Plunder of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “It is the hobbles!” I said.

  In a short time we had come to the feasting area, under the latticework, and I had been restored to my feet, and Decius Albus had approached us, to welcome us to the feast.

  “Surtak should be here,” had said Lord Grendel.

  “He is not,” had said Kurik, looking about.

  “I sense we are being observed,” said Lord Grendel.

  “It is not unlikely,” said Kurik.

  “Doubtless Surtak will appear shortly,” said Lord Grendel.

  “Doubtless,” said Kurik.

  “Behave in a natural manner,” said Lord Grendel. “Smile. Be at ease. Take food and drink only from what is publicly available, and from locations where you see others doing so. Decline whatever might be offered to you.”

  “Decius Albus spoke of entertainment,” said Kurik.

  “You are Gorean,” said Lord Grendel. “What do you conjecture?”

  “If it were night, indoors,” said Kurik, “I would suppose any number of things, depending on the house, music, the kalika and czehar, the aulus and tabor, acrobats, jugglers, flute girls, eaters of fire, the reading of poetry, the chanting of histories, professional tellers of stories, the singing and dancing of slaves, many things.”

  “And if it is outdoors, and day?” inquired Lord Grendel.

  “I do not know,” said Kurik.

  “I would think contests, games,” said Lord Grendel.

  “I fear so,” said Kurik.

  “Have you noticed something unusual here?” asked Lord Grendel.

  “Only what is not seen,” said Kurik.

  “Precisely,” said Lord Grendel. “Although the occasion is putatively festive, and the banqueting bower is open, and easily accessible, there are no slaves about.”

  “We are outside the walls of Ar,” said Kurik.

  “Even hobbled slaves,” said Lord Grendel. “Besides, country slaves, the slaves of villas, of country houses, the slaves of peasants, are seldom restrained, except at night.”

  “By the tables, sometimes below the tables,” said Kurik, “there are bowls of gruel.”

  “But no slaves,” said Lord Grendel.

  “Then,” said Kurik, “the slaves have been removed.”

  “Or were never here,” said Lord Grendel, “the bowls intended to suggest otherwise.”

  “I am uneasy,” said Kurik.

  My master was jostled, as a fellow in the yellow of the Builders made his way by. “How clumsy I was,” said the fellow. “Please, forgive me.”

  “It did not occur,” said Kurik, smiling. Kurik then spoke softly to Lord Grendel. “He determined,” he said to Lord Grendel, “that I was not armed.”

  “We must not arouse suspicion,” said Lord Grendel.

  “Do not neglect the black wine, flavored with Turian sugars,” said a fellow in merchant robes, nearby.

  He poured himself a tiny cup of the beverage. Black wine tends to be expensive. Its presence at the feast in more than one vessel bespoke the affluence of Decius Albus. Some Goreans have never tasted the beverage.

  “I approve your slave,” said the fellow with the cup of black wine. “Is she not hungry?”

  “I would expect,” said Kurik, “that by now she is quite hungry.”

  “You have her in the presence of food, and yet deny her permission to eat,” said the fellow. “Excellent. You keep her under strict discipline. I do the same with my sleen. Keeping a slave under strict discipline makes her more responsive, more helpless in her chains, more pleading for the least caress.”

  “It escaped my mind,” said Kurik. “I forgot. It has been some time now. Thank you for calling the matter to my attention.”

  “You suppose her to be quite hungry?” said the fellow.

  “Yes, by now,” said Kurik.

  “She does not ask to be fed?” he asked.

  “She knows better than that,” said Kurik.

  “The whip?” he said.

  “Of course,” said Kurik. He then turned his head to me. “You may feed, Phyllis,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Appropriately,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I went to all fours, put down my head, and began to feed. I must not, of course, use my hands. There are a thousand ways in which a girl’s knowledge of her bondage may be forced into every cell of her body. A girl’s food bowl and water bowl are often kept on the floor of the kitchen, in a corner, sometimes in the vicinity of the master’s couch. Many a girl has fed so, the master standing over her, with his whip. Later, he may not even be present, or he might be to one side, scarcely noticing, perhaps reading.

