Norman Invasions

by John Norman

  Had her finest weapon, her mightiest dart, which had never hitherto failed her, proved unavailing?

  She felt disarmed, and helpless.

  She now sensed herself being surveyed, carefully, from head to foot, and back, again, and never before had she sensed herself so regarded, with such dispassionate objectivity.

  She felt herself appraised, as though she might have been a horse, or dog.

  She had the sense he might have looked in this fashion on many women.

  And perhaps they had not all been clothed.

  She had the sense that he might somehow well be aware, too, of the nature and quality of her own lineaments, and how they might appear, so exhibited, despite her skirt, and coat, appropriate to the temperature of the day.

  Then she forced such silly thoughts from her head.

  “You startled me,” she laughed.

  “You have the look of a slave,” he said.

  “What?” she said.

  “You heard me,” he said, not pleasantly.

  “No!” she insisted.

  “Do not pretend you did not hear me,” he said. “I am not patient. Too, you can be taught to rue such games.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “It is just that I could not have heard you aright.”

  “Oh?” he asked, amused.

  “Certainly not,” she laughed, uneasily. “You surely did not say, you could not have said, what I thought you said.”

  “What do you think I said then, or might have said?” he inquired.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Speak,” he said.

  She blushed, hotly. “Never!” she said.

  “I said you have the look of a slave.”

  She looked at him, startled.

  “Look into my eyes,” he commanded.

  She could not help but do so.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” she said, faintly.

  “Yes,” he said. “You do have the look of a slave.”

  “No, no!”

  “Yes,” he mused. “I think you will do nicely.”

  “No!” she said. “I mean—I mean I do not even understand what you are saying!”

  “Surely you have from time to time considered yourself as a slave, an abject slave, one who must fear for her life, and must obey instantly, unquestioningly.”

  “No!”

  “Have you never thought of yourself naked, a property, wholly owned, utterly defenseless, the light, lovely collar on your neck, closely encircling it, doubtless identifying your master, closed, locked?”

  “No!”

  “Have you never thought of yourself as an object, truly, a purchasable object, an unutterably soft, vulnerable, desirable object, for whom men might fight, even kill, an object men would ruthlessly bind, master, and uncompromisingly have for their own?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “I see that you have had such thoughts, and that they have intrigued you, terrified you, and excited you.”

  “I do not even understand what you are talking about,” she said.

  “Properly embonded, and nicely trained, you will do nicely. You will make a hot, juicy little slave.”

  “Never, never!” she said.

  “But, yes,” he said. “And it is obvious.”

  “No,” she said. “No!”

  “Is it your intention to be difficult?”

  “I am not a slave!” she said.

  “It will be pleasant to set you to lowly labors, collared, naked,” he said. “You will learn to beg, humbly, for a touch, a caress.”

  “I find you different from the men I have met,” she whispered.

  “Oh?”

  “So different!”

  “I do not think I am so different from other men,” he said. “—Of a certain place.”

  “A certain place?

  “Yes.”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “It does not matter,” he said.

  “I find you attractive,” she said, uneasily. “I acknowledge that. If—if you wish to kiss me, I will allow you to do so.”

  He smiled.

  “I have never met anyone like you,” she whispered.

  “Why are you clothed before me?” he asked. Were you given permission to clothe yourself?”

  “No, of course not!” she said.

  “A slave must request permission to clothe herself,” he said, “which permission need not be granted.”

  “I am not a slave!” she said.

  “You are,” he said. “And clearly you understand yourself to be such. I can see this clearly.”

  “No” she said. “No!”

  “I tell you no more than you already know,” he said.

  “No!” she wept.

  “You have too long fled your bondage, girl.”

  “Girl!”

  “Yes,” said he. “Girl, of course, girl, only that, merely that—but a very special sort of girl, the most desirable and delicious form of girl, the slave girl.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about!”

  “Your subterfuges, games, disguises, and lies are now done,” he said. “You have now been apprehended.”

  “‘Apprehended’?”

  “Surely.”

  “What are you doing!” she said.

  “Binding your wrists before you,” he said.

  “I am not a slave!” she insisted.

