Norman, John - Gor 19 - Kajira of Gor.txt

by Kajira of Gor [lit]

  “No,” I said, angrily. “Of course notl”

  “Then,” he smiled, “there is no point in answering.”

  “Do you?” I asked, angrily.

  “I am paid to guard you,” he said, “not to consider any personal feelings, one

  way or another, which I might have towards you.”

  “One way or another?” I asked, angrily.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “You despise and hate me!” I said.

  “I could find it easy to despise you,” he said, “and, at one time, from all that

  I had heard of the Tatrix of Corcyrus, and know of her governance of the city, I

  would have thought it would also be easy to hate you, but now, now that I have

  met you, I could not honestly say that I hate you.”

  “How flatteringl” I remarked.

  “Your official self and your personal self, or your public and private selves,

  seem quite different,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said, irritably.

  ‘It is doubtless that way with many people,” he said.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  He looked from one side to the other, along the walk behind the parapet. For

  most practical purposes we were alone on the wall. The nearest people, a couple,

  were better than a hundred yards away, to our left. He looked again then to the

  tarns. Then he looked at me. Then, angrily, he looked out, over the parapet. His

  fists were clenched.

  I, too, looked out, over the parapet. I could feel tears in my eyes. I wanted to

  please Drusus Rencius. I wanted, desperately, for- him to like me. Yet

  everything I did or said seemed to be wrong. Then I was very angry with myself.

  It did not matter. I was not a slave at his feet, half naked in a collar,

  fearful of his whip, piteously suing for the least sign of his favor. I was a

  Tatrix. He was only a guard, nothing! I wondered, shuddering, what it would be

  to be the slave of such a man. I did not think he would be weak with me. I

  thought that he would, like any typical Gorean master, keep me under perfect

  discipline.

  “I enjoyed the czehar concert,” I said, lightly.

  “Good,” he said.

  The czehar is a long, low, rectangular instrument. It is played, held across the

  lap. It has eight strings, plucked with a horn pick. It had been played by

  Lysander of Aspericbe.

  The concert had taken place two nights ago in the small theater of Kleitos, off

  the square of Perimines.

  “The ostraka were quite expensive, weren’t they?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  It was quite commonly the case, I had learned, that for a concert by Lysander

  one could not buy admission at the gate, but must present ostraka purchased

  earlier in one of the market places or squares. These were apparently originally

  shells or pieces, shards, of pottery, but now were generally small clay disks,

  with a hole for a string near one edge. These were fired in a kiln, and glazed

  on one side. The glazing’s colorations and patterns are difficult to duplicate

  and serve in their way as an authentication for the disk, the glazings differing

  for different performances or events. The unglazed back of the disk bears the

  date of the event or performance and a sign indicating the identity of the

  original vendor, the agent authorized to sell them to the public. Some of these

  disks, also, on the back, include a seat location. Most seating, however, in

  Gorean theaters, except for certain privileged sections, usually reserved for

  high officials or the extremely wealthy, is on a first-come-first-served basis.

  These ostraka, on their strings, about the necks of their owners, make

  attractive pendants. Some are worn even long after the performance or event in

  question, perhaps to let people know that one was fortunate enough to have been

  the witness of a particular event or performance, or perhaps merely because of

  their intrinsic aesthetic value. Some people keep them as souvenirs.

  Others collect them, and buy and sell them, and trade them.

  If the event or performance is an important one, and the ostraka are limited,

  their number being governed by the seating capacity of the structure or area in

  question, it is unlikely that they will be publicly displayed until after the

  event or performance. It is too easy to snatch them from about the neck in the

  market place. Too, sometimes rich men have been known to set ruffians on people

  to obtain them.

  Needless to say some profiteering occasionally takes place in connection with

  the ostraka, a fellow buying a few for a given price and then trying to sell

  them for higher prices later outside, say, the stadium or theater.

  “How much did they cost?” I asked.

  “Together,” he said, “a silver tarsk.”

  “That is more, I recall,” I said, “than you thought I might go for if I were

  sold for myself alone, as a slave.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I stiffened, somewhat angrily.

  “Lady Sheila must remember that she is not trained in the intimate and delicious

  arts of the female slave.”

  “Arts?” I inquired.

  “Yes,” said he, “the complex, subtle and sensuous arts of being pleasing, fully,

  to a man.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “It is natural,” be said, “that some women will bring much higher prices than

  others.

  “Of course,” I said, irritably.

  “Some women,” he said, “do not even know the floor movements of an aroused,

  pleading slave.”

  “They must indeed be stupid,” I said. I had no idea, of course, what they might

  be.

