by John Norman
"Drink, my love," said Melina, lifting the cup to Thurnus. "Drink to your victory, and mine."
Thurnus took the cup.
I tried to cry out, but could not. I struggled in the stock. My eyes were wild over the heavy gagging that had been inflicted upon me.
None looked upon me. I struggled in the stock. I tried to scream. I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.
"Do not drink it, Master!" I wanted to scream. "It is poisoned! Do not drink! It is poison!"
"Drink, my love," said Melina.
I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.
Thurnus lifted the cup to his lips. He paused. "Drink," urged Melina.
"It is our common victory," said Thurnus.
"Yes, my love," said Melina.
"Drink first, Companion," said Thurnus.
Melina seemed startled. Then she said, "It is first your victory, then mine, my love."
Thurnus smiled.
"Drink you first, my love," she urged.
"My love," smiled Thurnus, "drink you first."
"First, you," said she.
"Drink," said Thurnus. His voice was not pleasant.
Melina's face went white.
"Drink," said Thurnus.
She reached forth, hands shaking, to take the cup.
"I shall hold the cup," said Thurnus. "Drink."
"No," said she. She put her head down. "It is poison."
Thurnus smiled. Then he put his head back, and drained the cup.
Melina looked at him, startled.
"Greetings, Lady," said Tup Ladletender. He had emerged from between the huts.
Thurnus threw away the emptied goblet, into the dirt. "It is a harmless draught," he said. "Tup Ladletender and I, as young men," he said, "have fished and hunted sleen. Once I saved his life. We are brothers by the rite of the claws of sleen." Thurnus lifted his forearm where one might see a jagged scar. Ladletender, too, raised his arm, his sleeve falling back. On his forearm, too, there was such a scar. It had been torn by the claw of a sleen, in the hand of Thurnus; the same claw, in the hand of Ladletender, had marked the arm of Thurnus; their bloods had mingled, though they were of the peasants and merchants. "He now, has, too, saved my life," said Thurnus. "I am pleased to have had the opportunity," said Ladletender.
"You tricked me," said Melina to Ladletender.
He did not respond to her.
Melina looked at Thurnus. She shrank back.
"Better," said Thurnus, "that the draught had been poison, and you had drunk first."
"Oh, no, Thurnus," she whispered. "Please, no!"
"Bring a cage," said Thurnus.
"No!" she cried.
"And a sleen collar," he said.
"No, no!" she cried.
Two men left the group.
"Let me be beaten with flails," she begged. "Set the sleen upon me!"
"Come here, female," said Thurnus.
She stood before him.
"Shave my head and return me in dishonor to my father's village," she begged.
His hands were at the shoulders of her robe. He tore it down, exposing her shoulders.
The shoulders of Melina were bared!
Women gasped and cried out, in protest.
I could see that men were pleased.
Her shoulders were as bared as those of a stripped slave.
The shoulders of a female are apparently exciting to men. This seems to be recognized even on Earth, given, for example, the fact of off-the-shoulder evening gowns. The existence of such gowns, if Goreans were familiar with them, except on slaves, would be taken as more evidence of the fittingness, the naturalness and appropriateness, of enslavement for Earth females. She who wears such a gown begs in her heart to be owned.
"Thurnus," protested Melina.
He held her by the arms, her shoulders bared. He shook her slightly. Her head went back. Her shoulders were wide, and strong, and beautiful. They would take a plow strap well.
Yet every part of a female body is beautiful to a Gorean, a hand, a wrist, an ankle, the back of a knee, the turn of a thigh, the sweet, soft hair, almost invisible and delicate, below and behind the ear. Each part bespeaks the glory and wonder and promise of the whole. I have heard Gorean men cry out with joy at the sight of a woman. There is little on Earth to prepare the poor Earth girl for the lust and desire with which she will find herself viewed on Gor. Initially she is bewildered, stunned and shocked. Then she is thrown on her back, or stomach, or over a saddle or trestle. She finds herself put to frequent and rich usages. She did not know she was so desirable! She makes swift adjustments. She must. It is the Gorean world, a truly man's world, in which she is a woman. The lust of Gorean males has much to do, doubtless, with the robes of concealment worn in most cities by Gorean free women. They would not wish the casual, inadvertent flirtation of an accidentally exposed ankle to lead to their hunt, capture and enslavement. Slave girls on Gor, on the other hand, when permitted clothing, are usually dressed briefly and lightly, that their charms be muchly revealed. Gorean men wish it this way. That, accordingly, is the way it is.
