by John Norman
"The raft is breaking up!” called Grendel. “Cling to a log, bind yourself to it!"
A heavy log struck against another log.
Had Cabot, or Grendel, or the slave, been placed otherwise than they were surely one or the other of them would have been crushed.
Two other logs crashed together, and one was lost in the night.
Rain continued to torment the raft and lake.
Even Grendel could not see for the darkness, and the rain.
Cold water washed over the remains of the raft, now little more than loosened timbers, held in proximity to one another by strained, then slack, scattered strands of rope.
"Hold to me!” called Cabot to the slave, and he thrust a log away and tried, clinging to another, to work his way from the raft. The slave lost her grip and cried out, but Cabot seized her by the hair and pulled her to him, and then both were clinging to a rope wrapped about a single log, and the raft might then, for all they knew, have been a dozen yards away.
"Call out!” cried Grendel, “and I will try to stay with you! Call out! Call out!"
"Here!” called Cabot. “Here!"
In the darkness, in the cold, blinding water, he thrust the slave to the log, and, with loops of wet rope, loose from the log, fastened her to it, and then he thrust his own arm amongst the ropes, and clung to the log as it pitched about, rising and falling, and sometimes rolling over, taking them beneath the surface, and then it pitched up, again, in the darkness, bringing them again to the surface, they gasping for air, trying to breathe in the ferocity of the rain and wind.
"Here!” cried Grendel, against the storm, scarcely audible.
"Here!” cried Cabot, in response, trusting that his companion's hearing, equivalent to that of a Kur, might detect the sound amidst the wash and roar of the storm.
It is not clear how long the storm lasted, as it is difficult to judge such things. Doubtless to Cabot and his companion, Lord Grendel, and his lovely beast, the slave, she who had been given the name ‘Lita', it seemed a long while, perhaps even the night. On the other hand, more likely, it lasted little more than two or three Ahn.
In any event, whatever may have been the case, it was still dark when Cabot, fastened to the log, awakened, shuddering, and felt a graveled sand beneath his feet, and, then, exhausted, he thrust the log to which he had bound himself forward, foot by foot to the shallower water, and then he was on the beach, and slipped from the log, and freed the unconscious slave from her fastenings, and carried her further, higher, onto the beach, and then, putting her down, collapsed.
Later Cabot awakened in a small cave, to the heat of a fire near its mouth. The slave was still unconscious.
Grendel put a stick on the fire. It was still raining, but gently, outside the cave.
"You are awake,” said Grendel.
Cabot nodded.
"Roast meat,” said Cabot.
"A lake bird,” said Grendel. “I brought it down with a stick."
"It is large, like a Vosk gull, is it not?” asked Cabot.
"I do not know,” said Grendel. “Perhaps, the fauna here is diversely origined."
"From the feathers of the Vosk gull,” said Cabot, “arrows may be excellently fletched."
The slave twisted a little, and whimpered.
"It is warmer,” said Cabot, “not cold, as before."
"Doubtless Agamemnon did not suppose the cold was any longer needed,” said Grendel.
"The weather?” said Cabot.
"Certainly,” said Grendel.
Cabot took the girl, still unconscious, and pulled her tunic off, unceremoniously, roughly, for she was a slave.
"Let us dry this,” said Cabot. “The sand can then be struck from it easily."
Grendel nodded, and arranged a stick, supported on some rocks, near the fire, over which he hung the bit of cloth.
What a lovely, skimpy little thing is a slave tunic, thought Cabot. How tiny, how clinging, how revealing, and how easily removed! And how obvious it is to its occupant and to others that its wearer could be no more than a slave. And how marvelous are women in such garments, in them as they should be, as slaves!
The girl then stirred more.
"She is awakening,” said Grendel.
"In my pouch, from Peisistratus,” said Cabot, “I have some articles, among them slave cord."
"Coins, too,” said Grendel, “even rubies?"
"Yes,” said Cabot, “worthless as they are, here no more than bits of metal, and pretty pebbles."
"Keep them,” said Grendel. “They may prove valuable."
"Here is the slave cord,” said Cabot.
"Your slave is a sorry sight,” said Grendel.
"A washing, a feeding, a grooming,” said Cabot, “would make it clearer to the average fellow why she is in a collar."
"I think such things are not necessary,” said Grendel. “Look upon her."
"True,” said Cabot, “even as she is, it is clear she belongs in a collar."
Cabot then fastened the girl's wrists together, crossed before her, and took the same cord down and crossed her ankles, and fastened them together. Her wrists were then fastened, bound, to her ankles, bound, and she could not lift her hands to her mouth, nor could she reach her wrist cords with her teeth. He then sat her back against the wall of the cave, her knees bent.
"She will soon awaken,” said Grendel.
"Slavers,” said Cabot, “often take a woman in her sleep, and bind her. She retired the night before, as usual, considering, if anything, only the prosaic routines of her next day's quotidian existence. She retires, anticipating nothing, suspecting nothing. Then, later, she awakens, doubtless to her consternation and horror, to find herself bound helplessly."
"Doubtless she cries out,” said Grendel.
