Dancer of Gor coc-22

by John Norman

  I looked at the chain, and shuddered. There were fifty men on the chain. Twenty-three of them I had helped to entrap in Argentum.

  I moved slowly through the sand, toward them. Then I stopped and looked wildly back, upward, toward the top of the rise. Could I not be given a gesture of mercy, that I might turn about and flee back, scrambling up that loose sand to the comparative safety of the ridge, to seek shelter within the compass of the guard" s whip and sword? The guard, however, made no motion. The girl, standing beside him, seemed very frightened. "Will I never see the last of you?" she had exclaimed, angrily, when I had fist been thrust into the pen, then still wearing the chaining in which I had been brought to the camp. I had avoided her as much as possible. Now, however, I could not well do so. We were assigned to the same crew. I think she did not care for the idea any more than I. She was frightened. I think her fear, thought, was not primarily for me. Perhaps she most feared what might be the action of one of the men below, an action for which he might well be punished, or even killed. Whereas I had begged not to be assigned to this group, she had, weeks ago. I had learned, begged to serve with it. To be sure she had no more to fear from it than would any other girl. I, on the other hand, had a very great deal to fear from it. The guards had acceded to her pleas. She apparently worked very hard to keep her position with this chain, carrying water, sometimes double bags, frequently and uncomplainingly, and, in the evening, zealously, and desperately, and with subtle and delicious skills, well pleasing the guards. It was whispered about in the pens, seeing the frequency with which she was summoned forth, that she had not always been a common work slave. It was speculated that she had once been a pleasure slave, that she had once been in a tavern, and had even, once, been first girl.

  I was now within a few feet of the first man. I remembered him from Argentum. He had been a metal worker and I had lied, pretending to be of his own caste. He whom I most feared, however, was at the end of the chain. I considered the tools in the grip of these men. One of those shovels could with a single blow cut my head from my body. I knew I could be killed quickly, very quickly. I looked from face to face. I realized then that these men would probably not wish to kill me quickly, not at all. If they wished to kill me, they would presumably prefer to do so slowly. I did not want to serve this crew. For days I had been left free of it. Then, last night, a girl had been transferred very sudden. I suspected that the girl had been transferred from it in order to make a place for me on it. I did not know, however, why, only now, this had taken place.

  "Water, Master?" I asked.

  These men were chained together only by an ankle. Their hands were free. They had implements.

  "Yes," he said.

  I knelt down in the sand, before him, my head down. I removed the metal cup on its string from about my neck. My neck was exposed to him. I attended to the filling of the cup, and capped the spout of the bag. I feared I would be struck with the shove, it cutting down at me. He did not raise it, however, I kissed the cup and, holding it with both hands, my arms extended toward him, my head down between them, proffered it to him. He took it, and drank, and handed the cup back to me. "Thank you, Master," I whispered. I was alive!

  I then went to the next man, and the next. As I moved down the line I grew gradually more grateful, and elated. Each accepted water from me. It seemed I might have been any water girl serving them. It was impossible to describe my relief. It seemed they did not hold it against me, that I had been utilized in their entrapment. Perhaps they understood something of my helplessness, and that I, only a Gorean kajira, had had no choice but to obey. How astonishing it was that they bore me no ill will! How grateful I was to them for their understanding! Then I knelt before he who was last on the chain, he whom I most feared, and yet best knew, he who had been many times kind to me in Brundisium, and whom I had cleverly tricked in Argentum, bringing him to his current condition.

  "Water, Master?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  I poured him the water and in that same fashion in which I had served the others proffered him the cup. He took it, and then, before my eyes, he did not drink, but regarded me, with hatred, and turned the cup, pouring the contents slowly, meaningfully, into the sand. I was terrified. This action on his part seemed some sort of signal to the others. I then found myself in the midst of them, kneeling, trembling, small, in the center of that grim circle.

