Plunder of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “Do you wish to know where I am caged?” I asked.

  “Only if you care to tell me,” she said. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Perhaps you would like to accompany me to my domicile?” I said.

  “There is no time,” she said. “I may be beaten now. I have dallied overlong. I may be returned to the display chain!”

  “Do not let me detain you,” I said.

  “Phyllis!” she said.

  “I must return to my master,” I said, and turned from her.

  “Phyllis!” she cried.

  I lifted the bucket, which was heavy, and began to make my way from the fountain, but, of course, not toward my master’s temporary rental on Emerald. I must take care that I not be followed.

  “Phyllis!” she called after me, once more, plaintively, her voice now well back of me.

  I continued on my way, paying her no attention. I did turn about once, after a bit, however, and, to my satisfaction, saw her in the distance, turned away, making her way from the fountain. She was not following me. She was hurrying, perhaps fearing to be late in her return to the house of Decius Albus. Something in her carriage, or gait, hastening, yet uncertain, unsteady, suggested she was miserable, or distraught. Perhaps she was upset that her rendezvous had not been as successful as she might have hoped. Perhaps she would be beaten in the house, when she returned. I hoped not, however, for she had been my friend.

  I continued to take a circuitous route to my master’s rental. The water was heavy.

  In one way I was pleased at the morning’s business, but, in another way, frightened. I was pleased that I had not given away the location of my master’s domicile, and was eluding any possible pursuit, but, in another way, I was frightened as I had been given no message to convey to my master, for it seemed clear, then, that Decius Albus, whose business Paula was discharging, was no ally of my master. I took him then to be of the party of Lord Agamemnon, and, perhaps, privy to the plot my master supposed was being contrived against Lord Grendel.

  I continued on.

  I stopped frequently, for the pail seemed to grow ever more heavy. By now, had I proceeded directly, I would have been at my master’s rental.

  My arms ached.

  I stopped, again.

  “You have put too much water in the pail, kajira,” said a male voice, concerned.

  Instantly I fell to my knees, head down, but, a moment later, looking up, embarrassed, rose to my feet.

  “You are obviously too slight for a draft slave,” he said. “You should carry less water, or use a yoke, with two lesser buckets, or each half-filled.”

  “I have no yoke,” I said.

  “You must have a cruel master,” he said, “to burden so fair a slave so grievously.”

  I smiled.

  “He is strict,” I said, “but not unkind.”

  “One so lovely as you,” he said, “should not be so cruelly laden.”

  I fear I blushed. In a slave tunic the exposed portions of one’s body, which in a slave tunic are considerable, color.

  “What a beautiful smile,” he said. “You must have brought a very high price.”

  I put my head down.

  Yes, I thought, or, at least, I should have brought a higher price than I commonly did. Surely I was worth at least two silver tarsks, perhaps even three!

  “I have not seen you about,” he said.

  “Only recently,” I said, “has my master come to Ar.”

  “I am sorry for you,” he said, “that you should be so mistreated.”

  “I am only a slave,” I said, softly, head down, demurely.

  “Our masters can be cruel,” he said.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  He was a handsome fellow, in his tunic and collar, bronzed, with fine thighs, and strong arms. He was dark-haired and brown-eyed. It was a bright day, and the street was public. I did not think he would take me by the arm and force me into a doorway, or alley. How like a gentleman he seemed! How gentle, and concerned, he was. How different from a master! Was he not like a man of Earth? Too, it could be dangerous for him to do so, to handle or seize me, or force me to his pleasure, for we belong to the free. Trysts between slaves are clandestine, and fraught with peril. We may be bred, of course, but such crossings are wholly at the discretion of the masters. Such fine handsome slaves, of course, are not unoften noticed by free women, who may even buy them. On the other hand, in the law of Ar, and several other cities, the free woman who pleasures herself with a male slave risks her own enslavement, and becoming the property of the slave’s master.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “‘Phyllis’, I said. “What is yours?”

  “Drusus,” he said.

  “You are barbarian, are you not?” he asked.

  “I fear so,” I said. “But, I beg you, despise me not!”

  “I would not do so,” he said. “Barbarians are marvelous. I am fond of them. They sell well. And many of them, such as you, are every bit as beautiful, as desirable, and exciting, as a native-born Gorean kajira.”

  I looked down, pleased, flustered. I fear I blushed once more.

  “But you are cruelly overburdened,” he said.

  “Mayhap,” I said, “a little.”

  “Clearly,” he said, “you are exhausted, you are grievously fatigued.”

  “My arms are a little tired,” I said.

  “Surely your body aches,” he said.

  “A little,” I said.

  “I am strong,” he said. “For me the bucket is light. Permit me to carry it for you. For me it is nothing.”

  He reached down and lifted the bucket, and, in one hand, raised it up and down, easily, three or four times, beside him.

  “See?” he said.

  “You are strong,” I said.

