Captive of Gor

by John Norman

  * * * *

  "Tonight," cried Ute, happily, "you will serve, all of you!"

  The girls cried out with pleasure.

  This afternoon, for the first time in weeks, the raids of Rask of Treve had been successful. Eleven girls had been brought in, and much treasure. Laughing, bloody tarnsmen, with strings of pearls thrown about their necks, and cups and goblets tied at their saddles, and their saddle packs bulging with the weight of golden tarn disks, had brought their tarns down, wings beating, to receive the greetings of the camp. Merchants brought sides of bosk, and thighs of tarsk, and wines and fruits to camp, and cheeses and breads and nuts, and flowers and candies and silks and honeys. There was much bustle and laughter about the camp, much preparation and shouting. In the women's tent, eleven girls, tomorrow to be collared, crouched in fear. Slave girls staggered under the plunder, carrying it to the tents of the warriors.

  "Tonight," had cried Rask of Treve, blood on his shield, his eyes like those of laughing tarns, "we will feast!"

  The men had clashed their weapons on their shields and the girls had scurried away that the feast might be prepared.

  I would not serve, of course, for Ute would excuse me. She knew I was not as the other girls.

  In the shed, scornfully, I watched them, eagerly speaking about the evening, laughing and joking. Such might well serve men.

  Then, at Ute's call, they went from the shed, happily, to receive silks and bells.

  How I scorned them, such pitiful weaklings!

  I remained in the shed. I would retire early. I would need rest, for I must work tomorrow.

  "El-in-or, come forth!" I heard. It was Ute's voice.

  I was puzzled.

  I got to my feet and went outside the shed. There was a mirror there, and cosmetics, and silks and bells. There were no men about. The girls were preparing themselves.

  I looked at Ute.

  "Clasp your hands behind the back of your head," said Ute. "Arch your back, look up at the moons, flex your knees."

  "Ute!" I protested.

  In the work shed, of course, we are not permitted our tunics, for they might be soiled. Girls are also kept naked, at least commonly, in slave cells, slave cages, in their kennels, and such. Similarly, when a girl is chained at the foot of her master's couch, she will usually be naked.

  Seeing Ute's eyes, I obeyed. It is a common display position for a female slave. The back arched, the hands behind the head, this permits a master to assess her figure.

  "Yes," she said, "you are a pretty one, El-in-or. Hold position."

  "Ute?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Ute, "I think you will do."

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "You may break position," she said. "Now, fetch a work tunic, and report back to me."

  I hurried to the box of work tunics and donned one, and then returned to kneel before Ute.

  I awaited her orders, as to how I might assist in the feast. Was I to peel suls, turn a spit?

  "Stand," said Ute.

  I did so.

  "You are now clothed, are you not?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said, puzzled.

  "You are now in a work tunic," said Ute.

  "Yes?" I said.

  "It is a slave garment, is it not?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "You are a slave, are you not?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. "I am a slave!"

  "Free women may lie," said Ute. "But you are a slave. Are you permitted to lie?"

  "No, Ute!" I said, frightened.

  "Do you wish to be attractive to men?" asked Ute.

  "Ute!" I protested.

  "Think carefully before you answer, Slave," she said.

  I looked at her, agonized.

  "Speak, Slave," she said.

  "Yes," I said. "I wish to be attractive to men."

  "Who wishes to be attractive to men?" she said.

  "El-in-or, El-in-or, the slave, wishes to be attractive to men!" I wept.

  "Now," said Ute, with satisfaction, "El-in-or, the slave, speaks the truth."

  I put down my head in shame, by myself so bespoken.

  "We will see if you will do," said Ute.

  "Do?" I said.

  "Take off your tunic," said Ute.

  "Ute?" I asked.

  "The tunic," she said. "Get it off, now, instantly!"

  I looked at her, startled.

  "Strip!" she said.

  "Ute!" I protested.

  "Strip, Slave!" she said.

  I, so commanded, in consternation, quickly removed the garment. I then held it in my right hand.

  "Put it aside, Slave," she snapped.