Thurnus's hands were on Melina's upper arms, now bared, her robes pulled down from her shoulders. He looked at her arms. Then he looked at her face.
The cage was brought, a small, sturdy cage, tiny and tight, and a sleen collar.
"Let me be killed, Thurnus," she begged.
Thurnus lifted the sleen collar before her. With her hand she held it from her. "Kill me instead, Thurnus," she begged. "Please."
"Put your hands to your side, woman," said Thurnus.
She did so.
Thurnus then looped the sturdy, leather, metal-embossed sleen collar about her throat. With an awl, brought by a man, he punched two holes, vertically, in the leather strap, and thrust the twin buckle-claws through the holes; he then took the long, loose end of the strap, for the sleen has a large neck, thrust it through the four strap loops, thick and broad, and then, with a knife, cut off the portion of the strap which protruded beyond the last strap loop.
Melina, her shoulders bared, stood before him, wearing a sleen collar. It had, sewn into it, a heavy, dangling ring, to which a sleen leash might be attached.
Instantly she was stripped and thrown to the ground. She looked up in fear at Thurnus.
"Into the cage, Slave," said Thurnus.
"Thurnus!" she cried.
He crouched down and, with the back of his hand, struck her across the mouth, leaving blood across the side of her face.
"Into the cage, Slave," he said.
"Yes—Master," whispered Melina. She crawled into the cage. At a gesture from Thurnus, Sandal Thong, surrendering the sleen leashes to a man, who took the animals from the clearing, came to the cage and, with two hands, flung down the metal gate to the cage, locking her former mistress within.
There was a cheer from those about.
"Let there be a feast!" called Thurnus, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford. "And in the feast fires let an iron be heated for slave branding!"
There was another cheer.
In the tiny cage she who had been Melina crouched down, sleen-collared, her face miserable behind the bars, clutching them with her fists.
She would soon wear the mark of a slave in her flesh.
Men and women hurried about, to prepare the feast. At a gesture from Thurnus Radish, Turnip and Verr Tail ungagged me and freed me from the heavy stock. They helped me from the stock and I, by its head, sank down to the dirt. I could scarcely move. I could still taste the heavy, coarse, sour wadding of the gag in my mouth. I would not have believed so effective a gag was possible. At that time, however, I had not worn more sophisticated devices, equally or more effective, such as the Gorean slave hood with gag-attachment.
Verr was roasted, and puddings made. Sa-Tarna bread was brought forth and heated. Sul paga poured freely.
At the height of the festivities the cage was opened and its occupant, a former free woman, whose name had been Melina, now a naked slav
e in sleen collar, was ordered forth on her hands and knees. A sleen leash was attached to her collar and she was conducted, crawling, on all fours, as a she-sleen, lashed more than once with the free end of the leash, this hurrying her, to the rape-rack in which I had been earlier confined. Therein she was fastened, the beams locking her ankles and neck, and wrists, in place, and, as her left thigh was held by strong men, branded by the hand of Thurnus, caste leader of the village of Tabuk's Ford. She screamed wildly, branded, and, her thigh released, cleanly marked, moaned and twisted on the wood. Her head was then shaved. Then she wept, her head back, softly moaning, held in place by the heavy beams, forgotten, as men and women returned to their feasting.
At Thurnus's right hand sat Tup Ladletender. On Thurnus's left sat the free woman, Sandal Thong, whom he had earlier this afternoon freed. She, with the two sleen, had boldly aided him in circumventing the concerted attack of Bran Loort's cohorts when they had been individually bested. The feast was served by the village slave girls, Radish, Verr Tail and Turnip among them. I was not forced to serve. I lay near the rack on which the newly branded slave lay secured. After a time she was quiet. I could not conjecture the nature of her thoughts. It did not matter. They could only be those of a slave. She the proud, former mistress, was now no more than I, only another slave, at the full mercy of men.
