by John Norman
I did not speak.
"I thought, for a moment," she said, "looking into your eyes that they were the sort of eyes before which a woman fears that the lineaments of her features, even though veiled, may be clear to him under whose observation she finds herself. Indeed, she fears, as his eyes imperiously, casually, rove over her, that her beauty and needs, in spite of the intervening robes, the intervening layers of cloth, may be exposed as helplessly to him as those of a slave girl."
I did not speak. She moved the whip and its coils gently upon my body, half caressing it, half instructing it in its bondage.
"Please do not whip me," I said.
"But then," she said, "I discovered that you were not a man, but only a slave, and one who was despicably weak."
"Please, Mistress," I begged, "do not whip me."
She put the whip aside, on the couch beside me. "Do not fear, Jason," she said. She looked down at me. "You are not worth whipping," she said.
She put her hands to the high, ornate collar of her robes, undoing the silver clasp. She slipped the robe from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She was strikingly beautiful.
"I will not play long with you, Jason," she said. "I will soon send you back to your chains."
"What are you going to do with me?" I asked.
She laughed. She went then to the wine and poured the goblet half full. Then she came and sat near me, at the top of the couch. I struggled to my elbows, as I could. I put my head back. She supported my head, and put the goblet to my lips. "Drink, pretty Jason," she said. "It will make you less tense." She then tilted the goblet and poured the wine, bit by bit, into my mouth. I drank, frightened. Then she left the couch and returned the goblet to a small table. In a moment she had returned to the side of the couch, where she stood, looking down at me.
I could already begin to feel the wine. I was still half on my elbows. "What are you going to do to me?" I asked.
"Treat you as what you are," she said, "a man of Earth, a weakling, at the mercy of a Gorean free woman."
I regarded her, frightened.
"Lie back, pretty Jason," she said. I lay back. The furs were deep about me. I felt the inflexible clasp of the steel on my ankles and wrists.
Then suddenly, lightly, like a cat, she slipped onto the couch beside me.
"I do not understand," I said. "What are you going to do with me?"
"Own you," she whispered. "Use you for my pleasure."
I looked at her with horror.
She smiled and then thrust the whip, crosswise, in my mouth, between my teeth.
She then aroused, and raped me.
Chapter 11 - THE ROOM OF PREPARATION
"Poor slave," said the girl. "How the Mistress has abused you."
I lifted my head, slightly, from the flat stones. I lay on my side. The room was quite dark. My feet and ankles were chained together, the chain joining them apparently run through a ring in the stone. I was naked. I wore my collar.
"Lie quietly," said the girl.
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
I felt a cool rag, moistened with water, bathe my forehead.
"I am not a Mistress," she laughed. "I, too, am only a poor slave."
"What has happened?" I asked. "What time is it? Where am I?"
"Last night," she said, "you were sent to the chamber of the Mistress."
I was silent.
"I wager she well taught you that you were a slave," she said.
"Yes," I said. "I was well taught that I was a slave."
The girl continued to bathe my forehead. "What time is it?" I asked.
"It is early evening of the day following that in which you were sent to the Mistress' chamber," she said.
"How can that be?" I asked.
"When the Mistress was finished with you," asked the girl, "did she not remove your chains and place a bowl of meal for you at the foot of her couch?"
"Yes," I said. I had been made to eat from it on my hands and knees, head down, not permitted to use my hands.
"Did she not then thrust your tunic under your collar and tell you to find the guards, that they would know what was to be done with you? And did she not then send you from her presence?"
"Yes," I said. "But I do not recall finding the guards."
"The meal was drugged," she said.
"Where am I?" I asked.
"In one of the rooms of slave preparation," she said. "It is in such rooms as these that slaves are often readied for their sale."
"Am I to be soon sold?" I asked.
"I fear so," she said, "since you have been placed here."
I sat up, bitterly.
"I am so sorry for you," she said. "It is such a horrifying and degrading experience to be sold, almost incomprehensible."
"Have you ever been sold?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, "many times."
"I am sorry," I said.
"It does not matter," she said, softly. "I am only a slave." I sensed that she leaned back. "Do you wish me to bathe your forehead more?" she asked.
"No," I said. "But you have been very kind." I heard her wring out a rag, hearing the water drip into a pan of water. Then she got up, apparently taking the rag and water to the side of the room. In a moment or two she had returned.
"Are you thirsty?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She held a flask of water to my lips from which, gratefully, I drank.
"How cruelly they have chained you," she said. As I had sat up, my wrists, chained closely together, were near my ankles, similarly closely chained. A length of chain, joining my wrists and ankles, running through a heavy ring, secured me in place.
"Are you hungry?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
From a loaf of dried bread, breaking pieces from it, she fed me.
"Would you like again to drink?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. She again held the flask of water to my lips.
"I stole some meat for you," she whispered. She then, piece by piece, fed me small pieces of boiled meat.
"You should not have taken such a risk," I said.
"Eat," she said. "It will give you strength."
