Savages of Gor

by John Norman

  "This is a switch," repeated Ginger.

  "Yes, Mistress," said the red-haired girl, swiftly. I was pleased to see that she was quite intelligent. "Yes, Mistress," said the other girls. "Yes, Mistress!" said the Swedish girl, tears in her eyes.

  "Evelyn and I," said Ginger, "do not intend to do all the work of the camp alone. In time, some of you, at least, will be freed to assist in our labors."

  The girls, quickly, glanced at one another.

  "Little fools!" laughed Ginger. "You are all little fools! Kneel straighter, little fools!"

  Quickly the girls complied.

  "Do not think of escape," she said. "There is no escape for you."

  Several of the girls reddened.

  "Consider your garb," said Ginger. "It is distinctive. It is that of a slave."

  Several of the girls looked down at the scanty, revealing cloth in which they had been placed.

  "Similarly, you are barbarians," said Ginger. "Even as you learn the language of masters, your accent will continue to betray you. Similarly, even should you learn to speak flawlessly such things as the fillings in your teeth and the vaccination marks on your arms will continue to mark you as barbarian. So, too, will such things as the fact that you have no Home Stone and no caste, and will be ignorant of a thousand things known to any Gorean. No, do not think that you can easily shed your barbarian origin."

  Some of the girls looked at her, angrily.

  "Too," said Ginger, "thrust up your tunics. Examine your left thighs!"

  The girls did so.

  "You are marked," said Ginger. "You are branded."

  The girls smoothed down their tunics, some of them with tears in their eyes.

  "So," said Ginger, "put all hopes of escape from your mind. It is a meaningless, foolish dream, inappropriate in a Gorean slave girl. There is no one here to save you. There is no place to go, nowhere to run. If you should seem to escape, you will be picked up by the first man who finds you, who will then return you to your master, for punishment, or keep you for his own slave. You, there! On your belly!"

  The Swedish girl, frightened, she who had been struck previously, twisted in the coffle chain and put herself on her belly. The girls on her left and right knelt, frightened, heads low, collar chains taut, looking at her.

  Ginger went to the girl and thrust up the tunic. "See these tendons," she asked, "at the back of each knee?"

  "Yes, Mistress," said more than one girl.

  She laid the switch, cool and green, across the tendons. The Swedish girl shuddered. "It is a common punishment for a runaway girl," said Ginger, "that these tendons are severed. The girl, then, can never stand again, but must, if she is permitted to live, drag herself about by her hands. Sometimes such girls are gathered up by masters and used as beggars, on street corners."

  Several of the girls cried out with fear.

  Ginger then rose to her feet and stepped away from the Swedish girl, who then, frightened, smoothing down her tunic, together with the girls on her left and right, resumed her original kneeling position.

  "You are barbarians," said Ginger. "You have been brought to Gor to be slaves, and that is what you are, and it is all that you are. Do not forget it!"

  "No, Mistress," said more than one girl.

  "In most cities and towns," said Ginger, "you would even find your pretty necks fastened in locked, steel collars."

  "Like animals!" protested a girl.

  "You are animals," said Ginger, "and the sooner you understand that, the easier it will be for you. You are beautiful, owned animals."

  Several of the girls shuddered.

  "And he who owns you," said Ginger, "he to whom you belong, is your master."

  "Would he be our total master?" asked the red-haired girl, looking at me.

  I gave no sign that I understood the red-haired girl's question.

  "You are a curious little slut, are you not?" asked Ginger. "What do you mean 'total master'?"

  The red-haired girl looked down. Clearly she was unwilling to clarify her inquiry.

  "Speak," said Ginger, not pleasantly.

  "Do we truly belong to them—fully?" she said. She hesitated, then she continued, uncertainly. "I mean," she said, "I understand that I am a slave, but does that mean that the master may do with me as he wishes, whatever it may be, and that I must strive to please him in any way he may wish, and to the best of my ability?"

  "Yes," said Ginger.

  "I would have to obey him?"