  “I do not think they are necessarily stupid,” he said, “merely ignorant, perhaps

  because untrained, or perhaps merely because they have not yet been awakened

  sexually, have not yet been forced to feel the slave fires in their belly, have

  not yet, by strong men, been made the helpless victims of their own

  now-enkindled needs

  “I thought Lysander played well,” I said.

  “He is regarded as one of the finest czehar players on all Gor,” said Drusus

  Rencius, dryly.

  “Oh,” I said. I felt so stupid. It seemed I could do nothing right with Drusus

  Rencius.

  I looked out, again, over the fields.

  “Is Lady Sheila all right?” inquired Drusus Rencius.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The last few days had been full - ones. Aside from the markets and bazaars, and

  the theaters in the evening, I had seen much else of Corcyrus as well. It had

  been pleasant to walk through the cool halls of the libraries, with their

  thousands of scrolls organized and cataloged, and through the galleries on the

  avenue of lphicrates. The fountains in the squares, too, were impressive. It was

  almost hard for me to remember that they were not merely ornaments to the city

  but that they also, in the Gorean manner, served a very utilitarian purpose. To

  them most people must come, bearing vessels, for th
eir water. Some of the

  smaller fountains were worn down on the right side of their rim. That was where

  right-handed people would rest their hand, leaning over to drink. I particularly

  enjoyed the public gardens. Given the plantings flowers in them, of one sort or

  another, are in bloom almost all of the year. Here, too, are many winding and

  almost secluded paths. In them, combined, one finds color, beauty and, in many

  sections, if one wishes it, privacy.

  I knew few of the flowers and trees. Drusus Rencius, to my surprise, whenever I

  was in doubt, could supply me with the name. Goreans, it seemed, paid attention

  to their environment. It means something to them. They live in it. How few

  children of Earth, I thought, are taught the names and kinds of the trees and

  shrubs, the plants, the insects and birds, which surround them constantly. I was

  also surprised to find that Drusus Rencius seemed genuinely fond of flowers. I

  would not have expected, given my Earth background, that a man of his obvious

  power and competence could care for anything, and so deeply, as innocent,

  delicate and soft as a flower. At one secluded point in one of the gardens I bad

  paused and, pretending to adjust my veil, had stood quite close to Drusus

  Rencius, but he bad stepped back, and looked away. tic had not kissed me. I had

  then, angrily, refastened my veil. I wondered why he had not kissed me. Was it

  because I was a Tatrix? I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. I

  wondered if he might, touching my lips, I in his arms, helplessly held there,

  suddenly rape my lips with his kiss, and then, unable to help himself, hurl me

  to his feet, crouching over me then ferociously, to remove my robes and force me

  to his service.

  I felt the wind, over the parapet, move my veil.

  I bad enjoyed these days with Drusus Rencius but, at night, returned to my

  quarters, I would often be restless and lonely. At such times, though I did not

  confess this to Drusus, nor even to Susan, I would feel helpless, weak and

  needful. I had formed the habit, for no reason I clearly understood, of sleeping

  near the foot of the couch or near the ring. I would sometimes lie there

  miserably, twisting and turning, almost sobbing, afflicted with helpless

  feelings and strange, troubling emotions that I could scarcely begin to

  understand. I did not know what was wrong with me. I knew only that I felt

  empty, miserable and unfulfilled.

  Drusus Rencius occasionally took me to see various portions of local games.

  These involved such things as races, javelin hurling and stone throwing. I would

  usually stay for an event or two and then leave. On the whole I found such games

  boring. When I wished to leave, or change my location, to see something

  different, he always deferred to my wishes. I was, after all, the Tatrix and he

  was, after all, only my guard. From one set of contests, however, I could not,

  to his surprise, be budged. I bad sat on the tiers, close to the fenced

  enclosure, thrilled. These were contests of sheathed swords, the sheaths chalked

  with red, so that hits might be noted. The contestants were sturdy men, stripped

  to the waist, in half tunics, bronzed and handsome, with rippling muscles.

  As they thrust at one another and fended blows, moving with great speed and

  skill, in their swift passages, under the watchful eye of the referee, backed by

  two independent scorers, I could scarcely conjecture what would be involved in

  actual swordplay, with steel unencumbered with sheaths. I was terrified to

  consider it. And women, I thought, must abide its outcome. On a cement disk,

  about “a foot high and five feet in diameter, on the opposite side of the

  enclosure, as though in symbolism of this, a young, naked woman was chained. The

  chain was on her neck and ran to, a ring anchored in the center of the disk. It

  was long enough to permit her to stand comfortably which, sometimes, she did.

  Most of the time, however, she sat or lay, almost catlike, on the disk, watching

  the fighting. Her body was slim and well formed. Her hair was brightly red and,

  when she stood, it fell almost to her knees. When the contests had begun she had

  not seemed particularly interested in them, but, as they had proceeded, she bad

  become more and more attentive. She was now watching them with great closeness.

