Swordsmen of Gor cog[oc-29

by John Norman

  I knew he did not fear to do so, even though he were newer to the roads of war than I. I was pleased he was unwilling to do so. How mighty, I thought, are the bonds of friendship. How sturdy stands, too, the banner of honor, even in the tempest, even on trembling ground.

  “I must report this to Lord Nishida,” said Tajima.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Make it last,” said Tajima. “Let it be a thousand cuts. Perhaps Lord Nishida will be satisfied.”

  “It is I who must be satisfied,” I said.

  “He is your prisoner,” granted Tajima.

  I then, the knife still in hand, followed Licinius into the darkness of the woods. He had not run, but was waiting for me.

  “Thank you, Warrior,” he said. “Be swift, if you would.”

  “You are unarmed,” I informed him. “You are far from villages, even huts. And you know not their locations, or your directions. There are larls in the woods but, hopefully, they are now well fed, and sleeping. You are without weapons and supplies. Many are the dangers in the forest. I do not expect you to survive.”

  “What are you doing?” he asked, wonderingly.

  “I am cutting you free,” I said.

  “Free?” he whispered.

  “Others will think you slain in the woods,” I said. “By the time they search for a body, you should be well away.”

  He moved his arms, and rubbed his wrists.

  “You would have let me depart in peace?” he said. “Truly?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I gave you my word,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “It is called honor,” I said. “Now, begone, quickly!”

  “I will survive,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  He then turned and disappeared into the darkness, between the trees.

  In a few moments I had returned to Tajima, Pertinax, and the slave.

  “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima, “your knife is not bloody.”

  “It seems not,” I said, and sheathed it.

  “Perhaps you broke his back or neck, or strangled him,” said Tajima.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “I will send Ashigaru to recover the body,” he said.

  “Have them wait until morning,” I said.

  “Lord Nishida will not be pleased,” said Tajima.

  “Have them wait until morning,” I said.

  “Very well, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” said Tajima.

  I then turned to the slave, who was still kneeling, slimly erect, hands down on thighs, head up, in nadu. She had not been given permission to break position.

  “You were spared,” I said to her. “You could have had your throat cut, and been thrust from the saddle to the forests below, shortly after the flight had begun, as soon as it became clear there was no obvious pursuit. You were extra weight for the tarn to carry and would thus reduce its speed and shorten its range.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said, not daring to look at me.

  “But you were spared.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Though only a slave,” I said.

  “Yes, Master.”

  I did not tell her that now, too, another had been spared.

  “You must clearly understand,” I said, “that you needed not have been spared.”

  She gasped, in sudden terror.

  “No,” I said, “slave.”

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  Her situation, of course, had been unusual, for, after the first few moments of her flight, she would have been little more than a hampering burden to the fugitive, and yet he had not disposed of her. She was fortunate. Licinius Lysias had spared her. I had spared him.

  Normally, of course, as an animal, and booty, the female slave on Gor has little or nothing to fear as power arrangements and assortments are determined at the points of weapons. She will only have a new rope on her neck, be whip-herded with others on an unfamiliar road, toward an unfamiliar destination, and market, will only find herself in a new cage, pen, or kennel, will have on her neck a new collar, and such things. Indeed, when a city falls, amidst its burning and sacking, free women will often strip and collar themselves, to escape the sword. When it is later discovered they are not branded, they are often severely whipped, but the blood lust, by then, is commonly dissipated, and they are spared. To be sure, they will soon be put under the iron, have transition collars hammered about their necks, and put with other female slaves who will doubtless have their vengeance upon them, switching them and using them as their own serving slaves, as though they might be the slaves of slaves. How eager then the new female slaves, former free women, will be, to be sold, and put their lips to the feet of a male master.

  I stepped away from the slave.

  “I am thinking of Cecily,” I said to Pertinax.

  “Tarl Cabot, tarnsman, is heated, and aroused,” said Tajima.