  “How charming a collar slut looks while thusly feeding,” said the fellow.

  “Indeed,” said Kurik.

  How far I was, I again thought, from the office on my former world!

  Few young women, I supposed, expected to be carried to another world, and made a slave. And then they find themselves on the auction block, their bare feet in the sawdust, a collar on their neck, under the light of torches, being bid upon!

  Kurik, of course, seldom forgot, or neglected, my feeding. I did know enough, of course, not to ask to be fed. The typical Gorean master takes excellent care of his slave. He sees to it that she is sheltered and well rested, and has a nutritious diet. He may occasionally limit her food, in the interests of her health and beauty. More annoyingly, he may impose exercises upon her, usually to reduce a bit of weight or improve a curve. All in all, vital and flourishing, she is usually in far better condition than the typical free woman who, lacking a master, is likely to gain weight, grow careless, and become slovenly. When a free woman is captured and stripped, it is usually obvious what must be done to make her more worthy of the honor of a slave block. Too, it must be remembered that the slave is a possession, and that men tend to be concerned with, proud of, and, I suspect, despite their usual protestations, fond of their possessions. Too, obviously an investment is involved.

  “Finish it all, Phyllis,” said Kurik.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  I was hungry.

  I fed well.

  Generally I did not feed much differently from my master, and would partake of the same foods, which I, of course, had prepared. Strictly, rather as I must have permission to speak, so, too, I must have permission to clothe myself, to feed, and so on. On the other hand, in many domiciles, nothing onerous is involved in such matters, as, with respect to a variety of such activities, a standing permission is in place. I almost always fed myself, save when it pleased him, or amused him, to put me to all fours, at an animal dish, the use of my hands denied to me, or would choose, I kneeling, or sometimes lying, to feed me by hand. I was even permitted, commonly, the use of a spoon. One matter in which an explicit permission is usually required is when a slave would leave the domicile. In requesting this permission, the slave will be expected to make clear the point of her trip and her anticipated time of return. With respect to food, the master, of course, as a matter of propriety, begins the meal. An exception to this might be when the master suspects the slave may have poisoned the food. She will then be forced to eat first. Slaves are denied access to poisons, as to more common weapons. But an enemy may plant a girl in an enemy household, supply the poison, and so on. The most exotic form of this sort of thing is the poison girl who, over months or years, is rendered immune to a poison, but whose bite is lethal. There are, of course, a variety of ways in which a toxin may be administered, for example, by means of a fang tooth, a poison ring, and so on. A simple method is to introduce an ost into the intended victim’s sleeping furs.

  The fellow who had poured the cup of black wine was now gone.

  We then heard an abysmal howl some yards to the right, outside the bower. I froze in place. Surely it was a noise e
manating from some dreadful, horrifying beast. But there could be no larl here, no forest panther, so close to Ar! And there were armed guards about, and it did not seem they were engaged. Surely I heard no cries of alarm, no orders to deploy and attack. The source of that howl, then, must have been deemed acceptable, perhaps unobjectionable, even innocuous. I kept my head down.

  “Look,” said Kurik. “The Kur!”

  “I see it,” said Lord Grendel.

  “It stumbles, and reels,” said Kurik.

  “Yes,” said Lord Grendel.

  “What is wrong with it?” asked Kurik.

  “This bodes not well,” said Lord Grendel.

  “Has it gone mad?” asked Kurik.

  “In a sense, yes,” said Lord Grendel. “It is drunk.”

  “‘Drunk’?” said Kurik, incredulously.

  “Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “Decius Albus is a fool. He knows nothing of Kurii. Such a splendid host, so eager to please his guests! How he would pander to the High Ones! He would pour oil, explosive dust, on fire!”

  “I do not understand,” said Kurik.

