Slave Girl of Gor

by John Norman

  "Yes," she said. "It is an order of enslavement."

  "You understand further, of course," said he, "that under Gorean merchant law, which is the only law commonly acknowledged binding between cities, that you stand under separate permissions of enslavement. First, were you of Ar, it would be my right, could I be successful, to make of you a slave, for we share no Home Stone. Secondly, though you speak of yourself as the Lady Elicia of Ar, of Six Towers, you are, in actuality, Miss Elicia Nevins of the planet Earth. You are an Earth girl and thus stand within a general permission of enslavement, fair beauty quarry to any Gorean male whatsoever."

  Earth girls had no Home Stones. No legalities, thus, were contravened in capturing them and making of them abject slave girls.

  "The first to capture you owns you," he said. "Prepare to be leashed as a slave." He unlooped the long leash at his belt, with its slip ring and snap lock.

  "Wait," she said, extending her hand.

  "Yes?" he said.

  "Beware of leashing me in this city," she said. "I am truly of Ar!"

  "Describe to me," said he, "the Home Stone of Ar."

  She looked down, confused. She could not do so.

  Young men and women of the city, when coming of age, participate in a ceremony which involves the swearing of oaths, and the sharing of bread, fire and salt. In this ceremony the Home Stone of the city is held by each young person and kissed. Only then are the laurel wreath and the mantle of citizenship conferred. This is a moment no young person of Ar forgets. The youth of Earth have no Home Stone. Citizenship, interestingly, in most Gorean cities is conferred only upon the coming of age, and only after certain examinations are passed. Further, the youth of Gor, in most cities, must be vouched for by citizens of the city, not related in blood to him, and be questioned before a committee of citizens, intent upon determining his worthiness or lack thereof to take the Home Stone of the city as his own. Citizenship in most Gorean communities is not something accrued in virtue of the accident of birth but earned by virtue of intent and application. The sharing of a Home Stone is no light thing in a Gorean city.

  "You claim to be of Ar," said he. "Yet you cannot describe her Home Stone. Explain to me then in precise detail the ceremony of citizenship, or, perhaps, the performances enacted upon the Planting Feast."

  "I cannot," she stammered.

  "Shall I have you taken before the magistrates of Ar," he inquired, "to substantiate your claim of citizenship?"

  "No," she said, "no!" She looked at him, terrified. To claim a Home Stone as one's own when it is not is a serious offense among Goreans. Elicia Nevins shuddered. She had no wish to be impaled upon the walls of Ar.

  "Mercy, Warrior!" she begged.

  "Are you of Ar?" he asked.

  "No," she said, "I am not of Ar."

  "Read further in the bill of enslavement," said he.

  Her hands shaking she read further.

  "Sex?" he asked.

  "Female," she read.

  "Origin?" he asked.

  "The planet Earth," she read.

  "Name?"

  "Elicia Nevins," she read. The document designated her by her own name. She trembled. The document shook in her hand.

  "Is that your name?" he asked.

  She looked at me, and then she looked again at the warrior. "Yes," she said, "it is my name."

  "You are Elicia Nevins?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said, "I am Elicia Nevins."

  "Fate?" he asked.

  "Slavery," she read. She handed him the document with trembling hands.

  "Prepare to be leashed," he said.

  He looked aside, casually, as he returned the bill of enslavement to his tunic. In this moment Elicia, springing to her feet, ran to the side of the room and picked up the small dagger. I cried out. She whirled, holding the dagger. He closed his tunic, the bill of enslavement concealed within it. He looked at her, unmoved.

  I do not think Elicia realized at this time that he had already begun her training.

  "Get out!" she cried. "I have a knife! I will kill you! Get out!"

  "You have finished your bath," he said, "and are fresh and ready. Adorn yourself now with cosmetics and scents."

  "Get out!" she screamed.

  "You seem slow to obey," he remarked.

  She looked wildly about her, toward the open door leading from the chamber of her bath and couch.

  "There is no escape," he said. "The outer door is secured with a small chain."