  "Masters?" I asked, frightened. Surely the guard must come down the incline now, to threaten them, to whip them back. But, kneeling as I was, in the midst of them, I could not even see the guard. "Masters?" I asked, terrified. They said nothing. Where was the guard!

  "Please, Masters," I said. "I am only a slave. Please be kind to a slave!" "She feigns terror well," said one of the fellows.

  "She is an excellent actress," commented another.

  "Please, Masters!" I pleaded.He before whom I knelt threw the cup to the side, in the sand. The water bag was removed from me. It was put a few feet from me, by the cup.

  I did not dare rise from my knees. I was a slave. I had not been given permission.

  "You were an excellent lure girl," said one of the fellows.

  "Thank you, Master," I whispered.

  Even had I dared to rise, as I did not, I did not know if I, in my terror, could even have found the strength to do so. Too, even if I had dared to leap up, and had found the strength to do so, I could not have escaped them. They were all about me. Too, I could not run, chained as I was.

  "She deceived me well," said a fellow.

  "And me," said another.

  "And me," said another.

  "Forgive me, Masters!" I begged.

  The guard did not appear.

  "Help!" I screamed. "Help! Help, Master! Please, help! Help, Master!" But only silence greeted my cries for assistance.

  "Were you given permission to speak?" asked a fellow.

  "No, Master," I whispered. "Forgive me, Master!"

  the fellow before whom I knelt and one of the men, a brawny fellow, lifted me up from the back, by the upper arms. Another fellow then, as I was held, cuffed me, twice. I was then dropped back into the sand, on all fours, a punished slave. "Let her try to run," said the fellow before whom I had knelt.

  I looked about, wildly. I tasted blood in my mouth.

  The men behind me moved to one side, opening a place between them, leading back toward the top of the ridge.

  My eyes fixed on him before whom I had knelt. I rose to my feet, half crouching, and backed warily away from him, until I was beyond the line of the chain, and then, wildly, I turned about, and tried to run. I fell, again and again, and then, clawing and scrambling, I began to ascend the sandy slope. Again and again, I slipped back, inhibited in my chains. Then I had attained the summit of that ridge. I stood there, wildly. There, now, on the summit, was not only the guard and the other work slave, now kneeling, with her head down to the sand, but the overseer, and a palanquin, with eight bearers, and a man in silken robes, fat and bald, who reclined upon it, holding a short-stemmed lorgnon, in his right hand. Swiftly I knelt, covered with sand, in my chains, before the palanquin, doing obeisance. "Look up," said the overseer. The fellow regarded me through the lorgnon. "This," said the overseer, "is the girl, Tuka, who served your supplier, Tyrrhenius, in Argentum. We had her purchased, following your policy, for a tarsk bit over her former selling price. We had her brought here, as we thought would please you, to the black chain. We are gratified that this should have coincided with your tour of inspection." The overseer gestured to the guard and he open my tunic, and pulled it back. I saw the lorgnon lift a little. "As you might surmise," said the overseer, "she was an excellent lure girl. She figured in the entrapment of twenty-three of the prisoners below."

  I trembled, kneeling in the soft, warm sand, it up about my thighs.

  "You may greet your master," said the overseer to me.

  "Greetings, Master," I said.

  The man in the palanquin made a small gesture wi
th the lorgnon, hardly a movement.

  The guard seized me by the upper arms, from behind, and flung me back over the ridge, and I tumbled, sprawling, rolling, sliding, down the sandy slope, until once again I was at its foot. There two of the brawny fellows seized me by the arms and, dragging me through the sand, put me again to my knees before he whom I most feared. I looked wildly up, behind me, but there I saw naught but the unmoving, observing group. I understood now why the guard had not come to my assistance. I understood, too, now, I though, why this group was in its present place, screened by the hills from the sight of the other groups.

  I flung myself to my belly in the sand before he whom I most feared, he whose shackle was the last on the chain of fifty strong men.

  I would have crawled to his feet, to press my bloody lips to them, but my ankles were held.