  "Instantly and unquestioningly," said Ginger.

  "But what if he found me attractive—desirable—as a woman—and—and—and wanted to make love to me?"

  "Make love, to a slave!" laughed Ginger. "Say rather rape or ravish, conquer or subdue, apply to his purposes, put to use, such things!"

  "Then I would be truly his," she said. "Fully."

  "Yes," said Ginger.

  "Have I no rights?"

  "None."

  "Then I would be his total slave, and he would be my total master."

  "Yes, he would be your absolute and total master," said Ginger.

  "You knew what I meant!" cried the red-haired girl. "All the time!"

  "What a slut!" said one of the girls.

  "Yes," said another.

  "And she thinks she is so much better than we!" laughed another.

  "Such a lady!" said another.

  "How genteel, how refined!" said another.

  "So much for Miss Elegance, for Miss Fashion!" said another.

  "There is a slut in that tunic!" laughed another.

  "Clearly," said another.

  "No! No!" protested the red-haired girl.

  "Yes," said Ginger. "And you will be choiceless, absolutely choiceless, little tart, at the end of a chain, at his feet, under a whip, in the furs of love, sweating in the grass, whenever and however he wants you. You will learn to love the ropes and straps with which you are bound, for they confirm your bondage upon you. You will neither speak nor clothe yourself without his permission. You will beg to tie his sandals, to wash and clean for him, to cook for him, to serve him in all ways in which a woman can serve a man, to petition humbly to be permitted to press your lips lovingly upon his feet, to supplicate him for the opportunity to lick and kiss the leather of his whip! In short, tart, he will be your master, and you will be his slave."

  "What a curious, shameless slut she is!" said one of the girls.

  "She is ready to lick boots!" said another.

  "Put her in a man's collar!" said another.

  "No, no, no!" cried the red-haired girl.

  "Wanton slut!" said one of the girls.

  "We are different from you!" said another.

  "We are not like you!" said another.

  "You are despicable!" said another.

  "Harlot!"

  "Slave!"

  "Silence!" said Ginger. "All of you will be as she, the same, for you are women! All of you, mastered, will be the same as she! Wait until you are owned, and a master's hands are on your body!"

  "No!" cried more than one of the girls.

  "Respect me!" begged the red-haired girl. "I can be cold! I can be frigid!"

  Ginger went before the red-haired girl, angrily. She looked down upon her. "Say," said she, "'I am a naked slut, a slave, and I want to be had by a man.'"

  The red-haired girl looked up at her in disbelief.

  The switch lashed down, striking her on her small shoulder.

  "I am a naked slut," she wept, "a slave, and I want to be had by a man."

  There was laughter from the other girls.

  But then, angrily, in turn, to their embarrassment, and misery, Ginger stood before each of them, and had them recite the same formula.

  Then Ginger backed from the line.

  The girls looked at one another uneasily. They were now other, subtly, than they had been.

  Ginger then stood again before the red-haired girl, and looked down upon her.

  The red-haired girl did not mee
t her eyes.

  "You a little skinny," said Ginger, "but you are a pretty slave."

  "Thank you, Mistress," whispered the red-haired girl.

  "So you think you can be cold? So you think you can be frigid?” asked Ginger.

  The red-haired girl did not respond to her.

  "You cannot," said Ginger. "You are too alive, too healthy, too vital. Did I not see you squirm on the auction block?"

  The red-haired girl hid her face in her hands.

  "Do you think I do not know your secret thoughts, and what you want?" asked Ginger.

  The red-haired girl did not respond to her.

  "It is not difficult to detect your need for a master," said Ginger.

  The red-haired girl did not respond to her.

  "May I speak?" asked another girl.

  "Yes," said Ginger.

  "Let us put aside all thoughts of that pretentious, worthless, red-headed slut," she said. "She, despite her cultural affectations, her upper-class diction, her formalities and haughtinesses, is nothing, nothing, clearly—is far less than any of us—is no more than a lascivious trollop. We have all noted, with embarrassment, her curiosity about delicate matters best left unmentioned. Let nothing more be said of them. So much for them. So much for her. Let us, rather, then, attend to matters more important."

