Magicians of Gor

by Norman, John;

  "When do you think your friend, the noble Tarsk-Bit, will be prepared to act?" asked Marcus, evenly.

  "Please enter your slave, Master," said Phoebe.

  "Do not be angry with him," I said. "He had to revile the Home Stone to see it, to examine it." I had encouraged Marcus not to be present when this was done, but he had, of course, insisted upon it. In so far as it was practical it seemed he wished to be present at, and, in a sense, supervise, all phases of this delicate and, I thought at least, perilous operation. No detail was too unimportant for him to overlook. What could compare in importance for Marcus, for example, to the recovery of his Home Stone, its rescue from its captivity in Ar? To be sure, I think Boots had overdone the matter a bit. He, exuberant in his performance, probably did not realize that I was struggling a few yards behind him to keep Marcus from leaping upon him, blade in hand. Most of those about, of course, also taking no note of the reactions of Marcus, the fire in his eyes, and such, had been muchly amused. Boots had made a great show of his contempt for the Home Stone of the treacherous Ar's station. His insults had been numerous, well thought out, stinging, and delivered with flair. He had even been applauded. It was fortunate that Marcus had not reached him. In so simple a manner had Boots, unbeknownst to himself, escaped unscathed, for example, without having had his heart slashed out of his living body.

  "When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.

  "He did not mean it, what he said," I said.

  "He sounded convincing," said Marcus, grimly.

  "Would you have preferred that he sounded unconvincing?" I asked.

  "Master," begged Phoebe.

  "Master!" said the new slave, suddenly. She must not, of course, break position.

  "When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.

  "The facsimile must be prepared," I said. "That takes time."

  "When will he be prepared to act?" asked Marcus.

  "Soon, I am sure," I said.

  "Perhaps he has already left the city," said Marcus.

  "No," I said.

  "Your slave begs," said Phoebe to Marcus.

  "Your slave begs, too!" said the slave near me.

  The new slave, beside me, was on all fours. She was in this position by my will. I had been keeping her in this position. It is a position which a woman understands. I had, furthermore, checked her ankle ring, and collar. Such things are very meaningful to a woman. Such attentions, seemingly small in themselves, subtly, explosively, erupt in the cognizances of her belly. By means of them is her bondage recalled to her. By means of them she understands herself the better, and to whom she belongs. Also, such things would commonly be checked as a simple matter of course, just as one might check the tether on a verr, or the chain on a sleen. Beyond this, of course, I had, from time to time, as I had spoken with her, and discussed matters with Marcus, touched her, sometimes almost idly, while concerned with other matters. But now her body was tense. "Oh!" she said. Her lovely flanks quivered. She could not resist my touch, even involuntarily, as her knees and the palms of her hands must remain in contact with the floor.

  "He had better not," said Marcus.

  "He will not," I said. "But if he chose to do so, surely one could not blame him. It is not his Home Stone. He is not a soldier. You are not his officer, or Ubar, or some such."

  "True," said Marcus.

  "Be grateful," I said, "if he is willing to be of assistance."

  "I wish to owe him little," said Marcus. "I will see that he is well paid."

  "Very well," I said.

  "Do you think he can be prevailed upon to accept money?" asked Marcus.

  "Doubtless, if we are strenuous enough in our insistence on the matter," I said.

  "Good," he said, grimly.

  "He is really not a bad fellow," I said.

  Marcus made an angry noise.

  "I think it would be better if you were not present when he makes the attempt on the Home Stone," I said.

  "I will be there," said Marcus. "He may need help."

  "It will not be much help," I said, "if you drop him on the spot."

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "If he does manage to obtain the Home Stone and you run him through, and it drops out of his cloak on the street, and it becomes immediately apparent to the guards about that there appear to be two Home Stones of Ar's Station in the vicinity, what then?"

  "I shall seize it up and make away," he said.

  "There may be a hundred guards about," I said.

  "Doubtless you will be at hand," he said.

  "But what if there are one hundred and one guards about?" I said.

  "You jest," he said.

  "What do you think your chances will be of getting the stone out of the city, let alone to Port Cos?"

  "I do not know," he admitted.

  "The alarm would be sounded within Ihn," I said.

  "Doubtless," he granted.

  "You would be fortunate if you managed to get the stone as far as the Teiban Market," I said. "If I did not know your skill with the sword I would have placed a bet you would not get it as far as Clive." This street actually entered the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, from the west.

  "I have nerves of steel," said Marcus. "I can control my emotions with perfection."

  "As five days ago?" I asked.

  "He needn't have been as ribald as he was," said Marcus.

  "There are at least two reasons for what he did," I said. "First, the length of his tirade gave him time to study the Home Stone, in all its details. Secondly, it established a character. If he comes back during the same watch, as he presumably will, the guards will remember him, and expect a show."

  "Then they will be more attentive," said Marcus.

  "But to him, not to the Home Stone," I said.

  "You said 'at least two reasons,'" said Marcus. "That suggests there might be at least one other."

