Savages of Gor

by John Norman

  The men at the trading point scarcely paid them any attention.

  I sat nearby, a blanket spread out before me, on which I had spread out various of the trade goods, mostly mirrors, dyes and beads this afternoon, which I had brought into the Barrens.

  The Dust-Leg woman threw the girl to her right side in the grass and pulled up the tunic on her left thigh. The girl, terrified, did not resist. "Inahan!" called the Dust-Leg woman to the others about, pointing to the brand on the girl's thigh. "Guyapi!"

  "Ho," said one of the men, agreeably. "Inahan," agreed another.

  "Winyela!" announced the woman. "Inahan," said more than one man.

  "Cesli!" said the woman scornfully to the girl.

  "Please do not hurt me, Mistress," said the girl, in Gorean.

  "Ahtudan!" cried the woman at her, angrily, and then she spat upon her.

  "Yes, Mistress," said the red-haired girl. "Yes, Mistress!" She then pulled up her legs and looked down, into the grass.

  The Dust-Leg woman turned away from her and came over to where I sat behind the blanket. She beamed at me. The Dust Legs, on the whole, are an affable, open-hearted and generous people. They tend to be friendly and outgoing.

  "Hou," said the woman to me, kneeling before the blanket.

  "Hou," said I to her.

  It is difficult not to like them. Most trading is done with them. They tend to be the intermediaries and diplomats of the western Barrens.

  The woman opened a rectangular hide envelope, a parfleche, slung on a strap over her shoulder. In it were various samples of beadwork and some small skins. She put some of these things on her edge of the blanket.

  "Hopa," I said, admiringly. "Hopa."

  She beamed, her teeth strong and white in her broad, reddish-brown face.

  She pointed to a small mirror, with a red-metal rim. I handed it to her.

  I glanced back. Behind us and to the side the red-haired girl, timidly, frightened, had resumed a kneeling position. I do not think that she had personally offended the Dust-Leg woman. I think it was rather that the Dust-Leg woman simply did not entertain any great affection for white female slaves. Many women of the red savages, in spite of the wishes of their men, do not approve of such soft, curvaceous, desirable trade goods being brought into the Barrens.

  The Dust-Leg woman carefully examined the small mirror.

  I looked beyond her, to a few yards away, where several kaiila, of the visiting Dust Legs, were tethered. There, with the animals, there knelt a white female slave of the Dust Legs, another of their animals, a two-legged one, and lovely legs they were indeed, doubtless by the paws of her master's beast. She wore a brief garment of fringed, tanned skin, rent and stained, doubtless a castoff from some free woman's shirtdress, shortened to slave length. She was wet with sweat and dark with dust. Her hair, which was dark, was wet, and tangled and matted. Her legs, bloodied and muchly scratched, were black with dust and sweat. Here and there one could see where the trickle of perspiration had run through the dust. On her thighs where she had rubbed her hands the dust was streaked in wet smears. She had been run beside her master's kaiila, and apparently not slowly.

  Grunt was engaged in conversation with four or five of the Dust-Leg men. Then he rose to his feet, and went to his stores, to bring forth a fine hatchet.

  The female slave of the Dust Legs, kneeling by the kaiila, wore a beaded collar, about an inch and a half in height. It was an attractive collar. It was laced closed, and tied snugly shut, in front of her throat. The patterns in the beading were interesting. They indicated her owner. Similar patterns are used by given individuals to identify their arrows or other personal belongings. It is particularly important to identify the arrows, for this can make a difference in the division of meat. It is death to a slave, incidentally, to remove such a collar without permission. Furthermore the collar is fastened by what is, in effect, a signature knot, a complex knot, within a given tribal style, whose tying is known only to the individual who has invented it. It is thus, for most practical purposes, impossible to remove and replace such a collar without the master, in his checking of the knot, by untying and retying it, being able to tell. Suffice it to say, the slaves of the red savages do not remove their collars. The girl kept her head down. She apparently was not being permitted to raise her eyes at the trading point. She might thus, if the master wished, have come and gone from the trading point without having seen anything or recognized anything, unless perhaps the grass between her knees and the paws of her master's kaiila. Gorean slaves, incidentally, wherever they may be found, say, in the cities or in the Barrens, are generally kept under an iron discipline. It is the Gorean way.

