Captive of Gor

by John Norman

  The rope slipped another quarter of an inch on my body, and I screamed!

  Then the rope, pressing itself cruelly into my arms and body, lodged itself firmly.

  It slipped no more.

  I was effectively imprisoned by the weight of my own body. I feared only that the rope might break.

  The tarn then began to wheel, and soar, and I swung below it, dangling and bound, hundreds of feet above the grasses below. It was turning back toward the Ka-la-na thicket, now remote in the distance, far below.

  I felt myself being pulled, foot by foot, upward. I felt the rope press even more cruelly into my body, and I felt myself, foot by foot, lifted. My hands felt so helpless. I wanted to clutch the rope, to hold it! But I could not.

  Then, looking up, I saw the great talons of the tarn, held in against its body, above me. They were huge, curved and sharp.

  I felt my body dragged against the side of the bird, and then I felt my shoulder rub against the metal and leather of the saddle, and a man's leg.

  Then he held me in his arms. I could not move, so terrified I was.

  I saw his eyes, through the apertures in his helmet. They seemed amused.

  I looked away.

  He laughed.

  It was a great, raw laugh, that of a tarnsman. I shuddered.

  He removed the tarn rope from my body. On the saddle before him, facing him, I clung about his neck, terrified that I might fall. He coiled the tarn rope, and fastened it at the side of the saddle.

  He then removed his tarn knife from his belt.

  I felt the knife between the camisk and the binding fiber that belted it on my body. There was a movement of the knife and the binding fiber whipped from my body and, in the rushing wind, the camisk began to tug, snapping away from me, and then it was high, about my throat, pulling at my neck, flapping and snapping. He lifted it over my head and it flew behind the tarn. I felt against my body his leather, the buckle of his tarn belt. My cheek lay against the metal of his helmet. My hair streaked in the wind.

  With his two hands he disengaged my arms from his neck.

  "Lie before me, on your back," he said, "and cross your wrists and ankles."

  Terribly afraid of falling, I did so.

  He bent across my body and I felt my crossed wrists lashed to a saddle ring. He then bent to the other side and, in moments, I felt my crossed ankles lashed to another ring.

  I lay there on my back before him, my body a bow, bound helplessly across his saddle.

  He slapped my belly twice.

  He then laughed another great laugh, that great raw laugh, that of a tarnsman, who has his prize bound helpless before him.

  I cursed my misfortune, that I had been driven from the thicket when a tarnsman had been in the sky!

  I pulled at my bound wrists, and ankles, fastened to the rings.

  I turned my head to one side and wept.

  I had again fallen captive.

  What an incredible misfortune that I had been driven from the thicket just at the moment when a tarnsman had been in the sky!

  I then became aware that the tarn was circling, and descending.

  It was hard to breathe. I could see little but the sky, and the clouds.

  Then, with a jolt to my back, and with a scattering of dust and a snapping of wings, the tarn alit.

  I became aware, as well as I could see, that we stood in the midst of a clearing in a peasant village. I could see, my head hanging down, in the distance a great thicket of Ka-la-na. Peasants were crowding about. Turning my head to one side, I could see men with spears and flails, in peasant tunics. Women and children, too, in the dusty square crowded about. I heard some clanging of pans, some seemingly celebratory, or congratulatory, pounding on kettles, perhaps with large metal spoons. I saw sticks in the hands of some of the children. I hoped they would not strike me with them.

  "I see you have her, Warrior," said a large peasant, bearded, in a rough tunic of rep cloth.

  I trembled.

  "You flushed her well into the field," said the warrior. "My thanks."

  I groaned with misery.

  "It is little enough for the many services you have rendered us," said the man.

  "She stole meat from us last night," said a man.

  "Yes," said another, "and before that, the night before, from the village of Rorus."

  "Give her to us, Warrior," said a man, "for a quarter of an Ahn, for a switching."

  The warrior laughed.

  I trembled.

  "There are men of Rorus here, too," said the man. "They, too, would like to punish her. Give her to us for a quarter of an Ahn, that we may switch her."

  Bound, I trembled.

  "Let us switch her," cried the women and the children. "Let us switch her!"

  Upside down, fastened in the straps, I shook with fear.

  I did not want to be switched.

  In peasant villages there is often a horizontal pole, set in its uprights, rather like a fence railing; it is usually either about a yard from the dirt, or some seven or eight feet above the dirt. Sometimes the position can be alternated between these two settings. In the low setting the woman is put on her knees facing the railing. Her hands are then bound together, and fastened to the railing. In the higher position she again faces the railing, but she stands; her bound hands are then fastened to it, well over her head. In both positions her hair is thrown forward, that it not be interposed between her body and whatever admonitory device it is to which she is to be subjected. The usual implement of behavioral correction is a switch, but, if it is thought appropriate, she may be subjected to a full Gorean slave lash. It is normal for the girl, given to understand that her behavior has not been perfect, to kneel before the master and beg to be punished. This is only to be expected. Surely she wishes to be improved. If she should be even slightly reluctant, or be perceived as being even a bit slow, to fervently request this boon of the master, it is likely that she will receive an indefinite number of strokes. She must then, if the master sees fit to grant her petition, at a word from him, run to the post. After her beating she is cut down, and, wrists still bound, kneels before him and kisses his feet, thanking him for the beating. In a peasant village the female slaves are commonly deferent and hard-working, and, as it is said, and as I have been told, are ardent to thrash well in the rude arms of their agrarian masters.

