Fighting Slave of Gor

by John Norman

  "Drink," said Kenneth to Taphris, who knelt at our side.

  She thrust the bottle filled with water, thick with sugar, to Kenneth who, holding it for me, poured some of it down my throat. I spit the rest of it away into the sand. Kenneth pushed the bottle back to Taphris.

  Barus now toweled my body. Weakly I pushed him away. The sweat and water on my body, I hoped, would tend to slide blows away, were they struck at oblique angles.

  He then dried the leather on my fists, that it would grip when it struck flesh.

  The bar was again struck, a sharp, ringing note.

  "You have him now," said Kenneth. "Finish him quickly."

  I was half thrust to my feet and staggered toward the center of the pit. Kenneth, I decided, was insane. Yet he had seen hundreds of such bouts.

  I took the first blow, staggering to the side. I straightened and, stumbling, smashed my fist into the gut of Kaibar. He reached for me, and I struck aside his hands, and struck him on the left side of the face. We stood in the sand, unsteadily.

  "Fight!" cried the referee. "Fight!" cried the crowd. The crowd, mostly, was an excited and motley assortment of low-caste males, but, here and there, there were veiled women amongst them, generally these, too, of low-caste. There were, in favored seats, some upper-caste Goreans, recognizable by the colors and qualities of their robes, and among these, here and there, heavily veiled, erect and lovely, some upper-caste women. At one end of the enclosure, where it was entered, there was a barred gate. Behind this, pressed against it, watching, excited, holding to the bars, were collared, half-naked slave girls, stable sluts, crying out for the champions of their various stables.

  "Fight!" cried the referee. His lash fell on Kaibar.

  I suddenly felt chilled. I realized then I should have permitted Barus to towel my body, drying it. I feared I might be seized with muscle cramps. The sweat and water, too, now that I had paused, sticky on my hot body, formed an adhesive surface which I feared might hold the leather of Kaibar.

  "Fight!" cried the referee. His lash stung my back. The referee's lash again then fell on Kaibar, and again on me.

  Kaibar and I again staggered toward one another. I had survived the eighteenth fighting period.

  Then suddenly it seemed that the gunni were again on my hands and that I stood in the training barn before the great post. I could hear, but only as in the distance, the crying of the crowd, the screaming of the women, slave and free. I must work against time. Did not Kenneth hold the vial of sand? Blows it seemed I rained with an avalanche of lead on the reeling post shuddering in its braces. I must beat the sand. I could, and would. I lunged against the post, inches from it, blow after blow. Then spitting blood from my mouth, my legs covered to the knees with sweat and sand, pounding, laughing, exultant, terrible, I saw the post shatter away, falling from me.

  "Stop! Stop!" was crying Kenneth. He ran to me, holding me. I stood bloody in the sand. At my feet, bloody, covered with sand, unconscious, lay Kaibar.

  "Is he dead?" someone was crying.

  "No," called the referee.

  I was dragged to the center of the sand and my hands, one by the referee, the other by Kenneth, the trainer, were lifted in victory.

  I threw back my head, sucking in air. My hands were swollen. The bloodied leather was cut from my hands.

  "I shall have a champion who can beat your Jason!" cried Miles of Vonda, from the side of the wall.

  "Bring him then forth!" cried Kenneth. "The stables of the Lady Florence of Vonda will await him!"

  I had beaten the champion of the stables of Miles of Vonda two weeks ago. It had been that match which had established my precedence among the fighting slaves of the stables in the vicinity of Vonda. It had been that match which had resulted in my being named the local champion. This victory had not set well with Miles of Vonda. It was not merely that his own champion had been defeated and that he had lost a goodly bit of coin on the wagering involved, but that he had been, in the past, like several other young swains in the vicinity, an unsuccessful suitor in the matter of the companionship, for the hand of the Lady Florence of Vonda.

  I was half dragged, half pushed, by a crowd, Kenneth and Barus close to me, Taphris behind, through the barred gate leading to the sand pit. Another match, to hold the interest of the crowd, would soon be beginning. I pressed through people, slave and free, who pressed about me, congratulating me, many trying to touch me, even free persons. Slave girls, their eyes bright, their breath hot, tried to press themselves piteously against me. Some fell to their knees as I passed, trying to seize my legs, and kiss at my thighs and ankles as I passed. Women know that they are the natural spoils of conquering males. I saw even the eyes of free women bright and wild over their veils.