  She fled through the door and ran to the outer door. We followed her, watching. We were then in the room containing the curule chair, the room in which she had first interviewed me, her new slave girl.

  She pulled at the chain on the door, looped in rings, holding the bolt in place, and cut at the door with the knife, hysterically. Then she turned again, wildly, gasping, her hair about her face, viewing us. She fled then again into the chamber she had so recently vacated, and shut the door, throwing its bolts in place.

  The warrior rose from the curule chair, in which he had taken his place, and went to the door. I stood back, startled. He kicked it twice, splintering it back, until it hung wildly open, on one hinge. The side of the door and the door frame had been splintered loose. With one foot he then brushed the door back. Within the room, miserable, brandishing her knife, stood Elicia.

  "Stay away!" she screamed.

  He entered the room, and faced her. I, too, slipped into the room, remaining much behind him.

  "You have not yet complied with my command to adorn yourself with cosmetics and scents," he observed. "Are you disobeying?"

  "Get out!" she screamed.

  "Apparently you require discipline," he said.

  "Get out!" she screamed. "Get out!"

  He approached her swiftly. She struck down at him, and he took her wrist and, turning her body, suddenly, savagely, thrust her wrist behind her and forced it up high against her back. She screamed with pain. She was high on her toes. His left hand was on her left arm, holding her; his right hand held her right wrist, small, high behind her back. The knife clattered harmlessly on the tiles. With his right foot, he swept it to one side. He held her still for a moment. Her head was back. Her eyes were shut. Her teeth were clenched. Then, with his left foot, he kicked her feet from beneath her and she knelt at his feet, head down, her arm twisted high behind her, the wrist now bent, held between two of his fingers. She knelt near the bath. "You require discipline," he said.

  "Please," she wept.

  He released her wrist and arm, and taking her by the hair, thrust her on her stomach on the tiles, at the edge of the bath, her head over the water.

  "I will buy my freedom!" she cried. "Let me pay you!"

  He thrust her head under the water, under the foams of beauty. After a time he pulled her up, sputtering.

  "I do not want to be a slave," she gasped, water running from her head.

  Again he submerged her head, holding it under the water. After a time, a longer time, he again pulled her head up, freeing it of the water. She gasped. She spit water. She coughed. Water streamed from her head. Her eyes were blinded by water and foam.

  "I do not want to be a slave!" she cried. "I do not want to be a slave!"

  Again he thrust her head beneath the water. I feared he might drown her.

  Again he pulled her head, by the hair, from the water. "I will obey, Master," she gasped.

  He kept her on her stomach by the bath and slipped the leather loop of the leash over her head. Quickly his large, efficient hands shortened the loop, sliding the slip ring to a snug fit, then securing it in place, preventing its backward movement, with the snap lock. The leash could then tighten, functioning as a locked choke leash, but could not loosen.

  Elicia Nevins turned to her side, unbelievingly. She touched the leather. She had been leashed. She looked up at the warrior. "Master?" she asked.

  "Soon," he said.

  "Whose leash do I wear?" she asked.

  "That of Bosk of Port
Kar," he said.

  "Not he!" she cried. I gathered she had heard of her enemy.

  "He," said Bosk of Port Kar.

  She trembled, leashed. I did not think hers would be an easy slavery. I did not envy her. The name of Bosk of Port Kar was dreaded among women on Gor.

  He pulled her to her knees by the leash. She looked up at him.

  He gestured to me. "Where is the key to her collar?" he asked.

  "In the yellow drawer, in the vanity," she said, hastily, "beneath silk."

  "Fetch it," said Bosk of Port Kar to me.

  I fled to the drawer and found the key. I did not dally to obey. He had spoken to me in the voice of the Gorean master.

  He indicated that I should press the key into the hands of Elicia and kneel with my back to her. I did so. "Remove the collar," said he to Elicia. Fumbling, she opened my collar and pulled it away, putting it and the key on the tiles. "Say, 'I no longer own you'," commanded the warrior. "I no longer own you," whispered Elicia, to me, frightened. I sprang to my feet, and turned to face her. She shrank back, leashed. My fists were clenched. She looked up at me. It was sweet to me to see her on her knees, leashed. "Kneel," said Bosk of Port Kar to me. "Yes, Master," I said. I was still a slave. Elicia and I knelt near to one another.

