Magicians of Gor

by Norman, John;

  She did not respond.

  One of the kneeling girls gasped.

  It was not difficult to detect her discomfort, her uneasiness, attendant on the proximity of a male. I loomed over her, letting this closeness work upon her. Others, too, now had moved in more closely about her.

  "You are a slave?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said, tensely.

  "Perhaps now you sense in yourself slave feelings?" I said.

  She cast a frightened, pathetic, shamed glance at the other girls, those kneeling to the side.

  "No!" she said. "No!"

  "Spread your legs," I said.

  "Please!" she said.

  "Keep your hands as they are," I said.

  "Ah," I said, "you are a lying slave girl."

  She cried out with misery.

  It is a common position for slave inspection. The spreading of the legs anchors her in place. It is not an easy position to change. Placing the hands atop the head not only gets them out of the way, but nicely lifts the line of her breasts. In it, too, obviously, she is well exhibited, even to a most minute scrutiny.

  I stepped back from her.

  "You may stand straight again," I informed her.

  Quickly she stood straight. She kept her hands on her head.

  "And what of you others?" I asked, looking to the other four. "Perhaps you sense in yourself slave feelings?"

  They did not meet my eyes but clenched their knees closely together, as though by this means to suppress and control their sensations. They hunched down, they made themselves small. I did not think that there was one there who, in proper hands, would not squirm well, yielding herself up in grateful joy to a master.

  "You may put your hands down," I informed Filomela, their leader.

  "May I go now?" she said.

  "You are charged," I said, "with drinking from one of the higher levels of a fountain."

  "That fountain there," said a fellow, pointing back.

  "Is it true?" I asked her.

  She was silent.

  "It is true," said a fellow.

  "Yes," said another.

  Assent to this was added, also, by others.

  "Do you deny this?" I asked her.

  She was silent.

  "She is a slave," said a man.

  "Let her testimony be taken under torture," said another.

  The testimony of slaves is commonly taken under torture in Gorean law courts.

  "Let us find a rack," said another.

  The girl turned white. Perhaps when she was a free woman she had seen girls on the rack, though, of course, they would have been mere slaves.

  "I drank from the high bowl," she said.

  "Although you are a slave?" I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "I was thirsty," she said.

  "Speak truthfully," I said.

  "I was thirsty!" she said.

  "Thirst may be quenched at the lower bowl as well," I said.

  She looked at me, angrily.

  "Perhaps you forgot?" I said. "You were, after all, recently a free woman."

  She did not answer.

  I did not seriously consider the possibility, of course, that she might have forgotten the matter. Too, slaves are not permitted to forget such things. It is up to them to remember them. Too, obviously one could claim to have forgotten the most elementary duties, tokens of respect, and such. Accordingly, forgetfulness does not excuse the commission of such acts. A slave seldom forgets them more than once. The whip is an excellent mnemonic device. I did, of course, wish to accord her the recourse of pretending to forgetfulness, if she cared to take advantage of it. It might serve to mitigate the wrath of the men about, at least somewhat. After all, she did not seem to realize that her life was in danger.

  She threw a look at the other girls.

  "You did not forget then," I said. "And you must have known that free men were about. Your act then was intended as some sort of provocation, or insult, or insolency or challenge?"

  "She knew herself observed," said a fellow, "and then with intent, and deliberation, drank from the third level."

  "My master would permit it!" she cried.

  "That is probably true," laughed a fellow, contemptuously.

  "Kneel, errant slave," I said.

  She knelt, in terror.

  I looked down at her and pointed the first two fingers of my right hand to the ground, and then opened them. "You do not know the meaning of that sign?" I asked.

  "No," she said, trembling.

  "Her master is indeed weak," said a fellow.

  I supposed her master must be a low-drive male.

  "Spread your knees, widely," said another.

  Frightened, the girl complied.

  "Surely you can do better than that," said a fellow.

  She looked at me.

  I nodded.

  She spread her knees even more widely. No woman in such a position can be unaware of her sexuality.

  "Take her in hand," I said.

  A fellow on either side of her then held her, each by a lifted wrist.

  I looked at the other girls.

  They, too, at my glance, knelt with their knees spread, widely. Then, more widely. "See!" said the one in silk. "My master has silked me! He has put me in silk, as the slave I am! Do not hurt me! I am only a silked slave! That is all I have been given to wear. He is a man, a man!" The first girl in line, one of the three clad in the wool of the bounding hurt, did not dare to meet my eyes but drew the hem of her tunic up and back, higher on her legs, that more of her beauty might be bared. She, too, did not wish to face the wrath of masters. The other two in the wool of the bounding hurt quickly followed her example.

  "Slaves!" chided the girl before me. She saw herself losing her grip upon them.

  "And what are you?" I inquired.

  "A slave!" she said.

  I regarded her.

  "—Master," she added.

  "It is a serious thing you are charged with," I said.

  She looked at me, angrily.

  "You have drunk," I said, "from the wrong level of a fountain."

  "What difference does it make," she asked, "what bowl of a fountain I drank from? It is a small thing!"

  Anger coursed through the men present.