  “Yet you are bound, aren’t you?”

  She regarded him, frightened.

  “Do you think I cannot assess your lineaments?” he asked. “Or appraise the lovely delicacy of your features, or read your body, and needs? To be sure, there are certain perfunctory niceties to be attended to, legal details, and such, in particular, the brand, but such things are largely for purposes of the law. They do make a slave, of course, and categorically, there is no doubt about that, but, commonly, they do not so much make the slave as, rather, publicly, identify and mark as a slave she who is already a slave.”

  “Such as I?”

  “Yes.”

  She struggled, futilely, bending over, squirming, to free her wrists.

  “Free women, too,” he said, “wish slaves to be clearly marked, in order that they, such lowly and despicable chattels, will in no way be confused with their own lofty, precious, and noble selves. And certainly one cannot blame them.”

  “I am a free woman!” she said.

  “Slaves, of course, such as you, are worthless, and nothing,” he said. “They are grovel sluts, who must hope desperately to be found pleasing.”

  “I am a free woman!” she cried.

  “No,” he said. “You are a slave, only that.”

  “No!” she said.

  “Close your eyes, and purse your lips!” he snapped.

  She did so, and leaned forward a little, and lifted her chin.

  “Oh!” she said.

  She gasped, suddenly, her eyes opened widely, frightened.

  “You are now leashed,” he informed her. He tugged a bit on the strap, and held the coils before her, closely to her face. She could smell the leather, in his fist. She was now leashed.

  “You tricked me!” she said, petulantly, reproachfully.

  “If you wish,” he said, “I will remove the collar and leash, and put them again on you, as you observe their placement.

  “No,” she whispered. “You are larger and stronger than I, and I know I am in your power. I thought—I thought you were going to kiss me.”

  “And you offered your lips with all the alacrity and obedience of a slave, and, too, if I mistake not, with all the frightened, hopeful delicacy and ready vulnerability of a slave.” he said.

  She reddened. “Why did you not
kiss me?” she pouted.

  “Why should I?” he said.

  “Am I not attractive?”

  “Vain creature,” he said.

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Why should I kiss you?” he said. “I am merely picking you up, a slave, for others.” he said.

  “Others!” she cried.

  “You will be taken to another planet, one called Gor,” he said, “where you, with a number of other vain, worthless Earth sluts, will be put up for sale.”

  “There is no such place!” she said.

  “I shall not respond to the stupidity of a slave,” he said. “And as to that world, the world of Gor, you may perhaps the better judge of its existence when you find the sawdust of one of its slave blocks beneath your bared feet and you are exposed to buyers.”

  “‘Exposed’?”

  “Certainly, only a fool would buy a woman clothed.”

  She regarded him, angrily.

  “And you will turn, and pose, well,” he said, “obediently, and fearfully, and, I think, hopefully, hoping that you might prove of interest to a buyer, that you might prove of interest to a master.”

  “I will not pose, and such!” she said.

  “It would not do, to be left over, after a sale, I assure you,” he said.

  “I would never allow myself to be exhibited!” she said,

  “As an animal?”

  “Certainly!”

  “But you would be an animal, a slave.”

  She shook her head, miserably.

  “And you will have no choice about being exhibited,” he said.

  “I would not permit myself to be exhibited, not well!” she said. “I would never present myself—as a slave!”

  “You will do your best to be attractive, to exhibit yourself well, to strive to prove you are desirable goods—on the block.”

  “No,” she said, “no.”

  “But, yes,” he said, “The auctioneer’s whip, if nothing else, will see to that.”

  “Whip!”

  “If you are a pleasing slave, a truly pleasing slave, you will doubtless seldom feel its stroke, though you may find that your master will occasionally bind and whip you, if only to remind you that you are a slave. It is not well, you understand, for a girl to forget that.”

  “How dare you speak to me as you have!” she cried. “Worthless!” she cried. “Sluts? For sale! How dare you! How dare you!”

