Guardsman of Gor coc-16

by John Norman

  I supposed that if, at some time in the future, their passions were to be ignited, then they, too, would be ruined for this particular type of dance. I was fortunate, thus, to have been able to obtain them when I did. Too, of course, doubtless their master would keep a close eye on them, at least until he had managed to get a good price for them. After that, what would it be to him if they learned, in the arms of a strong master, what it was to be a full slave.

  I wondered where Melpomene was now. Having seen her dance I had little doubt but what she would be being used as a dancer. It takes a long time, of course, for a woman to become a good dancer. She might spend years in low taverns, or as a carnival dancer, or even as a street dancer, for provocation and use, on her leash, before her skills develop to a point at which she is good enough, as it is said, “to be permitted to dance before a Ubar.”

  “More, Master?” inquired the slave in bluish gauze, in the gleaming collar, kneeling behind me and to my left.

  “Yes,” I said.

  With a serving prong she placed narrow strips of roast bosk and fried sul on my plate.

  “Enough, Girl,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  There were seven musicians, who furnished the music for the dancers, a czehar player, their leader, two kalika players, three flutists and a kaska player. Tasdron kindly had brought these fellows from his tavern. Too, with him he had brought a girl, the former Earth girl, Peggy, who was one of his slaves. She was in a brief, white tunic, and collar. She hovered in his vicinity, waiting upon him. I noted, however, that she could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Tasdron and I had, together, agreed on the pertinence of her presence at the feast.

  There was then a swirl of music and the dancers had finished. We well applauded them. They had been superb. They stood before us in their blue silk and golden collars, their heads down. Then, smiling, to another swirl of music, they turned and hurried from the room, going to the kitchen, where their master would be waiting for them. They were barefoot. There were golden bangles on the left ankle of each.

  In the kitchen they would be stripped of their costumes, which were not to be soiled. They would then kneel and be fed by hand. When they were finished they would be put naked in slave cloaks and, fastened together in throat coffle, conducted back to their holding cages near the spice wharf. Tomorrow, at noon, on the same ship on which their master had booked passage, they were to be shipped to Port Cos, and from thence, via Turmus, eventually to the island of Cos, in some city of which, probably Telnus, they would be put up for sale. The musicians now played unobtrusively in the background.

  “She is a pretty one,” said Glyco, indicating the slave in bluish gauze, barefoot and bare-armed, who was deferentially serving us. She put down her head, blushing. “You have been commended,” I said to her. “Thank you, Master,” she said to Glyco, kneeling, head down. “A girl is grateful, if she has been found pleasing by a free man.”

  “What is her name?” asked Glyco. “I have not yet given her a name,” I said. “I see,” said Glyco. “You may continue your serving,” I said to the girl. “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “I propose a toast,” said Aemilianus, rising.

  “A toast,” we called. Shirley hurried about, making sure there was wine in the goblets. Callimachus drank water, but he permitted a drop of wine to mix in the water, that the ceremony of the toast might be one in which he fully shared. Wine, incidentally, is often mixed with water in Gorean homes. This is primarily because of the potency of many Gorean wines. The wines I was serving, however, were such that, sensibly, they could be served undiluted. An alternative with the potent wines is to serve very small amounts of them. We stood. The musicians stopped playing.

  “To the Vosk League!” said Aemilianus, commander of the naval forces of Ar’s Station.

  “To the Vosk League!” we said, fervently.

  Two of the men at the table had been signatories to the treaty of the Vosk League, solemnly signed under festive canopies on the wharves of Victoria yesterday at the tenth Ahn, Glyco, who had signed on behalf of Port Cos, and Tasdron, Administrator of Victoria, who had signed on behalf of Victoria. In all, nineteen towns had become members of the League, Turmus, Ven, Tetrapoli, Port Cos, Tafa, Victoria, Fina, Ragnar’s Hamlet, Hammerfest, Sulport, Sais, Siba, Jasmine, Point Alfred, Jort’s Ferry, Forest Port, Iskander, Tancred’s Landing and White Water.

  “To Ar’s Station!” said Callimachus, lifting his goblet to Aemilianus.

  “To Ar’s Station!” we said.

