Conspirators of Gor cog[oc-31

by John Norman

  “Master!” I cried, and threw myself to my belly before him, crying out in joy. I tried to press my lips, fervently, again and again, those of a slave, his slave, to his boot-like sandals, but I could not do so. He drew back. “Strip,” he said. I knelt up and slipped the tunic over my head, putting it to the side. “Master!” I said. But then he turned me about, and thrust me down, to my belly. My wrists were jerked behind my back, and bound together. In a moment my ankles had been crossed, and lashed, the one to the other, closely. “Please, Master!” I said. “Forgive me! I did not mean what I said! I love you, my Master! In my heart, though muchly resisting, I knew myself your slave, even from the Sul Market, long ago! And did you not look down upon me, kneeling at your feet, and know that I was your slave?”

  But then I could speak no more, for the large leather ball, with its inserted, buckled strap, which had been forced into my mouth. Then it was secured in place, the strap pulled back, and buckled shut, tightly, behind the back of my neck. No longer might I utter intelligible sounds. Such were not now permitted to me. I whimpered, but his hand was placed in my hair, and twisted, and I winced, and knew I was to be silent.

  He then knelt across my body. I was conscious of a flash of metal before my eyes, and then I felt the placement of a collar about my neck. It fit, closely. There was a clear, decisive snap, and it had been locked on me. I still wore the collar, as well, of the Lady Bina. “Key,” said Desmond of Harfax, extending his hand to the side. The Lady Bina placed the key of her collar into the palm of his hand. In a moment that collar, which remained her property, as I had been, had been removed. Desmond of Harfax then adjusted the new collar, his collar, on the neck of his newly purchased slave, Allison, a barbarian. At no time had she been without a collar, even in the brief moment of a transition between collars.

  “What are you going to do with her?” asked Astrinax.

  “What I please,” said Desmond of Harfax.

  “You heard what she said?” asked Lykos.

  “Every word,” said Desmond of Harfax.

  “You were badly bespoken,” said Astrinax.

  “Had a free man spoken so,” said Lykos, “it would doubtless be daggers on the high bridges.”

  “Axes outside the great gate, swords at dawn, on the Plaza of Tarns,” suggested Astrinax.

  “A free woman, however,” said the Lady Bina, “might utter such calumnies with impunity.”

  “Yes,” said Lykos, “unless she were seized, stripped, and collared.”

  “But this is a slave,” said Astrinax.

  “She was insufficiently deferent,” said Lykos, “and she spoke ill of a free man.”

  “Feed her alive to sleen,” said Astrinax.

  “Too quick,” said Lykos.

  “Throw her into a pit of osts,” suggested Astrinax.

  “Too quick,” said Lykos.

  “A pool of eels?” said Astrinax.

  “Better,” said Lykos.

  “There are many excellent possibilities,” said Astrinax. “A dark cell filled with hungry urts, a garden of leech plants, smearing her with honey and staking her out for insects, ants, jards, or such.”

  I whimpered, on the floor, on my belly, nude, gagged, bound hand and foot. I squirmed, utterly helpless. I had no hope of freeing myself. I had been bound by a Gorean male. My fate was wholly in the hands of others. How could I sue for mercy? How could I perform the desperate placatory behaviors which I had learned in the house of Tenalion, behaviors which might mean the difference of life or death for a slave?

  “She cannot plead for mercy, Mistress and Masters,” said Jane. “Permit us to plead for her! Show her mercy!”

  “I am sure she did not mean what she said,” said Eve. “She spoke in misery and unhappiness. She was distraught. She thought herself rejected, and scorned!”

  “She is a slave,” said Astrinax. “It is perfectly acceptable for slaves to be rejected and scorned.”

  “Let them learn that they are slaves,” said Lykos.

  “Show her mercy!” begged Jane.

  “Please, please, Mistress and Masters, be merciful!” said Eve.

  “She has not been fully pleasing,” said Astrinax sternly.

  Jane and Eve regarded him, frightened. Eve regarded Lykos. She touched her collar. Her fingers trembled.

  “Now be silent,” said Astrinax.

  “Yes, Master,” said Jane.

  “Yes, Master,” whispered Eve.

  “Now, Jane and Eve,” said the Lady Bina, “let us be up, and about, and serve. Fetch fruit and salads. Warm the main dishes. Bring more ka-la-na.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Jane and Eve.

  “And later,” said the Lady Bina, “remove your tunics and serve the ka-la-na to your masters, as befits female slaves. I understand that that is a beautiful ceremony, and afterwards, on mats I will provide, you may serve your masters the ka-la-na of beauty, of which I have heard.”

  “Here, Mistress?” asked Jane.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, Mistress,” said Jane and Eve.

  “Let us feast,” said Astrinax.

  “By all means,” said Lykos.