She was now no more than I, nothing.
I looked upward, and saw dark clouds in the sky, racing across the faces of the moons.
There was a sense of moisture in the air.
This pleased me.
Thurnus, at the feast, stood up. He lifted a goblet of paga. "Tup Ladletender," said he, "by the rite of the claws of sleen, is my brother. I lift my cup to him. Let us drink!" The villagers drank. Tup Ladletender rose to his feet. "You have shared with me tonight your paga and your kettle," said he. "I drink to the hospitality of Tabuk's Ford." There was a cheer. The villagers, and Thurnus, and Ladletender, drank. "And, too, this night," said Ladletender, "I drink to one with whom I do not share caste but that which is stronger than caste, the blood of brotherhood, Thurnus, he of Tabuk's Ford." There was another cheer. The villagers, all, drank. Thurnus stood up again. "I ask this free woman," said he, indicating Sandal Thong, "for whom I muchly care, to accept me in free companionship." There was a great cry of pleasure from the villagers.
"But Thurnus," said she, "as I am now free do I not have the right to refuse?"
"True," said Thurnus, puzzled.
"Then, noble Thurnus," said she, evenly, calmly, "I do refuse. I will not be your companion."
Thurnus lowered the cup of paga. There was silence in the clearing.
Sandal Thong gently lowered herself to the ground, and lay on her belly before Thurnus. She took his right ankle in her hands and, holding it, pressed her lips softly down upon his foot, kissing it. She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. "Let me be instead," she said, "what I want truly to be."
"What is that?" he asked.
She looked up at him, lying at his feet. Her cheeks were tear-stained. Her lips trembled. "—your slave," she said.
"I do not understand," he said.
"Be my Master," she said. "I would be your slave!"
"I offer you companionship," he said.
"I beg slavery," she said.
"Why?" he asked.
"I have been in your arms, Thurnus," she said. "In your arms I can be only a slave."
"I do not understand," he said.
"I would dishonor you," she said. "In your arms I can behave only as a slave."
"I see," said he, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford.
"The love I bear you, Thurnus," she said, "is not the love of a free companion, but a hopeless slave girl's love, a love so deep and rich that she who bears it can be only her man's slave."
"Serve me paga," said Thurnus. He handed the goblet to Sandal Thong.
She took it and knelt before him. She held the goblet in two hands, as was proper. She looked up at him. Then she kissed the goblet, almost as though she felt herself unworthy of doing so. Then she put her head down between her lifted, extended arms and, holding the goblet with two hands, proffered it to him.
Though she was free, she served as a slave. Villagers gasped. Free women cried out, scandalized.
There are a number of ritualistic aspects associated with this manner of serving wine. The attitude of kneeling is obvious. Kissing the master's cup is a token of submission, much like kissing his belt, his whip or boots. But, too, it suggests that their lips meet, through metal and wine, or paga, as the case may be. The girl, sensing herself unworthy to feel the kiss of the master, dares at least to kiss lovingly that which his lips will later touch. Then she puts her head down, in submission. Her arms are extended, and her hands are on the cup. This is a beautiful posture in a female, crying out of service, submission and beauty. As her hands are placed so closely together, too, it is reminiscent of her small wrists being linked in slave bracelets. Indeed, wine, or paga, may be so served by a braceleted slave.
Thurnus set aside the cup.
"Have rope brought, and collar me, Thurnus," she said. "I am yours."
"Bring rope," said Thurnus.
Rope was brought.
Thurnus took the rope, and regarded the girl.
She looked up at him.
"Collar me," she said.
"If I collar you," he said, "you are again a slave."
"Collar me, Master," she said.
Thurnus wrapped the rope twice about her throat, and knotted it.