  I dropped the garment beside me.

  I felt far more naked now than I had been when I had emerged from the work shed. I had worn clothing and had then been ordered to remove it. The psychological impact of this, the sudden, fearful sense of vulnerability, of helplessness, of exposure, even for a slave, is considerable.

  "Ute!" I whispered.

  "Mistress!" she said.

  "Mistress," I whispered.

  This severity was unlike Ute.

  She went to a table and picked up a bit of silk, which seemed to be wrapped about something. I heard a jangle of slave bells.

  "No!" I cried. "No!"

  Ute threw me the bells and silk. I caught them against my body, trembling. I feared I might drop them.

  "Please, Ute!" I wept. "No!"

  The other girls looked up from their work, and laughed.

  "Ute," I begged, "please, please, no!"

  "Make yourself pleasing, Slave," said Ute, and turned away.

  I stood there for several moments, in tumult, clutching the bit of silk against me, the bells within it.

  It seemed I could not move.

  "You had best hurry," said one of the girls. "Do you wish to be beaten?"

  I slipped on the bit of silk.

  I looked in the mirror and shuddered.

  I had been naked before men, many times, but it did not seem to me that I had been so naked as this. It was Gorean pleasure silk. Not naked, I seemed more than naked.

  I waited my turn before the mirror and applied the cosmetics of the Gorean slave girl. I knew well how to do this, for I had been trained.

  I buckled the slave bells on my left and right ankles, and then I went to Ute.

  "Please, Mistress," I begged.

  She smiled. "You come to ask to be belled?" she asked.

  I put my head down. Ute was adamant. "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  Ute took the other slave bells and buckled one strap, with its two small buckles, like the ankle straps, except smaller, about my left wrist, and then buckled the other strap, with its two small buckles, about my right wrist.

  I was belled.

  I stood about, miserably, while the other girls finished their primping. How exciting they were in their silk, their bells and cosmetics.

  "You are not unattractive," said Ute to me.

  I said nothing. I was miserable.

  In a few minutes, Ute, who retained her work tunic, and would not serve, reviewed us, commenting here and there, and recommending small changes upon occasion. We were her girls, and she wished us to present ourselves well.

  She stopped before me.

  "Stand prettily," she said.

  Furiously, I did so.

  Ute went to the chest of silks and bells and brought forth five more slave bells, which she tied with bits of scarlet ribbon to my collar.

  "There is something missing," she said, standing back.

  I did not respond.

  She went again to the chest. The girls gasped. As I stood there two large, golden earrings were thrust through the piercing of my ears and fastened on me.

  There were tears in my eyes.

  I now well understood the meaning of such things on Gor. I was one of the lowest and most meaningless of slaves, a pierced-ear girl.

  "And here," said Ute, "lest the ardor of the men become too
strong, this!"

  The girls laughed. She took a white, silken ribbon and wrapped it five times about the collar, not tying it.

  I had been marked white silk.

  Inge and Rena laughed. "Do not laugh," smiled Ute, "for you, too, will be so marked, lest Raf and Pron, huntsmen of Treve, in a careless moment, devour my two other white-silk pretties."

  The other girls laughed. I could see, to my irritation, that Inge and Rena did not much care to wear the white ribbon. I could not understand this. Did they wish to be used as helpless slaves by the handsome, powerful Raf and Pron? I supposed they did, and I despised them in their weakness. Inge had been of the scribes and Rena had been free. She had been even the Lady Rena of Lydius! Now they seemed to be naught but female slaves. I was pleased that I was not such as they.

  But how shamed I was, that I, Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, must appear before men and serve them, so clad and so belled.

  But Ute had forced me to admit that I wanted to be attractive to men.

  I wondered, could that have been true, really.

  Then I said to myself, of course one wants to be attractive to men! I hate them, but I wish to be attractive to them, that I may annoy them, disturb them, trouble them, torment them, bring them to excruciatingly desire, which I may then leave unfulfilled, rouse them to a madness of passion which I then, amusing myself with them, and their needs, will not satisfy.

