by John Norman
"I want a woman," I gasped. I felt my hands pulled behind me. "I want a woman," I said. I felt the manacles, heavy and obdurate, snapped shut on my wrists. "I want a woman," I said.
"Would that I could throw you a wench," said Kenneth. "You have well earned her."
"But the Mistress would not approve?" I asked.
"I do not think so," said Kenneth.
"What of the 'new slave,'" I smiled, "she who was sent to me in the tunnel?"
Kenneth grinned. "I do not think the Mistress would approve," he said.
"I want a woman," I said.
"I am sorry," he said. Then the slave hood was drawn over my head and its strap looped twice about my throat and then buckled shut under my chin.
I was not then to speak. I was a slave.
Barus continued then to towel and dry my body. I heard cries from the area of the bouts, but they were not the usual cries, those of excitement or exultation which often accompany the bouts.
"What is going on?" called Kenneth.
"Men of Cos, tarnsmen, have struck at the suburbs of Ar!" cried a man.
"It will mean war!" cried another man.
"Infantrymen from Vonda and Ar have engaged north of Venna!" called another man.
"It will be war," said Barus.
"By what right have the men of Vonda intruded so far to the south?" asked a man.
"It is done," said another.
"The entire Salerian Confederation may become involved," said Kenneth.
"Tyros, too," said another man.
"It is a grim Kaissa that is being played," said a man.
"Are the reports accurate?" asked Kenneth.
"There seems little doubt about them," said a man.
"The first steel has been bloodied," said Kenneth, grimly. "It has come at last. It is war."
"Ar and Venna are far away," said a man.
"That is fortunate for us," said another.
Barus continued to dry and towel my body. In a few minutes I heard again the usual cries coming from the area of the bouts.
"Our men are finished," said Kenneth. "Let us get them in the wagon."
"I will first collect our bets," said Barus.
"Join us at the wagon," said Kenneth.
"I will do so," said Barus.
I felt Kenneth's hand on my arm and I felt myself being guided from the stall toward the slave wagon in which I and my fellows, other fighting slaves, were brought to the bouts.
"The fighting is faraway," I heard a man say. "We have nothing to fear."
We had been some two Ahn upon the road, returning to the lands of the Lady Florence of Vonda.
I do not know the identity of the fellow who hailed us. He may have been a peasant or a tharlarion rancher, or perhaps even a patrolling guardsman. "Beware of brigands!" he cried. "They are in the vicinity. They have already struck at the holdings of Gordon and Dorto!"
"Our thanks, Friend," called Kenneth to him. To Barus he said, "Keep watch. Have the keys ready."
"I will do so," said Barus.
I stirred uneasily in the chains.
There are varieties of slave wagons on Gor. A common type, used to transport female slaves, is covered with blue and yellow canvas. A central metal bar, hinged at one end, near the wagon box, and locked at the other, near the wagon bed's gate, usually occurs in such wagons. The girls' ankles are then chained about this bar. When the bar is freed and lifted they may then, still in their shackles, be removed through the rear of the wagon, the wagon gate being lowered.
Another common type of wagon used generally in the transportation of women is the flat-bedded display wagon, with its mounted iron framework. The girls chained and manacled in various positions within and to this framework, sometimes compellingly attractive positions, are then visible. Sometimes buyers follow such wagons to the markets toward which they are bound. Sometimes, however, the girls are sold directly from such wagons, the wagons being in effect themselves traveling markets. In such cases usually one side of the flat wagon bed is used as an auction platform, a small but suitable scaffolding on which may be well displayed the lineaments of the girl's beauty, and on which may be exacted from her the provocative performances demanded by cruel and merciless vendors of their beautiful, degraded merchandise.