  “This is no sipping of ka-la-na,” said Lord Grendel. “The fool! He has put paga before Kurii!”

  “That is some sort of mistake?” said Kurik.

  “The blood of the Kur is dark and deep,” said Lord Grendel. “There are ancient gates behind which lurk ancient things, things best shut away, things best left unstirred. Paga opens such gates.”

  “There is danger?” said Kurik.

  “Great danger,” said Lord Grendel.

  “How could Surtak permit this?” asked Kurik.

  “Surtak would not,” said Lord Grendel. “In this I see the hand, and ignorance, of Decius Albus.”

  “It is coming this way,” said Kurik. “Men withdraw!”

  “Get up, Phyllis,” snapped Kurik, and I rose to my feet, wiping gruel from my face with the back of my right hand.

  I saw the reeling Kur, no longer howling, enter the festive structure, look about, and then leap up, seizing the latticework of the bower, and then falling back to the ground amidst a confetti of flat, narrow boards that could not have begun to hold his weight. The guests, most of them, had now drawn back in such a way as to have the tables between themselves and the Kur. Then the Kur, angrily, suddenly, overturned one of the tables, spilling wine, cakes, and fruit, but it made no effort to more closely approach the guests, who had shrunk back even further. Indeed, some had fled the bower. We were still on the same side of the tables as the Kur, and it turned about, and regarded us.

  “Prepare to run,” said Kurik.

  “I cannot!” I said.

  “As you can, little fool,” he said.

  He then placed himself between me and the beast.

  “Do not be afraid,” said Lord Grendel. “If necessary, I will kill it.”

  The Kur approached a bit toward us, and growled.

  Lord Grendel snarled back, and then uttered something in Kur, fiercely, that I could not understand, as his translator was deactivated. The Kur blinked, and then, growling, stumbled away.

  “It declines to have its throat torn out,” said Lord Grendel.

  “How many Kurii are there about?” asked Kurik.

  “I do not think there are many,” said Lord Grendel, “perhaps ten, perhaps fifteen. Lord Agamemnon, following the revolution, is severely limited as to cohorts, and it is difficult to bring Kurii into populated areas, to conceal them there, and so on.”

  “Happily, only one was drunk,” said Kurik.

  “Our delightful host,” said Lord Grendel, “would scarcely serve paga to but one guest.”

  “Then there are others,” said Kurik.

  “Doubtless,” said Lord Grendel.

  “Where?” asked Kurik.

  “I suspect, in the place of entertainment,” said Lord Grendel.

  “What are we to do?” asked Kurik.

  “You, and your lovely collar girl, Phyllis,” said Lord Grendel, “will continue to enjoy the sumptuous provender so generously provided in this festive structure, and make my excuses to any who might inquire.”

  “And you, what are you to do?” asked Kurik.

  “I intend to find Surtak, or his body,” said Lord Grendel.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “Have you dined well?” inquired Decius Albus.

  “Very well,” said Kurik, finishing a small pastry.

  Behind Decius Albus were an officer and eight guards.

  “And I trust your girl enjoyed her gruel,” said Master Albus.

  “As you can see, noble Albus,” said Kurik, “the bowl has been licked clean.”

  No one, it will be noted, had asked me about the matter. There are, of course, many variations where slave gruel is concerned, ranging from bland mush to exotic mixtures that might tempt a free woman, were it not for the name. Needless to say, such mixtures were occasionally sold, and for a good price, to free women under different names. I had not, incidentally, thought the gruel of any particular note, but it was good enough, not that I had anything to say about such matters. Certainly I had been hungry, and that is often a great help, that serving to elevate one’s assessments. That the bowl was licked clean was to be expected. Slaves are not to waste food.

  Upon the arrival of Decius Albus and his small retinue, I had immediately knelt.

  “Where is the esteemed Lord Grendel?” asked Master Albus, looking about.

  “He was here a moment ago,” said Kurik. “Doubtless he will be back shortly.”

