Kur of Gor coc-28

by John Norman

  "Yes, Master,” she said.

  "Surely I have much to be punished for,” she said.

  "Nonsense,” he said.

  "For when I was a free woman,” she said.

  "No,” he said. “That is behind you."

  "But sometimes, surely,” she said, “a master will avenge himself on the slave who was once a troublesome free woman."

  "Perhaps,” he said.

  "Perhaps she treated him badly, scorned his advances, mocked his courting, amused herself at his expense, ridiculed him, belittled him, and such."

  "In such a case,” he said, “he would doubtless see to it that she learned her collar to perfection."

  "Good, Master,” she said.

  "And then he might well sell her."

  "Oh, I hope not!” she said.

  "He will do with her as he pleases."

  "Of course, Master,” she said.

  "In any event,” said Cabot, “as long as he keeps her, she will find herself no more than his meaningless pleasure object."

  "Good!” she said, warmly.

  "'Good'?” asked Cabot.

  "Certainly,” she said, “and would she not be occasionally subjected to—"

  "Yes?” asked Cabot.

  "What Master said before,” she said.

  "Categorical usages, slave rape, in the most common sense, and such?"

  "Yes,” she said.

  "Certainly,” said Cabot, “and perhaps frequently."

  "Sometime you will treat me so, will you not, Master?” she asked.

  "Perhaps,” he said.

  "As you spoke before,” she said, “unilaterally, ruthlessly, with no thought of me whatsoever, but only of your own desire, and pleasure, using me without the least concern or mercy."

  "Speak,” he said.

  "I want to be had,” she said, “—unilaterally, ruthlessly, callously, as what I am—as a mere, helpless, meaningless instrument of your pleasure—as a slave."

  "You request slave rape?"

  "Yes, and of the most uncompromised, unilateral kind!"

  "Is it important to you?"

  "Yes,” she said. “I want it. I want it!"

  "I see,” he said.

  "It is fitting for me, is it not, as I am a slave?"

  "Yes,” said Cabot.

  "Teach me I am a slave, Master,” she begged.

  "You understand that hereafter this may be done to you and will be done to you whenever I please?"

  "Yes, Master!"

  "Very well,” said Cabot.

  He then bent to untie her ankles.

  Chapter, the Thirty-First:

  RUBIES

  "Behold!” cried Cabot to the slave. “Come here!"

  She sped to him, lightly, swiftly, in her tiny tunic.

  Cabot was pleased with her.

  Over the past few days she had progressed irrecoverably in her bondage. Her carriage, her kneeling, her subtlest movement, was now that of a slave.

  In Cabot's hands she had been spoiled for freedom.

  Cabot had no doubt that she would now go for at least two tarsks.

  Freedom was now well behind her.

  She had learned bondage.

  Even if she were to be freed now she could never be more than an unhappy slave, a miserable slave pretending to be a free woman. She might attempt to imitate a free woman, true, but the farce would be hypocritical and hollow, for she had once worn a collar, a slave collar. The role of the free woman to her would now be shallow, empty, and meaningless.

  She had learned herself slave.

  If Cabot freed her, and cast her aside, she would doubtless have no hope of happiness other than to find a new master, a new man from whom to beg a collar, a new man to kneel before, and serve.

  But, then, who would be so foolish as to free one such as she?

  One would want her as what she was, a slave.

  One would keep her as what she was, a slave.

  So keep them for your pleasure.

  It is what they are for.

  She hurried to Cabot, and knelt at his side.

  She was so soft, so radically feminine, and graceful.

  Cabot noted the position of her knees.

  How free she now was, how fulfilled, how unabashedly alive and sensuous!

  Freedom was now behind her, forever, even if it meant the auction block.

  She was muchly unaware of these changes in her mien, her attitudes, and her emotions.

  She thought herself much the same as before.

  But she was mistaken.

  She was now slave.

  She did not even realize how her body might betray her.

  That is something men seldom make clear to a slave.

