Dancer of Gor

by John Norman

  * * * *

  "Are you all right?" asked Tupita.

  "Yes," I said, lying in the sand.

  "The chain is gone," she said. "It has been taken elsewhere."

  I nodded, stiff, aching. I had known that it had gone. A little later Tupita had come down the slope.

  "Lie on your side," she said. "Pull your legs up. Get your knees as close to your belly as you can."

  She drew the chain down, from behind me, and, pushing back my ankles, I winced, put it over my feet and ankles. It was then again before me.

  "Sit up," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said. She was not the "first girl" of the work slaves, nor even the first girl in our pen. Of the two of us assigned to this chain, however, she was surely "first girl."

  "You are sure you are all right?" she asked.

  "Yes, Mistress," I said.

  I turned and looked up to the height of the ridge.

  "They are gone," she said.

  "Yes," I whispered.

  "Can you walk?" she asked.

  "I think so," I said.

  "I think we should follow the chain now," she said.

  "Mirus saved my life," I said.

  She was silent.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "I think we should follow the chain," she said.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "It is lonely here," she said.

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "I heard them talking, up on the ridge," she said. "Something has happened."

  "What?" I asked.

  The sun was still bright. It was in the late afternoon. The sky was very blue. A soft wind moved between the dunelike hills, stirring the rough grass.

  "It happened only a pasang or so from the walls of Venna," she said, "closer to Venna than our camp."

  "What?" I asked, uneasily.

  "A body was found, that of an official of Venna, an aedile, I think."

  "I am sorry to hear that," I said. "I gather that he was robbed?"

  "Apparently he was robbed," she said, "either by the assailant, or another. His purse was gone."

  "I am sorry," I said.

  "The body," she said, "was half eaten."

  I shuddered.

  "It was half torn to pieces," she said. "The visera were gone. Bones were bitten through."

  I winced.

  "It is frightening," she said, "to consider the force, the power, of such jaws, which could do such things."

  "There is a sleen in the vicinity," I said. I remembered Borko, the hunting sleen of my former master, Hendow, of Brundisium.

  "The tracks were not those of a sleen," she said.

  "There are panthers," I said, "and beasts called larls. Such animals are supposedly very dangerous."

  "As far as I know, there has not been a panther or larl in the vicinity of Venna in more than a hundred years," she said.

  "It could have been wandering far outside its customary range," I said, "perhaps driven by hunger, or thirst."

  "They were not the tracks of a panther or larl," she said.

  "Then it must have been a sleen," I said.

  "Sleen have no use for gold," she said, uneasily.

  "Surely someone could have found the body, and taken the purse," I said.

  "Perhaps," she granted me.

  "It must then have been a sleen," I said. "There is no other explanation."

  "The tracks," she reminded me, "were not those of a sleen."

  "Then of what beast were they the tracks?" I asked.

  "That is a frightening thing," she said. "They do not know. Hunters were called in. Even they could not identify them."

  I regarded her.

  "They could tell very little about the tracks," she said. "One thing, however, was clear."

  "What?" I asked.

  "It walked upright," she said.

  "That is unnatural," I said.

  "Is it so surprising," she asked, "that a beast might walk upright?"

  I looked at her.

  "Or even that they should walk in power and pride?"

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "Our masters, the beasts, the brutes, those who put us in collars, and make us kneel, those from whose largesse we must hope they will grant us a pan of food or a rag, those whose whips we must fear, do so," she said.

  "Yes," I breathed. "They do!" Our masters, the magnificent beasts, so powerful, so free, so liberated and masculine, so glorious in their untrammeled manhood, so uncompromising with us, did so.

  "But this thing, I think," she said, "is not such a beast, not a human beast, not a man in the full power of his intelligence, vitality and animality, but some other sort of beast, something perhaps similar somehow, but very different, too."

  "I would be afraid of it," I said.

  "I doubt that you could placate it with your beauty," she said.

  "Am I beautiful?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "I who was, and perhaps am, your rival, grant you that. You are very beautiful."

  "You, too, are beautiful," I said, and then I added, suddenly, "and doubtless much more beautiful than I!"

  "I think that is not true," she said. "But it is kind of you to say it."

  "I am sure it is true," I said.

  "We are both beautiful slaves," she said. "I think we are equivalently beautiful, in different ways. I think we would both bring a high price, stripped naked on a sales block. Beyond that it is doubtless a matter of the preferences of a given man."

  "You are kind," I said.

  "Did you betray me in the matter of the pastry?" she asked.

  "No," I said. "Its absence was noted. Your presence in the vicinity was recalled. You were apprehended. In the licking of your fingers was revealed the taste of sugar."

  "I was whipped well for that," she said, shuddering.

  "I am sorry," I said.

  "How I hated you," she said.

  "I am sorry," I said.

  "I was first girl, and you were last kennel," she said. "Now we are both mere work slaves, both of us only common sluts on the black chain of Ionicus."

  "You are still first girl, of the two of us," I said.