  He stood near Elicia, and looked down upon her. Her lip trembled. "You are an agent of Kurii," he said, "and are a valuable as well as beautiful catch."

  "Will I be taken to Port Kar to be interrogated?" she asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "I will be cooperative," she said. "I will speak all I know." She had no desire to be put under the tortures of Port Kar.

  "Of course," he said.

  He glanced outside the long, high window in her compartments, out upon the towers of Ar. It was still bright. The blue sky was intense among and over the lofty towers of the city.

  "It is early afternoon," she said. "It will be difficult to take me from the city by day." That was true. Tarnsmen, periodic and aflight, patrolled the city. "Doubtless," she said, "you are awaiting the fall of darkness."

  "That is true," said he, "Prisoner."

  She looked up at him, his leather on her throat.

  "Do not fear," said he, "we will find a way to while away the time."

  "How am I to be taken from the city?" she asked.

  "Bound, naked, belly up," said he, "across the saddle of a tarn."

  "Scarcely the way to transport a free woman," she said.

  "By nightfall," said he, "you will be fit cargo for such mode of transport."

  She shuddered.

  "Go to the vanity," he said, "and kneel before it." She did this. He then, crouching behind her, crossed her ankles and, with the long, loose end of the leash, tied them together. The leash then ran from her throat back to her ankles. Her hands were free.

  "Apply cosmetics and scents," said he. "You are to be absolutely beautiful," he said.

  She reached, miserably, for the tiny boxes and brushes.

  "Go into the outer room," he said to me. "Among my things you will find an iron. Prepare a brazier and heat the iron. You will find there, too, earrings and a saddle needle. Bring them."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  It was in the late afternoon that I, holding its handles with quilted cloths, slid the brazier into the chamber of the couch and bath. I had not done this earlier in order that the room not be made uncomfortably hot.

  "How beautiful you are, Mistress," I said, startled. She sat at the foot of the couch, her knees drawn up and together, on furs thrown to the tiles from its surface. She no longer wore the leash. Her ankles were tied and her hands were tied behind her. She was made up beautifully for her branding. Her left ankle, I noted, on a chain of some five feet in length, was fastened to the slave ring at the couch's foot. On many nights I had slept there chained. It had been Bosk's decision that she would be branded at the slave ring of her own couch.

  "Judy," she wept, "what is he going to do?"

  "He is going to brand you," I said.

  "No!" she said.

  "You were not forced to come to Gor," I said.

  She struggled in the bonds. Bosk of Port Kar, with the quilted cloth, drew forth the iron, and thrust it back. It would soon be ready.

  "You are a beast and a barbarian!" she cried to him, drawing back. Then she could move no further back against the stone couch. She could draw her feet up no further.

  He took her and threw her to her right side, wedging her in the corner formed by the tiles and the foot of the stone couch. With the leash he tied her thighs tightly together, leaving between the tight, confining leather strips an open space, a small, lovely territory, for the passage of the iron. He gestured that I slide the brazier near to him, and I did so. He indicated that I should give him the quilted cloth with which he might seize the iron, and I did so.

  "Help me, Judy!" wept Elicia.

  "You were not forced to come to Gor, Mistress," I told her. She lay on her right side, bound, thrust against the foot of the couch. Wadded furs helped to hold her in place. Her thighs had been tied for the iron. Bosk's weight, too, pressed upon her. She shut her eyes.

  I looked outside, at the clouds, the blue sky of the late afternoon. It was sunny. The towers were beautiful. I saw some small birds in flight.

  I closed my eyes when she screamed. I listened to the iron, patient, performing its identificatory work. I smelled the branding. Bosk did not hurry. He did his work upon her well.

  I again opened my eyes. The sky was lovely and blue outside of the window. More birds flew by.

  I heard the girl sobbing. There was a new slave girl on Gor.

  I looked upon her. She looked at me, tears in her eyes. She had been marked incontrovertibly, and well.