  Sometimes a slave, in attempting to flee a bondage of great cruelty, perhaps that of the laundries or mills, might don the garments of a free woman, hoping to elude recapture, but, to the alert, practiced eye, even beneath the cumbersome Robes of Concealment, and the veils, might be detected the body of a slave. Woe to her if she were then picked up and remanded to free women, that her body might be subjected to a discreet, private inspection. Lo! The brand is detected, and perhaps even a collar! The free women are outraged, but overjoyed, for they then have at their mercy what they hate most, a female slave. And one who has dared to attempt to pass herself off as one of their own exalted sisterhood! The hapless, terrified slave is then stripped, held down, and lashed. She is then pulled by the hair to a kneeling position, and bound, mercilessly, and then, to the rejoicing, exultant shrieks of her nobler sisters, who find revels and festival in such things, she is pulled to her feet and driven, spit upon and jeered, muchly switched, to waiting guardsmen.

  How gratefully she throws herself to her belly before them and licks and kisses their sandals.

  Perhaps she may be spared?

  They, at least, are men.

  "Look, girl,” said Cabot, pointing downward, at the sand.

  She cried out, and put her hand before her mouth.

  There was no mistaking the nature of the prints in the sand.

  "Kurii!” she said. “In the night, Kurii!"

  "One,” said Cabot, “only one."

  "We must flee, Master,” she said.

  "No,” said Cabot. “Look here!” Again he pointed downward, and she rose to her feet, came to his side, and looked downward.

  "See,” said Cabot. “Small prints, barefoot, the prints of a woman!"

  "It is Lord Grendel then,” she said, “and Lady Bina?"

  "Yes,” said Cabot. “I am sure of it!"

  "It could be a trick, to trap Master,” she said. “A Kur, and a slave, or pet."

  "I do not think so,” said Cabot. “The prints do not come down to the beach. They come from the lake."

  "How could that be?” she asked.

  "A boat, a raft,” said Cabot.

  "It is death to be on the lake,” she whispered.

  "It may be death to be on the beach,” said Cabot, “if discovered."

  Cabot looked out, over the lake. It looked quiet. It was hard to believe that beneath that placid surface menaces might stir.

  "We set the fire, as a signal, three nights ago,” said Cabot. “This might be the signal that it was seen."

  "The prints?"

  "Surely."

  "Lord Grendel would not know it was your signal,” she said.

  "He has come to investigate,” said Cabot. “He has found the ashes of the fire, and that is not all he found."

  "What else?"

  "What I left."

  "I do not understand,” she said.

  "On this stone,” said Cabot, “I left rubies."

  "You left rubies about!” she said, shocked.

  "Do not concern yourself,” he said. “You may own nothing."

  "But my master!” she said.

  "They are all here,” he said.

  "How could he find them, in the dark?” she asked.

  "He has the vision of a Kur,” said Cabot.

  "
How do you know he found them?"

  "They have been rearranged,” said Cabot.

  "How would he link them with Master?” she asked.

  "He was present at the trial of Lord Pyrrhus,” said Cabot, “and might well have seen the strings of rubies given to me by Agamemnon, which I wore over my robes."

  "He knows then that it is you who left them?"

  "He would at least surmise such,” said Cabot.

  "How do you know it was he who rearranged the rubies?” she asked.

  "I do not know,” he said, “but I believe it was he."

  "Why, Master?"

  "The rubies are arranged in the shape of a letter,” he said, “the fifth letter in the Gorean alphabet, Gref."

  "Master?"

  "The first letter,” he said, “in the name ‘Grendel'."

  "Might not anyone have so arranged the rubies?” she asked.

  "Yes,” said Cabot, “but look here, to the side, in the sand. Here, the print of a hand, pressed down, firmly, deeply, into the sand."

  "So?” she said.

  "Look,” he said.

  "Five fingers!” she said.

  "Not six,” said Cabot.

  "Grendel, Lord Grendel,” she said.

  "I think so,” said Cabot.

  "What will we do?” she asked.

  "We will set a fire again, tonight,” he said. “And wait."

  "Yes, Master,” she said.

  "Gather wood,” he said.