"What would they do to you, if they found out that you had stolen the meat?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "I suppose they would only whip me. Perhaps they would cut off my hands."
"Why would you take such a risk, only for me?" I asked.
"Are you not of Earth, Jason?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "I am of Earth. How did you know my name?"
"I have heard you called that," she said. "Is it not the name you have been given?"
"Yes," I said. "It is the name I have been given." I wore the name 'Jason' now only as a slave name. Slaves have no names in their own right. They are only animals. They are called whatever their masters wish.
"Do you know of Earth?" I asked.
"Yes," She said, ruefully, "I know of it."
"What is your name?" I asked.
She was silent.
"What is your name?" I asked.
"It is a shameful name," she said. "Please do not make me say it."
"Please," I said.
"Darlene," she said.
"That is an Earth-girl name," I said, excitedly. I trembled in the chains.
"Yes," she said.
"It is a beautiful name," I said.
"It seems to well arouse the lust of Gorean masters," she said.
"Why would they put such a name upon you?" I asked.
"To make it clear to all that I am no more than a slut and a slave," she said.
I had heard that Earth-girl names were often used as slave names on Gor, often being given to the lowest, and the most exciting and sensuous of slaves.
"How cruel Goreans are," I said. Then I said, "I am sorry. Forgive me."
"Why?" She asked.
"I did not mean to insult you," I said.
"I do not understand." she said.
"You are Gorean, ar
e you not?" I asked.
"No," she said.
"Then what are you?" I asked.
"Only a poor Earth-girl slave," she said.
I was stunned. "Your Gorean," I said, "is flawless, superb."
"The whip has taught me much," she said.
I was silent, overcome with pity for her. How tragic, I thought; to be a girl of my own world, and be brought cruelly and helplessly to the world of Gor, to be made a slave.
"On Earth," she said, "my name was Darlene. It was then, of course, my own name, and not a mere slave name, put upon me by the whim of Masters."
"I must see you," I said. I pulled at the chains.
"Eat, Jason," she said. "There is a little meat left."
I finished the meat, her small fingers delicately placing it in my mouth.
"You have risked much, bringing me this meat," I said, "for one who is only a slave."
"It is nothing," she said. "You are a man of my world."
"You are a fine and brave girl," I said.
"I am only a miserable slave," she said.
"I must see you," I said. "Is these no way some light can be brought into this place?"
"There is a small lamp," she said. "But I would fear to light it."
"Why?" I asked.
"You are a man of Earth," she said. "I would be so ashamed to have you see me, a girl of Earth, as I am now."
"Why?" I asked.
"I am clad only in the rag and collar of a slave," she said.
"Light the lamp," I said, kindly. "Please, Darlene."
"If I do so," she said, "please try to look upon me with the gentility of a man of Earth."
"Of course," I said. "Please, Darlene."
"I will light the lamp," she said. She rose to her feet and went to the side of the room.
I heard the striking together of stones, probably iron pyrites, and saw sparks. Inwardly I gasped as I, in a flash of sparks, followed by darkness, caught a brief glimpse of the luscious, kneeling girl at the side of the room. She wore the scandalously brief shreds of a tattered slave rag, sewn of brown rep-cloth, torn open at her thighs, I assume deliberately, held but by a single, narrow strap over her left shoulder. Her breasts hung lovely, sweet and full, scarcely concealed, within the thin brown cloth. In the spark of light I had seen the glint of the collar, of close-fitting steel, about her throat. She was barefoot.
The stones struck together again, and again I saw her, kneeling oven a bit of moss, tinder, which she was intent upon igniting. She had dark hair, short but full, which fell about her face. Again I glimpsed the lusciousness of her curves, her collar, her bare feet. Had I been a slaver I thought surely I would have marked her down for inclusion on a cargo manifest.
Then she had the bit of moss lit and, into it, she placed a straw. This straw, burning then at one end, served to light the wick of a small, clay oil lamp. She then shook the straw, extinguishing it and, with her fingers, moved the bit of moss about, spreading it, and the tiny flame there dissipated into scattered glowing points which then, rapidly, disappeared. She took the lamp then in her hands and approached me, then crouched down and set it to one side, then knelt back, on her heels. I looked at her then in the tiny light of the lamp, kneeling back on her heels, small, luscious, her beauty so full and sweetly curved, so poorly concealed in the tattered rag, the knees of her bared legs placed closely together.
She looked at me, in piteous protest.
How could any male, any with even a single drop of blood in his veins, any who still drew breath, look upon such a woman with gentility?
She shook her head. "Please," she said.
I wanted to thrust apart her knees and, taking her by the hair and an ankle, throw her to her back, on the stones. I wanted to have her, ruthlessly, with cries of joy. I clenched my fists. I was chained. How I envied then the rude beasts of Gor, who have such women for their pleasure.
"Forgive me," I begged her.
"You looked upon me," she said, shrinking back, shuddering, "as might have a man of Gor, one whom a woman knows is her master, one whom she knows she must obey."
"No, no," I protested. "That is not true. No."
