by John Norman
"Why?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Oh," she said, quickly, lightly, but frightened, "because Mistress is a wonderful free woman, and I am only a lowly slave."
"I see," I smiled.
"What are you going to do with me now?" she asked.
"Why use you for my pleasure, and as a slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she breathed.
"But first I shall see if you are hot," I said.
"Master?" she asked. "Oh!" she cried.
"I see that you are hot," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I held her.
"Your arms are strong," she said.
I did not move. I felt her beauty squirm against my chest and thighs. "Master, Master," she whispered. "Please, Master!"
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Have your hot slave," she begged.
"Very well," I said.
I made her scream and sob muchly in the darkness of the tunnel. She seemed piteous in my arms. "I did not know it could be like this," she whispered, hoarsely.
"Be silent, slave," I told her. "Yes, Master," she whispered, kissing and moaning.
"Do it to me again, Master," she begged. "Please, Master!"
"It is growing late," I said.
"Please, Master," she said.
"It is time to send you back to your Mistress," I said. "She will surely be wondering where you are."
"Please, Master," she begged.
"Surely you do not wish to spend time at the whipping ring," I said.
"The Mistress will not whip me," she said.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I am sure of it," she said. "Please, please, Master!"
"It is late," I said.
"But one more time, I beg of you," she said. "But one more time, I beg of you, my Master," she said.
"Very well," I said.
She lay on her back in the dirt, beside me. She was very quiet. I rose to my feet, found my tunic, and drew it on. "Get on your knees," I told her. She did so. I reached to her hair and, holding her head with one hand, with the other jerked a few hairs from her head.
"Oh!" she cried. "Why did you do that?"
"It pleased me," I said.
"You hurt me," she said.
"Be silent," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said. I put the bit of hair to one side, where I might retrieve it later.
"Find your things," I said, "and hold them in your hands." She felt about in the darkness.
"I have them," she said.
"Are you now again kneeling before me?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Kiss my feet," I said. I felt her lips kissing at my feet in the darkness. "Straighten up," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"I now dismiss you," I said.
"You dismiss me!" she cried.
"Should I not now return you to your Mistress?" I asked, smiling.
"Yes, Master," she said, angrily.
I heard her move to get up.
"Wait!" I said.
"Master?" she asked, acidly.
I crouched beside her. I took the two slippers and the light gown from her hands. "Open your mouth," I told her. I put a bit of the silk across her lower teeth, and then thrust the open heels of the slippers into her mouth. "Close your mouth," I told her. She did so, with a sound of anger. I then, by the arms, jerked her to her feet, and turned her about.
"Return to your Mistress," I told her.
She made an angry noise.
"Run!" I told her. I gave her a swift and stinging slap below the small of the back.
She then ran down the tunnel, sobbing, away from me.
I retrieved the bit of hair which I had put on the floor of the tunnel, and placed it in my tunic.
I heard her running down the tunnel, sobbing, away from me.
I smiled in the darkness.
Chapter 25 - I FIGHT KRONDAR,SLAVE OF MILES OF VONDA; TARNSMEN
The leather slave hood was pulled from my head. I heard the cry of the crowd. Barus rubbed my back. Kenneth was wrapping the long strips of leather about my hands. I saw slave girls, in their brief rags and collars, at the gate, some standing on the bars of the gate. "Jason! Jason!" some of them called. "Krondar!" cried several of the free persons in the crowd. "Jason!" cried others.
There was a new cry from the crowd as a burly, short, thick-bodied man was led into the sand-floored, circular pit. He pulled against the manacles which confined his hands behind his back. "He is eager," I thought.
"Krondar! Krondar!" cried men in the crowd.
"I have not heard of this slave," I said to Kenneth. "Is Gort not the champion of the stables of Miles of Vonda?"