  "Yes, Master,” she said.

  "And before it grows dark,” he said, “you will please me."

  "Yes, Master,” she said.

  Chapter, the Thirty-Second:

  CABOT RECEIVES GUESTS

  "Ho!” called Cabot, softly. He lifted a branch, from the flames, moving it back and forth, and then replaced it in the fire.

  "Tarl Cabot!” said a voice, like that of a Kur, but not perfectly so. It was a voice which could articulate, after a fashion, Gorean phonemes.

  "Lord Grendel,” said Cabot, relieved.

  "Grendel,” said the owner of the voice. “Why are you here?"

  "To ascertain your whereabouts,” said Cabot, “and that of a free woman whom I fear is not to be trusted."

  "You came to bring me news, or succor?” said Grendel.

  "News,” said Cabot, “is that the revolution is imminent, and may have begun. You might therein be of valuable service. Succor, if I could be of service, and found you needful."

  "I need no help,” said Grendel. “And are you armed?"

  "With a sharpened stick, to serve as spear,” said Cabot.

  In the darkness there was a snort of derision.

  "Come ashore,” said Cabot.

  A raft, heavy, with doubled timbers, grated on the beach. Its size and weight were doubtless intended to provide stability on the lake, and provide some impediment to the efforts of large saurians who might emerge beneath it, hungrily, to tip or overturn it.

  "I trust you are better armed,” said Cabot.

  "I have a long ax,” said Grendel. “With it I have slain four tharlarion."

  "Then you have meat,” said Cabot.

  "I know why you are here,” said Grendel.

  "Why?” said Cabot.

  "You have it in mind to slay the Lady Bina,” he said.

  "I will do my best to see that she does not betray Lord Arcesilaus and Peisistratus to the palace,” said Cabot.

  "No harm must come to her,” said Grendel, menacingly.

  "Do you then come ashore to kill me?” asked Cabot. “I have no serious weapon, and I cannot outrun you."

  "You are of the Warriors,” said Grendel. “In your hands a tiny branch, sharpened, a length of vine, is dangerous."

  "I am concerned that the Lady Bina does not reach Kurii,” said Cabot. “But I have no interest in causing her harm."

  "She is safer with me, on the lake,” said Grendel.

  "Scarcely,” said Cabot.

  "I will not speak!” came a voice from the darkness, that of the Lady Bina, doubtless still on the raft.

  "You would speak instantly, and at the first opportunity,” said Cabot.

  "No,” she said. “And save me from this monster!"

  "If you are going to kill me,” said Cabot to Grendel, “might we not eat first? Perhaps you have some meat, from tharlarion."

  "Do you have others with you?” asked Grendel.

  "No,” said Cabot.

  "'No'?” said Grendel.

  "None,” said Cabot, “that is, none save for a meaningless thong bitch, whom I have named Lita. Lita, come forward."

  The slave came and knelt beside Cabot. She could be seen in the light from the small fire.

  "I have seen her before,” said Grendel. “But she is now different."

  "Yes,” said Cabot. “She is now different."

  "There is a collar on her neck,” said Grendel.

  "She is nicely marked, as well,” said Cabot.

  "It is not just such things,” said Grendel.

  "No, I suppose not,” said Cabot.

  It was true. Many were the subtle and lovely changes which had recently been wrought in the slave.

  "Disgusting!” said a feminine voice in the darkness.

  The slave stiffened, and shrank back, recoiled, in fear. It seemed she would leap up and flee, but she remained on her knees. She had not been given permission to rise. She had heard the censorious, imperious voice of a free woman. There was no mistaking the enmity in such a voice, to such as she. And she well understood how much she would be at the mercy of so powerful, glorious, and exalted a creature.

  Then, stepping carefully, daintily, departing from the forward portion of the raft, slid onto the sand, that her feet not be dampened, a woman had descended to the beach.

  Cabot bowed, respectfully, for he was in the presence of a free woman, and such are to be treated with the courtliness due to their status.

  "Tal, Lady Bina,” said he.

  "Tal, fellow,” said she.