  I had enjoyed this sport, subtly played, on numerous occasions, on Earth.

  It had been one of my pleasures.

  It is so simple to cause men acute agony!

  It was so simple to manipulate them, and control them, by means of their needs.

  How desperately they had wanted to please me!

  With hints of smiles, with the tiniest suggestions of promises, but, scornfully, ultimately giving absolutely nothing, I had obtained much, not the least of which was considerable gratification.

  Let them be misled, made fools of, plunged into misery!

  How well I had done!

  But then I recalled I was not branded. Then I did not wear on my neck the collar of a master.

  Ute touched me, and the others, then, with a bit of perfume. I was in anguish.

  "Serve, Slaves!" laughed Ute, clapping her hands, and the girls fled to the center of the camp, where I heard the shoutings of pleasure of men, welcoming them.

  Ute and I stood facing one another.

  "Serve, Slave," said Ute.

  Angrily I, perfumed and rouged, belled and silked, turned and followed the other girls to the center of the camp, near the great tent of Rask of Treve, of scarlet canvas lined with scarlet silk, on its eight poles.

  * * * *

  "Wine! Bring me wine!" shouted the warrior.

  I, a slave girl, with a rustle of silk and slave bells, hurried to him, a master, to serve him.

  Kneeling, I filled his cup.

  The music of those of the caste of musicians was heady, like the wine.

  There was shouting and laughter, the pleasurable moaning and crying out of girls used beyond the rim of firelight.

  There was much feasting, and drinking.

  On the sand, before the warriors, belled, in scarlet silk, the girl, Talena, danced.

  Some of them shouted, and threw bones and pieces of meat at her.

  I tried to rise, but the warrior whose cup I had filled had his hand in my hair.

  "So, you are a liar, and a thief, and a traitress?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said, terrified.

  He turned my head from side to side, looking at the earrings. He was drunk, and I could tell that he was aroused.

  "More wine," he said.

  I again filled the cup.

  "Your ears are pierced," he said, shaking his head, trying to clear his vision.

  "If it please Master," I whispered. "If it please Master."

  "Wine!" cried another man.

  I tried to rise.

  Talena was driven from the sand and another girl, belled, stood forth to please the men.

  At the head of the feast sat the magnificent Rask of Treve, in his victory. At his side, cross-legged, sat Verna, the panther girl, who was served by we girls as might have been a warrior. How I envied her her freedom, her beauty, her pride, and even the simple opacity of the brief garment she wore. She was not clad in a bit of silk, a touch of cosmetics, a scent of perfume and the bells of a slave.

  The man whom I had served wine reached clumsily for me.

  "I am white silk!" I cried, shrinking back.

  "Wine!" cried the other man.

  I tried to rise, but the man's hand was knotted in the silk. If I moved I would strip myself.

  Another girl, on her knees, reaching for him, holding his head, insinuated herself between us. "I am red silk," she murmured. "Touch me! Touch me!"

  His hand left my silk and I darted away.

  I fled to the other man and served him.

  "Wine!" called Verna. I ran to her and, kneeling, filled her cup.

  "Wine," said Rask of Treve, holding forth his cup.

  I could not meet his eyes. All of me blushed red before him, my master. I filled his cup.

  "She is pretty," said Verna.

  Another girl, with jeers, was driven from the sand, and another took her place.

  "Wine!" cried another man, about the circle.

  I leaped up and, carrying the vessel, with a clash of slave bells, ran to serve him.

  I tipped the vessel, but the wine was gone. I must fetch more.

  "Run, Girl!" he cried. "Fetch wine!"

  "Yes, Master!" I cried.