  “To be sure, I perhaps misspoke myself. You must have some value. After all, have I not put capture straps upon your wrists? It seems you cannot remove them. You will doubtless be worth at least a pittance, as merchandise. Yes, I assure you, and doubtless for the first time in your life, you will be good for something. You will no longer be merely an embarrassing, meaningless encumbrance on society. You will have an exact role and position in society, a very precise identity, then as much a part of you and as inalterable as the very corpuscles of your body. You will learn fear and be humbled. You will be grateful to be permitted to live. You will be well worked, quite well worked, I assure you, and you will exist for the service and pleasure of a master. You will learn to kneel, and belly, and to lick, and kiss, and beg.”

  “Never!” she cried.

  He smiled.

  “As other worthless Earth sluts,” he said.

  “‘Sluts’!”

  “Yes.” he said. “Sluts, like yourself, exciting, delicious females, curvaceous wenches, fascinating, cuddly beasts, women of the sort who should be collared, women who belong in the collar, women for whom slavery is their liberation and redemption, women for whom the gift and honor of slavery is far better than they deserve.”

  “—Sale?”

  “Such is common with slaves,” said he.

  “I, to be sold—sold?”

  “Yes,” he said, “to the highest bidder, as what you will be, as livestock.”

  She shook her head, wildly. Tears were in her eyes. “Let me go!” she wept. “Please! Please!” she wept.

  “Perhaps you would consider begging,” he speculated.

  “Yes, yes!” she cried.

  “Should you not then be on your knees, or belly?” he asked. “Do not fear. I will give you sufficient slack on the leash.”

  She flung herself to her belly before him, in the cool air, and in the fall, crackling leaves, and began to press her lips, again and again, fervently, to his boots. “Please!” she wept. “Please!”

  He drew her up to her knees by the leash. And her face, tear-stained, the leash taut, was uplifted to him.

  “No,” he said.

  “But I have begged!” she whispered.

  “And rather nicely,” he said, for an untrained slut.”

  He then jerked her up to her feet, before him.

  “Tears, pleadings, and such,” said he, “will avail you naught. You are not now dealing with the common run of the men of Earth, broken and subdued, acculturated weaklings, conditioned to pliability, trained to respond solicitously to the least of a female’s absurd vagaries, but with men of another world, to whom no guerdon was sufficient to recompense them for the surrender of their sovereignty.”

  “Let me go,” she said. “I—I will let you kiss me!”

  He laughed, dryly.

  She turned white.

  “Really?” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, “yes!”

  “You bargain?”

  “Yes!”

  He drew her by the coiled leash to him, closely, and she pursed her lips, but he thrust her back, rudely, suddenly, some six inches, to the end of the tether, as he held it.

  “No bargain,” said he, smiling. “Men do not bargain with slaves. On Gor you would doubtless be beaten, whipped well, and then fastened in a punishment tie, perhaps for hours, for the very suggestion.”

  She regarded him, frightened, her eyes wide.

  “You may be kissed if and when men please,” he said. “And you will learn to kiss, and to kiss properly, and to kiss as commanded, and to beg to kiss a man, intimately, and variously, as befits a slave.”

  “Please,” she murmured.

  “And in time,” he said, “you will not only desire to please a man, but, unbidden and uncoerced, you will need to do so.”

  She lifted her bound wrists before her mouth, shaking her head, weakly.

  “There is no escape for you, no rescue for you,” he said. “The matter has been decided. You were selected six months ago.”

  She regarded him, startled, frightened, beginning to understand.

  “Did you suspect nothing?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Amusing,” he said.

  “But I wondered sometimes,” she said. “I wondered—.”

  “Of course,” he said. “You see, you did suspect.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “Women are sensitive,” he said. “That is one reason they make such excellent slaves. You will learn to well read the subtlest moods of a master. Your life might depend upon it.”

  “I was ‘selected,’” she said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “But when, how?”

  “Perhaps from time to time,” he said, “doubtless from place to place.”

  She looked at him.

  “Perhaps you recall a certain boutique, a particular clerk?”

  “He?”