  "I am a slave," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Remove the brazier and iron," said Bosk of Port Kar. "Set the iron to cool."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  With the quilted cloths I took the brazier from the room, and the iron, too. Outside, in the outer room, I put the iron aside, on the tiles, near his belongings. It would cool.

  When I returned to the chamber of the bath and couch he had sat the new slave up, against the couch. He, with a saddle needle, was piercing her left ear lobe. I saw the needle run through and a tiny spot of blood. He had already pierced her right ear lobe. Then he took the earrings I had brought, golden loops, an inch in diameter, and fastened them in her ears. He then gave me the saddle needle to clean and replace in his gear, which I did.

  When again I returned to the chamber of the bath and couch he had freed her of her bonds, with the exception of the chain on her left ankle, which fastened her to the slave ring at the foot of the couch.

  She lay on the deep furs at the foot of the couch, chained by the ankle, branded, in earrings.

  She looked up at me.

  "Greetings, Slave," I said.

  "Greetings, Mistress," she said.

  "Bring wine," said Bosk of Port Kar to me. "I will be served by the slave."

  "Yes, Master," I said. I fetched wine, and placed it on the tiles, within reach of the girl.

  "Does she not even know how to kneel?" he asked.

  Quickly I instructed the girl in the position of the pleasure slave, kneeling, back on heels, back straight, head high, hands on thighs, knees wide.

  "What shall we call her?" he asked me.

  "Whatever Master wishes," I said.

  He saw the discarded collar, inscribed "I am Judy. Return me to the Lady Elicia of Ar, of Six Towers."

  He opened the collar. He approached her. "Perhaps," said he, "we shall call you 'Judy.'"

  She shook with misery. "Please," she begged, "Master." How offended and miserable she would be, the proud, former Elicia Nevins, to be forced to wear my name, I of whom she had been so contemptuous.

  "What think you?" asked the free man of me, grinning.

  "I think, Master," I said, "that the name is not truly fitting for this slave, gi
ven her nature and appearance."

  There is often a fittingness sought between name and slave. It did seem to me that 'Judy' was not the proper name for the newly enslaved beauty who knelt before us. It was not merely my desire that she not be given a name which I had worn when free.

  "True," said Bosk of Port Kar, commending me on my view of the matter.

  The girl breathed more easily.

  "Bring from my belongings the open slave collar there to be found," said Bosk of Port Kar to me.

  "Yes, Master," I said, and hurried to comply. From his belongings I fetched the collar.

  He took the collar from me. It was simple, and steel, straightforward and secure.

  "Read it," said he to her.

  "I am the slave Elicia," she read. "I belong to Bosk of Port Kar."

  She looked at him with horror. She would wear her own name as a slave name.

  "Submit," he said.

  She looked at me, wildly, piteously. I aided her. I showed her how to kneel back on her heels, her arms extended to him, wrists crossed, her head down, between her arms. "Say, 'I submit,'" I said. "I submit," she said. He bound her wrists, tightly, before her body. "Look up," I told her. She looked up. He collared her. I was very pleased to see her in the collar of Bosk of Port Kar.

  Bosk then left the room, I heard him, too, leave the outer room. I heard him outside, moving to the roof. Doubtless he, a warrior, was checking the avenue of his egress. I did not know if the tarn would be waiting on the roof, or would be summoned from the roof, by tarn whistle.

  I looked at the new slave girl. She knelt, miserable, collared, branded, her wrists bound before her body, on the thick furs at the foot of the couch.

  She looked at the surface of the couch. She would not dare to ascend to it, unless ordered there by a master. Her place, unless commanded otherwise, was at the foot of the couch, at the slave ring. I, a slave, had spent nights at that slave ring, at the foot of my mistress's couch. Now, she who had been Elicia Nevins of Earth, who had been my mistress, knelt there, no more than a lowly slave herself.

  She looked at me, disbelievingly. "We are both slave girls," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I have been branded," she said. "My ears are pierced. I wear a collar!"

  "That is true, Elicia," I said. I had used her slave name. She understood this.