  "Two," said the Dust-Leg woman, in Gorean, holding up two fingers. She indicated the mirror, now lying before her, and two beaded rectangles, drawn from her parfleche. This type of beadwork is popular in curio shops in certain Gorean cities, far from the perimeter; it may also be fashioned by leather workers into various crafted articles, such as purses, pouches, wallets, belt decorations, envelopes and sheaths. Interestingly this type of article is more popular away from the perimeter than near it. It is not merely that it is more common nearer the perimeter but, I think, that it serves as a reminder, near the perimeter, of the reality and proximity of the red nations, whereas these same nations, or tribes, far from the perimeter tend to be regarded not only as remote but as almost mythical peoples. The ear-splitting cry of a Kaiila warrior, for example, has seldom awakened a good burgher of Ar from his slumbers.

  "Five," I suggested to the Dust-Leg woman. I recalled that Grunt had, two days ago, at another trading point, received five such rectangles for a similar mirror. I smiled when I made this suggestion to the Dust-Leg woman. In such trading, it is a good idea, on both sides, to smile a great deal. This makes the entire exchange, if one takes place, a good deal more pleasant for both parties. Not only are tensions eased but vanities are less likely to become involved in the trading. It is easier, if one is smiling, to get a little less than one would like, or to give a bit more than one might otherwise choose to. Concessions, thus, for both sides, are less like defeats and more like favors bestowed on friends. In the long run, this increases the percentage of mutually satisfactory bargains, and the individual who has found dealing with you satisfactory, of course, is more likely to deal with you again. He becomes, in effect, a customer. It is better to make less profit on a customer and have him come back than make a higher profit and not see him again. These, at any rate, were the sentiments of Grunt, who seemed popular with the Dust Legs, and, as far as I can tell, they are substantially sound.

  I glanced again to the white female slave of the Dust Legs, kneeling, eyes down, in her beaded collar, by the kaiila. I thought if she were washed and combed she might not be unattractive. It was easy to see why Dust-Leg men might find such goods of interest. It might be pleasant to have such a lovely animal about, to cook one's meat, to keep one's lodge and please one, humbly and obediently, in the furs. I could also see why Dust-Leg women could view such a commodity with distaste and contempt. How could they, free, begin to compete with a slave? How could they even begin to do so, unless they, themselves, also became slaves?

  "Two," said the Dust-Leg woman.

  "Five," I said. My interest in the Barrens, of course, was not in trading. As far as I was concerned I might have given the woman the mirror. On the other hand, I realized, and Grunt had made it clear to me, too, that one must not insult the red savages nor deal with them unrealistically, particularly in the light of other traders and merchants who might follow me. If I gave away goods, or traded them too cheaply, this would suggest that I was delivering cheap or inferior merchandise, an inference it would not be in our interest for the red savages to draw. Too, if they thought the goods sound, they might think they had been paying too highly for them in the past, or expect that future dealers would deal with them similarly, which, of course, they would not be likely to do, nor be able, realistically, to afford to do.

 
One of the Dust-Leg men was examining, with great care, the hatchet which Grunt had shown him. Grunt excused himself and rose to his feet. One does not hurry red savages in their perusals of products.

  Grunt went again to his stores and brought forth some packages, wrapped in waxed paper. "Canhanpisasa," said Grunt. "Canhanpitasaka. Canhanpitiktica." He then began to pass out, to the Dust-Leg men and women about, pieces of candy, lumps of cake sugar and flakes of dried molasses. The woman with whom I was dealing, too, received a palmful of molasses flakes. She smacked her lips. Grunt and she then exchanged what I took to be appropriate civilities and compliments.

  She pointed to Grunt. "Wopeton," she said. "Akihoka. Zontaheca."

  I looked at Grunt. I knew one of his names among the red savages was Wopeton, which means Trader, or Merchant.

  "She says I am a skillful and honest fellow," he said.

  "Hopa! Wihopawin!" he said to her.

  The plump woman doubled over, laughing. 'Hopa', I knew, meant 'pretty' or 'attractive'.

  "Wawihaka! Wayaiha!" she laughed.

  "I told her she was a pretty woman," said Grunt, "and now she is teasing me. She says I am a joker, one who makes others laugh."

  "Two," said the Dust-Leg woman to me.

