Slave."

  Again I turned to my work.

  "You are pretty in your collar," she said.

  I did not turn to face her. It was the sort of remark one would address to a slave girl, a simple, comely wench in bondage. The rence knife flashed through a stem and then I cut the tufted, flowered head, it falling in the water, and threw the stem on the rence craft, with the numerous others.

  "If you remove your collar," said she, "you will be destroyed."

  I said nothing.

  "Do you understand?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Mistress," said she.

  "Yes," I said, "I understand, Mistress."

  "Good," said she, "Pretty Slave."

  The rence knife flashed through another stem, and I cut away the flowered, tufted head, and threw the stem in the piles on the raft.

  "Pretty Slave," she repeated.

  I shook with fury. "Please," said I, "do not so speak to me."

  "I shall speak to you as I wish," said she, "Pretty Slave."

  I trembled with fury, the rence knife in my hand. I shook with humiliation, with the degradation of her scorn. I considered turning upon her and seizing her.

  "Cut rence," said she, "Pretty Slave."

  I turned again to the rence, trembling with fury, with shame, and again, stem by stem, began to cut.

  I heard her laughter behind me.

  Stem by stem, and pile by pile, the time was marked in strokes of rence.

  The sun was low now and insects moved in the sedge. The water glistened in the dusk, moving in small bright circles about the stems of rushes.

  Neither of us had spoken for a long time.

  "May I speak?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "How is it," I asked, "that so many of the rence islands are now gathered together?" I had wondered about this.

  "It is near the festival of Se'Kara," said she.

  Indeed, I knew that tomorrow was festival for the rence islands.

  "But so many?" I asked. "Surely that is unusual?"

  "You are curious for a slave," she said. "Curiosity is not always becoming in a slave."

  I said nothing.

  "Ho-Hak," said she, "has called the nearby islands to a council."

  "How many are there?" I asked.

  "Five," said she, "in the general area. There are others, of course, elsewhere in the delta."

  "What is the purpose of the council?" I asked.

  She would feel free to speak to me. I was confined by the marsh, and only slave.

  "He thinks to unite the rence growers," said she, a certain amused skepticism in her voice.

  "For purposes of trade?" I asked.

  "In a way," she said. "It would be useful to have similar standards for rence paper, to sometimes harvest in common, to sometimes, in times of need, share crops, and, of course, to obtain a better price for our paper than we might if we bargained as isolated islands with the rence merchants."

  "Those of Port Kar," I said, "would doubtless not be pleased by such news."

  She laughed. "Doubtless not," said she.

  "Perhaps also," I suggested, "in uniting the islands there might be some measure of protection gained from the officials of Port Kar."

  "Officials?" she asked. "Ah, yes, the collectors of the taxes, in the names of various Ubars, who may or may not have a current ascendancy in the city."

  "And would there not be some measure of protection against," I asked, "the simple slav
ers of Port Kar?"

  "Perhaps," she said. She spoke bitterly. "The difference between the collector of taxes and the slaver is sometimes less than clear."

  "It would doubtless be desirable, from the point of view of the rence islands," I suggested, "if they should, in certain matters, act in unanimity."

  "We Rencers," she said, "are independent people. We, each of us, have our own island."

  "You do not think," I asked, "that the plan of Ho-Hak will be successful?"

  "No," she said, "I do not think it will be successful."

  She had now turned the stem of the craft toward the rence island, which lay some pasang or two through the swamp, and, as I cut rence here and there, began to pole homeward.

  "May I speak?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "You wear on your left arm," I said, "a golden armlet. How is it that a girl of the rence islands has such an armlet?"

  "You may not speak," she said, irritably.

  I was silent.

  * * * *

  "In there," she said, indicating the small, round hole that gave access to her tiny rence hut.

  I was surprised. I had expected her to bind me, as she had the night before, then tethering me to the oar pole thrust through the rence near the hut.