"Only if the captor finds it acceptable,” said Cabot. “For she may have been gagged."
"Doubtless awakening so, helplessly bound, is an interesting experience for the woman."
"One supposes so,” said Cabot. “On the other hand, as I understand it, most are sedated, and awaken only later, doubtless days later, to find themselves in a Gorean pen, or cell, naked and in chains."
"Doubtless it is a suitable introduction to their new life,” said Grendel.
"One supposes so,” said Cabot.
The girl opened her eyes, and squirmed a little.
"I am bound,” she said.
She did not seem surprised. Slaves are accustomed to such things.
Sometimes they awaken while being bound, but can do nothing about it. They may then be turned to their back or belly, and put to use, as the slaves they are.
"Slave cord,” said Cabot.
"I am familiar with such cord,” she said.
"Certainly,” said Cabot, “as you are a slave."
She struggled a little, futilely. “I cannot rise,” she said. “I cannot bring my hands to my mouth. I awaken yours, and helpless."
"Not infrequently are slaves bound,” said Cabot. “Few things so contribute to a slave's awareness of her condition as being rendered totally vulnerable, completely defenseless and helpless. Susceptibility to the master's bonds, at his pleasure, finding herself wholly at his mercy, whenever he pleases, well reminds her of what she is and to whom she belongs."
She pulled a little at the slave cord, wrapped so securely about her small wrists and slender ankles.
"How much I am yours!” she said. “How much you master me!"
"Do you object?” asked Cabot.
"No,” she said, “I am a slave. I want to be well mastered! I need to be well mastered! I beg to be well mastered! I would be miserable were I not well mastered!"
"Any man can master you,” said Cabot.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “—Now."
Cabot's eyes roved her, as the eyes of masters can rove slaves.
She dared not meet his eyes.
"The sand,” she said, “my hair, my body."
"You are filthy,” said Cabot.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"I want to be presentable,” she said.
"You had better be more than presentable,” said Cabot.
"Of course,” she said. “I am a slave."
Grendel stirred the fire.
"As a slave,” she said, “I wish to go far beyond being merely presentable. As a slave I want my master to find me not only presentable, not only clean and well-groomed, and such, but appealing."
"'Appealing'?” asked Cabot.
"Attractive,” she said.
"Attractive slaves are, of course, pleasing to the master,” said Cabot.
"And we wish to be attractive to our masters,” she said. “The life of a slave who is attractive to her master is likely to be much more pleasant than that of one who is not attractive to the master."
"Doubtless,” said Cabot. “But if I am not mistaken you would like to be attractive to men, in general."
"Certainly, Master,” she said, “for we are women. Even when I thought I despised and hated men, I still wanted keenly to be attractive to them."
"Do you understand the meaning of that?” asked Cabot.
"I do not think I understood it then, at least fully, at least in full consciousness,” she said, “but now its meaning is quite clear. Its meaning is that we are women, and exist to be desired and sought, and that we wish, and wish desperately, despite what we might claim, to be desired and sought, and that we exist to be beautiful, and loving, for men, and that we exist to please and serve men, that we are the complementary sex to theirs, and each sex is to be a perfection to the other, and take its meaning from the other, and only as utterly different are the sexes united in the wondrous and precious perfection of wholeness, and this is what brings us to the feet of men, hopeful and submissive, to be accepted, if only we fully understood our meaning, and ourselves, as their slaves."
"And so your beauty is so important to you,” said Cabot, “and, on Gor, it is a beauty that does not fade."
"So I have been given to understand, Master,” she said.
"Have no fear,” said Cabot, “I will eventually give you an opportunity to clean yourself, to tend your hair, as you can, to wash and press your tunic with warm stones, such things."
"Thank you, Master,” she said.
"Females are such vain creatures,” said Cabot.
"Would you have us otherwise?"
"No,” said Cabot, “it makes it easier to control you."
"We are yours, Master,” she said.
"In a thousand ways,” said Cabot.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “Master,” she said.
"Yes?” said Cabot.
"We are attractive, are we not, Master?” she asked.
"Yes,” said Cabot, “otherwise you would not be worth buying and selling."
"Yes, Master,” she said.
Cabot, with his thumb, wiped some of the sand from her collar, better revealing its legend.
There were tears in her eyes.
"My master's name is on my collar,” she said.
"Of course,” said Cabot. “That is commonly done. The slave is goods. Thus it is important to know to whom she belongs."
"We belong to our masters,” she said.
"Of course,” said Cabot.
"I wonder if men can understand what it is for a woman to belong to a man,” she said.
"It is not hard to understand,” he said. “It is a simple matter of legalities, as owning a belt or saddle, or a kaiila or tarsk."
"To know that she is owned by him, truly owned by him,” she said.
"It is a legal matter,” he said.
"Oh, yes,” she said, “it is a matter of perfect legalities, and we are well aware of that, perfectly aware of that, that we are only goods and properties, no more, but what of our feelings, our emotions, our understandings of this?"
"The feelings of a slave are of no interest, and of no importance,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said, softly.