"Here," cried one of the referee's men, pointing to me, "is Jason, champion of the stables of the Lady Florence of Vonda!" There was a cheer at this. "Jason! Jason!" cried several of the slave girls. The women present at the pit of sand, whether at the gate leading into it, or in the tiers looking down upon it, were excited. Women grow excited when men are to do battle. This is because they know that they are the natural spoils of the wars of men. This is obvious in any woman, whether slave or free, but it is particularly and almost pathetically obvious among female slaves, who already know themselves explicitly and legally as properties and spoils. Too, their half-naked bodies, collared and branded, make it difficult for them to conceal their excitement, or other emotions and feelings.
"He seems strong," I said to Kenneth.
"Yes," said Kenneth, not looking back, but continuing to wrap the leather about my hands.
"His body," said I, "is muchly scarred."
"It should be," said Kenneth. I did not understand his remark.
"Krondar!" cried free persons in the tiers.
"Jason!" cried others.
I looked to the tiers and there saw the proud and regal figure of Miles of Vonda. He was smiling. I recalled that he had once been one of the rejected suitors of the Lady Florence of Vonda. He was one of the main tharlarion ranchers in the area. I did not think so proud a man would have taken his rejection cooly. The Lady Florence was not this day present at the bouts. For no reason that was generally clear to her employees and slaves she had claimed to be currently indisposed, and had chosen to remain in seclusion in her house. When I had asked Kenneth about this, he had merely grinned, and asked, "Do you not know?"
"Perhaps," I had smiled.
Miles of Vonda gestured to one of the referee's men, and he removed the slave hood from the head of the burly man opposite me, across the sand.
"Aiii," I whispered.
There was a gasp of horror from the crowd.
"This," called another of the referee's men, pointing to the burly fellow, whose seconds were now removing the manacles from his wrists, freeing his hands from behind his back, "is Krondar, newly purchased slave to Miles of Vonda, and new champion of his stables!"
Krondar struggled, but was held by his seconds. One of the referee's men whipped forth steel, a Gorean blade, short and wicked, and, leveling it, thrust it a quarter of an inch into the burly man's gut. Krondar ceased struggling. He well knew the meaning of Gorean steel. Such a blade, with little effort, can disappear into a body and divide flesh.
But Krondar's eyes sought mine. They were small, under hanging brows. His face was a mass of scar tissue.
"That is no ordinary fighting slave," I told Kenneth.
"No," said Kenneth, not looking back. "That is Krondar. He is a famous fighting slave of Ar."
"His face," I said, half in awe.
"In the pits of Ar," he said, "he has fought with the spiked leather, and with the knife gauntlets."
"Doubtless he has cost Miles of Vonda much," said Barus, rubbing my back.
"Why should Miles of Vonda have purchased such a slave?" I asked. "Can the championship of the local stables mean so much to him?"
"More is at stake here," said Barus, "than a l
ocal championship. Miles is not pleased at having had you best Gort, his former champion. He is not pleased, so to speak, to have had his stables lose to those of the Lady Florence, whom he once courted in vain. Too, it is well known you were once a silk slave to Lady Florence. Thus I think he would not be entirely displeased were you to be humiliated and crushingly defeated in the pit, perhaps even broken, disfigured and maimed."
"Surely he could not be jealous of me," I said. "He is a free person, and I am only a collared slave."
Kenneth laughed.
Across the pit, Krondar's seconds were wrapping leather about his hands.
"Do not delude yourself," said Kenneth, "he will rejoice in each blow that is struck upon your body. When you fall broken and bloody at the feet of Krondar, unable to move and at his mercy, will that not be a sweet vengeance for him, against you, and, in its way, against the Lady Florence?"
"Doubtless," I said.
"Beat and mark his face well, Krondar!" called Miles of Vonda to his slave.
"Yes, Master," growled the slave.
"When Krondar is through with him," laughed a man in the tiers, "a she-tharlarion would not have him for a silk slave!" There was laughter at this.
"Krondar seems a formidable antagonist," I said.