  "Master," I wept, "forgive me!"

  but, looking up from my belly, covered with sand, sand in my hair, I saw no forgiveness in his eyes.

  At a gesture from him, he who seemed to be their leader. I was drawn to my knees. I tried to pull together my tunic, but one of the men pulled it open again, angrily.

  "Let us kill her," said one of the men.

  I shuddered.

  "Kill her," said another.

  "Kill her," said yet another.

  "Yes," said another.

  "Yes!" said yet another.

  But a small gesture from their leader, he before whom I knelt, silenced them. "Are you hips still loose?" he asked. "Do you still sway well?" I looked at him, wildly. He had asked me this in Argentum, before I had deceived him, before he had carried me, trustingly, lovingly, in his arms, back into the alleyway.

  "Master?" I asked.

  I tried to read his intent, but could not.

  He regarded me.

  "My current master does not use me as a dancer," I said. It was in this fashion, too, that I had responded in Argentum.

  He gestured that I should be drawn to my feet.

  "Dance," he said.

  "Master?" I asked, disbelievingly.

  "Need a command be repeated, slave girl?" he asked.

  "No, Master!" I cried. I wound the chain a bit about my wrists, taking up its slack. I could use it, in its different lengths, later, in the dance. I lifted my hands above my head, the backs of my hands facing one another. I flexed my knees. Sometimes a woman is permitted, even a free woman, among the fires of a burning city, the glare of the flames red upon her flesh, to dance before masters as a naked slave. She must hope to be found pleasing, and that her fate will be only the brand, chains and the collar. She dances helplessly, desperately. She hopes to be found pleasing. She dances for her life. He was giving me the chance! He must sill care for me! "Thank you, Master," I cried. It had been long, I knew, since these men had had a woman, and they were Goreans. They would be half mad with desire. Too, many of them had found me exciting, and had wanted me earlier, else I could not have lured them. Too, I was a skilled dancer. Too, I was beautiful, or had been told so. Certainly many men of this world have found me attractive, and desirable, and have not hesitated to put me to their services, and fully, as may be down with a slave.

  I danced.

  I looked at their faces.

  Many of these men, I knew, would feel they had a score to settle with me. It was my hope that they might be persuaded to accept in settlement of these accounts, if accounts they were, not my blood but so small and innocent a thing as my mastering, my total ravishing and subjugation. That would be vengeance enough, I hoped, for such men. Certainly I had lured them. But I had not truly chosen to do so. Surely they would understand that! Of my own will I would never have dared to do such a thing! And now I danced before them, for my life, helpless, desperate to please them, in terror. What more then could they want, saving my zealous services, those commonly to be surrendered by a slave dancer to masters.

  I danced.

  I saw anger, and hatred, turn to desire.

  I did many cunning things with the chains.

  I began to sense, with timidity, and hope, and then a growing confidence, and with an increasing sense of elation, that many of them, perhaps even most, might be encouraged to find me of at least minimal interest.

  "Hei!" cried one of them, smiting his thigh.

  "Master!" I called to him, gratefully, then dancing back from him, in the sand. Others restrained him from following me and seizing me. Then I was too near the other side of the circle, and returned, quickly, gracefully, to its center, dancing to first one man and then another. More than one reached out for me. Their grasping hands were but a yard or two from me.

  "You were surely never of the metal workers!" laughed the fellow who had been of that caste.

  "No, Master," I assured him.

  "No woman of my caste could move like that!" he cried.

  "Do not be too sure, Master," I cautioned him.

  I saw sweat upon his forehead, and his fists clench as he perhaps recalled some women he had known, of that caste. Surely the women of his caste, too, could be taught to dance, and to lick and kiss, and serve, and even superbly, such that they might drive a man wild with desire. Were they not, too, in the final analysis, only females? I had known two slaves who had once been of his caste, Corinne, in the house of my training, and Laura, in Hendow" s tavern. Both had been superb slaves. To be sure, being slaves, they were no longer in his caste. Animals do not have caste.

  I danced before another.