Another common type of slave wagon on Gor is the cage wagon which, depending on the stoutness of its bars and security, may be used for either men or women. The particular slave wagon in which I was fastened combined the features of the cage wagon and common slave wagon. It was a converted tharlarion wagon and, with bars and extra planking, was unusually stout, probably because its purpose was to transport fighting slaves. It was a heavy wagon, with high sides and covered with a brown canvas. About the whole a cage had been built, with heavy bars, which opened by means of a small door in the back. Within the wagon, in low-sided, heavy stalls, by means of rings at the front and back of the stall, and on the side of the stall near our necks, we were chained by the ankles, wrists and neck. We had, thus, far less freedom of movement than is commonly accorded to females. On the other hand this additional security was only to be expected. We were male slaves, and fighting slaves.
I pulled against the chains. They held me well. Gorean masters, for most practical purposes, simply do not lose slaves.
"Do you think there is danger?" asked Barus of Kenneth.
"I do not know," said Kenneth.
The wagon then began to move again. I heard chains near me move. One of my fellows struggled angrily. He, too, of course, was absolutely helpless. We were both only Gorean slaves, efficiently chained by masters.
"Look to the right," said Barus, after a time.
"I see it," said Kenneth.
"And to the right of there," said Barus.
"Yes," said Kenneth.
I did not understand this conversation, and, I suppose, neither did my fellows.
"Look there," suddenly said Barus. "In the sky!"
"I see!" said Kenneth. The wagon stopped.
I heard someone descend from the wagon box. In moments I heard the lock rattling at the rear of the wagon. I then heard keys, swiftly, being inserted into locks. "Get out of the wagon," I heard Barus ordering someone down the line from me. In moments I felt a key being thrust into the locks on my ankle shackles, and then, an instant later, I felt my manacles, fastening my hands behind my back, freed of the ring to which they were attached. My neck chain, a moment later, was pulled loose of my collar ring and fell against the side of the wagon, behind me. "Out of the wagon!" ordered Barus.
"Hurry!" called Kenneth. "He will return with others in moments!"
Barus half pulled me from the stall and pushed me toward the end of the wagon. I was still hooded. Still were my wrists confined behind my back.
"Our of the wagon!" I heard Barus order another man.
I struck against the bars at the end of the wagon. I then lowered myself to the floor and, feet first, slipped through the small, barred gate. It is made so as to admit the entrance or exit of only one man at a time. I then stood barefoot in the dust of the road.
To my amazement I felt Kenneth thrusting a key into the locks on my manacles.
"He is coming now, with others!" said Kenneth.
"Out of the wagon!" Barus ordered another man.
The manacles were pulled away from my wrists and cast through the bars into the wagon.
"Unhood yourself!" said Kenneth. He was then opening the manacles of another man. I fumbled with the buckles and then drew the hood away. The fresh air felt cold and wonderful. "Unhood yourself!" said Kenneth to another man.
"They will be here in an Ehn or less," cried Kenneth.
"Out of the wagon!" ordered Barus, addressing himself to the last man.
I looked back and to the right. There were two columns of smoke in that direction, far off. I also saw what I took, at first glance, to be a flock of birds in the sky, back and to the right.
"They are coming quickly!" said Kenneth.
I then realized that what I saw in the sky, in the distance, were birds, indeed, but tarns, and that doubtless mounted upon them, armed and purposeful, were men.
"What is going on?" cried one of the slaves.
Kenneth pointed to the sky. "Tarnsmen!" he said.
"Men of Ar?" asked a slave.
"That, or worse," said Kenneth. He then freed the last man. "Unhood yourself," he ordered him. The man, blinking, did so.
I watched the approaching riders, some pasang or so distant, some four or five hundred feet in the air.
"What do you think they will do with you?" asked Kenneth.
We stood there, uncertain, confused.
"Do you think you are lovely women, naked and alluring, whom they will simply chain up and take back to their camp, to be fitted with slave collars?"
We looked at him.
"Run!" said Kenneth. "Scatter!"
Confused, startled, we fled, scattering in various directions.