  "Speak," said Ginger.

  "I do not understand this place," she said.

  "Yes?" said Ginger.

  "Here we are slaves?"

  "Yes."

  "How is it that we can be slaves?" she asked.

  "What?" said Ginger, puzzled.

  "How is it that we can be slaves?" reiterated the girl.

  "You are serious?" asked Ginger.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Very easily," said Ginger.

  "—Mistress?"

  "Your question is stupid and foolish," said Ginger. "You can be slaves because you have been enslaved."

  "Mistress?"

  "Enslaved, you are a slave."

  "But we are women," she said. "How can we be enslaved?"

  "Very easily," said Ginger. "And it has been done to you."

  The girl regarded her, protestingly, bewildered.

  "Is this so hard to understand?" asked Ginger.

  "We can not be slaves!" said the girl.

  "I beg to differ," said Ginger. "You are slaves. It is as simple as that. Do not be misled by the myths and rhetorics of your former world. Indeed, even on that world slavery exists. Slavery, as you will learn, is a very real institution, and, further, it is one in which you are profoundly implicated. You are totally and legally, as well as in practical fact, the property of your master."

  "Then we can be slaves here?"

  "You are slaves here, literally, and in fact. On your old world dogs and pigs can be clearly and legally owned. Here it is the same with you. Here you, like the dog or pig, are clearly and legally owned."

  The girl shrank back, in horror.

  "My lessons for you today," said Ginger, "are basically quite simple. I think they may be grasped even by intellects such as yours, those of slave girls. First, you are slaves, and that is all you are, nothing more, only slaves. Second, do not even think of escape. There is no escape for you. Slaves you are, my dears, and slaves you will remain."

  More than one of the girls, her head in her hands, shrank back, weeping.

  It seemed to me that Ginger had certainly spoken bluntly to the new barbarian slaves, but, still, I felt, on the whole, it had been appropriate for her to do so. It is kindest, I think, in the long run, to proceed rather along the lines that she had. The sooner a new slave's delusions are dispelled the better it is, normally, for all concerned.

  "Come now, my pretty slaves," said Ginger, "kneel straight. Back straight, heads up. Back on your heels there! Spread those pretty knees. Yes, that is the way men like it. Put your hands, palms down, on your thighs. Good. Good. Excellent!"

  The girls now knelt in the coffle, as instructed.

  I wondered if they knew they knelt as pleasure slaves.

  Surely they must have some sense on some level, at least, of the nature and meaning of the attitude in which they had been placed.

  "Mistress," said a girl.

  "Yes, pretty slave," said Ginger.

  "You speak of men," said the girl.

  "Yes," said Ginger. "You are female slaves. You now, in a general sense, belong to men."

  Several of the girls looked at her, frightened.

  "Doubtless you were taught many idiotic things about both yourselves and men on your old world. Doubtless, in your hearts, perhaps late at night, in bed, or in the morning, or at odd, lonely moments, in spite of your educations and conditionings, your trainings, you recognized the falseness of these teachings."

  I saw that several of the girls looked very frightened. I saw that they understood, only too well, what Ginger was saying.

  "You would understand, or sense, at such times," said Ginger, "the meaning of your slightness, your beauty and your needs. You would have understood that you were yearning women, in effect without men. You would have understood then something of the grand themes of nature, of dominance and submission, and your own obvious, natural place in such an organic scheme. At such times, perhaps, if you dared, you might have longed for the hands of a master on you, a magnificent, ruthless male who could fulfill you, who would put you to his feet and own you, who would answer your deepest needs, who would command you, who would dominate you, absolutely, and ravish you for his merest pleasure, and at his least whim, who would force from you, to your joy, the totality of love and service you were born to bestow."

  The girls looked at her, terrified.

  "On this world," said Ginger, "there is no dearth of such men and you, my dears, are female slaves."

