by John Norman
“Do you now think you will be freed, curvaceous slave?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said.
I was then in no doubt as to my bondage. I now knew myself a slave, only that. I had been displeasing, and had been punished, “promptly, and well.” If I had had any doubts as to my bondage they were dispelled. The matter was transparent, and simple. I was a slave, only that. I had been displeasing, and had been put to the leather. There is no answer to the whip; leather is irrefutable.
Interestingly, though I much fear the whip, and would do much to avoid it, I was not displeased to have felt it then.
It was then good for me. I should have been punished, and had been punished.
I was reassured that I was a slave, and his slave.
I was pleased to belong to such a man.
I was grateful, and proud, to be the slave of such a man.
I considered him.
I wondered if any of the men of my world, so many of them weakened, reduced, crippled, confused, conflicted, taught to doubt themselves and deny their own blood, could even begin understand such a man. Let them tremble and hide, and fear even to think of such; let them denounce such men, if it pleases them, and in denouncing them denounce themselves, if there yet remains any such self within them to denounce.
But Goreans were clearly human.
Are they not our brothers, and twins?
Are they so different? I did not think so. Is it only that they have failed to sully soil and water, refused to create poisoned atmospheres, refused to reduce and shame themselves, had no interest in ascending prescribed treadmills, placed in the midst of nothing, leading nowhere?
Can the steps of a false journey not be retraced?
It is possible to live against nature, and accept the inevitable consequences; it is also possible to live with nature, and enjoy her bounties. Flowers and stars are not evil.
“Prepare to trek,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He handed his pack, now closed, to me. “Follow me,” he said, “two paces behind, on the left.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“In two days, with some fortune,” he said, “we should reach the Laurius.”
“I am a slave,” I said. “I cannot match the pace of Master.”
“Then three days,” he said. “It does not matter. We can think of things to do on the way.”
“I fear for the great ship,” I said.
“By now,” he said, “it has either been destroyed at the mouth of the Alexandra, where it debouches into Thassa, or it is somewhere abroad on Thassa, its course set for the farther islands, and, I fear, beyond, to the World’s End.”
“And what of the mysterious cargo?” I said.
“It is the time of winter on broad, rolling, thundering Thassa,” he said, “a time of cold and ice, of impenetrable fog, and short, dark days, of storms, of waves as high as flighted tarns and as mighty as clashing mountains, and it will go down with the ship.”
“But what if the ship does not go down?” I asked.
“Then, I fear,” he said, “it will reach the World’s End, and find its employment.”
“One pertinent to worlds?” I said.
“It is thought so,” he said.
He then turned about, and strode through the trees, and I hurried behind him, carrying the pack.
I was very happy.
I was now content with my master. I had been well taught that I was his. No longer was there the least doubt in my mind of this.
He was Gorean. He was the sort of man by whom a woman would hope to be purchased, one who would be a strong and fine master, one who would protect her, and care for her, and master her, and never let her forget she was his slave. There are such men, who so lust for, and desire, a woman, that nothing less than her absolute possession will satisfy them. She is to be owned. She is to be their belonging. They will have her, and keep her, on their terms, on their terms alone, on the terms of the master, as their rightless, helpless slave.
There are such men, and they are our masters.
I was content. I was happy. I followed my master.