Barus laughed.
"He is one of the finest fighting slaves of Ar," said Kenneth.
"It seems he could tear me to pieces," I smiled.
"I do not think it is impossible," said Kenneth, finishing with the leather on my hands.
I began to feel sick. "Do you think I can win?" I asked.
"Of course not," said Kenneth.
"Why then am I fighting?" I asked.
"You are champion," said Kenneth. "You must fight."
"Have you bet upon me?" I asked.
"No," said Kenneth.
"Have you bet on Krondar?" I asked.
"No," said Kenneth.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Such a bet would cast suspicion on the honesty of the bouts," said Kenneth.
"Such a bet could be placed secretly, through agents," I said.
"Doubtless," said Kenneth.
"But you have not done so?" I asked.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I will not bet against my own men," said Kenneth.
"Does Master speak the truth?" I asked.
"A bold question," he smiled.
"Its answer?" I asked.
"Yes," smiled Kenneth, striking me on the shoulder. "I speak the truth!"
"Bet," I told him.
"Bet?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, grinning. "I am going to win."
"You are mad," said Barus.
"After the first few blows," said Kenneth, "feign disorientation, then when another is struck, fall to the sand."
"And then?" I asked.
"Why pretend unconsciousness," said Kenneth, "or inability to rise."
I regarded him.
"Krondar will probably kick you a few times, that your ribs may be broken, or pull you by the hair to your knees, that he may break loose your teeth or shatter your jaw, but you will live."
"As an overwhelmingly humiliated and defeated slave," I said.
"Of course," said Kenneth.
"Does Master command me," I asked, "as the collared slave I am?"
"I advise you," said Kenneth, "to adopt that course of action which is in your own best interest."
"Does Master command me," I asked, "as the collared slave I am?"
"I have watched you, Jason," said Kenneth. "The collar does not belong on your throat. You are not a woman, born to lie licking and loving at a man's feet. In you there is the stuff of masters."
"I am not then commanded," I said.
"No," said Kenneth. "I do not command you."
"Thank you, Master," I said. I measured Krondar across the sand.
"The bar will soon be struck," said Barus.
Krondar was eager. I was pleased at this. I decided that I would make short work of him.
"I have done all that I can do," said Kenneth.
"Not all," I said.
"What else can I do?" asked he.
"Why bet," said I.
"You are indeed mad," said Kenneth.
The bar then suddenly sounded and I leaped to my feet and moved quickly onto the sand.
I was not before him, however, when Krondar, raging, hurled himself toward me. He reeled, struck in the side of the head, against the wooden palings at the side of the pit of sand.
The crowd seemed stunned.
I did not pursue my advantage. "There are fighters other than in Ar," I told Krondar. "I hope that you understand this clearly."
He glared at me.
"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" I heard Barus cry.
"Taken!" called a man in the tiers.
"But ten to one!" called Barus.
"Granted!" called the man. "Let me bet, too," cried another.
Furious, Krondar, head down, lunged at me. He was thus not in a position to protect against the upward stroke with which I caught him. Fortunately we did not engage with knife gauntlets or his head might have been torn from him. Even the cruel cestae of the low pits might have cut away his lower jaw. I still felt the shock in my right arm and shoulder. He staggered backward and to one side. I did not, again, pursue my advantage. "I tell you," I said, "that there are fighters, too, in what you might consider the wilderness or the outlands." He was breathing heavily. "Even in the stables of Vonda," I said, "there are champions." There was a cheer at this from many in the tiers. Even the slave girls, in their rags and collars, cried out with pleasure.
"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" cried Barus. "At ten to one!" There was silence. "Eight to one!" cried Barus. "Five to one!"
"Taken," said a man, uncertainly.
Again, maddened, Krondar, again head down, hurled himself toward me. This time I did not strike him, but let him, sand kicking behind him, plunge past me. He turned quickly, startled, at the palings. He knew that I had not struck him.