  “Perhaps.” he said, “or perhaps a cab driver, a security guard, a workman, a mechanic, a waiter, a delivery man, perhaps a fellow on a subway, or one at a bus stop, or that fellow on the platform of a commuter railroad, or that one seemingly waiting for the cab from which you emerged, that fellow with an attaché case, or perhaps another, that one standing a bit too close to you, in an elevator?”

  “It could have been anyone,” she said.<
br />
  “Yes, and perhaps more than one. You were selected. You have been, in effect, a slave for several months, without realizing it.”

  “Sometimes I feared this, in my dreams.”

  “I am doing no more now than picking you up.”

  “I haven’t seen you before, have I?”

  “No,” he said. “Nor I you. There is no connection between us, other than our present relationship. He, or those, who selected you may see you on Gor, and perhaps even, if they wish, keep you as a gift, or buy you privately, or bid on you at your first sale. I understand that you were rather unpleasant with a particular fellow, perhaps it was the clerk at the boutique. If he was your selector, or one of them, perhaps you will soon find yourself his slave, and under his whip. Or perhaps he merely thought you obviously suitable for a slave, but not one worthy of his own collar.”

  “I thought him weak,” she whispered.

  “Perhaps he was not as weak as you surmised, when you tried to bully and intimidate him, taking advantage of his supposed vulnerable and lowly position. Men of Gor on Earth sometimes feign weakness, in order to abet a disguise, in order to the better blend in with the common Earth male. And sometimes they pretend to weakness in order to draw out vain, despicable behaviors in a female, behaviors which on Gor will be not only radically and perfectly corrected, but literally extirpated.”

  “You have not seen me before?”

  “No, but I approve the selection.”

  “What have you there?” she said.

  “It is a small vessel, vial-like. I shall hold it beneath your nose, and you will shortly lose consciousness. You will awaken, some days from now, in a Gorean slave pen.”

  She tried to pull away, but his left arm held her close to him. She struggled a little, helplessly. “Do you understand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “—Master.”

  She then felt herself being taken gently into his arms, and lifted, and was aware, through the trees, of a white van, to which she was being carried.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she whispered, “—Master, Master, Master,” and then lost consciousness.

  Two Conversations

  Note: The following two conversations may be of interest. The first is apparently reconstructed in part from surveillance, and, in part, it seems, from stenographic notes. It is not easy to tell. I have, at any rate, seen no film, nor recording, connected with it. Beyond this, at certain points, it seems, rather clearly, to have been supplemented, presumably later, by the personal memories of the participants, particularly one of them, that with respect to internal attitudes, emotional responses, and such. The second conversation is reconstructed from a stenographic transcription of a recording, one which, to my interest, I was permitted to hear. The first conversation seems to have taken place, I would conjecture, on our own world. The mention of a supermarket, and such, seems to make that clear. The second conversation seems interestingly related to the first, particularly with respect to its theme, and the supposition, or speculation, that somewhere a natural world might exist, one in which both men and women, in their diverse ways, find their freedom, and meaning. In short, the second conversation seems to have taken place, at least allegedly, on a world quite different from, and one yet not unrelated to, our own. Happily both conversations are in English. The participants in neither of the conversations have been identified, nor have I asked that they be identified.. The privacy of the first two, in any case, is to be respected, given the fanaticism, tyranny, and intolerance of contemporary puritanical ideologies. And the privacy of the second two, it seems, for obvious reasons, cannot but be respected, regardless of one’s wishes, or views, on the matter. They are beyond the reach, it seems, at least if the recording is what it seems to be, of the small, stained, filed teeth, and poisoned claws of the bigots, the moral cretins and sexual retardates, the would-be Torquemadas, Cromwells, and Robespierres, of our time. It would be nice to think that somewhere, somehow, beyond the watch towers and prison gates, there are fields of untrodden grass, and an enlivened place where uncontaminated, fresh winds still blow. Perhaps one day the Earth will be reborn. It would be nice to see it again green, and alive. I would probably, of course, if I were to hear them again, recognize the voices in the second conversation, but then it does not seem likely that I, considering the circumstances, and the possibility that the conversation is what it seems to be, am likely to have that pleasure. I present the two conversations without further comment, and encourage the reader to consider them, and form his own judgment, as he sees fit.