  “I am grateful to you all, for your generosity,” said Aemilianus. “I regret only that I was not permitted to sign the treaty on behalf of Ar’s Station.”

  Well did we know his bitterness in this matter. Envoys from Ar, though present at the signing of the treaty, extending felicitations to the league, and commending its intent, had refused to permit Ar’s Station to become a party to the signing of the document. Though this was a great disappointment to Aemilianus, and to others of Ar’s Station, who had fought with us, it came generally as no surprise on the river. Ar had had difficulties enough with the Salerian Confederation, to the east, not to welcome the formation of a new league along the Vosk. And, surely, such a league would prove detrimental to Ar’s ambitions on the Vosk and in the Vosk basin.

  Port Cos, of course, had had no similar difficulties in joining the league. She was an independent town, and sovereign in her own right. Interestingly, envoys neither from Cos herself nor from the Salerian Confederation attended the formation of the league. They would wait, it seemed, to see whether or not the league became an effective, practical political reality upon the Vosk. If it did, that would be time enough, we supped, for them to concern themselves with it.

  “To Port Cos!” said Tasdron, lifting his cup.

  “To Port Cos,” said we all, and that toast was well drunk.

  “To Victoria!” said Glyco, reciprocating the honor that Tasdron had shown his city.

  “To Victoria!” we said, and well and heartily drunk, too, was this toast. Downing it, I found, startled, that there were tears in my eyes.

  “What is wrong?” asked Callimachus, smiling.

  “It is smoke,” I said, “from the lamps.”

  “No,” he smiled, “it is because Victoria is your city.”

  “Aemilianus!” I said, huskily, that I might drive this emotion from me.

  “Yes?” said he.

  “I have been meaning for days to give you a gift, one I have been saving for you.”

  “Oh?” he asked.

  I looked at Shirley. “To his feet, Slave,” I said.

  Swiftly Shirley, startled, putting down the wine, knelt before Aemilianus.

  “I took her from Reginald, captain of the Tamira,” I said.

  “That is known to me,” said Aemilianus.

  “Do you like her?” I asked.

  “Yes!” said Aemilianus.

  “She is yours!” I said.

  Swiftly the slave put down her head and began to kiss the feet of Aemilianus. “My Master,” she said, acknowledging him as her new master.

  “My thanks!” said Aemilianus.

  “It is nothing,” I said. “She is only a slave.”

  “She is worth at least ten silver tarsks,” speculated Tasdron. This heartened me, for Tasdron was quite skilled in the assessment of female slaves. As the owner of a paga tavern, he had bought and sold many, of course. It was a form of merchandise with which he was quite familiar. It seemed to me not impossible, upon reflection, that the voluptuous Shirley, put upon the block, exhibited by a skilled auctioneer, might bring the very fine sum of ten silver tarsks.

  There was applause for me about the table, the striking of the left shoulder in Gorean fashion. One of the nicest gifts one can give a man, of course, is a beautiful woman.

  “But, mercifully,” I said, “let her continue to serve. You may then take her home with you tonight when you go.”

  “Very well,” he gri
nned.

  I threw him a narrow, eighteen-inch black strap. “This is for when you take her home with you tonight,” I said.

  “Thank you,” he said. When he left tonight, of course, she would not be wearing a collar, and, presumably, she would be stripped. The strap would be useful in tying her hands behind her back. There would be no danger, of course, of her being mistaken for a free woman. She would continue to be well marked as a slave by her brand, which was small and fine, and burned deeply into her left thigh.

  “Where are you supposed to be now, Girl?” asked Aemilianus.

  “In the kitchen, I think, Master,” she said.

  “Well, then,” he said, “run now to the kitchen.”

  “Yes, Master,” she said and, leaping up, ran to the kitchen. She was closely followed by the lovely little slave in the bluish gauze. Doubtless both of them were soon to bring forth the next course of the meal, which I took to be assorted desserts, to be followed by black wine and liqueurs.

  “Let us sit down,” I said. Then I signaled to the musicians to begin once more to play.

  I turned to Miles of Vonda. “What are your plans?” I asked.

  “I shall venture to Turmus,” he said, “where I have contacts. There I shall arrange a loan and with this money return to Vonda, there to rebuild the burned buildings of my ranch.”