  "Are we not permitted resistance?" asked a girl.

  "No resistance is permitted," said Ginger, "unless it be the master's will. That is a subtle point. You will have to learn to tell when the master desires resistance, that he may crush it mercilessly, and when he does not."

  Several of the girls swallowed, hard.

  "As female slaves," said Ginger, "you will be, as a general rule, a rule on which your very life may depend, absolutely docile, totally obedient, and fully pleasing."

  "We would have to be anything, and do anything, then, fully," said a girl, "that we are commanded."

  It seemed she wished to have, despite what had earlier transpired, some renewed, explicit confirmation of this aspect of her bondage.

  And did she wish to elicit this, that she might thrill to hear it?

  "Yes," said Ginger, "and with the utmost talent, skill and perfection that you can muster."

  "Mistress," said the red-haired girl.

  "Yes, Red-haired Slave," said Ginger.

  "Is the slave girl also, any slave girl," asked the red-haired girl, looking about meaningfully at her chain sisters, "at the sexual mercy of her master?"

  "Absolutely, and fully, and in every way," said Ginger.

  The red-haired girl smiled, and looked at the others in her coffle, and then, rather pleased, kept her eyes ahead, innocently.

  Several of the girls shrank back, uneasy, confused, frightened, in their chains. Yet from their glances, exchanged, it seemed that their responses held little of dismay. Indeed, mingled with expressions of fear, which I felt were fully justified, did I not note, as well, certain others, say, those of anticipation, of curiosity, or desire, or relief, or even of scarce-concealed elation?

  They would be choiceless.

  They need not choose then as they had been told they must choose. They need not choose then frustration, misery and suffering. They need not choose pain and loneliness. They need not choose then the self-alienating options prescribed for them by others, with their agendas extrinsic to the personal happiness of their victims. What is the value of choice when one must choose as one does not wish to choose? What is the value of choice when one must choose against one's own happin
ess, when one must choose self-denial, when one must choose what one hates? Better, choiceless, to be what one wants most to be.

  Refusals, dawdlings, reluctances, excuses, games, inhibitions, fencings, teasings, manipulations, bargainings, judgments, considerations, ponderings, coynesses, were no longer theirs to employ, either to attain their own ends, commercial or psychological, or to fulfill the requirements of a pathological, puritanical culture alien to life and nature. Such things were at an end. Such things were not acceptable to masters. The self-image of the noble, inaccessible free woman was to be replaced with the reality of the needful slave.

  What woman has not toyed with the thought of her helpless bondage, what woman has not wondered what it might be to be owned, and mastered? Who would own them? What would it be to be owned by a man of power and strength? What would it be to be lusted for, as a stripped, helpless slave?

  "You will learn," said Ginger. "And all of you will learn," she added.

  Again the red-haired girl's coffle mates exchanged glances.

  "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress," said the red-haired girl. She looked at me, and then, quickly, shyly, put her head down. In the brown slave tunic, with the chain on her neck, she looked almost demure.

  "Feed them," said Ginger.

  Evelyn then threw each of the girls a piece of meat, throwing it to the grass before them. She removed these pieces of meat from the slender greenwood spit on which they had been roasted.

  "Do not use your hands," warned Ginger, slapping the switch in her left palm.

  "Yes, Mistress," said more than one of the girls.

  I watched them, kneeling, leaning forward, palms down on the grass, heads down, eating at the meat.

  "A pretty lot," said Grunt, behind me.

  "Yes," I said.

  The red-haired girl, eating at the meat, looked up at me, and then, shyly, again lowered her head.

  "See that girl," asked Grunt, "the one with red hair?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "She is a virgin," he said.

  "Oh?" I said.

  "Yes," he said, "I tested her body this morning."

  "I see," I said. I recalled that the girl, in the sales barn, had proclaimed her virginity. It had been done in the throes of the misery of her sale, when she had pleaded not to be brazenly exposed to the buyers. Her pleas, of course, had not been heeded.