  We had returned her rence craft to the shore of the rence island, fastening it there, along with the rence raft. I had carried the rence, in many trips, to a covered area, where it was stored.

  "In there," she repeated.

  I fell to my hands and knees and, lowering my head, crawled through the small hole, the edges of the woven rence scratching at my shoulders.

  She followed me into the hut. It was eight feet long and five feet wide. Its ceiling was continuous with its walls, and, in its curve, stood not more than four feet from the rence surface of the island. The rence hut is commonly used for little else than sleeping. She struck together, over a copper bowl, a bit of steel and flint, the sparks falling into some dried petals of the rence. A small flame was kindled into which she thrust a bit of rence stem, like a match. The bit of stem took the fire and with it she lit a tiny lamp, also sitting in a shallow copper bowl, which burned tharlarion oil. She set the lamp to one side.

  Her few belongings were in the tiny hut. There was a bundle of clothing and a small box for odds and ends. There were two throwing sticks near the wall, where her sleeping mat, of woven rence, was rolled. There was another bowl and a cup or two, and two or three gourds. Some utensils were in the bowl, a wooden stirring stick and a wooden ladle, both carved from rence root. The rence knife, with which I had cut rence, she had left in the packet in her rence craft. There were also, in one corner, some coils of marsh vine.

  "Tomorrow is Festival," she said.

  She looked at me. I could see the side of her face and her hair, and the outline of the left side of her body in the light of the tiny lamp.

  She put her hands behind the back of her head to untie the purple fillet of rep-cloth.

  We knelt facing one another, but inches apart.

  "Touch me and you will die," she said. She laughed.

  She disengaged the fillet and shook her hair free. It fell about her shoulders.

  "I am going to put you up at stake at festival," she said. "You will be a prize for girls—Pretty Slave."

  My fists clenched.

  "Turn," she said, sharply.

  I did so, and she laughed.

  "Cross your wrists," she ordered.

  I did so, and with one of the coils of marsh vine, she lashed my wrists together, tightly, with the strong hands of a rence girl.

  "There, Pretty Slave," she said. And then she said, "Turn," and I did so, and faced her.

  "My," she said, "you are a pretty, pretty slave. It will be a lucky girl who wins you at festival."

  I said nothing.

  "Is Pretty Slave hungry?" she asked, solicitously.

  I would not respond.

  She laughed and reached into the wallet at her side and drew forth two handfuls of rence paste and thrust them in my mouth. She herself nibbled on a rence cake, watching me, and then on some dried fish which she drew also from the wallet. Then she took a long draught of water from a yellow, curved gourd, and then, thrusting the neck of the gourd into my mouth, gave me a swallow, then drawing it away again and laughing, but then giving it to me again, that I might drink. When I had drunk, she put the plug, carved from a gourd stem, back in the gourd, and replaced it in the corner.

  "It is time to sleep," she said. "Pretty Slave must sleep, for tomorrow he will have many things to do. He will be very busy."

  She indicated that I should lie on my left side, facing her.

  Then, with another coil of marsh vine, she tied my ankles together.

  She unrolled her sleeping mat.

  She looked at me, and laughed.

  Then, as I lay there, bound, she unlaced her tunic, opening it. Her beauty, and it was considerable, was now but ill concealed.

  Again she looked on me, and, to my amazement, insolently, with a liquid motion, slipped the tunic off, over her head.

  She sat on the mat and regarded me.

  She had undressed herself before me as casually as though I had been an animal.

  "I see," said she, "that you must again be punished."

  Involuntarily, instinctively, I tried to withdraw but, bound, I could not.

  She struck me with savagery, four times.

  Inwardly I screamed with agony.

  Then, sitting on the mat, forgetting me, she turned to the repair of a small sack, woven of rence, which had hung in the corner of the hut. She used thin strips of rence, breaking them and biting them, weaving them in and out. She worked carefully, attentively.

  I had been a warrior of Ko-ro-ba.