  "It is not a small thing," I said. "Such things are symbols of rank and hierarchy, of difference and distance. They lie at the foundation of a natural society, one in accord with the aristocracy of nature, a society in which there are places for both heroes and slaves. They speak of ordered arrangements. All are not the same. All are not leveled, nor must they pretend to be. Such a flat, crushed world, without difference and meaning, lies to the ruled and makes liars of the rulers. It imposes fraud upon one and hypocrisy upon the other. In the unnatural world, as all cannot be the best, there is no alternative, if all are to be the same, then to reduce the best to the level of the worst, at least in pretense. Do you not think the intelligent, the strong, the aggressive, even the evil, will rule, under whatever forms are convenient? The larl, as a larl, must survey verr, or sleen will tend them, pretending to be themselves verr."

  She looked up at me.

  "You did not truly think it a small thing," I said, "otherwise you would not have done it."

  She struggled a little, but could not, of course, free herself from the grip of the men. Then, under my stern gaze, she again spread her knees, so that they were again in the position, precisely, in which I had instructed her to have them.

  "You challenged the men of Ar," I said. "But you did not expect the challenge to be accepted. You expected them to yield to their defeat, perhaps pretending not to notice it."

  She struggled again a bit, and was then again as she was before.

  "But it has been noticed," I said.

  "I saw girls drinking from the high bowls last month!" she said.

  "That was last month," I said.

  "You cannot punish me!" she cried. "You are
not my masters!"

  "Any free person can punish an errant slave girl," I said. "Surely you do not think that her behavior fails to be subject to supervision and correction as soon as she is out of her master's sight?"

  "Take me to my master!" she begged. "Let him punish me, if he wishes to do so!"

  "We will attend to the matter," I said.

  "No!" she wept.

  "But you are an errant slave," I reminded her.

  "No!" she cried.

  I looked at the others. "And you, too," I suggested, "are errant slaves."

  "No, Master!" they wept. "No, Master!"

  "You cannot seriously intend to punish me!" said Filomela. "I was a free woman!"

  "That is where most slaves come from," I said. I turned to the other slaves. "Were you not all once free women?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master!" they said.

  "But I was of high caste!" said Filomela.

  "What was your caste?" I asked.

  "The Builders!" she said.

  "But you are not now of the Builders, or of any other caste, are you?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  "What are you?"

  "A slave," she said.

  "Accordingly," I said, "you may be punished as what you are, a slave."

  Suddenly she laughed, in hysterical relief.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "It is a joke!" she said. "It is a game you are playing, to turn about and trick these fools, to humiliate these defeated, bedraggled beasts!"

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "You, and your fellow, are of Cos!" she said. "I see it on your armbands! It is your business to pacify the men of Ar, to keep them down, to suppress them, to keep them helpless, futile, confused, domesticated, tamed, subdued! Surely you have your orders to that effect. You can succeed in this. Ar is defeated. She is helpless. She is crushed. The entire might of Cos backs your authority! Grind down the men of Ar, as you should. Continue to keep them, as they have been kept, intimidated herds of verr incarcerated in their own city, encouraged to view the wretchedness of their lot as the evidence of some new triumph. And it is your intention to use me to help you in this, by permitting me to insult them, by permitting me to mock their manhood, to reduce their virility. Of course! I now understand! So now disband this rabble and release me!"

  She made as though to rise.

  "Remain on your knees, slave girl," I said.

  "You must let me go, you must order my release, you must take me from these brutes, you must scold them, speak to them of laws and such, or something, anything!" she cried. "Defend me, us! I demand it! Release me! You must! I beg it! The men of Ar have been defeated! No longer are they men! No longer are they mighty and masters! They are now nothing, they are all weaklings! You are of Cos! You must keep them that way! It is important to you to keep them that way! Arrest them if they dare think again of pride and manhood, tangle them in rulings, trip them with laws, lie to them, confuse them, put them in prison, do not let them understand themselves, or become themselves, if necessary, put them to the sword! Burn Ar! Destroy it! Salt its ashes! Do you not understand how dangerous might prove to be manhood in Ar? You must not permit it! And you can use women like us to help you in your schemes, protecting us, and using us to diminish men! Let us be your allies in the conquest and subjugation of Ar! Surely you understand me? You are of Cos! You are of Cos!"

  "But I am not of Cos," I said.

  "Aiii!" cried several of the men about.

  "You have drunk from a high bowl," I said, "and more than once you have spoken untruthfully, for example, in denying that you sensed slave feelings in yourself."

  "Forgive me, Masters!" she cried.

  "Too," I said, "you have demeaned the men of Ar."

  "Forgive me, Masters!" she wept. "You are men! You are men! A slave begs forgiveness!" Her concern was certainly not out of place. The demeaning of men, whereas it is permitted to, and not unknown among, free women, is not permitted to female slaves. Such, on their part, can be a capital offense.

  "More importantly," I said, "you have not been pleasing."

  She looked at me, wildly.

  "Remove her tunic," I said.

  She was then amongst us, on her knees, a stripped slave. As I knew she would be, she was comely.

  Yes, I thought, she would probably bring a high price in a stock sale.