  It was my desperate hope to turn their wrath, and their desire for vengeance, seemingly at the beginning so adamant, so fierce and unrelenting, to interest, and desire, and passion. "Do not kill me, Master," I begged another, "but let me live, I beg you, to serve and please you, and with all the fullness of the female!"

  "Perhaps," he said, licking his lips.

  I continued to dance.

  There are many forms of placatory dances which are performed by female slaves. Some of these tend to have rather fixed forms, sanctioned by custom and tradition, such as the stately "Contrition Dace" of Turia. Some form of placatory dance is usually taught to the girl in slave training. There is no telling when it might be needed. Though I had had, because of the relatively advanced state of my dancing skills, for a new slave, very little instruction in dance in the house of my first training. I had been taught at least that much. The form of placatory dance taught to a girl usually depends on the girl in question. For example, I had not been taught the stately "Contrition Dance" of Turia. It has been felt that the nature of my body lent itself to a more desperate, needful, lascivious form of dance. I had been taught how to dance on my knees, for example, and, supplicatingly, on my back, and belly. Most placatory dances, however, are not fixed-form dances, but are «free» dances, in which the slave, exquisitely alert to the nuances of the situation, the particular master, the nature of his displeasure, the gravity of her offense, and such, improvises, doing her best to assuage his anger and beg his forgiveness, to reassure him of the authenticity of her contrition and the genuineness of her desire to do better.

  "There is no garbage here, on which to make your bed," said one of the men, "and I have learned that, indeed, in any event, you are worth less than it." "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Nor do I have a cloak now, doubled, to soften the cruelty of the cobblestones to your back," he said.

  "Hot sand will do, Master," I said, "and chains in which my limbs are enclosed." "Yes," he said.

  I saw I did not need to fear him, save in the ways any slave must fear a master. I danced then to those whose eyes were hardest. Some of them were not even men I had trapped, but only men who knew what I had done. Some may have been as innocent as those I had lured, others might have been murderers and brigands, suitably enchained for the expiation of sentences, their custody having been legally transferred to Ionicus, my master, at the payment of a prisoner" s fee, by the writ of a praetor or, in more desperate cases, by the order of a quaestor. I danced abjectly. I danced piteously. I danced beggingly. I d
anced as well as I could. I could not do more. They would either be pleased or not. My fate was in their hands.

  "She is pretty," said one of them.

  "Yes," said another.

  Hope sprang again high within me. I sought then to move another, with my helplessness, and the pleas of my body.

  "Are you a good slave lay?" asked a man.

  "It is my hope that I am pleasing, Master," I said. "Surely I shall endeavor to be so."

  He grinned.

  "She has the look of a wench who would be good in the furs," laughed a man. I heard the chain move in the heavy staple on his shackle.

  "There are no furs here," laughed another man.

  I had not had furs touch my body since a cool evening, five nights ago, in the overseer" s tent. I had then worn the rectangle of red silk, that in which he was accustomed to put his use slaves. It is such, it thrust over a leather thong knotted above the girl" s belly, that it may be easily brushed aside, or pulled away. It was my hope that I had pleased him well. Toward morning he had chained me, hand and foot, to a stake near his feet, where I could not reach him. I moaned for a time, but the kick of his foot had taught me that I must then be silent.

  "She is an excellent dancer," commented a man, another whom I had lured in Argentum.

  "Yes," said another fellow, another of those who owed his chaining to me. I began to be conscious then, as I sometimes was, of the incredible power of the female slave, of how helpless men could be before her, and of what she could do to them."Ah," said one of the men, softly, watching.

  I repeated the movement.

  "Yes," said another man. "Yes!" said another.

  How paradoxical I thought, that she who is branded, and collared, and owned, and is nothing, should have such power!

  "Dance, slut, dance!" said a man.

  And then again I danced, helplessly, piteously, suing for their favor, striving desperately to be found pleasing. In the end the power belongs to the master, totally, and not to the slave. She is his.