  I glanced to Florence. In her yellow tunic and collar she knelt quite close to him.

  The tunic and collar, of course, were all she wore. Slaves were permitted little clothing.

  “What of your wench?” I asked.

  “I will keep her on my estates, near Vonda,” he said. “There will be no problem. She has been properly branded and collared.”

  “Will you board your slave in Victoria,” I asked, “while you venture to Turmus?”

  Florence looked frightened, suddenly.

  “No,” he said, “I will take her with me.”

  She then looked relaxed, and happy.

  I grinned.

  Florence then looked at me, reproachfully, and then smiled. Then she put her head against her master’s shoulder.

  “Was it your intention, earlier, to give Shirley to Aemilianus?” asked Callimachus.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “But you would have done it later in the evening?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “Do not fear your sentiment,” he said. He had detected that I, embarrassed by the tears which had formed in my eyes, following our toast to Victoria, had sought to divert attention from this putative weakness by making that moment in which I would give a gift to my friend, Aemilianus.

  “I have carried weapons,” I said. “I have fought.”

  “Tears are not unbecoming to the soldier,” said Callimachus. “The soldier is a man of deep passions, and emotion. Many men cannot even understand his depths. Do not fear your currents and your powers. In the soldier are flowers and stories. Each is a part of him, and each is real. Accept both. Deny neither.”

  “Thank you, Callimachus,” I said.

  “Ah, chained slaves!” called Glyco, delightedly.

  Two girls emerged from the kitchen, the girl in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, and the girl in yellow gauze, whom I had called Shirley, who was now owned by Aemilianus. I did not know what name he would choose to give her. Each girl carried a tray of desserts, and each wore two light, graceful, gleaming chains, one of which, some twenty inches in length, by means of ankle rings, joined her ankles, and the other of which, some eighteen inches in length, put confinement on her wrists, each fair wrist being clasped snugly in one of its locked wrist rings. They approached, beautiful and enslaved, carrying their trays, that they might serve us, their movements, graceful and feminine, measured to the permissions of their chains. There was a murmur of pleasure and appreciation about the table. Chained beauties were being looked upon by strong men.

  The girls, carrying their trays, knelt before the table. “Desserts, Masters,” announced the girl in bluish gauze. Then, rising, they began to serve, one on each side. On one tray were assorted pastries; on the other was a variety of small, spiced custards.

  “Pastries, Master?” asked the girl in bluish gauze.

  I looked at her. Her small hands held the tray. On her tiny, lovely wrists, inflexible and close-fitting, were wrist rings, each securely locked. Chain, under the tray, dangled between the rings. Behind her, as she knelt on the tiles, there lay the chain which confined her ankles.

  “You may now serve another,” I said. I had taken a small pastry from the tray.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

  She then rose, to serve Miles of Vonda.

  Diagonally across the table and to my right the new voluptuous slave of Aemilianus knelt tremblingly before him, serving him. He was licking his lips. And I suspect it was not the custards on her tray which so moved his interest. Rather it was the first time that he had seen how beautiful she was in chains.

  “Thank you for the pastry, Master,” said Florence to Miles of Vonda.

  In their serving, the girls, of course, had ignored Peggy and Florence. It was as though they were not present. They were only slaves. But, of course, Miles of Vonda and Tasdron, of Victoria, their masters, had given them food from their plates. Florence had eaten well but Peggy had eaten hardly anything at all. She could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Sometimes her hand moved towards him but she, an Earth-girl slave, dared not touch him.

  The pastry was quite good.

  I was very pleased with the way Lola had handled the meal. All was simple, tasteful and unpretentious.

  “Excellent,” said Tasdron, lifting a small pastry.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I looked upwards, and about the room. The multicolored ribbons were festive; the lamps were lovely; and the flowers, abundant and colorful, mostly larma blossoms, veminia and teriotrope, were beautiful and fragrant. Lola had done well.

  “The dancers were lovely,” said Glyco, pausing, a spoon lifted in the air over a small yellow, spiced custard. “Perhaps I can rent them for a supper of my own in Port Cos, before their cages are ticketed for Turmus, and thence to Cos.”