  "What is the cost of the meat?" inquired the warrior.

  The people were silent.

  From a pouch he threw a coin to a man of the village, and another to another man, doubtless one of the other village, called Rorus.

  "Thank you, Warrior," they cried. "Our thanks!"

  "Her first beating," said the warrior, in his strong voice, "is mine to bestow!"

  There was much laughter. I pulled helplessly at the straps.

  Elinor Brinton did not want to be beaten! She should not be beaten! She was not of barbaric Gor; she was of another world, Earth. She was not a Gorean girl. She was different, higher, better, a woman of Earth! She was refined, educated, sensitive! She was too special, too delicate, to be beaten! Could he not see that? She was not a common slave! She should not be beaten! Could he not see that?

  But I felt the leather of the saddle beneath my arched back, the binding fiber on my wrists and ankles, that fastened me to the saddle rings.

  It was so tight. I was so helpless.

  And I was bound shamefully, cast over his saddle as though I might have been a piece of meat.

  How often had I thought of myself as I had been, and not as I now was!

  Here I wore a brand, here I was only a slave.

  He was a Gorean male.

  I was slave meat!

  He would do with me what he wanted.

  I looked up at him, but he did not see me look up at him. How mighty, how vibrant, how magnificent, he seemed. I thought that I had never seen such a man. I had not known such men could exist. Never had I seen a more virile, powerful, attractive man. He was the most attra
ctive man I had ever seen. And I lay spread before him, arched and supine, over his saddle, helpless in his tethering, his prisoner, his captive, completely at his mercy, fully bared to his sight and touch.

  I shuddered in the bonds.

  No dignity, no respect, no consideration would be accorded me. It was not done with slaves.

  This was Gor.

  I was a rightless animal.

  Here there could be no recourse to inculcated, frivolous, meretricious platitudes of equality.

  I would have been a thousand times less than he, even had I been free.

  What would he do with me? What would be my fate?

  Here I wore a brand, here I was slave.

  He was a Gorean male.

  I was slave meat!

  I was his.

  It would be done with me as he wished.

  He was the sort of man before whom even free women might swoon, might tear away their clothes begging him to use their bodies, supplicating him for his collar.

  I realized that even I, Elinor Brinton, as I had been on Earth, might have, on Earth, knelt before such a man, and, in this realization, I realized, again, that even on Earth I had been no more than a lonely, dissatisfied, pretentious liar, a masquerading slave, another slave without a master, posing as a free woman.

  At his least word or glance I knew that I, as a slave, must surrender myself to him, totally. But I knew, too, tied across his saddle, that I was ready to do so, that I wished to do so, that I was piteously eager to do so.

  I, a woman, a rightful slave, was in the power of a man, one who was a rightful master of women.

  The female in me cried out to serve such a male.

  But I did not want to be beaten!

  And then I thought, wildly, pathetically, yes, beat me, beat me, Master, impress your ownership upon me!

  It was not that I wanted the pain, but rather that I would then understand myself his, subject to his categorical domination, a slave at his will, mastered, owned.

  Then I realized that I must resist him.

  I was Elinor Brinton!

  He raised his hand to the crowd. "I wish you well," he shouted.

  "I wish you well!" they cried.

  I felt the one-strap of the tarn harness jerk tight across my body, and, suddenly, taking my breath away, the great bird screamed and began to beat its wings, and the saddle pressed up against my back, and I, upside down, saw the conical huts of the peasants drop away below us, and the bird, stroke by violent, majestic stroke, its head forward, was climbing toward the clouds.

  * * * *

  The tarn streaked through the skies. I could feel the wind on my body. I lay bound over the saddle. My hair fled back in the wind, across his left thigh. I could scarcely move my wrists and ankles. He had lashed them securely. He was incredibly strong. Never before, even in the hut, had I been tied more tightly, more helplessly. I did not know where we were going, or even in what direction we were flying. I knew only that I, Elinor Brinton, a captured girl, was being carried helplessly, cruelly bound, tightly and uncompromisingly secured, into slavery.

  It is now clear to me that we were flying southeastward.

  Shortly after we had attained the skies, and he had set his direction, he turned me on my flank, facing him, and, with the fingers of his right hand, fingered my brand. "Only a Kajira," he said. Then, with the palm of his hand he thrust me back on my back.

  In a moment or two, he reached down and took my hair, lifting my head, painfully, and turning it from side to side. "Your ears are pierced," he said. Then he dropped my head back against the side of the saddle.

  I groaned, helplessly.

  The tarn streaked on.

  Once, he said to me, "We are crossing the Vosk."