"It is perhaps fortunate for me," she smiled, relaxing, "that you are closely chained."
"Perhaps," I smiled.
She laughed. She looked at me. She touched the rag she wore. "I suppose it is difficult," she said, "to respect a girl who wears the slave rag, the Ta-Teera."
"No," I said. "Of course not."
"Even one," she smiled, indicating her collar, "who wear the collar of a slave?"
"Of course not," I said.
To be sure, it was not easy to respect a woman who wore only the scandalous and sensuous Ta-Teera, and whose throat was locked in the lovely, exciting collar of a slave. How could one see such a woman, truly, except as a slave? And how could one treat such a woman, truly, except as a slave? And the slaves of Goreans were true slaves. How natural then that they should treat them as what they were, their owned slaves.
"Of course not," I said. "I respect you deeply and fully."
To be sure, the sight of such a woman, so clad and collared, tended to provoke not emotions of respect but deeper and more primitive emotions, emotions such as love, desire and lust, and dominance and uncompromising ownership. Such a woman was, under the enhancements of a civilization, the primitive woman, who must hope to please the brute who owns her.
"I accord you full and total respect." I said.
"A moment ago," she chided me, smiling. "you looked upon me as though I might have been a slave girl."
"Forgive me," I smiled.
"You do respect me, don't you, Jason?" she asked.
"I do," I said. "totally."
"Then I forgive you," she smiled.
"Thank you." I said. I was grateful and relieved that she had forgiven me for my lapse, for my having looked upon her, for an instant, as a man upon a woman. I had looked upon her for that shameful instant not as a person, but as a luscious, desirable female, one fitted by nature to kneel at the feet of a strong man.
She smiled at me. "I care deeply for you, Jason," she said. "You are the first man I have met, in years, who has been kind to me, who has regarded me with gentleness and respect."
I smiled, and shrugged.
"Too," she said, "you are the first man of my world I have seen in years. What lovely memories of their sweetness, their pleasantries and courtesies, you recall in me."
"Your life as a slave must have been hard," I said.
She smiled. "We serve, and obey," she said.
"Doubtless some of your masters must have been harsh," I said.
"Please do not ask a girl to speak of her bondage," she said. She put her head down.
"I'm sorry," I said, softly.
"You cannot even begin to suspect," she said, "what it is to be a slave girl on a world with such men as those of Gor."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"They are overwhelming," she said. "On occasion I have even been forced to yield to them."
I looked at her.
"As a slave," she said, bitterly.
"I'm very sorry," I said. I almost wanted to scream with pleasure at the thought of the lovely Darlene being forced to yield as a slave. How I envied the brute who would have held her in his arms!
"Jason," she said, softly.
"Yes," I said.
"No," she said. "It is nothing."
"What is wrong?" I asked. "You seem troubled, fearful."
"You know what room this is, do you not?" she asked.
"It is a room of slave preparation, you have told me," I said.
"Yes," she said. "Do you know what your presence in this room indicates?"
"That I am to be soon sold," I said, bitterly.
"I fear so," she said.
"How soon am I to be sold?" I asked.
"I do not know," she said. "I am not privy to the secrets of masters."
"But doubtless it will be soon," I said.
"I
fear so," she said.
She was silent.
"Jason," she said.
"Yes," I said.
"Do you wish to be sold?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Of course not."
"I can help you to escape." she whispered.
I shook in the chains. "How?" I said. "No," I said. "It is too dangerous."
"I have stolen the key to your chains," she said, "and to your collar. I have stolen clothing for you. I can show you a secret exit from this place."
"It is madness," I said. "What escape can there be for a slave on Gor?"
"Do you wish to try, Jason?" she asked.
Suddenly we were silent and regarded one another, alarmed. We heard two men talking, approaching.
Then two guards, gigantic fellows, brawny, stripped to the waist, their heads shaven save for a knot of hair behind the crown, stood behind the barred gate to the cell. The gate was ajar, doubtless that the girl could come and go, attending me.
The girl faced them, making herself small, kneeling, the palms of her hands on the floor, her head down to the stones. It excited me to see her in such a posture. She was a slave girl in the presence of masters.
"Have you fed the slave, Darlene?" asked one of the men, the larger of the two.
"Yes, Masters," she said, not raising her head.
"Then leave him, Darlene, Slave Girl," he said.
"Yes, Masters," she said, not raising her head.
Then the two men turned away and went down the hall.
Quickly the girl raised her head and, turning about, regarded me. Her eyes were wide. Her lip trembled. "I fear there is little time," she whispered.
I nodded.
"Do you wish to try, Jason?" she asked.
"Surely there would be incredible danger in this for you," I said.
She shrugged. "No one knows that I have the keys," she said. "They will not believe that I could free you."
"But what if you were caught?" I asked.
"I am a slave girl," she said. "Doubtless I would be fed to sleen."
"I cannot permit you to take such a risk," I said.
"They will not know it was I," she said. "They will not believe it could be I."
"Do you think you are safe?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "I will be safe. The danger will be yours."
"Free me," I said.