  I then turned away from her. "What is new on the public boards?" I asked a fellow.

  "Master! Master!" cried the girl, behind me.

  "What of the slave?" asked a man.

  "You are men," I said. "Doubtless you will know what to do with her."

  One of the fellows looked at me.

  "For example," I said, "she was thirsty. Perhaps you can see, then, that her thirst is quenched."

  "That we will," said a fellow, taking charge of the matter.

  "What of these others?" asked another man.

  "Read their collars," I said. "And then instruct them to return to their masters and give them such a night of slave pleasure as they would not have conceived possible. Then be certain to follow up the matter the next day, to make certain they have complied fully."

  "We shall," said a fellow.

  "What of the next day, and the next?" asked a man.

  "I would expect," I said, "that the masters, seeing what their slaves are truly capable of, and what may be obtained of them, will not be shortchanged in the future. On the other hand, if they are not strong enough to obtain the best and finest from their properties I am sure the girls themselves, they then needing true masters, will in one way or another soon obtain a new disposition. Perhaps the weak masters, unable to satisfy them, will weary of seeing the bondage knot in their hair, will weary of their importunities, their moans and whinings in the night, their beggings for use, and either give them, or sell them, to another. Or perhaps the weak masters, whether unable to satisfy them, or merely unwilling to do so, will simply yield to their entreaties to be given away or sold, that they may receive an opportunity for their love, service and beauty to be put at the mercy of someone who can appreciate it and knows what to do with it."

  "You heard?" inquired a fellow of the kneeling slaves.

  "Yes, Master!" said one of them. "We will give our masters such a night of slave pleasure as they never knew could exist."

  "Read the collars," said another fellow.

  Names were read, and domiciles. Men were assigned to follow up on each slave the next morning and report back to a certain metal-worker's shop.

  "Speed off!" said a fellow.

  Quickly, released, the four girls leapt up and hurried away.

  Tonight, I thought, there would be at least four astonished fellows in Ar, and four slaves who, by morning, if only by teaching themselves, by their own actions, would have a much better conception of the profundities, and sensations involved, and significances, of their condition.

  "What is new on the boards?" I asked Marcus. I did not really wish to make it clear to the men about that I did not read Gorean as well as I might.

  Men crowded happily about me.

  "There is to be a curfew," said Marcus. "It begins tonight. The streets are to be kept clear between the eighteenth and the fourth Ahn."

  "What is the reason for that?" I asked a fellow.

  "To limit the movements of the Delta Brigade," he whispered.

  "Is there such a thing?" I asked.

  "Seremides thinks so," said a man.

  "I heard a barracks was burned last night," said a fellow.

  "I heard that, too," said Marcus.

  "Is it on the boards?" I asked.

  "No," said a man.

  "No," said Marcus. "I do not think so."

  "Then it must not have happened," said a fellow, grimly.

  "Of course," said another.

  I heard the slave, some yards off, at the fountain, crying out. She had been taken to the lower bowl of the fountain. There she was sputtering and gasping, and crying out for merc
y. Again and again was her head, held by the hair, forced down, held under the water and then jerked up again. "Please, Masters! Mercy, Masters!" she wept.

  "The delka has been forbidden!" said Marcus. "It says so, here!"

  "Interesting," I said.

  "That is the first public recognition of the Delta Brigade," said a fellow.

  I now heard the sound of a lash. The girl had her head down, her wet hair forward. She was held on her knees by the fountain, a wrist in the hands of each of two fellows. She shook under each blow. Then, when they had finished, she was on her hands and knees, her head down. Her entire body was trembling. She slipped to the pavement. Her hair was about. She lay there. It seemed she could hardly believe what had been done to her. I supposed this was the first time she had been lashed. It is something no slave girl forgets. A fellow then drew her up again, by the hair, to all fours and, looming over her, pointed to the fountain. She now, slowly, painfully, crawled to the fountain, between the men, and then, putting her head down, and as was fitting for her, and as she should have done earlier in the afternoon, drank from the lower bowl. She was then pulled back and put prone on the pavement. Her hands were pulled behind her back and fastened there, with a short thong.

  "Is there more on the boards?" I asked Marcus.

  "I think those are the main items of interest," he said.

  I saw the girl placed on her belly over the stone lip of the lower bowl of the fountain. She cried out. Her small hands twisted in the thongs, behind her back. Men crowded about her.

  "Glory to the Delta Brigade," said a man.

  "Who are of the Delta Brigade?" asked a man.

  "Who knows?" said another.

  "They must be veterans of the delta campaign," said a man.

  "Perhaps others, too," said a fellow.

  "A fellow was asking me where he could join the Delta Brigade," said a man.

  "Probably a spy," conjectured a fellow.

  That seemed to me likely.

  "I heard that they tried to take in a veteran for questioning," said a man.

  "What happened?" I asked a fellow.

  "He drew a sword from beneath his cloak," said a man.

  "Swords are forbidden," said a fellow.

  "Doubtless there are some about," said a man.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "He slew two Cosians, and disappeared," said the man.

  "It may be dangerous to try to take in the veterans of the delta," said a man.