I looked back once and saw Kenneth and Barus, too, hurrying from the vicinity of the wagon. I did not look back again until I had attained the refuge of an extended, linear terrain of trees and brush bordering a small stream. I saw the wagon burning. The tarnsmen then, in a moment or two, again took flight. They did not pursue us. They returned toward the twin columns of smoke in the distance. I saw the tharlarion which had drawn the wagon, cut loose and stampeded, lumbering away. I was breathing heavily. My heart was pounding wildly. I felt with my fingers the heavy collar of iron, with its ring, fastened on my neck.
Chapter 26 - I MAKE THE LADY FLORENCE MY PRISONER; WE FLEE THROUGH THE TUNNELS
There was a tearing of cloth. "No!" she cried, twisting away from him, terrified, running to the wall.
He beckoned to her with his left hand. His right hand held a sword. "Come here, my beauty," he coaxed her.
"No, please!" she cried. She was breathing heavily. She was terrified. Her right hand held her robes about her left shoulder, from which they had been torn.
The rough fellow, bearded, grinning, sheathed his sword.
"Show me mercy!" she begged.
"I will show you the mercy which a master shows his slave," he laughed.
He approached her and, as she wept, he tore down her robes to the waist.
I heard a girl screaming in the outer hall. It was probably Bonnie.
The rough fellow then, laughing, snapped slave bracelets on the wrists of the Lady Florence.
She cried out with fear as I seized the fellow by the back of the neck, thrusting my hand up under the helmet, and hurled him head-first into a wall. Stunned he turned about. I was on him in an instant. He could not free his sword or dagger. I thrust his helmeted face back again, the side of it, forcibly, against the wall. I then jerked loose the helmet strap and, by the crest, tore away the helmet, backward, almost breaking the fellow's neck. I then turned him about, measuring him. He could not defend himself. He must wait for my blow. I struck him on the left side of the jaw. His head snapped to the side and he sank, senseless, to the floor. I then stepped back. He was senseless at my feet.
"Jason!" cried the Lady Florence.
I looked at her.
She reddened, blushing from the waist up. "I am braceleted!" she said, lifting her small, encircled wrists.
"You look well in slave bracelets," I told her.
She blushed, even more darkly.
"Free me," she said.
I regarded her.
"Free me!" she begged.
I went to the pouch of the fallen man and found there the key to the slave bracelets. I took them from her wrists. She rubbed her wrists, for the man had braceleted her tightly. "How horrifying is the feel of slave steel on a woman's body," she said.
"It is not horrifying," I said. "It is joyful and delicious."
"Surely I am the judge of that," she said.
"If it was horrifying," I said, "you would not now be sexually excited and filled with desire."
"I am not!" she said.
"Do you think such things cannot be told from your breathing, the mottling of your skin, the condition of your nipples, the timbre of your voice?"
"No," she said, "no!" Quickly she pulled up the robes about her body, holding them at her throat. I could still see her shoulders.
I shrugged.
"There are others about," she said, frightened. "More brigands."
"I am well aware of that," I said. "And these, or others like them, have struck at the holdings, too, of Dorto and Gordon."
"Where are the guardsmen of Vonda?" she asked.
"If any have escaped in the direction of Vonda," I said, "perhaps they may be here tomorrow, by nightfall."
"Tomorrow, by nightfall?" she said, in dismay.
"Perhaps," I said.
Then we were suddenly quiet, for we heard men in the hall outside. We heard, too, the crying of a girl. We stood, not moving. Through a crack in the door we saw two men pass.
One of the men was dragging a girl, nude, at his side, she bent over, his hand in her hair. It was Bonnie.
"Save me from these men," moaned the Lady Florence.
"Why?" I asked.
"Why they will make me a slave," she said.
"You would make a lovely slave," I told her.
"Please, Jason," she said, intensely, looking up at me. "Please, Jason!" How small and weak then seemed the Mistress, how pathetic and needful, and how far removed from the proud and imperious woman who had once, so casually and insolently, commanded me. "Please, Jason!" she said.
I looked down at her, not speaking.
"I will free you," she said suddenly, intensely.
I did not speak.
"You are free," she said. "You are free."