"It is expected that the slave will be dutiful, and serve well,” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she whispered.
Cabot looked past Grendel, and the small fire, toward the opening of the small cave. “The weather has changed,” he said.
"Yes, it is warm,” she said, gratefully.
"Lord Grendel speculates that Agamemnon trusts that cold is no longer necessary to his plans, and thus, one supposes, that the temperature of the world may be returned to an equable level, one suitable for this season of the cylinder year."
"Agamemnon?"
"The cold, the storm,” said Cabot, “may have been manufactured."
"It is highly likely,” said Grendel. “In any event, it is surely not a natural phenomenon, of the sort with which you might be familiar. It is within the cylinder. Too, there was, for example, no lightning, and no thunder."
"No!” she said.
Grendel returned to tending and turning the meat, at the small fire.
"If Agamemnon wished to kill us,” said Cabot, “he could have done so on the lake, with the aquatic machine."
"Yes,” said Grendel, “but perhaps not with consequences to his liking."
"I do not understand,” said Cabot.
"He appeared to save us, did he not?” asked Grendel.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"Or one of us?"
"One of us?” asked Cabot.
"I suspect the Lady Bina is involved in this,” said Grendel.
"She would have importuned Agamemnon to have us saved upon the lake?"
"Or one of us,” said Grendel.
"You then, her champion,” said Cabot.
"No,” said Grendel, looking down, stirring the fire.
"I?” asked Cabot.
"I think so,” said Grendel.
"But surely Agamemnon wants us both dead,” said Cabot.
"Yes, and so the storm,” said Grendel. “It is speculation on my part that Lady Bina intervened with Agamemnon to protect you on the lake. In a sense, he did so, and his efforts may have been witnessed in such a way, recorded in such a way, within the machine, as to convince her of his efforts on your behalf."
"Why on my behalf?” asked Cabot.
"Lady Bina may want you,” said Grendel. “Perhaps she wants you for a pet or a reward of some sort."
"Absurd,” said Cabot.
"Did you refuse her?"
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"This may have displeased her,” said Grendel.
"I see,” said Cabot.
"And the storm then would seem something in which Agamemnon had no hand, and which could not have been predicted, or defended against."
"But it could have been!” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said Grendel, “but did you, at first, understand the control?"
"No,” said Cabot.
"And to a lesser extent yet would have the Lady Bina,” said Grendel.
"But what of you, and Lita?” asked Cabot.
"I could be disposed of later, at her convenience,” said Grendel, “and she may have thought it amusing to own your Lita, who, when free, I understand, was something of a rival to her."
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"Doubtless she would be pleased to have her under her switch, as a terrified, groveling, abject serving slave."
Lita shuddered.
"And thus I suspect we were to be finished in the storm,” he said, “seemingly as the unfortunate consequence of an unforeseen accident, and thus without any compromise whatsoever to future services which the Lady Bina might render to Agamemnon."
"Then Agamemnon believes we are dead?” said Cabot.
"I think so,” said Grendel. “Consider the turn in the weather."
"That gives us something of an advantage, does it not?” asked Cabot.
"Only a small one, if any, I fear,” said Grendel.
"Is the meat ready?” asked Cabot.
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br /> "Yes,” said Grendel. He thrust a slab of roasted meat toward Cabot, on a sharpened stick, and he then began, with his paws, juice running between the digits, and his fangs, to feed.
The slave pulled her wrists a little upward, but they could not begin to reach her mouth.
Cabot took her by the hair, and pulled her down to her side, so her mouth was near his thigh.
He then fed for a time, and then, after a bit, he held some meat down by her mouth, only a little out of her reach.
She squirmed to it, and bit at it, desperately, voraciously.
She lifted her mouth, piteously, and whimpered a little, juice running at the side of her face. And Cabot gave her more, which she bit at, eagerly, greedily, gratefully.
"Is this the way a young lady with pretensions to station and position, even to membership in the British aristocracy, dines?” asked Cabot.
She pulled wildly, miserably, helplessly, at her bonds, but was helpless in them. And then she snatched again, and again, desperately, at the meat held out for her.
"You feed like a starving she-sleen,” said Cabot, “or a hungry slave."
She did not respond to him, but seized ever more desperately, and piteously, at the food held out for her.
"Did you save the feathers of the lake bird?” asked Cabot of Lord Grendel.
"Not really,” said Lord Grendel, wiping his jaws with a massive, haired forearm, “but they are about. Why?"
"They might be useful,” said Cabot, “in fletching arrows."
Chapter, the Thirty-Fifth:
LITA RETURNS TO THE CAVE
"Should she not be back by now?” asked Grendel.
Cabot was working with the missile, or arrow, straightener, a short wooden tool, some eighteen inches in length, with a small, round hole cut in one end. The suitable branch, properly trimmed, is seldom straight. One holds the straightener by what is, in effect, its handle, and thrusts the branch through the hole. Then, by twisting and pressing, over a small fire, one hand on the tool, the other on the shaft, thrust through the hole, the wood, now softened, now pliable, is straightened, and becomes a shaft worthy of its fletching and heading.