Norman, John - Gor 23 - Renegades of Gor.txt

  heroes, this denouement often fails to materialize. (pg.100) Although such

  notions are not unknown on Gor, the average Gorean tends to be somewhat more

  practical and businesslike then the average hero of such stories, if we may

  believe the stories. For example, the damsel of Earth, if she found herself

  rescued on Gor, might not have to spend a great deal of time gravely considering

  whether or not to bestow herself on the rescuer. She might rather find her

  wrists, to her surprise, being chained behind her, her clothing being removed

  and a rope being put on her neck. She might then find herself hurrying along on

  foot, beside his mount, roped by the neck to his stirrup. If he finds her

  pleasing, he might keep her, at least for a time. If he does not, she will be

  soon sold.

  “I must find a gentleman to redeem me,” she said, “a true gentleman, one who

  will take pity on me and nobly buy me out of my difficulties.”

  “Another fool?” I asked.

  “Yes!” she laughed.

  I was silent.

  “But do you think I will find one?” she asked, anxiously. “Never before have I

  been stripped and put in a chain collar.”

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “I must!” she said, firmly.

  There are many mythologies having to do with human beings. Many function like

  ideological garments, designed to conceal or misrepresent reality. The

  misrepresentations and concealments, of course, are then called “truth.” Truth,

  crushed to earth, is supposed to rise again, but if it didn’t, we wouldn’t know

  it. Indeed, if it did have the temerity to show up, it could probably count on

  being suppressed again as rapidly as possible, in the name, of course, of

  “truth.” The name of truth all prize; the face of truth most fear. Yet I think

  the nature of truth is not that terrible. It is just that it is different, and

  more beautiful than the lies. The demythologization of a man has yet to take

  place. His reality exceeds the myths; it is reality which is darker and more

  dangerous than the myths; but it is also glorious and more real.

  “But what am I to do until I can find such a fool?” she asked.

  “It is true,” I asked, “that sometimes, when a fellow (pg.101) bought you out of

  your difficulties, you merely turned your back upon him?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Turn your back upon me, now,” I said.

  “Please!” she said.

  “Do so, now,” I said.

  She did so. “Oh!” she said, gripped.

  “Bend forward,” I said.

  She obeyed.

  “I think I can give you some idea,” I said, “as to what you will be doing until

  you find such a fool.”

  “Please,” she said, “Mercy!”

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “You lived off men, with very little recompense

  to them. You will now, in a sense, for the time being at least, merely continue

  doing that, that is, continue to receive your living from me, only now, as

  opposed to before, you will be doing something for it, indeed, a great deal. You

  are, at least, going to be good for something. Men, at long last, are going to

  get some food out of you.”

  “I am not a slave!” she said. “Oh!” she said.

  “Before,” I said, “men, in a sense, were subject to you. Now you are subject to

  them.”

  She moaned.

  “You may move or not, as it pleases you,” I informed her.

  She writhed briefly, trying to reach back, but could not escape. She cried out

  in frustration, and then fear. She then lay extremely quiet.”

  “I am not a slave,” she said.

  “At least not a legal slave,” I said.

  She trembled, her entire body, interestingly, responding to these words.

  “—yet,” I added.

  Again her entire body, helplessly, wholistically, organically, spasmodically,

  responded.

  “Please!” she begged. “Do not speak so.”

  The wholisticality of the female’s response is an interesting one. Their

  response is a whole, physical, emotional and intellectual. Men have sex; women

  are sex.

  “Why did you pay a tarsk bit for me?” she asked. “Why (pg.102) did you not pay

  for an inn girl? Were they too expensive? Could you have afforded one?”

  “I think so,” I granted her. Thanks, of course, to the coins from the brigands’

  coin box, taken from them by the road, if nothing else, my finances were

  currently in excellent order.

  “Then it was I, truly I, whom you wished delivered to your space,” she

  whispered.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I thought you could use a little humbling,” I said, “and a little informing as

  to the nature of your womanhood.”

  “I hate you!” she said. “I hate you!”

  Her body seethed with hatred. It was pleasant.

  “I am giving you pleasure, aren’t I?” she asked, angrily.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She then tried to hold herself absolutely still.

  “Too,” I said, “of course, I find you of sexual interest.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do you think anyone else would?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “Oh!” she said suddenly, softly. “Ohh!”

  “You moved,” I said.

  “I am a free woman,” she said, angrily. “Yet I am at the mercy of the keeper! I

  am a free woman! Yet I was made to serve at the tables! Now I have been

  delivered to a guest, as though I might be a slave!”