  I nodded. That is not unusual, of course, after battle. It is common then, when the blood has been shed, when the weapons are quiet, when one lifts one’s head and surveys the field, and realizes one is alive, to think of the softness of women, eagerly, even angrily and aggressively. Are they not the prizes of battle? Are they not flesh loot? Are they not, so to speak, lovely morsels, to be seized, to be aligned, to be examined, to be selected forthwith, to satisfy the appetites of masters? After the suppers’ desserts, surely then the slaves who served it. When one has survived it is natural to think of pleasures and playthings. There is a Gorean saying that the female slave is the warrior’s prize, and toy. The needs of males are many and they have their various assuagements, for hunger food, for thirst drink, for pleasure the slave.

  I felt it well to remove myself from the proximity of Saru.

  She was attractive, and a slave, and I was no more than what I was, a male in the vicinity of a woman who perhaps did not even understand the impact and lure of what she was, a female slave, an impact and lure so much more powerful than that of a mere free woman, indeed, a slave who might not, as yet, even understand fully the meaning of the collar on her neck.

  It could, of course, be soon taught to her.

  No, I thought, I must leave.

  I had little doubt that Cecily would be still within the rope circle, though perhaps now asleep, with some others. Most, presumably, would have been taken from the rope by now. As mentioned, when the slaves are awake, they must be within the circle, grasping the rope. Later, to be sure, Ahn afterward, if not extracted from the circle, the same rope is usually looped and knotted about the slave’s waist. The effect then is rather like a circle which contains a number of smaller circles, each of which encircles the waist of a slave.

  I looked about.

  A tharlarion snorted nearby.

  Beast by beast, over the past Ahn, several of the stampeded tharlarion, now slowed or milling, even grazing, many hemmed in by trees, and snared by brush, had been gathered in. I doubted that more than seven or eight were still missing. Tharlarion are not sleen, panthers, or larls. They leave an easy trail to follow. I did not doubt but what they would be eventually found and returned to the stable, perhaps, with some luck, by noon of the next day.

  I looked about.

  There was little to do now, here, by the stable.

  I was thinking of Cecily. A woman in a collar is very easy to think of. Indeed, it is hard not to think of them, as they are beautiful, and slaves. How lovely to return to one’s domicile and be greeted by an eager, ready slave, who kneels, and looks up, happily, into one’s eyes, and then, humbly, lowers her head, before her master. Perhaps she lifts her small wrists to you, hoping that you will bind, or bracelet, them. Slaves wish to be in the power of their masters, and know themselves within the power of their masters. Soon, with your permission she is in your arms, her lips to yours.

  There was to be a feast tomorrow, after the day’s work, as Lord Nishida had suggested.
It would probably take place toward evening, even after dusk. After that, the next morning, I had gathered the camp would be abandoned. The plans of Lord Nishida, it seemed, given the discovery of the camp, were to be advanced.

  What might be involved in these plans was not clear to me, but I was confident they involved, ultimately, no local objective.

  Given the rough, narrow road leading from the camp, cut from the forest itself, muddy, unpaved, deeply rutted, the wagon loads of timber and planking transported almost daily upon it, its direction and such, to the southeast, I conjectured that it would lead to a waterway. There was no large town within hundreds of pasangs. The waterway would drain to Thassa.

  Pertinax had spoken, long ago, of the Alexandra.

  Pani were unusual in known Gor.

  The waterway would provide access to Thassa.

  We saw some torches, down the road, approaching, from the central camp.

  ” Ashigaru,” said Tajima.

  “They will be coming for Licinius and you, Saru,” I said. “They will not find Licinius, and will be dissuaded to search for his body until tomorrow, given the darkness, and such. On the other hand they will find you.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Do not call men ‘Master’,” said Pertinax, angrily.

  “I must,” she said, “Master. I am a slave and must address all free men as ‘Master’, and all free women as ‘Mistress’.”