  "Well done, Jason," said Kenneth. "Well done."

  We heard the striking of the long bar from near the pit. Another match was beginning.

  We walked around, behind the tiers, still pressing through an admiring throng. Slave girls pattered behind, hoping for another look, but fearful now, away from the gate, of jostling free persons.

  "Back," begged Kenneth, "back! Return to the tiers!"

  We were now near the corridor gate leading from the small arena, to the stables where we were prepared for combat.

  "The Mistress!" said Kenneth.

  I looked up. Before us, standing, near the corridor gate, were two free women, veiled, in flowing, lovely robes.

  Swiftly I knelt. I was owned by one of these women.

  "Congratulations, Jason," said the Lady Florence of Vonda. "You did well."

  "Thank you, Mistress," I said. I looked up at her. My throat was locked in her collar. I was still breathing heavily.

  Though she was robed and veiled I would have recognized her, of course, from her eyes, her attitude, the lineaments of her body. Silk slaves recognize the bodies of their mistresses, even when they are robed and veiled, with much the same ease with which a master recognizes the bodies of his slaves. Too, I had, as I had learned on Gor, a good eye for woman flesh. Too, to my amazement, I recognized the woman who stood beside her.

  "May I present, Kenneth," said the Lady Florence of Vonda, "my dear friend, the Lady Melpomene of Vonda."

  "I am charmed, Lady Melpomene," said Kenneth, bowing.

  "Jason," said the Lady Florence, "perhaps you remember my good friend, the Lady Melpomene of Vonda, my city."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said, putting my head down.

  "We have patched up our differences, Jason," said the Lady Florence, "and we are now the best, and fastest, of friends."

  "I am pleased to hear that, Mistress," I said.

  "Lady Melpomene will be staying with us for two or three days," said the Lady Florence. "And, soon, we shall have some house guests."

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  "You will see that the grounds, and the stables, are tidy, won't you, Kenneth?" asked the Lady Florence.

  "Surely, Lady Florence," said Kenneth.

  "And you will keep the stable sluts on their chains, won't you?" she asked.

  "As Lady Florence wishes," said Kenneth.

  "We would not wish the sight of them to embarrass or offend our guests."

  "No, Lady Florence," said Kenneth.

  "Oh, Kenneth," asked the Lady Florence, "is the new girl working out?"

  "Yes, Lady Florence," he said.

  "What is her name?" she asked, absently.

  "Taphris," said Kenneth.

  "Oh, yes!" she said. "Is she doing well?"

  "Yes," said Kenneth, "she has the makings of a superb stable slut."

  "Oh," said the mistress.

  Taphris, in her stable collar, reddening, gasping, shrank back.

  "It seems her tunic has been torn," said the Lady Florence, "and, too, it seems her hair has been cut."

  Taphris, with two hands, tried to pull together the sides of her tunic, but it did her little good. She was now as exposed as any stable slut. Kenneth had seen to that. The mistress' spy was now o
nly a dream of pleasure to any man who might lay eyes upon her.

  "Surely Mistress recognizes that her tunic is now more fit for the arduous and crude labors of the stable slut than before."

  "Of course," said Lady Florence.

  "And her hair had value," said Kenneth, "so, as she is merely a stable slut, I saw fit to shear it."

  "Of course," said the Lady Florence. She would not interfere, of course, with Kenneth's management of the slaves.

  Kenneth smiled.

  "Again, Jason," said the Lady Florence, turning away from Kenneth, "permit me to congratulate you on your victory."

  "Thank you, Mistress," I said.

  "I did not know, Lady Florence," said Kenneth, "that you were a partisan of the bouts."

  "I am not," she said. "It is only that the Lady Melpomene and I thought it might be amusing, for the afternoon, to see how some of those of the lower castes see fit to spend their time."

  "I see," said Kenneth. "Did Lady Florence enjoy the bouts?" he asked.

  "As a woman of taste, and one of refined sensibility," she said, "I could not enjoy them."