  "Five," I said to her.

  Grunt looked about, the sweets in his hand. He saw a red youth near the men, sitting together. He motioned him to come closer. The lad wore a shirt, leggings and a breechclout, so much perhaps because he was visiting at a trading point. Grunt offered him some of the sweets. The young man shook his head, negatively. He was eyeing the red-haired girl.

  "Ah!" said Grunt. Then he turned to the red-haired girl. "Strip," he told her. Swiftly, unhesitantly, a slave, frightened, she did so. "Be flattered," said Grunt to her. "Our young visitor finds you of greater interest than some bits of molasses." He then put his boot squarely in her back and thrust her forward, on her belly, before the young man. "Please him," he said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "Rise to your knees before him," he said. "Remove his breechclout with your teeth. Attempt to interest him in you."

  "Yes, Master," she wept. But it would not be the first time she had pleased one of Grunt's visitors.

  Grunt watched the girl struggle to her knees. He replaced the sweets, wrapping them, carefully in his pouch.

  The girl looked up, frightened, at the red youth.

  "Four," I said to the Dust-Leg woman. I supposed I should have actually set my original price higher. Already I would obtain less for the small mirror than Grunt had for a comparable item the day before yesterday.

  "Winyela," said the Dust-Leg woman, in disgust, glancing behind me to the red-haired girl.

  I glanced back. Frightened, and humbly, and delicately, she was pleasing the youth. I had little doubt but what he would find her of interest.

  "Winyela," said the Dust-Leg woman, and spat into the grass.

  A few yards away, near the kaiila, the white slave girl of the Dust Legs kept her head down, not daring to raise it.

  Grunt had now gone back to the coffle, where most of his girls huddled together, the chain on their necks, and removed Ginger, and Ulla and Lenna, the two Swedish girls, from the chain. All of the girls in the camp, with the exception of the red-haired girl, had now been named. In each case their former Earth name had been put on them, but now, like a brand, by their master's decision, as a slave name. The two Americans, beside the red-haired girl, were Lois and Inez; the French girl was Corinne; the two English girls were Priscilla and Margaret. That the red-haired girl had not been named as yet was not a function of the fact that either Grunt or myself saw any difficulty with Millicent as a slave name. The former debutante's name seemed to us quite suitable for a slave's name. It was rather that he did not yet wish her to be named. She was to continue, for the time, as a nameless slave. The object of this was to lower her standing in the camp, and to assist in her training. Granting her in hospitality to various of his guests had a similar object. Grunt now came forward, Ulla and Lenna bent over, one on each side of him, their hair in his hands. Ginger followed, a pace or two behind. Five of his girls were, now, not in the coffle, four of these being the red-haired girl, and Ginger, and Ulla and Lenna. The other was the English girl, Margaret, whom he had put naked, her legs pulled up, under a kailiauk hide, on the grass.

  Grunt threw both of the girls to their knees near the sitting men. He then jerked their tunics from them. "Bring your hair forward, over your breasts," he said. "Cover yourselves, as best you can." His commands were translated, rapidly and expertly, by Ginger. The two girls complied immediately. They covered themselves, as they could, with their hair. They crossed their hands and covered their breasts. They clenched their knees together. They put their heads down.

  The seated men laughed. It amused them to see slaves in such postures. Did they think they were free women, before captors? Yet, too, I think there were few there who were not aroused seeing the women in this position. Such a position, in its pathetic pretense to modesty, begs to be rudely terminated; it taunts the master, in effect, to the ensuing and uncompromising exposure of the slave. Such a position, if prolonged more than a few moments, can become a nuisance or inconvenience to the master. It is, thus, seldom lengthily tolerated. Its primary value, and there is little other reason for permitting the slave to assume it, is to lead her to believe, and hope, that she may be accorded some tiny particle of dignity or respect, an illusion which then, to her shame and humiliation, may be totally shattered by the master.

  Grunt then drew in the grass, with the heel of his boot, a circle, some ten feet or so in width.

  He then looked to the Dust Legs. One of the men stood up and pointed to Ulla. Grunt then ordered her to stand in the circle, orders conveyed by Ginger, which, frightened, half crouched over, she did.

  I saw that the red youth now had the red-haired girl on her back in the grass.