  Neither Decius Albus nor my master paid me any attention. I did sense I was being assessed by one of the guards. I had learned that the curves of a woman’s body, at least if they were of sufficient interest to masters, were often referred to as slave curves. I wondered if free women sometimes, before the mirror, in the privacy of their boudoir, regarded themselves, and wondered if their curves were slave curves, and, if they were, what this might mean. Surely humans are not exempt from the selections of nature. Does nature not, in its thoughtless processes, in its blind, dark game, favor the organ sensitive to light, the organ sensitive to sound, the capacity to discriminate tastes and odors, the capacity to grasp, to feel, to think? Does it not, without thought or heart, fashion the wings of the tarn, the fleetness of the leaping tabuk, the stealth of the sleen, the claws and fangs of the larl? It casts its dice, on the board it cannot see, and there are consequences, unexpected and unforeseen, but real, very real. Nature favors victory, and the storms of sex. It favors men and women, and a kind of man, and a kind of woman. Would it not favor the man who would prize, seize, own, and master a woman, and the woman who would thrive joyfully at his feet, prized, seized, owned, and mastered? What man does not long for his slave, what woman does not long for her master? So I think there is a sense to the expression ‘slave curves’. Are they not slave curves, in a more literal sense than is often understood? Have we not been bred to find our joy in bondage, in loving and belonging; have we not been bred to be slaves?

  “I am disappointed,” said Decius Albus. “I had hoped, personally, to conduct the noble Lord Grendel and his colleague, Tenrik of Siba, to the entertainment.”

  “After which, formal pledges of peace are to be exchanged,” said Kurik.

  “Of course,” said Decius Albus.

  “I hope that your disappointment will not last long,” said Kurik.

  “I do not think it will,” said Master Albus. He then turned to the officer beside him. “Take four men,” he said, “locate Lord Grendel, and escort him to the entertainment.”

  The officer and four of his men then departed, making their way toward the house.

  “Ah, see,” said Decius Albus, sympathetically. “Tenrik’s poor slave is hobbled.”

  “It was done when we left the wagon,” said Kurik.

  “I apologize,” sai
d Decius Albus. “It is a matter of routine precaution when dealing with visiting slaves. It discourages wandering about.” He then turned to one of the remaining guards. “Let us relieve this poor love beast of the cruel impediments fastened so closely about her ankles.”

  With a sound of metal, the guard lifted me to my feet. It is difficult to rise to one’s feet when hobbled, and, without a display pole, extremely difficult to do so gracefully.

  I expected then to be directly relieved of the device but Decius Albus was looking at my ankles.

  “Her ankles are rather slim, are they not?” he asked.

  “She is a barbarian,” said Kurik. “On the Slave World, one does not object to such ankles. Indeed, they are approved.”

  “Interesting,” said Decius Albus.

  “They shackle nicely,” said Kurik.

  “Even as other ankles,” said Decius Albus.

  “Of course,” said Kurik.

  I then expected to be relieved of the hobbles, but, to my surprise, my wrists were drawn behind me, and braceleted. I was then leashed.

  “I do not think she is going to run away,” said Kurik.

  “I do not think so, either,” said Decius Albus.

  “I did not know she was to be hobbled, or braceleted and leashed,” said Kurik.

  “Oh?” said Decius Albus.

  “Phyllis,” said my master, “if it should prove feasible, later, you might locate our wagon. I may have forgotten something.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about, as the wagon had been empty when we had left it. Indeed, guards had checked the wagon, and determined that it was empty, quite empty.

  “Take off the hobbles,” said Decius Albus.

  The guard then, with a key, addressed himself to the hobbles.

  I pulled at the bracelets a little. Though one knows one is held perfectly, helplessly, how can one resist doing that? My leash was in the hand of another guard, its end knotted about his fist.

  Braceleted and leashed, is one not well aware that one is a property, an animal, a slave?

  Then the hobbles were off, and cast on one of the tables, amidst the residue of the feast.