  "That is true," she smiled.

  "But may I call you by your name?" I asked.

  "Do not do so within the hearing of masters," she said, "for I do not wish to have to sleep on my belly for a week."

  "No!" I laughed. She could not read or write, but she was a beautiful, highly intelligent woman. Too, since I had known her in Brundisium, and Samnium, I felt that a great change had come over her. I felt, too, that she had, in the last few days, come to have some concern for me. I was not altogether clear how this had come about. Perhaps it had to do with her pity for me, only a slave, one as helpless as she, but one in much greater danger here, because of her work for her former master, Tyrrhenius of Argentum. But it had to do even more, I think, with he who had been last on the chain, he who had once been second to my former master, Hendow, in Brundisium, Mirus.

  "Perhaps we should rejoin the chain," I said, uneasily.

  She looked about herself. "Yes," she said. "It is too lonely here."

  I arose with difficulty and retrieved the cup, on its string, which I put about my neck. I would wash it at the tank. Too, I again put the water bag on its strap, on my back.

  "There is something else," she said.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "Two girls, too, have been stolen," she said.

  "Girls such as we?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Work slaves?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "But not eaten?" I asked.

  "Not as far as I know," she said.

  "Anyone could steal us," I said.

  She shrugged. "I suppose so," she said, "except in so far as our masters protect their property."

  "The events are doubtless not connected," I said.

  "Probably not," she said.

  "Let us be on our way," I said
.

  "Many in Venna," she said, "as I understand it, are alarmed at the killing, and the mysterious footprints. Some think it is an omen or warning. The archon is consulting augurs, to take the signs."

  I stood in the sand, waiting for her.

  "They will concern themselves, surely, too, with legalities, and such," she said. "For example, those in the black chain who are not criminals, and for whom Ionicus does not have prisoner papers, will presumably be at least temporarily removed from the vicinity. That would mean many of the masters on our chain."

  I nodded. This seemed understandable. The archon in Venna would be interested in putting his house in order before the taking of the auspices. He would doubtless regard it as politic, at least from the point of view of soothing possible apprehensions in his constituency, to become a bit more scrupulous about proprieties, at least in so serious a situation.

  "I think, too," she said, "that this will be done in the following way, that several chains, as wholes, will be temporarily withdrawn, certainly those containing some illicit prisoners, such as ours. This makes more sense than reorganizing the chains, changing prisoners about, and such, which would be sure to provoke suspicion. Too, this can be done with seeming naturalness, apparently merely applying their labors elsewhere. Too, of course, that saves the masters the inconvenience and possible embarrassment of reorganizing a number of chains."

  "You think our chain will be moved?" I said.

  "I am sure of it," she said.

  "Where will we go?" I asked.

  "Probably not far, and for only a week or so, until the signs are taken," she said. "Our chain will probably be used for clearing and deepening ditches at the sides of the Viktel Aria south of Venna. We can return later. Things then will doubtless be the same as before."

  "How far south?" I asked.

  "Probably not far," she said.

  "Beyond the defense perimeter?" I asked.

  "Probably not," she said. "Why? Are you afraid of being stolen?"

  "Not really," I said.

  "If I were you," she said, "I would want to be stolen. You do not belong in a work tunic. You should wear a string of silk and be kissing and licking at a man's feet."

  I smiled. "Do you not want to be stolen?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "I would prefer, at least for the time, to remain with the chain."

  "I see," I smiled.

  She adjusted the water bag on her shoulder. It would be a steep climb out of the trough.

  "If we are outside the defense perimeter or near its edge," I said, "is there not a danger that the chain might find itself under attack?"

  "For what?" she asked. "For deepening ditches?"

  "I suppose it is silly," I said.

  "Men seldom make war on work chains," she said.

  "I am glad to hear that," I said.

  "It is not like we were working on siege trenches or repairing the walls of a beleaguered city," she said.

  "No, I suppose not," I said.

  "I am ready," she said. "Let us go."

  With difficulty, carrying the water bags, in our chains, we made our way up the sandy slope. I reached the top first and extended my hand to Tupita, who took it, and, with its help, pulled herself up, until she stood beside me.

  "You are bruised," she said.

  "It is nothing," I said.

  "You will be stiffer, and sorer, tomorrow than today," she said.

  I shrugged.

  From where we were we could see men, and the tank, and the overseer's tent, on its hill, and our pens, at its foot, and the wire around the camp. I think we were both glad to see these familiar sights.

  "How is your back," she asked.

  "It is all right," I said.

  "The sand stanched the wounds," she said.

  The chain, when it had been behind me, had cut at my back a little, sawing there, when I had struggled, gasping and crying out. When I had felt the wetness of blood there, I had tried to keep my hands low at my sides, in the sand, scratching and clutching at it, but then, almost as though unable to help myself, I had again tried to reach for their bodies. This had pulled the chain tight again against me. In the throes of my submission, however, as I, a slave, gave myself from the deepest depths of my belly to masters, I think I was unaware of the pain. If I had been aware of it, dimly and far off, I think I must, in my frustration and joy, trying to reach them, and yet helpless in their hands, have accepted it willingly. I could not even remember, clearly, what had happened.