  "Do not approach him too closely,” said Grendel.

  "I fear the oaf not,” said she.

  Lady Bina, to the extent practical, was robed. She was not sandaled, but she was robed. Cloths had been found, or stolen, with which she was now attired. She was unfamiliar with the cumbersome intricacies of the usual Robes of Concealment, their arranged foldings, the abundant drapings, and such, which vary from city to city, but she had simulated something akin to them, doubtless with the aid of Grendel, who would have been familiar with such things from his abortive venture to Gor, that in which he had failed Agamemnon, as he had not been accepted there as human. A hood was about her head, loosely, but she was not veiled, though something like veiling was about her neck, and might presumably have been emplaced as veiling.

  "Do not approach him too closely,” warned Grendel.

  But Lady Bina came to stand before Cabot, and looked up at him.

  "You are robed,” said Cabot.

  "Certainly,” said she, “as I am free."

  "I recall you,” said Cabot, “as the naked, collared pet of Lord Arcesilaus, and as once clothed only in chains, in breeding shackles, as I recall."

  Grendel growled, and was close at hand, a little behind the free woman.

  Lady Bina regarded Cabot, fiercely, and then, with all her might, slapped him across the left cheek.

  "You do not have gloves,” said Cabot. “Commonly free women, or certainly those of high caste, wear gloves with the Robes of Concealment. I might have caught a glimpse of your wrist, and noted that it might look well enclosed within a slave bracelet."

  It seemed she would strike him again, but then did not do so. Rather she laughed, lightly, dismissively.

  "You are not veiled,” said Cabot. “Are you not afraid that your lips might be discerned, and their nature mistaken for that appropriate for a slave?"

  Grendel half roared in protest.

  "Forgive me, Lord Grendel,” said Cabot.

  In the full Gorean Robes of Con
cealment little of the free woman can be seen saving her eyes, over the veiling, and beneath the hood. In the Tahari region the veiling is often so complete that even the eyes cannot be seen, but must be surmised, as peering outward though a dark gauze. Certainly the body is to be muchly concealed. And the robes, with their length, and the nature of the sleeves, and the gloving, are designed to conceal as well as possible the speculative treasures which might be hidden within them.

  To the Gorean the sight of a free woman's wrist, or ankle, can be powerfully stimulatory.

  That the wrists and ankles, and the throat, and the lips, and face, of a woman of Earth can be commonly seen is taken by most Goreans as evidence that they are worthy, at best, if anything, of being the slaves of Gorean free persons. And certainly these barings much ease the work of the Gorean slaver plying his trade on Earth. Such acquisitions are fully bared, of course, when sold. Only a fool, it is said, would buy a woman clothed.

  "No,” she said. “If I were veiled my beauty would be concealed, and it is the means by which I will bend men to my will."

  "We each have our weapons,” said Cabot.

  She laughed, merrily, and then, as though first noticing the slave, she said, “What have we here?"

  "Head down,” said Cabot to the slave, and she lowered her head.

  "How scrawny she is,” said Lady Bina.

  "Scarcely,” said Cabot.

  "I wonder what men see in such things,” said the Lady Bina.

  "They have their purposes,” said Cabot.

  "What a skimpy garment,” said the Lady Bina. “How bared she is! She might as well be naked!"

  "It is a slave tunic,” said Cabot.

  "And there is something on her neck, is there not?” said the Lady Bina. Then she said to the slave, “Lift your head, girl!"

  The slave lifted her head, quickly, frightened, looking straight ahead.

  "Why it is a metal collar,” exclaimed the Lady Bina, as though astonished. “And how closely it encircles her neck!” she said. She then walked about the slave, and parted the hair at the back of the slave's neck, for one may handle slaves so, and the slave, frightened, remained unmoving, absolutely so. “And there is a lock here!” she said. She then put her hands on the collar, and tried to open it. “Why it is locked on the poor thing!” she said, as though amazed. She then came about the slave, before her, and stood next to Cabot. The slave did not dare to meet her eyes. “Surely she can take it off,” said the Lady Bina, as though concerned.