  "I see," said Kenneth.

  "They are far too brutal," she said. She turned to the Lady Melpomene. "How did you find them, my dear?" she inquired.

  "Disgusting, simply disgusting," said the Lady Melpomene, quickly.

  "Most disgusting of all, perhaps," said the Lady Florence, "was the disgraceful sight of those half-naked slave girls pawing after the fighters."

  "Yes," said the Lady Melpomene.

  "They are only slaves," pointed out Kenneth.

  "This is true," admitted the Lady Florence.

  "Yes," said the Lady Melpomene. "What can one expect of collared sluts?"

  "I wonder, though, what it would be like to feel such emotion," mused the Lady Florence.

  "They wear only a rag and a collar," said the Lady Melpomene. "They are owned. They must serve. They are not permitted pride. Under such circumstances it is doubtless easy to feel emotion."

  "Perhaps," shuddered the Lady Florence.

  "With your permission, Lady Florence," said Kenneth, "I would like to get Jason to the stall, that we may dry and warm him. He is hot and sweaty. I do not wish him to take a chill."

  "I trust you take as good care of my tharlarion as you do of your fighters," said the Lady Florence.

  "Of course," grinned Kenneth.

  "You may kiss my feet, Jason," said the Lady Florence. I bent, putting my lips to her slippers, kissing them. "Now those of the Lady Melpomene," she said. Again I bent, this time pressing my lips to the slippers of the Lady Melpomene, too, kissing them.

  "He has become a sturdy brute, hasn't he?" asked the Lady Florence.

  I lifted my head.

  "And a handsome brute, too," she said.

  "Come, Jason," said Kenneth, drawing me to my feet. He half pushed me down the corridor.

  "Kenneth!" called the Lady Florence.

  Kenneth stopped and turned.

  "Is he to be rewarded?" she asked.

  "Surely," said Kenneth. "Was it not a splendid performance? Did he not do excellently?"

  "Double rations, and wine," she said.

  "Of course," said Kenneth.

  I was angry.

  "And no slut!" she said, clearly.

  "He is a male slave, a fighter," protested Kenneth. "He needs a collared slut squirming in his arms. He has earned her."

  "No slut," she said.

  "Let me at least chain Taphris at his side," said Kenneth. "She is the least of the sluts, and has been shorn."

  Taphris shrank back.

  "No, Kenneth," said the Lady Florence. "Do not give him a woman."

  "He is a man," said Kenneth. "He needs meat and a slave girl."

  "He is not to be given a woman," she said. "Is that clearly understood, Kenneth?"

  "Yes, Lady Florence," he said, angrily.

  "Kenneth," she said.

  "Yes, Lady Florence," he said.

  "I will later find a slut for him," she said. "I have a slut in mind."

  Kenneth looked at her, puzzled. "Very well, Lady Florence," he said. Then he turned about, to thrust me ahead of him down the corridor, I looked back, seeing again, at the gate, the Lady Florence and, beside her, the Lady Melpomene. Then I yielded to the pressure of Kenneth's arm and was guided down the corridor, toward the stall set aside for our fighters. Barus was close behind us, and then Taphris. Back, behind the gate, from the tiers, I could hear shouting. Another match was in progress.

  21

  The Incubation Shed

  I was naked and sweating profusely. It is hot in the incubation shed.

  "The mistress seems in a good mood," I said.

  "Shhh," Barus, who was stripped to the waist, cautioned me. "Listen." He put his ear down to the warm sand.

  I joined him, listening. Beneath the warm sand, say a foot below the surface, we heard a tiny noise, a scratching.

  "It will be coming out soon," said Barus, grinning, straightening up.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Taphris," said Barus, "put more sticks in the flame ditch."

  She looked at us. She was naked. Barus had made her remove her clothes in the incubation shed. She was covered with sweat. Her flesh, in the light from the flame ditch, it almost encircling the buried clutch before us, glowed reddishly. Girth cloths lay at hand. These, sewn from feed sacks, are used to dry and wrap the hatchlings. Snout straps, too, coiled, used to secure their jaws, also lay nearby.

  "I should not have to do this work," said Taphris.