  "Perhaps," I said, evasively.

  "What?" he asked, not pleasantly.

  "He was enjoying himself," I said.

  "He should have been impaled!" said Marcus.

  "Master," begged Phoebe.

  "I should have run him through!" exclaimed Marcus.

  "Master!" whimpered Phoebe.

  The new slave whimpered, too, urgently, helplessly, plaintively, to call her needs, and herself, to my attention.

  "I really think it would be better if you were not present when the attempt is made on the Home Stone," I said.

  "You are in one of your rational moods," said Marcus, disgustedly.

  "Almost everyone has them occasionally," I said. "Also, I thought you were supposed to be the rational one."

  "I shall think about it," he said.

  "The important thing here," I said, "is not your sense of honor, which seems a bit touchy, but the rescue of the Home Stone."

  "This is more of your Kaissa," he said.

  "If you will," I said.

  "Master," begged Phoebe.

  He looked down at her, fiercely.

  "A slave begs," she said, "that her master consent to enter her."

  "Oh!" she cried, as Marcus, fiercely, took her in his arms. "It is I who am impaled," she laughed. "It is I who am run through!"

  "But as befits female slaves!" he said.

  "Yes, Master!" she laughed. Then she closed her eyes. "Oh, yes!" she said. She gasped. She sighed, softly. "Deign to use me, unworthy slave though I am," she whispered, "as the cover for your spear, as your sheath and scabbard."

  "And it is done, is it not?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" she said.

  "And in the manner befitting female slaves?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" she said.

  He kissed her, his head down, fiercely about her throat.

  Her head was back. Her eyes were closed. "I have received my master," she said.

  "I, too, would receive my master," whispered the new slave.

  "I will write the letter for you," mumbled Marcus, his words lost somewhere
in Phoebe's neck.

  "I will require further assistance, as well," I said.

  "It is yours," he said.

  "I do not think it will interfere in any way with the recovery of the Home Stone," I said.

  "Yes," mumbled Marcus. "Yes, yes."

  I regarded the new slave. She turned her head toward me. Her eyes were filled with tears. She whimpered. I seized her, turned her and threw her to her back, with a sound of the chain, beside me, on the blanket, spread over the boards. I touched her, lightly, and she lifted her body, piteously. She looked up at me. She whimpered. I gently touched her breasts. Again she whimpered. They were very beautiful, and their condition, like that of her whole body, signified her readiness, and need. Tears of supplication welled in her eyes.

  I touched her lightly about the waist, and she moved almost as though she might have been burned. Even the chain had jerked.

  "You are a hot slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I touched her.

  "Oh!" she said.

  "And you juice exceedingly well," I said.

  "'Juice'?" she said.

  "Yes," I said, "you juice, you oil, you gape, you flow, you gush, my little tasta."

  A tasta is a small, soft Gorean candy, which is mounted on a stick. It is not unoften found in a market, and is always found at fairs. It is an expression, of course, which would be inappropriate applied to a free woman, even if she somehow approximated its meriting. It is not uncommonly applied to slaves, however, who often warrant its meriting. The man who has not held a helpless, gasping, pleading slave in his arms, has not, in my view, held a woman in his arms. It is no wonder Gorean men seek slaves. If one wants a woman, there is no practical alternative.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  I looked down at her. How amazing, how astonishing, and wonderful are female slaves. How, too, this woman's life had changed! What a dramatic volte-face, from a free woman to a slave! How different she was from a free woman, this slave, hot, needful, beautiful, owned, obedient, begging. Too, she had not been that long in bondage.

  I looked down upon her.

  "Are you a slave?" I asked.

  "Yes," she whispered. "Subjugate me."

  I then took her in my arms.

  "Now I, too, am impaled," she whispered. "Now, I, too, have been run through. Now, I, too, have received my master. Now, I, too, am cover to his spear. Now I, too, serve him as sheath and scabbard!"

  "But such things in manners befitting the female slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, ecstatically.

  "You may move as you wish," I said.

  "Yes, Master!" she said.

  "Hold!" I said.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "Hold, a little," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she moaned.

  "You squirm well," I said.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  "It seems you are already on the brink," I said.

  "I was there even before you put me to my back," she said.

  "Even from such small things as keeping you in a certain position, checking your ankle ring and collar, touching you a little now and then, here and there?"

  "It is not just such things," she said. "Even more, it is my entire condition!"

  "Interesting," I said.

  "I have become hot, submissive, sexual and obedient," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  "I am a slave, and needful," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  "You have done this to me!" she said.

  "I?" I asked.

  "You, and others," she said. "Men, masters."

  "These things are within you," I said. "They are born in you. Surely you have sensed them in yourself, or hints of them, even when you were a free woman."

  "Then I have always been a slave," she said.

  "Yes," I said. "It was only that you were waiting for a master, or masters."

  She was silent.

  "Too," I said, "even though these things are within you, they did not have their beginning with you. They are very ancient things. They go back at least to the cave and the stone knife."