  I was silent. I did not tell her that the most common thing that is done with

  debtor sluts is to sell them into slavery.

  “Do you think that I will find another fool?” she asked.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  “I must,” she said. “I must! Else something terrible might happen.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I might be sold to the collar,” she said. “Then I would be a slave!”

  “If I were the keeper,” I said, “Such would certainly be my decision.”

  “What?” she said.

  “I would sell you into slavery,” I said.

  “Never!” she said. “Never!”

  (pg. 103) “You should be a slave,” I told her.

  “No! No!” she said.

  “You are moving,” I cautioned her.

  She cried out in frustration.

  Then she said. “Oh!”

  Then she asked, “Are you going to make me yield?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “You are a free woman/”

  “Be done with it!” she said.

  But I chose, somewhat perversely perhaps, to take my time with her.

  Afterwards she clung tightly to me. “Oh,” she sobbed, sof
tly. “Oh, oh.” She

  seemed confused, frightened, bewildered, at what had been done to her, at what

  she had felt. I thought the keeper’s man must be due soon.

  “I yielded, did I not?” she asked, frightened. “Did I not yield?” The chain, its

  loose ends, the padlock, the small metal tarn tag, indicating she was in debt to

  the Crooked Tarn, clinked on her neck.

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said. She had actually done very well for a free

  woman, new to the handling of men who could do what they wished with her. The

  Lady Temione, though the thought might have horrified her, as she was a free

  woman, had unusually powerful female latencies. Subject to men and the whip I

  had little doubt she would become extremely passionate, and eventually, even

  helplessly so.

  “You owe a silver tarsk, five,” I mused.

  “Are you thinking of redeeming me?” she asked.

  “I was thinking about it,” I said. I must try to gain admittance to Ar’s

  Station. It was invested by Cosians, and mercenaries. I might have use for such

  as she.

  “I would be afraid to be redeemed by you,” she said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “If you redeemed me,” she said, “I would be in your total power. You would, in

  effect, own me.”

  “You are aware, of course,” I said, “that you have, ultimately, no control over

  who redeems you, no more than a slave has, ultimately, any choice over who buys

  her.”

  “I know,” she said.

  I lay there, quietly, thinking. Yes, I thought, I might have use for a woman, or

  women, such as she.

  “You took me like a she-tarsk,” she said, poutingly.

  (pg.104) “You responded well to the taking,” I said. “Perhaps it is fitting for

  you.”

  “You do not respect me,” she said.

  “You do not want to be respected,” I said. “You want to be cherished, treasured,

  handled, abused, mastered, owned, subdued, forced to serve and love.”

  She was silent.

  “Someone is coming,” I said. “Do you hear him, on the stairs?”

  “No,” she said.

  “He is on the first landing now,” I said. I sat up. “It is a male,” I said.

  “I hear him now,” she said, after a moment or two. “Oh!”

  I had turned her to her belly, on the blanket, spread over the boards.

  “My wrists!” she protested.

  They were then thonged. I had drawn them behind her, and held them together

  there, crossed, with my left hand. With my right I had removed the restraint

  from her left wrist. A moment later she was bound. Originally, I had assumed it

  was the keeper’s man, but the tread, now, seemed heavier. Lady Temione rose to

  her right elbow, her hands tied behind her. I thought I must know who it was. I

  glanced at the space next to me. He had arrived at the inn later than I, I

  supposed, as he had eaten later. If that was the case it was not at all unlikely

  that he might have been rented the space after mine. If so, that might make

  things a great deal easier. I would not even have to search him out, in the

  darkness. There was a fellow slumbering in space 99, in the corner. He must have

  come to the inn rather early, I supposed, to obtain one of the four coveted

  corner spaces. If the fellow coming up the steps was indeed who I expected it

  was, and had rented the space near me, and if things proceeded as I expected, I

  thought I might be able to enlist the support of the fellow in the corner. The

  second portion of my plan required a confederate.

  “Ai!” I heard someone cry, a few yards away, near the entrance. The newcomer, it

  seemed, had had some paga, perhaps a second or third kantharos. I wondered if he

  had paid for them. I heard another cry of rage. There was then a blow. The

  newcomer continued on, somewhat unsteadily. (pg.105) Another guest cried out,

  angrily, and rose up. He backed away a step, however, when he saw that he did

  not come up to the newcomer’s shoulder. Then the newcomer beckoned he should

  come forward. Frightened, he did so. Then the newcomer suddenly, without

  warning, doubled him with a blow to the gut, and he sank, groaning to his place.