  “Permit me to help you,” he said.

  “You are very kind,” I said.

  “Please,” he said.

  “If you wish,” I said. “It is not far to my master’s domicile. But you must not permit him to see you.”

  “We will be careful,” he said.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “And there was no message?” asked Kurik.

  “No,” I said.

  “Decius Albus then,” he said, “is in league with Lord Agamemnon.”

  “I fear so,” I said.

  “You were not followed?” he said.

  “No, master,” I said. “But is it not possible that my meeting yesterday with the slave, Paula, was indeed, as it seemed, a coincidence?”

  “No,” he said.

  “It is possible,” I said.

  “No,” he said.

  “I detected nothing in Paula’s behavior or mien, today or yesterday, that suggested otherwise,” I said. I was upset, in retrospect, with the manner in which I had treated Paula. We had been friends. We had been so happy, or surely had seemed so, yesterday, encountering one another again. I feared I had hurt her.

  “The slave,” said Kurik, “is extremely intelligent. She may be a fine actress. But, too, she may be an unwitting dupe in the plans of Decius Albus. That is possible.”

  “As I, in your plans?” I said.

  “Precisely,” he said.

  “If there was no message,” he said, “then the purpose of the rendezvous, in the plans of Decius Albus, was to locate me in Ar.”

  “Which plan failed, signally,” I said.

  “No,” he said. “You would have been followed. I am certain of that.”

  “I was not followed,” I said. “I returned by a devious route, complex and tortuous, and frequently looked about and behind me. No one followed me. I am sure of that.”

  “No,” he said. “If there was no message, Decius Albus would be in league with Lord Agamemnon, and he would have
had you followed, that I might be discovered. I counted on that, and have prepared.”

  “But I was not followed,” I said.

  “You must have been,” he said.

  “Master is mistaken,” I said.

  “Tell me everything that occurred,” he said, “no matter how seemingly unimportant or trivial, following your departure from the fountain of Aiakos.”

  “I can think of little, or nothing, nothing of importance,” I said.

  “I see you are hesitant, and troubled,” he said. “Perhaps a few strokes of the whip might stir your memory.”

  “Nothing of importance, Master,” I said.

  “And what then, of unimportance?” he asked.

  “My arms were tired,” I said. “The pail was heavy. The journey was much further than usual, my body ached, a kindly kajirus helped me, carrying the pail for much of the distance.”

  Kurik, my master, slapped his thigh in amusement, and broke out laughing.

  “Master?” I said.

  “I see,” he said, “as you said, you were not followed.”

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “Rather,” said he, “you were accompanied.”

  “Master?” I said.

  “The slave,” he said, “if he were a slave, was an agent of Decius Albus, and you led him to my doorstep!”

  “He was kind,” I said. “He was solicitous, he was helpful.”

  “How naive you are,” he laughed. “You were in a collar, and he was a man. Do you think men do not know what to do with slaves, and how to treat them? He will probably dream of you tonight, perhaps well whipped, fearful, chained at his feet.”

  “But was he not a slave?” I said, in dismay.

  “He might have been, he might not have been,” said Kurik. “But surely it was intended he would seem a slave. Did I not tell you how useful slaves can be, how they tend to be less suspected?”

  “Forgive me, Master!” I wept, in horror. “Do not kill me!”

  “Why should I kill you?” he laughed. “I might, in a good market, get two silver tarsks for you.”

  I lay on the floor, weeping, covering my head with my hands.

  “I expected,” he said, “if there was no message, we might soon expect a visit from our friends.”

  “Forgive me, Master,” I wept.

  “It will not occur until dark,” he said. “What have you planned for supper?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “Fire!” whispered Kurik, shaking me.

  I awakened suddenly, abruptly, jarred to a sense of peril.

  I had not intended to sleep.

  Kurik’s hand prevented me from springing to my feet.

  I conjectured it must be the second or third Ahn. I could smell smoke.

  “You thought there would be an intruder, or intruders, did you not?” he said.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “It would be a bold fellow to climb the stairs in the dark, knife in hand, when he might be expected, would it not?” he said.

  I, released, rose to my feet, and hurried to the portal, at the head of the stairs.

  “Do not go downstairs,” he said.

  “We must escape!” I said, turning about.

  “They will be waiting,” he said.

  “The back way!” I said.

  “Would you not have that covered, as well?” he asked.

  “Master!” I cried.

  “Scream,” he suggested.

  But no sound escaped me. “I cannot,” I whispered. I was too frightened to scream. I could not make myself scream.

  “Very well,” he said, “Perhaps later.”

  “We must depart the building!” I said.

  “Into the night,” he said, “framed in a doorway, the fire behind us?”

  “We cannot remain here,” I said. “If we remain here, we will perish in the fire.”

  “Clearly,” he said.

  “Please, Master!” I said.