  Desmond of Harfax reached down, took my bound, right ankle, and dragged me into the sleeping chamber of the Lady Bina. There he shackled my left ankle to a floor ring, and returned to the main room to join the feasters. For Ahn, until dawn, I listened to the conversation, the recollections, the pleasantries, the merriment, in the next room. Then it was quiet outside the room, and, after a bit, after struggling a little, futilely, and hearing the light sound of the chain on the floor, which held me to the ring, I fell asleep. I did not know what would be done with me. Knowing that Desmond of Harfax was a decent and honorable man, though he might be a fearsome and demanding master, I was not afraid that I would be fed to sleen, cast to leech plants, or such. I was afraid that I might not be kept, that I might be given away, or sold. I knew I had not been pleasing, and it is a frightening and terrible thing for a slave not to be pleasing to her master. I did not awaken for several Ahn, because it was late morning, or early afternoon, when I stirred, and, as my consciousness and remembrance returned, found myself as I had been before, a bound slave. I think that Astrinax and Lykos, and their slaves, had departed. I sensed that Lord Grendel was outside, on the roof, where he commonly slept. The Lady Bina was in the room, on her couch, asleep.

  Turning a little, I saw Master Desmond in the threshold.

  I struggled to a kneeling position, and put my head down to the floor.

  He pulled my head up, by the hair, not hurting me, but as a master might do such a thing. He then unbuckled the gag, and pulled the leather ball from my mouth. I was afraid to speak, and so remained silent. He unbound my ankles, and thrust a wastes bucket to me, and then exited the room. Gratefully I relieved myself. I then edged the bucket away, and remained kneeling, but up, as he had left me, my hands tied behind my back, my left ankle chained to the ring. I kept my knees closely together. When he reentered, I lowered my head. He was bearing a goblet of water, and he helped me drink from it. He then left the room again and, when he returned, he had some meat and bread, which he fed to me by hand. I looked up at him, grateful for his kindness. I wondered if he could read the gratitude, the hope, and tenderness, and the fear, in the eyes of a slave. I still did not dare to speak.

  “Stand,” he said, coldly.

  Frightened, I stood. He then put my wrists in slave bracelets, and then untied the binding fiber with which I had been hitherto secured. I gathered we were going into the streets. Binding fiber can be cut with a knife. It, and that which had bound my ankles, he returned to his pouch. Then, from the pouch he produced a leash and collar. I would then be leashed and collared in the streets. I saw nothing of a tunic or camisk, or ta-teera, or slave strip, and so I understood I was to be marched naked through the streets on a leash, as a low slave or punished slave. How amused would be other slaves, to see me so. To be sure, I was a barbarian.

  Lastly,
as I was now braceleted and leashed, he freed me of the shackle on my left ankle.

  “Precede me,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  I cried out, in misery.

  I was tied on my knees, my hands before me, fastened to the ring, in the small, bright courtyard, behind a house on Clive, that in which Desmond of Harfax had rented a room.

  The lash fell again.

  “Know that you are a slave,” said Desmond of Harfax.

  Again the lash fell.

  “Yes, Master,” I wept, “I know I am a slave! I am whipped! I am whipped! I am whipped as the slave I am! I am a slave, a slave!”

  “And who whips you?” he asked.

  “He who owns me!” I cried. “Desmond of Harfax!”

  He then gave me another stroke.

  “Yes, Master!” I wept. How deeply, and well, I then understood the word ‘Master’!

  I was a slave, and he was my master.

  He then left me with my thoughts, and the pain.

  “Please whip me, Master,” I had said.

  “Why?” he had asked.

  “That I may know myself a slave,” I said, “and yours.”

  “The whip hurts,” he said.

  “No one is more aware of that than I,” I said.

  “Why then would you be whipped?” he asked.

  “That I may know myself a slave,” I had said, “and yours.”

  “You will have no doubt about that,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I had said.

  * * * *

  After some Ehn he returned.

  “Please do not whip me any more!” I said.

  “You are content?” he said.

  “Yes, yes!” I said.

  “You do not wish to be whipped further?” he said.

  “No, no, Master!” I wept.

  “I see,” he said.

  “Please do not whip me any more!” I begged.

  “It hurts does it not?” he said.

  “Yes, Master!” I said.

  “But you are now,” he said, “well aware that you are a slave, and my slave.”

  “Yes, Master!” I said. “It is done. No more, please! Do not whip me further! I beg it!”

  “This is the whip,” he said, holding it before me.

  I shuddered in the bonds. “I fear it,” I said, “the very sight of it.”

  “You may kiss it,” he said.

  I kissed the whip, fervently.

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you will try to be a good slave.”

  “I will strive to be a good slave,” I said.

  “You have been whipped,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I wept.

  “You must expect such things if you are not fully pleasing,” he said.

  “I will strive to be fully pleasing!”

  “Who will strive to be fully pleasing?” he asked.

  “Allison will strive to be fully pleasing,” I said.

  “Do you think you have been fully pleasing?” he asked.

  “I fear not,” I said.

  “As I recall,” he said, “you were long aware of my transparent machinations, my childish programs, and such?”

  “Please forgive the foolish words of a foolish slave,” I said.

  “And you secretly despised me all the while?” he said.

  He then again put the whip to my lips, again I kissed it, fervently. “No, Master!” I said.

  “More lingeringly,” he said. “And lick it, devotedly, as the pretty little slut and slave beast you are.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “And if you came into my power,” he said, “you would strive to be the worst possible slave to me?”