  I fled from the firelight. I stumbled over two figures, rolling in the darkness. A warrior cursed. I suddenly saw, rolled on her back, her dark hair loose, under the moons of Gor, Techne, her lips parted, reaching for the warrior. I fled into the darkness, toward the kitchen shed. Before I reached it I felt myself seized in a man's arms, and felt his leather. His bearded face pressed to my softness. "No!" I cried. He took my face in his hands. There were bells on my collar. "You are the slave, El-in-or," he said, "the little liar, the thief and traitress." I tried to twist away. He saw the earrings of gold, and I felt his hands hard on my arms, hurting them. "I am white silk!" I cried. He shook his head and looked at the collar. About it, wrapped there by Ute earlier, was the ribbon of white silk. He was furious. He did not release me. I could hear, from back at the fire, yet another girl jeered from the sand. "Please," I whispered. "I am white silk! I am white silk." Another shout from the fire indicated that a new girl now addressed herself to the pleasures of the feasters, and one, it seems, pleasing to them. "I would like to see you dance, little traitress," he said. "I must fetch wine," I said, and twisted away, running toward the kitchen shed. There I found Ute. "Do not send me back, Mistress!" I wept. "Fetch your wine and return," said Ute. I dipped the wine vessel into the great stone jar, again filling it. "Please, Mistress!" I wept. I could hear more shouting back at the fire.

  "El-in-or!" I heard shout. "El-in-or, the traitress!"

  I was terrified.

  "They are calling for you," said Ute.

  "Come, Slave, to the sand!" ordered a man's voice. It was the fierce, bearded fellow, who had accosted me as I had fled to the kitchen shed.

  "Hurry, Slave!" cried Ute. "Hurry!"

  With a cry of misery, spilling wine over the brim of the vessel, I slipped past the man in the doorway of the kitchen shed, and ran back to the firelight.

  When I reached the feasters another girl took from me the wine.

  I was thrust rudely to the center of the sand. I felt a hand tear away the bit of silk I wore. I cried out in misery and covered my face with my hands.

  "Liar!" I heard cry.

  "Thief!" "Traitress!" I heard cry.

  The musicians began to play.

  I fell to my knees.

  The girls began to jeer. The men shouted angrily. "Bring whips!" I heard cry.

  "Dance for your masters, Slave," I heard Verna call out.
>
  I extended my hands to Rask of Treve, piteously. I was suddenly aware, behind me, of a warrior, standing. In his right hand, the lashes looped in his left, he held a slave whip. I cried out with misery, my hands extended to Rask of Treve, my eyes pleading. He must show Elinor Brinton mercy!

  But she would be shown no mercy.

  "Dance, Slave," said Rask of Treve.

  I leaped to my feet, my hands held over my head. The musicians again began to play.

  And Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, of Earth, a Gorean slave girl, danced before primitive warriors.

  The music was raw, melodious, deeply sensual.

  I suddenly saw, scarcely comprehending, the awe in their eyes. They were silent, their fierce eyes bright. I saw their hands tighten, the shoulders lean forward.

  I danced.

  Well had I been trained in the pens of Ko-ro-ba. Not for nothing had it been I and Lana who had been among the most superb of the slave females then in the pens.

  In the firelight, in the sand, before warriors, I danced. My feet, belled, struck in the sand. The perfume was wild about me, swift in the brightness and the shadows. On my lips I wore slave rouge. I danced.

  I could see the eyes of the men, the movements of their bodies.

  I realized, suddenly, in the dance, that I had power in my beauty, incredible power, power to strike men and stun them, to astonish them in the firelight, to make them, if I wished, mad with the wanting of me.

  How different this was from the effective, but amateurish provocations I had enjoyed on Earth.

  Here, in the firelight, naked, adorned with the cosmetics of a slave, collared and belled, before primitive masters, on this barbaric world, I danced, and danced as the most desirable of all women, the female slave, she who is owned, who may be purchased, and who must unquestioningly and instantly obey, she who is the most wonderful property that a man can own, she who is the answer to his deepest and most delicious dreams.

  "She is superb!" I heard whisper.

  I danced toward him, he who had said this, and he leaped toward me, but two of his fellows seized him, holding him back. I danced back, my hands held to him, as though I had been torn from him.

  "Aiii!" he cried.

  There were shouts of pleasure.

  I saw the girls watching, too, their eyes wide, too, with pleasure.

  I threw back my head and the bells flashed at my ankles and wrists, and in my body the music, in its bright flames, burned.