  The boards of the flooring were hot. I could hear the fire raging on the bottom floor. My eyes began to sting. I coughed. Smoke was now ascending the stairwell. I shut the door at the head of the stairs. I could see fire through some of the cracks in the flooring. As I was barefoot, it was painful to stand on the boards. I ran to the wall to my right, and put my hands against it. The wall, too, was hot. I could see smoke curling up through the opening at the bottom of the door at the head of the stairs. I was sure the stairs were aflame. We could not well then descend to the ground floor and attempt to avail ourselves of the rear exit to the building, even if we had wished to do so.

  “We cannot remain here!” I wept.

  “Perhaps we will not do so,” he said.

  “Master, Master!” I cried, in misery, coughing.

  “I think we might now signal our distress, and assure our friends that we are well aware of our plight.”

  “Master?” I said.

  “Surely we would not want them to think we were ignorant of our peril,” he said.

  “Master!” I wept.

  “That should please them,” he said.

  “We must flee the building,” I said.

  “And rush through flames to the points of waiting knives, to the greeting of flighted quarrels?”

  “Surely we do not want to be burned alive!” I said.

  “Certainly not,” he said.

  “The flames, the flames!” I said.

  “They reflect nicely on the metal of your collar,” he said.

  “The building is afire!” I said.

  “Perhaps, now,” he said, “you might scream a bit.”

  “Master?” I said.

  “Surely we owe them some satisfaction,” he said. “What if they fear we might have left the building?”

  I saw no hope, now, save in some frantic rushing forth, attempting to descend the flaming stairs and bolt into the night and into whatever might be there, if anything, waiting for us.

  “Steady,” he said.

  I feared that Kurik of Victoria, seemingly so calm, seemingly so oblivious of the danger, was now deranged, or mad.

  “Steady,” he said.

  I stood, uncertain, dismayed, in the center of the room. Smoke was about. The floor grew ever more heated!

  I coughed.

  I was seized by a sudden panic.

  I waited! He decided nothing! He gave no command!

  How frightful that he should be so inert!

  I was wild with terror.

  “Steady,” said he, “kajira.”

  “Master!” I cried, and I ran to the door at the top of the stairs, and seized the handle, which was hot, and threw open the door, and then staggered back, shielding my face with my arms as a burst of flame and smoke roared into the room. Kurik of Victoria, a step behind me, flung shut the door and drew me back into the room. I was coughing and sobbing. He then stood behind me, holding me by the arms. I could not move. I threw back my head and, sobbing, screamed, piercingly, again and again.

  “Excellent,” he said. “That will do, nicely.”

  He then swept me up, into his arms, and, shortly thereafter, climbing the narrow stairs leading up, from the kitchen, we had reached the roof.

  I could see buildings about, and, in the distance, several of the lofty towers of Ar, lights in many of the narrow windows, not wide enough to admit the passage of a body, and several of the narrow, graceful, lamp-lit bridges that, like delicate traceries, at various levels, linked the towers. I could even see, across the city, the beacon fires of the Central Cylinder. Tarnsmen come and go, during the day and night.

  “Forgive me, Master,” I sobbed, in his arms, “I ran.”

  “No forgiveness is necessary,” he said. “One expects a frightened animal to run from fire.”

  “
And I am an animal?” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. “You are a slave.”

  “Might not even a free woman have run?” I said.

  “Quite possibly,” he said. “A free woman is only a slave inappropriately clad.”

  “I was afraid,” I said. “I could not help myself! I screamed!”

  “I intended that you do so,” he said. “And you did so quite nicely.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “You may be far less bright and beautiful than your friend, Paula,” he said, “but I doubt that even she could improve on your screaming.”

  “A slave is pleased, if her master is pleased,” I said.

  “There is no need to be bitter,” he said.

  “May I recall to Master,” I said, “that the building is afire. I fear Master has done no more than postpone the inevitable.”

  “It certainly seems that way,” he said.

  “Perhaps Master might put me down now,” I suggested.

  “It is pleasant to hold you in my arms,” he said.

  “My feet cannot reach the ground,” I said. “I have no leverage. I am helpless.”

  “Very pleasant,” he said. “But perhaps I should limit your gruel, to reduce your weight by two or three minna, and trim your curves a bit, to bring you a little closer to what, for you, would be ideal block measurements.”

  “Please, Master,” I said, “put your slave down.”

  “You are aware, of course,” he said, “that many masters enjoy keeping their slaves to their ideal block weight and block measurements, so they will look well in their tunics.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. “I am aware of that.”

  “Only free women,” he said, “are allowed to be gross, slovenly, and fat.”

  “Doubtless that changes,” I said, “when they are collared.”

  “Of course,” he said. “They must then become lovely, obedient, and exquisitely feminine.”

  “The building is afire,” I said.

  “You wish to be put down?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “First,” he said, “snuggle closer to me, lift your head, lick and kiss my neck, and then press your lips to mine, kissing, as a slave.”

  “‘As a slave’?” I said.