  "There is a little blood at the back of your tunic," she said.

  I regarded her.

  "Do not fear," she said. "I think it will wash out, at the tank. Besides, it is not your fault."

  "I will not be permanently marked, will I?" I asked.

  "No, vain slave," she smiled.

  Such marks, of course, if permanent, might reduce a girl's value on the slave block.

  I looked down into the sandy trough. "Do you think I will often be put to the pleasure of the chain?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "Our master, Ionicus, has had his sport. You will now, presumably, be used more to frustrate them than please them. To be sure, the guard has seen you move, and dance. This will get around the camp. Do not be surprised, accordingly, if they now choose to avail themselves of you more frequently. I would not even be surprised if, say, in an evening or two, you found yourself again in the thong and silk, in the overseer's tent."

  I looked over to the overseer's tent. It was about a half pasang away. He had the call of any of the slave females in the camp. Too, of course, he could assign us however he wished, and for as long as he wished, to others.

  "To be sure," said Tupita, "we might be thrown to the chains, from time to time, as bonuses or rewards."

  I nodded. Much as men might throw us pastries or candies, so, too, we ourselves, in turn, or our uses, might be given to others.

  "Do you know anything more of the beast who slew the aedile?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  "Nor anything further of the two slaves who were stolen?"

  "No," said Tupita.

  "Perhaps they ran away," I said. I shuddered. Even the thought of the possible penalties for such an action struck terror into my heart. Too, given the culture, her marking, the closely knit nature of the society, and such, there was, for all practical purposes, no escape for the Gorean slave girl.

  "In work tunics, through the wire, laden with chains?" she asked.

  I was silent.

  "Too, work slaves outside the wire, not in the vicinity of a work chain, not in the keeping of a guard, they would provoke immediate suspicion."

  I nodded.

  "They would be in punishment yokes, on their bellies before the overseer, within an Ahn," she said.

  I nodded. "Who, then, do you think stole them?" I asked.

  "I do not know," said Tupita.

  "The animal?" I asked.

  "I would not think so," she said, "but who knows?"

  "It is getting darker," I said.

  "Tonight," said Tupita, "I will be glad to be locked in, behind the bars of our pen."

  "I, too," I said, shuddering.

  "Come along," she said.

  "Tupita," I said.

  "Yes?" she said.

  "Call me by my name," I said.

  "What is your name?" she asked.

  "'Tuka'," I said. That was the name masters had given me. It was my name, as a dog has a name, or a slave.

  "Tuka," she said.

  "You love Mirus," I said.

  "I would beg to lick his whip," she said.

  "Does he love you?" I asked.

  "I do not think he knows I exist—in that way," she said.

  "He is a kindly and marvelous man," I said.

  "He found you pleasing," she said.

  "I caught his fancy in Brundisium, a new girl in the tavern, one not yet fully accustomed to her collar," I said. "He enjoyed teaching me, and putting me through my paces. He enjoyed using me, as have
many men. He gave me great pleasure, and I hope, too, that I gave him great pleasure."

  She regarded me.

  "And I think he was fond of me," I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  "But I do not believe I was ever more to him, really," I said, "than another girl at his feet."

  She did not speak.

  "I am sure he never thought of me as a possible love slave," I said.

  She did not speak.

  "I am not even Gorean," I said. "I am only a slut who was brought here from Earth, to wear a collar and serve my betters, the masters."

  "Do you truly think he is kind?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And do you think he is so marvelous?" she asked.

  "Of course," I said.

  "And do you think he is still fond of you?" she asked.

  "I know he is," I said. I looked back, down into the sandy trough. "I lured him in Argentum," I said, my voice suddenly breaking, as I considered the enormity of it, "I lured him whom I knew, he who had been kind to me, he who trusted me, and brought him to chains and servitude, and yet, this afternoon, he saved my life."

  She was silent.

  "I shall be forever grateful to him for that," I said. "Had it not been for him, I would have been killed."

  "Beware of him," she said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Why do you think he saved your life?" she asked.

  "For caring for me," I said.

  "No," she said.

  "Then for pity," I said.

  "No," she said.

  "For desire?" I asked.

  "No," she said.

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "He did not want the others to kill you," she said.

  "Of course not," I said.

  "He is Gorean," she said. "I do not know if you truly understand such men. Too, he has a long memory. Too, where you are concerned, he is not himself. Where you are concerned I think he is half mad."

  "I do not understand," I whispered.

  "Stay away from him," she said.

  "I would not try to take him from you," I said.

  "He is a determined, intelligent man," she said. "He is biding his time."

  "Do not fear," I said.

  "I speak to you for your own sake," she said, "not mine."

  "He did not let them kill me," I said.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "I do not know," I said.