She fled from me to a small vanity by the wall, near her bed. She seized out a key from a drawer and fled again to me, holding her robes about her with her left hand.
"Remove the collar," I told her.
"Please, Jason," she said.
"Remove it," I said.
Blushing she allowed her robes to fall about her hips and, with two hands, holding the collar with her left and inserting the key with her right, she removed it from my throat. She bent down and placed the collar and key on the floor. She hesitated, for the briefest instant, realizing that she had bent her body before me, and then, quickly, she straightened up. I still held the slave bracelets I had removed from her in my right hand. The key I had placed in a fold in the cloth belt of my half tunic.
She smiled. "You are now a free man, Jason," she whispered.
"Today, earlier," I said, "I defeated Krondar, a fighting slave of Ar, purchased by Miles of Vonda."
"My congratulations on your victory," she said.
"I want a woman," I said. "Do not touch your robes." Her hands hesitated, but did not touch her robes. Her body was small and soft, and beautifully rounded, before me. How incredibly beautiful women are!
"Of course," she said, nervously. "That is understandable. You may have your pick."
I threw the slave bracelets to the bed. They landed on the wide bed, striking into the soft covers. She looked at them, nervously.
"Jason?" she asked.
I looked at her.
"You may have your pick!" she said.
"I know," I said.
She looked up at me, trembling.
"Take your clothes off, completely," I told her. "Get in bed."
"No," she whispered. "No!"
"Lie on the bed, on your stomach," I told her.
"No!" she said.
"Must you be beaten?" I asked.
"No," she said, frightened. "No." She stepped from her robes and slippers and went to the bed. She lay down upon it, on her stomach. I sat down beside her on the bed. "You may have your pick," she moaned. I pulled her wrists behind her. "The brigands are about," she wept. I snapped her wrists in the slave bracelets. "Oh," she said, for they were tight. I held her by the arms, from the back. "But you may have your pick!" she wept.
"I kno
w," I told her. I then flung her on her back, on the broad bed. She looked up at me, frightened. "I pick you," I told her.
She who had been my Mistress gasped in my arms, and then she, her head back, breathed deeply. Her small wrists pulled futilely at the slave bracelets and then her struggles subsided.
"Do you know what you have done?" she asked.
"Yes," I told her. "Shhh!" I said to her, suddenly, for I heard men speaking, out-of-doors, near the window. Her body tensed in my arms, frightened.
"Have you caught the stable sluts?" a man was asking.
"One is still at large," he was answered.
"What of the house slaves?" asked the first voice.
"They wear our chains," he was answered.
"Tie them to the saddle rings," said the first voice. "We must soon take flight."
"Where is Orgus?" asked a man.
"He went after the Mistress of the house," said another voice.
"Where is he?" asked the first voice.
"Doubtless he is richly enjoying her," said a voice. I smiled. There was laughter.
"Are you the sort of woman who can be richly enjoyed?" I asked the helpless, braceleted wench in my arms.
"I am not the sort of woman who can be enjoyed," she hissed. "I am a free woman! I am the Lady Florence of Vonda! Oh! Oh!"
I laughed softly to myself. How little she understood the potentialities of her beauty.
"Oh, oh," she moaned.
"You have underestimated yourself, lovely Lady," I assured her.
She glared up at me.
"To be sure," I said, "you are a far cry from a slave."
"Sleen," she said, but then closed her eyes and yielded to the pleasures which I saw fit, she at my mercy, to inflict upon her. "Oh," she wept. "Oh."
"But not too far a cry," I added.
She did not even respond to me, but only cried out softly, moaning. The fullness of a woman's orgasms, of course, in the totality of their physiological and psychological dimensions can be attained only by the female slave, the woman who is fully owned and finds herself at the complete mercy of a dominating and powerful master. Nonetheless I found the responsiveness of the Lady Florence, even though it was still well within the ranges attainable by the free woman, to be quite impressive. I was proud of my former Mistress. I had little doubt but that if she were made a slave she could learn well the arts of pleasing a master.