  I was glad Saru understood this. To be sure, I suppose she had encountered few free women since Earth. She may have encountered some on Gor, of course, earlier, when she had thought herself to be masquerading as a slave, before arriving in the northern forests. I supposed, then, she might have, perhaps to her amusement, used the term “Mistress” to some free women, enjoying the supposed pretense. I gathered she had done this well. Had she not she would probably have been leaned against a wall, the palms of her hands on the wall, and had her calves switched. At the time, of course, as she had been entered earlier on an acquisition list, she had actually been a slave, unbeknownst to herself. Had she realized that, it might have given a very different cast to her docility. Indeed, she would have been a slave, though not yet a collected slave, weeks, or more, before her transition to Gor. Thus, technically, in that time she should have been exhibiting deference to the free, addressing free men as “Master,” free women as “Mistress,” and so on. She could not be blamed for this lapse, of course, as she was at that time unaware she was a slave.

  I supposed that Mr. Gregory White, now by choice Pertinax, who long ago in the offices, aisles, and corridors of the investment firm might have furtively, yearningly, stolen glimpses of she whom he had taken at the time to be the ambitious, sophisticated, insolent, out-of-reach Miss Margaret Wentworth, so far above him, might have viewed her differently, rather differently, had he realized at the time that she was in actuality no more than a female slave.

  And so a slave, how that had been concealed!

  And so she, in all her smugness, pretensions, pettiness, and vanity, had gone about, from day to day, conducting herself as usual, taking her cabs, dining in her restaurants, cultivating her potential clients, and such, thinking herself a free woman, not knowing herself only a slave, that she should be fittingly on her knees, head to the floor, before them. Did she not know the slave rope, invisible, was already upon her? It required only that it, at the convenience of masters, be tightened. Had White known this, might he not have conjectured seizing her from behind, holding her helplessly before him, and whispering in her startled ear, “Slave.”

  And so her slavery had been concealed, even from herself.

  How many women, I wondered, even aside from acquisition lists, and such, are slaves, and do not know they are slaves.

  Or do they know themselves slaves, lacking only a master?

  How, I thought, might a civilization distort and pervert truth! How it can veil nature and conceal reality! How it can demean one thing and bedeck another, how it can in so many ways flee the serious, mighty, and worthy, and embrace the insignificant, the pathetic, the absurd, and ignoble.

  How it can lie, say, about men, and about women.

  They are not the same.

  She had, as far as I knew, encountered no free women since coming to the northern forests. Few free women frequent the forest. The forest is dangerous, and the men in the vicinity, hungering for slaves, would soon have them in collars.

  “Let her do so,” I said to Pertinax. “She must.”

  He looked at her, irritably. She was small before him, slight, lovely, desirable, and, deliciously obvious, as she was in nadu, a female.

  “Very well,” said Pertinax, angrily. But he then addressed himself to the slave, angrily. “But do not so address me,” he said.

  Saru nearly lost position.

  Clearly she was uncertain, confused, frightened.

  “She must,” I said. “You are a free man. She would be terrified not to do so.”

  “She is a slave,” said Tajima. “Understand that. Be kind.”

  “Slave,” I said. “Look up, now, meet the eyes of Master Pertinax, good, and now address him as ‘Master’.”

  Her eyes met those of Pertinax. “Master,” she said.

  I thought that would be a moment that neither of them would forget.

  Pertinax turned away, abruptly, angrily. “Very well,” he said.

  The former Miss Wentworth, toward whom he entertained such mixed and ambivalent feelings, and intense feelings, kneeling before him in nadu, knees split, back straight, had lifted her head to his, and, tears in her eyes, with trembling lip, as the slave she was, addressed him, appropriately, as “Master.”

  I sensed this was one of the most thrilling, disturbing moments in his life, and I sensed that it was one of the most meaningful, and thrilling, moments in her life.

  What man does not wish to be addressed as “Master” by a beautiful slave, and particularly by one he wishes he owned, one for whom he languishes? And what woman, kneeling before a man whose slave she wishes to be, does not long to call him “Master”?

  I saw he was unwilling to see her as what she was now, a slave.

  “Break position,” he said.