  "Master?" she asked.

  "Never mind," I said.

  "As master wishes," she said.

  How far we were from the cave and the stone knife, I thought, and yet, again, in a way, how close! Could one not see in the blade of steel, so much keener and more dangerous, the knife of stone? Could one not recollect in the spacious courts of the palace the dim recesses of limestone caves? And who moves barefoot and graceful upon the tiles of the palace? Is it the hunter's mate, clad in her skins, kept, and cuffed and obedient, cowering lovingly at her master's feet, his in the sense of rain and stones? No, it is the curvaceous, perfumed, silked, collared slave, owned in law, hurrying to do her master's bidding.

  "You may now again move," I said.

  "Oh, yes, Master!" she said, gratefully.

  But in a short while I counseled her once again to desist, which she did, reluctantly.

  "Surely you did not learn to move and moan like that as a free woman," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Speak," I said.

  "I am excited, and cannot help myself," she said. "It is muchly reflexive, involuntary."

  "I see," I said.

  "I beg my master's pardon," she said. "The sensations, the feelings, are incredible! Then my movements become such that I cannot even control them. It is not like it is I who move, but rather than it is I who am moved. It is like hands jerking me about. I am wild inside and helpless and my body cries out silently and moves as it wishes! Sometimes it is almost as though I were being beaten, or struck!"

  "They are simple slave reflexes," I said. "I effect nothing critical."

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  "Have you ever seen slave dance?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "But I have heard of it."

  "You have no idea, then," I said, "of its incredible sensuousness and beauty, and of how a woman appears in it, how exciting, desirable and owned, and of how men, seeing it, can cry out with need?"

  "Only what I have heard," she said.

  "As you were in the house of Appanius, who is a rich man," I said, "it is surprising that you never observed such dancers."

  She was silent.

  "Surely he could have afforded to bring them in, or even to own his own."

  "I would think so, Master," she said.

  "Not even at the banquets?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  "Or at the small suppers, later to be chained to rings near the guests?"

  "No," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  This information fitted in with certain surmises I had formed earlier. If my surmises were correct, it would fit in well with my plans.

  "Why does Master ask?" she asked.

  "Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira," I said.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said.

  "My question was suggested to me," I said, "by the helplessness of your slave responses."

  "I do not understand," she said.

  "There are various movements in slave dance," I said, "of the hips, the belly, and such, indeed, of the entire body, which are clearly akin to, and reminiscent of, the movements of love and need."

  "Yes, Master?" she said.

  "To be sure, in the dance," I said, "these movements tend to be under much stricter control. The dance is, after all, an art form. Nonetheless it is clear that the sexuality of the dancer is not uncommonly aroused. After all, it is hard for a woman to be beautiful and sensuous without feeling beautiful and sensuous, and it is hard for her to feel beautiful and sensuous without having her sexuality ignited. Indeed, few are the dancers who have not upon occasion, even in the dance itself, succumbed to orgasmic helplessness. This can occur to them while they are on their feet, but more often it will occur during floor movements or when they are on their knees."

  "Yes, Master
," whispered the girl.

  "And your movements," I said, "suggested to me that you might make a dancer."

  "I see," she said.

  "You also have an excellent body for a dancer," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  "Would you like to trained for the dance?" I asked.

  "I do not know, Master," she said, frightened.

  "Or would you dare to be so beautiful?"

  "I am a slave," she whispered. "It will be done with me as masters wish."

  "But would you like it?" I asked.

  "Perhaps, Master," she whispered, fearfully.

  "It is something to keep in mind," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  Phoebe was moaning to one side, locked in the arms of Marcus.

  I moved a little.

  The girl in my arms gasped. "Oh," she whispered. She looked at me, beggingly. "Please," she whispered.

  "Yes?" I asked.

  "Please continue my subjugation," she said.

  "Are you certain you wish it?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "I am a slave," she said. "It is appropriate that I be subjugated!"

  "I see," I said.

  "I understand my sex, and its meaning," she said.

  "In bondage," I said, "you have discovered these things?"

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  "And I have been given little choice, Master," she smiled.

  "True," I said.

  "Please!" she suddenly wept.

  "Incidentally," I said, "when you kneel before the free woman, in your carefully prepared modest garb, fit for a lowly slave, as you must soon do, to convey to her the message which will be inserted in the message tube about your neck, be certain to kneel with your knees closely together."

  "Certainly, Master," she said. "She is a female, not a male."

  "But even more importantly," I said, "insofar as you can, before her, and before any other free women who might be in attendance upon her, conceal your sexuality. Do not let them suspect it. Let them think that you are as inert and meaningless as they are."

  "That is common by slave girls before free women, Master," she said. "It does not take us long to learn that, once we are in the collar."

  "I see," I said.

  "But I do not think they are always fooled," she said.

  "Perhaps not," I said.

  "Even as long ago as in the house of Appanius," she said, "I was twice switched by free women who had come to see him on business."