  "Get on your hands and knees," said Barus. "Carry the sticks, one by one, in your mouth."

  "Yes, Master," she said, angrily. I smiled to myself to see the Mistress' spy, commanded by a free man, obeying.

  "It is too bad she is not to be used," said Barus. "She needs raping."

  I shrugged. What Barus said was doubtless true.

  "Kenneth, too, is displeased with her," said Barus to me. "One can scarcely make a move in the stables without knowing that the little she-sleen is going to report it to the Mistress."

  I nodded.

  We watched Taphris, on her hands and knees, carry a stick to the edge of the flame ditch and, shutting her eyes, drop it in, then quickly draw back. She then looked at us.

  "Continue, Slave," said Barus.

  "Yes, Master," she said, returning on her hands and knees to the box for another stick.

  "It is irritating, having such a spy about," said Barus. "Too, she thinks she is important. She thinks she is still a house girl, and not a stable slut. Her presence in the stables is not good for the discipline of the other girls."

  That was true. If she were not to be whipped and chained, and disrobed and raped, as might be the others, and for no obvious reason, such as being the favorite of one of the keepers, a reason a slave girl can understand, then puzzlement, and perhaps even consternation and dissension, might soon manifest itself in the kennels. The other girls might then soon want the same privileges. And if such matters were allowed to proceed unchecked soon half-naked slave girls might aspire to the pretensions of free women, desiring to be the mistresses of their own clothing and bodies. But matters, of course, would never be permitted to reach that point. Long before that point was reached the leather would have been removed from its nail in the whipping shed.

  "We must do something about Taphris," said Barus.

  I shrugged. It seemed to me now, objectively, that Taphris was under sufficient discipline. She was crawling about, naked, on her hands and knees, carrying sticks in her mouth, feeding the slow fires in the flame ditch. To be sure, it had for a moment this afternoon seemed otherwise.

  "Taphris," said Barus, sharply.

  "Yes, Master!" she said, startled.

  "Bring water," he said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. She got to her feet and went to the side of the shed, where the water bucket was placed, to get the yellow, half-gourd dipper.

  We watched her.
<
br />   "She is pretty," said Barus.

  "Yes," I said.

  "It is a pity she is not to be raped," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  She filled the half-gourd dipper.

  "It will not be difficult to get rid of her when we wish," said Barus. "Kenneth has already intimated to the Mistress that she has the makings of an excellent stable slut."

  "I see," I smiled.

  "Soon the Mistress will fear to trust her in the stables, where you are," he said.

  "I see," I said.

  "Two of the sluts in the kennels have been whining for you," said Barus.

  "Might I inquire which ones?" I asked.

  "Tuka and Claudia," he said. "And I do not think Peliope or Leah would much mind having your hands on them either."

  I shrugged.

  "They sweat in their chains," he said.

  "I wish I could have them," I said.

  "It is not the wish of the Mistress," he said.

  "Your drink, Master," said Taphris.

  He looked at her and, suddenly, frightened, she fell to her knees. She put her head down. She pressed the yellow, rough-skinned half-gourd, brimming with water, deep into her belly. Then she lifted the yellow side of the gourd to her lips and, lingeringly, turning her head, kissed it; then she lifted it to him with both hands, her head down between her extended arms.

  Barus took the gourd and drank. He had seen that the Mistress' spy had served him well.

  He held the cup. "Are you under perfect discipline, Taphris?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, trembling.

  "It did not seem so this afternoon," he said.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said, trembling. "Please do not have me slain." Taphris, a Gorean slave girl, knew that she was at the complete mercy of free persons. Barus, as one of the Mistress' slave keepers, could kill her, or have her killed, at a whim. The Mistress, she knew, could always send another spy to the stables, perhaps Pamela or Bonnie, other house slaves. Neither Pamela nor Bonnie, incidentally, were Earth girls, though they wore Earth-girl names. Such names, as I have mentioned, are often used as slave names on Gor.

  Taphris kept her head down.

  "Do not kneel me with those sluts!" she had cried out, angrily.

  The other girls, kneeling in a circle, referred to as sluts by one who was herself obviously only a stable slut, even to the rag and collar, cried out in protest, in outrage.