  "Resist, to the best of your ability," said Grunt to Ulla. She nodded her head, frightened, hearing the translation from Ginger.

  The Dust Leg then, with a rawhide thong, stepped into the ring in the grass. Ulla tried to resist him, as best she could, but, in a moment, bruised and vomiting, he not having been gentle with her, she was on her belly in the grass, her hands being jerked behind her and tied. He then put her on her back on the grass, pulling her up so that she rested on her elbows. He kicked her legs apart.

  "Eca! Eca!" said the other men.

  "Eca!" agreed Grunt, heartily.

  "You, Lenna, my dear, now," said Grunt. "Into the circle! Fight! Fight!"

  Ginger translated this, but I think Lenna needed little in the way of translation.

  Clearly Lenna did not wish to be abused, as had been Ulla. On the other hand she knew she must obey, and to the best of her ability.

  Another red warrior leaped into the circle, a bit of rawhide thong loosely in his mouth. Lenna struck wildly out at him and he seized her wrist turning her about and thrusting her wrist high and painfully behind her back. She screamed. I feared he would break her arm. Then he kicked her feet out from under her and she was on her belly. He then seized her by the hair with both hands and yanked her up on her knees and bent her backwards, until her head was at the grass, exhibiting the bow of her captured beauty for his fellows. Then he threw her forward, again, on her belly, and, in a moment, kneeling across her body, had lashed her wrists tightly behind her body. He then, like his fellow, turned her to her back, pulled her up, so that she rested on her elbows, and, standing up, over her, kicked her legs apart, too. Ulla and Lenna, together, then, lay in the circle, up on their elbows, their legs kicked apart. The second fellow had handled Lenna even more rapidly, I thought, than had the first fellow handled Ulla. Both girls had been speedily vanquished, and both now, helpless, lay trussed, their legs symbolically spread, at the feet of their conquerors.

  "Eca!" said the men.

  "Eca!" commended Grunt. "Eca!"

  "Remember," said Grunt to the helpless
Ulla and Lenna, "you are to be totally pleasing to masters. You are never, unless commanded to do so, to resist or oppose them in any way. Your hands could be cut off or you could be tortured and killed."

  "Yes, Master," said the girls, fearfully, in Gorean, following Ginger's translation.

  Ulla looked at the man who had vanquished and bound her. Lenna regarded the man who had served her similarly, and with such dispatch. Neither of them, I think, had expected to be made so helpless so quickly, and with such strength. Lenna and Ulla exchanged glances and then looked away from one another, reddening, shamed. They had been well bound, as women, and as slaves. Doubtless they were wondering what it would be like to be owned by such men.

  Grunt then sat down and began to talk with the other men, not the two still standing, as though nothing had happened, as though it had been only a bit of sport with two embonded sluts, only an amusement for the entertainment of his guests.

  One of the standing men pointed to Ulla, and said something. The other pointed to Lenna, and, too, said something.

  "Oh?" asked Grunt, innocently.

  I smiled to myself. It is hard for a man to subdue and bind a naked woman without wanting her. I thought Grunt would get an excellent price for the two beauties.

  The red-haired girl, whimpering, was still lying beneath the red youth, clutched in his arms. She looked at me, frightened. He was again, eagerly, at her body. She had well succeeded, it seemed, as her master had desired, in arousing his interest. He had turned her about, roughly, curiously, this way and that, from time to time, caressing her and examining her, and making her please him. There was some blood at her mouth, where, once or twice, he had cuffed her. I saw her hands, half wanting to grasp him, half wanting to thrust him back. He was speaking to her in Dust Leg, slowly and clearly. "Yes, Master," she whimpered, in Gorean. "Yes, Master." It amused me that the youth, like so many individuals to whom only one language is familiar, so familiar that it seems that all humans must, in one way or another, be conversant with it, seemed to think that the girl must surely understand him if only he would speak slowly enough and with sufficient distinctness. Grunt, of course, might have helped her, but he was engaged in business. I, myself, though I had acquired a few words of Dust Leg, had little more idea, specifically, of what the youth was saying than the girl did. His tone of voice suggested that he was not commending her on her beauty, a pastime on which red masters are inclined to waste little time with their white slaves, but ordering her to do something. "Relax," I told the girl. "Let loose of yourself. Feel. Yield."