  “No, Master,” I said. “I would strive to be the best possible slave to you, a slave of slaves to you!”

  “And there was much else,” he said. “Was I not to be petty, sly, crass, duplicitous, dishonorable, ignoble, a hypocrite, a fraud, a monster, and such?”

  “I did not speak, Master,” I said. “It was my rage, my disappointment, my loneliness, my sense of loss, my thought of being unwanted, of being ignored and abandoned, such things which spoke.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you should be again whipped, and richly whipped.”

  “Please no, Master,” I said.

  “You are afraid, are you not?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I am a slave,” I said. “I have felt the whip. I know what it is like. I shall do my best to be pleasing to my master.”

  He then undid the flat, narrow leather straps which had bound my wrists to the ring.

  I then turned about, gratefully, to kneel before him. It was my hope he might later permit me clothing. I would do my best to be worthy of a garment, be it only a slave strip.

  He was looking upon me.

  “Master?” I said.

  “I find you of slave interest,” he said.

  “A slave is pleased,” I said.

  There were trees, and grass, in the small courtyard, and flowers, mostly talenders, and dinas, some veminium. A tiled walk wound its way through the vegetation. Flowering shrubbery was about. Here and there, there were small, concealed nooks in the garden. In one corner, there was a small reservoir, with a slatted wooden lid. The day was warm. A light wind rustled through the leaves overhead. The courtyard, like most Gorean courtyards, was rather small. It backed the domicile, which had four floors. At the rear of the courtyard was a small, opaque, wooden gate. Two of its walls were common walls with adjoining domiciles. The back wall was adjacent to an alley, access to which was provided by the rear gate.

  I sensed I was being looked upon as one looks upon what I was, a slave. I did not object. We are not free women.

  How warm, and pleasurable, it is to be looked upon as an object, one which is owned by a master.

  We are not free women.

  “May I speak?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Where has Master been, for so many weeks?” I asked.

  “About,” he said, “even to Port Kar.”

  “But Master did not forget a slave,” I said.

  “Some slaves,” he said, “are hard to forget.”

  “A slave is pleased,” I said.

  “I should get rid of her,” he said. “I should sell her.”

  “Please do not do so,” I said.

  “There is something about you,” he said, “which is of interest to me.”

  “Of slave interest,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Doubtless a slave’s body,” I said. On Gor my body had been freshened, trimmed, toned, vitalized, and turned into an instrument for a man’s pleasure.

  “It is more than that,” he said. “Such things may be purchased off any block.”

  “What then?” I asked.

  “I do not know,” he said.

  “Whatever it is,” I said, “it is now in Master’s collar.” I was well aware that it is the whole slave which is owned, every strand of hair, every drop of blood, every fear, every hope, every tremor, every feeling, every thought.

  “You are, of course, a barbarian,” he said.

  “And I cannot even read,” I said.

  “And you will be kept that way,” he said.

  “As Master pleases,” I said.

  I kept my knees closely together. It was in this fashion that I had been accustomed, over the past months, to kneel.

  “Master did not forget me,” I said.

  “No,” he said.

  I was pleased to see that he was folding the five blades of the slave whip about the staff, which might easily accommodate a two-handed grip.

  “I think Master cares for me,” I said.

  “Do not be foolish,” he said.

  “I understand that Master finds me of interest,” I said.

  “Of slave interest,” he said.

 
; “Perhaps a slave might be freed,” I suggested.

  “I am not a fool,” he said.

  There is a saying, of course, that only a fool frees a slave girl. I wonder if it is not true. What man truly, honestly, does not want a slave?

  “Perhaps Master finds me of companion interest,” I said.

  “You are a barbarian,” he said.

  “Even so,” I said.

  He walked about me, a bit, and then, again, stood before me. “You are nicely marked, and collared,” he said.

  “Will you not free me?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  I uneasily noted that he was slowly, thoughtfully, unwrapping the blades of the slave whip.

  “Master?” I said.

  I saw him shake loose the blades of the whip, and they dangled. I could see the shadow of the blades on the ground.

  “But I may sell you,” he said.

  “Please do not,” I said.

  “Do you wish to be freed?” he asked.

  “I have learned on Gor what I suspected on Earth,” I said. “I am a slave. I need a master.”

  “Any man will do,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said. “Any man will do. I am such as can be owned, and mastered. But every slave hopes for the master of her secret dreams, the master of her heart, he for whose collar her throat was bred for millennia.”

  “And every master,” he said, “for she who was born to wear his collar.”

  “A slave,” I said, “wants to be owned, to belong, to love, to serve, to be helpless, to be mastered, to be subject to discipline, to be dominated without qualification, concession, or compromise, to be treated as the female she is, to be overwhelmed, taught, controlled, and commanded. What woman wants to relate to a man by whom she is not so wanted, wanted with such force and power, with such demand and uncompromising will, with such desire, with such lust, that nothing less than her absolute possession will satisfy him? The master will be satisfied with nothing less than his slave, and the slave with nothing less than her master.”

  “Do you expect me to be easy with you?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “You understand clearly, do you not,” he asked, “that you have been bought, that you have been purchased?”