"Let us take one another seriously," I said.
"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" called Barus. "Five to one! Five to one? Three to one? Two to one? Even odds! Even odds!"
"Taken!" said a man. "Taken!" said another.
In that squarish, hideously scarred countenance of Krondar there was, for a moment, a sudden understanding that though he were now in the vicinity of Vonda he with whom he shared that shallow pit of sand, collared and slave, too, might be one perhaps not unworthy to be called a fighter.
"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" cried Barus. "Even odds! Even odds!"
There were no answers from the crowd.
Again Krondar charged, as though maddened, but I had earlier seen his understanding that I might be dangerous. This time I stood to the right and, as he thrust forth his hands to seize me, I struck upward with my left fist. I then struck him crosswise with my right fist, and then similarly again with my left fist, this time to the gut. This brought his head into position for the upward stroke of my right first again. The combination was swift and delivered at close range. The crowd was screaming. I could conceive of the post in the training barn shattering. Krondar shook his head, backing away. I followed him, warily. Swiftly, with his right foot he dug into the sand to hurl its granular shower at me, but I was too quickly upon him. Such an action puts a man off balance. I struck him four times before he struck against the palings and twisted away.
"You would not try that trick, surely, in the pits of Ar," I chided him. "Do you think you can dare to put yourself so off balance with me? Do you think to shame me? Next time I will press my advantage with severity."
Krondar grinned, and wiped blood from his face. He shrugged. "You are fast," he said.
"There are champions in Vonda!" cried a man in the tiers. "Yes!" cried others.
"A silver tarsk on Jason!" called Barus. "Even odds! Even odds!"
But no one responded to his proposal.
&nbs
p; Krondar came carefully toward the center of the sand. He beckoned to me. "Come here," he said. "Let us become better acquainted."
"Do you think I fear to close with you?" I asked.
He suddenly lunged toward me and we, our hands even bound in leather, grappled. He grunted savagely trying to hurl me off balance into the palings. We stood locked together, swaying, breathing heavily, on the sand.
The slave girls screamed.
Krondar struck brutally against the palings. They shook. There was blood on them.
There was screaming and cries from the crowd. Krondar shook his head. He was still conscious.
"A silver tarsk on Jason!" cried Barus. "Odds of two to one in favor of Jason! Four to one? Ten to one in favor of Jason!"
The bar then rang and the first fighting period was terminated.
The crowd was screaming.
I stood unsteadily in the center of the sand. It was in the fourth fighting period. Kenneth and Barus ran to me. I felt my bloody, leather-bound fists raised in victory. Gold showered into the pit. Half-naked slave girls knelt at my feet, weeping, pressing their lips to my feet and body. I saw free women in the tiers, their eyes wild, half glazed, over their veils. Men were cheering. Many were pounding their left shoulders in Gorean applause. I saw that Miles of Vonda had left. I broke loose from the crowd and lifted Krondar, bloody, to his feet. We embraced. "You could fight in Ar," he said. Then he was pulled from me, and hooded and shackled. Kenneth and Barus drew me from the fighting area. We forced our way through the crowd. Slave girls clung about me. Even free women reached out to touch me, my body covered with sweat and sand.
Soon, at the gate leading to the stalls used as dressing rooms, the men of the bouts interposed themselves between us and the crowd. "Back! Back!" they cried. "Back, you collared she-sleen!" they cried to the slave girls, drawing their whips. And the leather of their whips, to cries of dismay and pain, fell liberally on the half-stripped bodies of the imbonded beauties. Even free women among them cried out in misery, struck. Then the women, bond and free, fell back, crying and frightened, for all women, whether slave or free, understand the whip. The gate closed behind us. Barus threw a towel about my shoulders and began to dry me. Kenneth thrust me happily down the corridor and into the straw-filled stall.
"Well done, Jason!" he exclaimed. Barus reached to a peg in the stall to get my slave hood and shackles.