  “It pleases me,” I said, “that you found them not displeasing.”

  “It is an interesting mode of dance,” he said, plunging his spoon again into the custard, “one of which women are capable before men have taught them their collars.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I then watched the two slaves, in their chains, continuing their serving. They, too, serving in their chains, were a part of the entertainment, as much as the music of Tasdron’s musicians in the background.

  The Gorean’s concept of entertainment is perhaps simpler, or more subtle or broader than is that, doubtless, of many individuals in many other cultures. For example, he can enjoy watching a slave putting on her tunic or taking it off; he can enjoy seeing a woman chained, and rechained, many times, in many ways, each time being exhibited in her helplessness; and he can enjoy watching his slave working naked in the kitchen, or cleaning, or doing laundry or sewing; I think this is probably because he enjoys being with her, and finds her precious and beautiful.

  I had informed Lola that the little slave, now clad in bluish gauze, was to be included in the entertainment. And how delightfully and subtly had Lola complied with my directive! Even she had had the little slave announce the desserts to the guests. I observed the chains on the little slave in bluish gauze. How beautiful they were on her! I wondered if she even realized that she, thus, was now not only serving but was also now a pleasant portion of our entertainment. But of course she must understand this. Surely she had heard the murmur of pleasure and appreciation which had coursed about the table, greeting the appearance of herself and her fellow slave.

  In more sophisticated Gorean banquets, incidentally, the serving slaves often change costume and jewelry, and sometimes chains, with each course of the meal, their ensembles and accessor
ies being matched to the various courses. I smiled to myself. Lola had put the two slaves in chains for the dessert course. That seemed a delightful and subtle touch. Slave girls know that to some men, and perhaps to any man some of the time, they are, in effect, and will be treated as, only meaningless, delicious desserts. They are, after all, slaves.

  “Master?” asked the small, chained slave in bluish gauze.

  I took another pastry, and, with a movement of my hand, dismissed her.

  She went then, again, to Miles of Vonda.

  “Please, Master, that one,” begged Florence.

  He took the indicated pastry from the tray, gave it to the slave, and continued his conversation with Tasdron.

  “Thank you, Master,” said Florence, and, kneeling behind her master, began to eat the pastry.

  The chaining on the two slaves did not much restrict their movements, nor was it intended to. Like much chaining on Gor their chaining was primarily aesthetic and symbolic. On a world such as Gor chains are used far less for holding purposes than might be expected. For example, the girls are branded and collared, and their world is one in which the institution of slavery is accepted and respected; there is, in effect, no place for them to run, no place for them to go. On the other hand, chains do hold, and this is one of the major reasons for their symbolic effectiveness. The girl knows, for example, that her chains will keep her exactly where the master has chosen to place her; she is going to stay there; she has been chained there; it is his will which has determined this; she is only his slave.

  Just as a woman may be chained in many ways, and Goreans can be ingenious in chaining their females, so, too, there can be many reasons for chaining her. Security against, say, escape or theft, is only one reason. She may also be chained for instructional purposes, that she may be taught, or reminded, that she is a slave. She may also be chained, particularly in certain positions, to humiliate her. She may also be chained as a punishment or discipline. She may also be chained for so simple a reason as that her master merely chooses to do so.

  There are many reasons for which a woman might be chained. The women tonight, for example, were chained largely for purposes of beauty. Chains, as is well known, often enhance, and incredibly so, the beauty of a female. This matter is doubtless partly aesthetic and partly emotional and intellectual. The contrast of the unbreakable, merciless, interwoven metallic links, with their tasteful shackles, or cuffs and rings, with the confined, helpless softness of the slave is aesthetically interesting, providing, as it does, a lovely study in surfaces, textures and materials; too, of course, it is only fair to note that the meshed linkage of the chain, with its weight and harshness, with its metallic simplicity and solidity, with its uncompromising, unyielding, inescapable efficiency, merciless and unbreakable, contrasts with, calls attention to, and accentuates remarkably the vulnerability and softness, in all its beauty and curves, of its captive. But the greatest beauty of the chain, like that of the brand and collar, doubtless lies in the realm of the intellect and emotions, in its meaning, and how it makes the girl feel.