Sandal Thong knelt before him, his slave. He seized her in his mighty arms and crushed her to him, raping her lips with the master's kiss, mighty in its lust and possession of the collared she, and she clutched him, helplessly, crying out. Her head was back, her lips were parted. He had begun to tear the tunic from her with his teeth. "Carry me from the light of the fire, Master," she begged. "But you are a slave," he laughed. He tore the garment from her and threw her between the feast fires. She looked up at him, her eyes wild with the passion-submission of the eager slave girl. "As master wills!" she cried, throwing her head and hair back in the dirt. He leaped to her and, between the feast fires, did lengthy ravishment upon her. Her cries must have carried beyond the palisaded walls.
When he returned to his place at the feast she crawled to his feet, his slave, and lay there, daring sometimes to touch him delicately on the thigh or knee with her fingers.
The feast continued late.
The clouds gathered further in the sky, and I smelled moisture. The moons were darkened by the scudding billows of vapor.
I think that I may have fallen asleep by the rack, from my exhaustion and the pain of the beatings and rapings that I had endured.
But it was still dark when I awakened. I awakened to the clear snap of slave bracelets on my wrists. I looked up. I looked into the eyes of Tup Ladletender. I regarded my wrists. They were confined in inflexible steel. "Get up," said he, "little vulo." I struggled to my feet. I stood there, facing him, in his bracelets. Such devices may be fastened together by as little as one link, or by several links. In these bracelets there were only three links. They were close bracelets. Thus, not only could I not hope to slip them, for such devices are not made to be slipped, but my wrists were fastened closely together. "You are mine now, little vulo," he said.
"Master?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "You are mine now."
"Yes, Master," I said.
I felt very strange. So simply had I changed hands.
"We must be on our way, shortly," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
From the point of simple custody there is usually not much point in braceleting, roping or chaining girls, or such, particularly after they have learned they are slaves, and that there is no escape for them. On the other hand, braceleting, chaining, roping, shackling, blindfolding, gagging, and such, is often done to them. It is a common and familiar part of their life. It is in such ways that their slavery is impressed on them, d
eeply and ineradicably, in the very depths of their being. They are such that they are subject to such things. It is hard to wear the chains of a man and not know you are his slave. Profoundly, I suppose, these things have to do with nature and her lovely mysteries, encoded genetically into the very heritage of a species, yes, there, a thousand leagues beneath the superficial trivialities of politics and convention, with dominance and submission. In this sense one can understand the ceremony of chains, the rituals of braceleting, the symbolism of the blindfold, the gag, the whip. To be sure we are helpless, in fact, in our ropes and chains, and in our bracelets. And sight is not permitted to us when we are blindfolded, nor is speech permitted us when we are gagged. This power is not only symbolic but real. And the lash, too, is real. Any who have felt it know that. But, too, these things to the slave are enormously stirring and provocative.
How clear they make the complementarities of nature to the slave!
They are profoundly sexual, and sensual. Too, in their way, they are profoundly romantic. Not everything romantic, you see, is limited to candy, flowers, wine, and candlelight. To be sure, such things are lovely. They are indeed romantic, very romantic. One remains fond of them. It is true that they are romantic on Earth, but it is not false on Gor either. They can be romantic there, as well, though the context may be different. For example, one might find oneself shackled in the furs, illuminated by candlelight. Goreans, too, are fond of candlelight, and lamplight, and such. A woman is beautiful so illuminated, of course. Do you think Goreans do not know that? Have you not heard of the lamps of love, in the light of which it is common to ravish slaves? And the scent of flowers is surely not unknown in the chambers of love. And is not it likely that it will waft in from the environing gardens? And it is common for the slave to serve her master wine, in the ritual fashion, and then, after he has first sipped, to be herself permitted its delights, though under his supervision. And candy, too, is not unknown on Gor. Perhaps the slave is chained where she cannot reach the candy. It is just out of her reach. But if she performs well, she may hope that her master will permit her to have some. On Gor, if the woman is a slave, she is likely to have to earn her candy, by well pleasing the master, and hope that he will permit her to have some, provided it will not alter her figure from the measurements to which he has decided it will be held.