  She went to all fours, looking up at him.

  “Why did you have her break position?” I asked, innocently.

  “She makes me uneasy, like that,” he said.

  “I understand,” I said. In nadu, as the back is straight, the shoulders are back, and this accentuates the delights of the bosom. The widening of the knees suggests the vulnerability of the slave and displays the softness of the open, exposed thighs. The placement of the palms down on the thighs, apart and down, to the sides, suggests that they will be held as they are, and thus are not permitted to fend or thwart a caress. The kneeling position itself is symbolic of submission. The head’s being up displays the beauty of the master’s property, the beauty of the features, the slenderness of the neck, and such, and, too, of course, in this attitude, the badge of his ownership, her collar, is well exhibited. To be sure, this can differ from master to master. Some prefer the slave’s head to be submissively lowered. The slave’s eyes may or may not be permitted to meet the master’s eyes without permission. This differs from master to master.

  It will doubtless be recalled that Saru’s head had been shaved before she was consigned to the grooms in the stable, to assume the duties of a stable slut. That had been several weeks ago and there was now a blondish scrub of hair on her head. I hoped her master, Lord Nishida, would now permit her hair to grow. To be sure, the decision was his.

  “Would you like to have a tunic, Saru,” I asked, “or perhaps a camisk, or a ta-teera?”

  “Oh, yes, Master,” she said. “Yes, yes, yes!”

  “I think it may be permitted,” I said.

  “I hope so, Master!” she said.

  It is interesting, I thought. Though a slave, technically, is not permitted modesty, few slaves are not eager for the merest shred of clothin
g, at least in public. In private, they may be limited to their collars. Clothing, of course, is at the discretion of the master. Sometimes a slave must perform well, even to be granted a string and slave strip. Many slaves, for example, in the morning, must have the master’s permission before dressing. “Master, may I clothe myself?” Such things help the girl keep in mind that she is a slave. To be sure, few slaves are likely to forget that. Occasionally they may be whipped to remind them, and they may even, themselves, sometimes request the whip, that they be reassured of their master’s attention, and the reality of their bondage.

  As there were no free women in the camp, captured from the enemy, and such, I supposed the slaves would be permitted clothing, such as it might be, while serving the feast.

  Lord Nishida, I surmised, had been amusing himself at the expense of Pertinax, when he had suggested that Saru might serve nude. There seemed little point now in denying her garmenture, as she had, by now, presumably, been properly instructed as to the nonacceptability of her former attitudes and behaviors, now that she had learned the lessons of the stable, now that she had begun to understand what it was to have a collar on her neck. Her kajira journey had been well begun. If he did have her serve nude, I conjectured it would be merely in order, for his amusement or his information, to observe Pertinax. Would Pertinax avoid looking upon her? Would he look upon her, and, if so, how, obliquely or openly, and, if openly, with disapproval or with, say, the unfeigned interest and delight of a Gorean master? Masters think nothing of nudity in slaves. They are familiar with it. For example, that is how women are sold. They may, however, revel in it, as in admiration of the lines of any fine animal, and, of course, they are likely, given the commonality of species and their maleness, to find it potently arousing, and sometimes irresistibly so. In any event, the matter was up to Lord Nishida. I expected him to have Saru serve clothed. She might, of course, at as little as an expression or gesture, have to reveal her beauty.

  “You would like some clothing?” I asked.

  “Yes, Master, yes!” she said, fervently.

  I smiled to myself.

  Usually the clothing permitted to slaves was such as was fit for slaves. Usually there was not much to it, and it was designed to leave few of the slave’s charms to conjecture. The slave did not realize, it seemed, that in many slave garments the slave might seem more naked, given its judicious suggestions and such, than if she were literally stripped. Some new slaves must be whipped from the house, to embark upon an errand, so terrified they are at the scantiness of the garmenture in which they have been placed. Certainly it is a change from the stiff, heavy, ornate, cumbersome robes of concealment, and the multitudinous hoods and veils, of the high cities.