  Another fellow half rose up, and another blow was struck, and the fellow fell

  back, to the side. Another fellow said something to the newcomer and the

  newcomer’s sword half emerged from its sheath, and the other fellow rolled back,

  away, quickly, feigning sleep. The sword slammed back into the sheath. Two men

  moved at the noise. I saw the free woman, whom I had gagged and trussed, to

  whose clothing I had addressed the attentions of her own knife, which I had

  taken from her, and later destroyed and thrown away, lying very still. She was

  absolutely helpless, and her clothing, so cut and divided, could be lifted aside

  to anyone’s convenience. It was no wonder she did not dare to move. I wondered

  what her thoughts might be, so helpless and vulnerable in her femaleness.

  Doubtless, disarmed and helpless, her beauty at anyone’s convenience, her

  weakness manifested, she now knew herself much better than she had before.

  Sometimes such experiences help women understand that they are women. In a

  moment or two the newcomer was at the space, 98, next to mine. He looked down,

  angrily. I was pleased to see that he still carried the pouch.

  He put it down, by the wall, with his helmet.

  “Oh!” cried the Lady Temione, pulled half to her feet.

  I noted the pouch had a lock. It would not, thus, be easy to open it and

  examine, or remove, the contents. To be sure, I was less interested in its

  contents than in something else. It would, of course, as he seemed to be some

  sort of courier, be a useful adjunct to a disguise.

  He held the Lady Temione before him, her head back, his beard but inches from

  her throat.

  “That is a free woman,” I said, dryly.

  With a noise of disgust he turned and cast her from him, to her side, to the

  foot of my space, on my blanket.

  I did not know if her recognized her from before, from the paga room, or not. He

  was drunk. It was dark.

  He looked about. As I thought, he would prefer the corner (pg. 106) space. I did

  not think it would matter much to him that it was occupied.

  “Ai!” cried the fellow from the space, lifted up, and suddenly thrown against

  the wall.

  The newcomer thrust his face against the fellow’s face, holding him back to the

  wall. “Why are you in the wrong space?” he asked him.

  “I am not in the wrong space!” gasped the fellow.

  He was then flung again against the wall.

  “Why!” demanded the newcomer.

  “There must be some mistake!” said the fellow. He was the same fellow,

  incidentally, happily, as I now noted, whom the newcomer had earlier ejected

  from his bath, and then drafted into service as a bath attendant. He was

  probably the sort of fellow who was very organized and rational, had come early

  to
the inn, generally conducted his life in a sensible manner, and so on. To be

  sure, fellows such as the newcomer can be the bane of such fellows. Again he was

  flung against the wall. This was a bit noisy, but then I was not asleep.

  “I have the ostrakon for this space!” said the fellow.

  “What has that to do with it?” asked the newcomer, again slamming him against

  the wall.

  “Nothing, of course!” said the fellow, trying to get his breath. “I am sorry I

  am in the wrong space! I apologize! Forgive me! It was stupid of me!”

  The newcomer let him slip to the floor and the fellow hastily, crawling, fetched

  his belongings from space 99.

  “You would not be thinking of leaving, perhaps to complain to the keeper, would

  you?” asked the newcomer.

  “no, no, of course not,” said the put-upon fellow.

  He then placed his belongings in space 98, next to mine.

  I frankly doubted that the keeper would be keen to mix into such an altercation,

  particularly one involving an armed mercenary, a fellow of the company of

  Artemidorus.

  “You are a big fellow, too,” said the put-upon fellow, looking at me. “I trust

  you do not want this place.”

  “No,” I told him.

  “If you do,” he said, “I could always fling myself into the wall now. I have had

  experience.”

  “Do not be bitter.” I said.

  (pg.107) “Get that thing out of my sight,” said the bearded fellow, looking at

  Lady Temione. She still lay much where she had been thrown, away from him, on

  her side, much afraid to move, her hands tied behind her, her head toward my

  feet, the chain, and the tag, on her neck. She put her head down, not daring to

  look upon him.

  “I rented her for an Ahn,” I said. “I think the time must be nearly up, and the

  keeper’s man should be along presently.”

  “What did she cost you?” he asked.

  “A tarsk bit,” I said.

  “That is far more than she is worth,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “In many cities,” he said, “one could have a coin girl for that.”

  “True,” I said. Coin girls were a form of street slave, usually sent into the

  streets around dusk by their masters, who commonly own several of them, with a