  She was the prize. She would be given to the victor. “Do you wish to leave now?”

  Drusus Rencius had asked once, during an interval between passages.

  “No!” I had said. He bad regarded me, puzzled. “I want to see who wins her,” I

  said, angrily. He looked over to the woman. She was then standing, the chain on

  her neck dangling down to the ring. She had one hand at her bosom. She was

  frightened. “She is only a slave,” he had said. But he had sat down, patiently,

  beside me, content, it seemed, to wait until I was ready to leave. How angry I

  was with him them.

  Could he not conjecture the feelings, the trepidation, of the poor girl? She had

  a chain on her neck. She was a prize. She did not know to whom she would be

  awarded. She did not know who it would be whom she would have to serve, who it

  would be to whom she would belong! The poor, soft, helpless chained thing! How

  callous and stupid are men! Too, I like she, as fortunes shifted in the matches,

  as points were won and-lost, was torn back and forth in my conjectures and

  anticipations. Doubtless the men in the audience were intent on the bouts,

  observing the styles and skills of the contestants, tallying points, and

  assessing the play. Surely they seemed to have little mind for the chained

  prize. Surely they seemed eager to applaud, striking their left shoulders,

  particularly fine a thrusts or particularly tight, fierce passages. I, on the

  other hand, I am sure, tended to see the bouts rather differently.

  self at him like a tart, and had been rejectedl How could I have done that? Was

  I only a little tart, or was I a desperate, needful woman, one who had dared to

  be true to her needs?

  How I hated him! I was a Tatrix, a Tatrix! He was only a soldier, a mere guard!

  I had power. I could have my vengeance on himl I could tell Liguribus that he

  bad become fresh with me, that he had dared to try to kiss me. Surely he might

  be broken in rank for that, or whipped, or even slain! I wondered why he had not

  kissed me. Was il because I was a Tatrix? But I did not think that that thought,

  momentous though it might be, would have deterred a man such as Drusus Rencius.

  Was it then because I was not sufficiently attractive? Perhaps. But on Earth I

  bad been thought to be very pretty. Too, Miles of Argenturn had speculated that

  I might bring as much as even a silver tarsk in a market. Was it then because I

  was free? Were Gorean men spoiled for free women by those collared, curvacious

  little sluts they had crawling about their feet, desperately eager to please

  them?

  Given such luscious alternatives it was natural enough, I supposed, that men

  would see little point in subjecting them-selves to the inconvenience,

  frustration and pain of relating to a free woman, with her demands, inhibitions

  and rigidities.

  Perhaps they could not
be blamed for not choosing to reduce the quality of their

  lives in this fashion. To be sure, if slaves were not available, then it was

  understandable how men might relate to free women. Sexually starved, and driven

  by their needs, they would then be forced to make do with whatever might be

  available, the best in such a case perhaps being the free woman. But on Gor

  alternatives, real alternatives, slaves, were available. It was no wonder free

  women as I had beard, so bated slaves. How could they even begin to compete with

  a slave, those dreams come true for men? Perhaps that is it, I thought, perhaps

  that is why he did not kiss me.

  Perhaps fie did not kiss me because I was free, or, I added, in my thinking, not

  truly understanding the qualification, because he thought I was free. I lay

  there in the darkness, in the heat of the silks. I wondered why I had made that

  qualification in my thinking-“because he thought I was free.”

  Could he have been wrong, I asked myself. Could he have been mistaken? How

  absurd, I thought. What could you possibly mean, I asked myself. The meaning is

  perfectly clear, I told myself, irritably. Are you stupid? I am a Tatrix, I

  cried out to myself. I am freel Of course, I am freel “Go now to the slave

  ring,” a voice seemed to say to me. I got up and, almost as though in a trance,

  scarcely understanding what I was doing, went to the slave ring, that at the

  foot of the couch. I knelt there. “Are you positioned at the ring,” the voice

  seemed to say. “Yes,” I whimpered, to myself. “Take it in your hands, Tiffany,”

  it said, “and kiss it.” I took the heavy ring in uny hands, lifted it, and

  kissed it. I then put it back gently, lovingly, against the couch. I then felt

  it would be permissible for me to return to the couch. I crawled again upon it,

  to its center. “Get where you belong,” said the voice, a bit impatiently. I

  crawled then to the bottom of the couch and lay there, near its foot, by the

  slave ring. I wondered if Drusus Rencius would have refused to kiss me if I had

  not been a free woman, but a slave. If I had been a slave, say, perhaps, a

  fifteen-copper-tarsk girl, that amount for which be had once suggested a slaver

  might let me go, I think I might have received a somewhat different treatment at

  his bands.