  I knew then we were within the territory of Ar, and must be high over the Margin of Desolation, a barren area, now recovering itself, which, years ago, had been cleared and devastated, that the northern fields of Ar by such a natural barrier, by such a wall of hunger and thirst, might be protected, presumably from invasion from the north or, more likely, from the incursions of Vosk pirates. In the reign of Marlenus, prior to his exile, and later, after his restoration, the Margin of Desolation had been deliberately left untended, that it might recover. Marlenus had set a swift fleet of light, Vosk galleys to clear the river waters adjoining his Ubarate of pirates. They had been successful, or muchly so. Seldom did Vosk pirates ply their trade where the Vosk bordered the regions of Ar. Other cities, to the north, of course, looked with apprehension on Marlenus' permitting the Margin of Desolation to recover its fertility and shade. He may have been only intending to extend the arable lands of Ar. On the other hand, under Marlenus, it became clear that Ar no longer feared for her borders. Also, the ambition of Marlenus, the Ubar of Ar, said to be the Ubar of Ubars, was well known. If it was now possible, or soon would be possible, to bring a land army easily southward to Ar, once the Vosk was traversed, by the same token, it would be similarly possible for Ar to bring, swiftly, a considerable force of men northward, to the very shore of the Vosk. Of tradition, the northern shore of the Vosk was disputed by various cities. Ar, among others, had made her claims.

  Ahn after Ahn, the tarn flew.

  He did not unbind me to feed me.

  "Open your mouth," he said.

  He thrust yellow Sa-Tarna bread into my mouth. I chewed the bread and, with difficulty, swallowed it. He then, with his tarn knife, from a piece of raw bosk meat, cut four small pieces of meat, which he placed in my mouth. "Feed," he said. I chewed the meat, eyes closed, swallowing it. "Drink," he said. He thrust the horn nozzle of a leather bota of water between my teeth. I almost choked. He withdrew the nozzle and capped the bota, replacing it in his saddle pack. I closed my eyes, miserable. I had been fed and watered.

  The tarn flew on.

  After a time I looked up, again, at the warrior who had captured me.

  He was broad chested, and broad shouldered. He had a large head, muchly concealed within the war helmet. He carried his head proudly. His arms were strong, muscular and bronzed. His hands were large, and rough, fit for weapons. He wore scarlet leather. His helmet, with its "Y"-like aperture, was gray. Neither his leather nor his helmet were distinguished by insignia. I supposed then, that he must be a mercenary, or an outlaw.

  He seemed as magnificent, as powerful, as virile, as before. I sensed audacity, and strength, and a powerful intellect. I found him inordinately attractive, more so than any man I had ever met. But I knew that I, Elinor Brinton, must struggle to resist him. I wanted to lift my body piteously, in its straps, to call myself to his attention. But I did not do so.

  To have been taken by such a man, I had no idea what my ultimate fate would be, other, of course, than that it would be whatever he pleased. My wishes would not be taken into consideration, no more than those of any other animal.

  He might use me, of course, if he found my body pleasing, but what beyond that?

  A man such as he had doubtless had many women, and perhaps owned many women. And I knew that my beauty, while not inconsiderable, at least from the point of view of some men, was not that unusual on Gor, as it had been on Earth. On Gor I did not doubt but what there were thousands of women, slaves, at least, who were far more beautiful than I.

  I did not think he would keep me.

  Such a man would have his pick of beautiful slaves, even high slaves, and, I supposed, of free women, as well.

  This angered me, that it was unlikely he would keep me. I was, after all, only a dirty little slave, a fugitive, a pilferer of meat from peasant villages, picked up in an open field.

  I would probably not even be used. I would probably just be sold, or given away.

  Fortunately he would not know I had committed other thefts, little things, pastries, candies, berries, and such, and he would not know that I was a liar, and he would not know that I had betrayed Ute, who was my friend.

  He would not want me.

  So I resolved to be unfeeling, and cold,
to make it clear to him that such things were indifferent to me, and that I did not find him of interest.

  And might not this attitude bring me to his attention more effectively than any other?

  Then I realized that he, a Gorean male, experienced with women, would see through these pathetic strategies.

  Too, I realized that with one caress he might have me leaping in the straps, begging him for use.

  Such strategies, as well, however effective they might be for free women, who can withhold their favors, waiting for better offers, are scarcely effective for slaves, for they are subject, at the master's pleasure, to "bondage caresses," which no woman can resist. It is difficult to pretend to frigidity when one is writhing in bonds, pleading for the master's least touch.

  So, as he would not want me, I would not want him!

  As though one could control such things!

  There seemed something familiar about the strong figure, he before whom I lay, so exposed and bound.

  Somehow he frightened me, even beyond the fact that I had much to fear, as I was in his power, a caught slave.

  I wondered if I had known him, somehow, or met him before, somewhere.

  Perhaps in Laura, near the compound of Targo!

  "Are you," I asked, trembling, "a hireling of Haakon of Skjern?"

  "No," he said.

  "Will you—" I asked, "will you keep me for yourself?"

  I had resolved not to inquire into such matters, but the words came out. I could not help myself.

  He smiled.

  I had revealed my interest in him, his attractiveness to me, that of a bound slave, obviously hoping that she might be found pleasing, that she might be found worthy of his collar.