  Then on an island of rence in the delta of the Vosk I had learned myself, that I was, in the core of myself, ignoble and craven, worthless and fearing, only coward.

  I had been a warrior of Ko-ro-ba.

  Now I was only a girl's slave.

  "May I speak?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, not looking up.

  "Mistress has not honored me," said I, "even by telling me her name. May I not know the name of my mistress?"

  "Telima," she said, finishing the work in which she had been engaged. She hung the sack again in the corner, putting the scraps and strips of rence left over from her work at the foot of her sleeping mat. Then, kneeling on the mat, she bent to the small lamp in its copper bowl on the flooring of the hut. Before she blew it out she said, "My name is Telima. The name of your mistress is Telima." Then she blew it out.

  * * * *

  We lay in the darkness for a long time.

  Then I heard her roll over to me. I could sense her lying near me, on her elbows, looking down at me.

  Her hair brushed me.

  Then I felt her hand on my belly. "Are you asleep, Pretty Slave?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  Then I cried out, involuntarily.

  "I will not hurt Pretty Slave," she said.

  "Please," said I, "do not speak so to me."

  "Be silent," said she, "Pretty Slave."

  Then she touched me again.

  "Ah," said she, "it seems a slave finds his mistress beautiful."

  "Yes," I said.

  "Ah," chided she, "it seems a slave has not yet learned his lesson."

  "Please," I said, "do not strike me again."

  "Perhaps," said she, "a slave should again be punished."

  "Please," I said, "do not strike me again."

  "Do you find me truly beautiful?" she asked. She had one finger inside my collar of marsh vine, idly playing with the side of my neck.

  "Yes," I whispered. "Yes."

  "Know you not," asked she, with sudden insolence and coldness, "that I am a free woman?"

  I said nothing.

  "Dare you aspire to a free woman?" she demanded.

  "No," I said.

  "Dare you aspire to your mistr
ess, Slave!" she demanded.

  "No," I said, "no!"

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  "I am a slave," I said. "Only a slave."

  "That is true," she said. "You are only a slave."

  Then, suddenly, holding my head in her hands, she pressed her lips savagely down on mine.

  I tried to twist my head away, but could not.

  Then she drew back her head, and, in the darkness I could sense her, and her lips, but an inch from my own.

  Beams and timbers of misery and wanting clashed within me. It was she who had fastened coils of marsh vine about my neck, and knotted them, putting me in the collar of a slave. It was she who had placed her arms about my neck at dawn, on the shore of the rence island. It was she who had beaten me. It was she whom I must obey, she for whom I had cut rence, she who had fed me as one feeds an animal. It was she who had last night, and this night, bound me as a slave. It was she who had tortured me with her beauty, tormenting and tantalizing me, with a cruelty all the keener for its being so offhand and casual. I found myself fearing her, and desperately wanting her, though knowing her immeasurably above me. I feared that she might hurt me, it was true, but the hurts I feared most were those of her insolence and contempt, those that more degraded me than bonds and blows. And I wanted her, for she was beautiful, and vital, maddening, ravishing. But she was free, and I only slave. She could move as she wished. I lay bound. I wore besides my bonds only a collar of marsh vine. She wore her swiftness, and her freedom, and an armlet of gold.

  But most perhaps, incredible as it might seem, I feared that if I asked for a kindness, even a word or a gesture, it would be refused. Alone and slave, beaten and degraded, I found myself desperately in need of something, be it almost nothing, to indicate that I was a man, a human being, something that might, to some extent or degree, be worthy of respect or understanding. I think that if she, this proud woman, before whom I felt myself nothing, she my mistress, if she had but cared to speak a word of simple kindness to me I might have cried out with gladness, willingly serving her in all things she asked. But if I should but beg a kindness, humbly, I feared it might be refused, that she might reject me in this as she had in all other things, my manhood and my humanity. And fused with this, excruciating in the pain of it, was my desire for her, the crying out of my blood that she had so, and deliberately, aroused.