Dancer of Gor

by John Norman

  There was a soft wind, rustling the leaves.

  I looked up at him. We were alone.

  He reached to his mask. He removed it. Sempronius and Callisthenes had left three days ago. Mirus and Tupita had now gone. None of these, I supposed, would be able to recognize him again, unless perhaps by his skill with the sword. He had concealed his features, and his identity. It would be difficult for anyone, in the future, if they were so inclined, to connect him with the transactions in the meadow. To be sure, he might be a simple brigand. If so, he was an extremely dangerous one.

  He looked down at me, the mask in his hand. "Perhaps you remember," he said, "that I once told you that there was a world where women like you were bought and sold."

  "Yes, Master," I said. He had spoken in English. It had taken me a moment, a frightened moment, to realize that. Then I had made the transition from Gorean to English.

  "And have you been bought and sold?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "And how is my modern woman?" he asked.

  "Only as much is left in me of the modern woman as you might wish," I said, "only as much as you might wish to recollect, and then, if it pleases you, in virtue of that little, making me pay, humbling or hurting me—to take from me the last vestige, even if it be only imagined, of it."

  He smiled. "I see that you have learned to be concerned to please men," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You look well, tied helplessly," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "Have you been taught much on Gor?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "And have you been taught to throw your legs apart quickly?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "You danced well last night," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said. I was so pleased that he was pleased!

  "What do you call that sort of dance?" he asked.

  "'Slave dance,'" I said, in Gorean.

  "In English," he said. "We are speaking English."

  "'Ethnic dance,'" I said.

  He smiled.

  "'Belly dance,'" I said.

  "Are you a belly dancer?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Say so," he said.

  "I am a belly dancer," I said.

  "And do you love to belly dance?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Say so," he said.

  "I love to belly dance," I said, reddening. But then I looked at him, gratefully. I was a belly dancer! I was! And I did love to belly dance! How free I suddenly felt, and happy, that I had now said these things, that I had now confessed them to myself, honestly, openly, in my native language.

  "Perhaps, sometimes," he said, "I will permit you to dance for me."

  "A slave would be pleased," I said, "if she might so please her master."

  "How naturally you speak of yourself as a slave," he said.

  "I am a slave, Master," I said.

  "Yes," he said. "You are. I knew that the first moment I laid my eyes on you."

  I looked down, shyly. I remembered the first moment I had seen him, looking up from the desk, seeing him there, before me, I in the dark sweater and the long-sleeved blouse, he in that dark suit, with a tie, such things seemingly so ungainly on him. He had looked at me in a Gorean fashion. I had felt I might have been stripped naked before him. If I had known then what I knew now I would have felt slave naked before him, as though I had just been stripped for slave assessment, that masters might decide what I might realistically be expected to bring them on the block. It was shortly after this experience that I had fearfully enrolled myself in a class in belly dancing. Somehow, probably in the depths of my subconscious, I wanted to do almost anything I could, to learn how to please such a man, and surely dancing beautifully before him, vital and half-clad, might contribute to such an end.

  When I looked up he was still looking down at me. He was looking at me, musingly, studying me.

  I was silent. I had not been spoken to.

  He tossed the mask he had worn to the side, among his things. He then crouched down before me.

  "Master," I whispered, begging, pulling against the ropes.

  He removed the cloth belt and slave strip from me and tossed them, too, to the side, among his things. He owned them, even such small things, not I.

  He then moved back a little, and looked at me.

  "You have become very beautiful," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "Apparently the Gorean diet, the movements of slave dance, the attentions of masters, and such, have much improved you," he said.

  "It is my hope that I have been improved," I said.

  "Your ears have been pierced," he said.

  "As befits me, Master," I said.

  He smiled.

  I saw that he was pleased that my ears had been pierced. I rejoiced in his pleasure.

  "Greetings, Miss Williamson," he said.

  "I am no longer Miss Williamson," I said, frightened, shrinking back, "unless master wishes to put such a name on me."

  "Your response is acceptable," he said. "What is your name?"

  "Whatever master pleases," I said.

  "What have you most recently been called?" he asked.

  "'Tuka,'" I said. He knew that, of course. He wanted to hear the slave name from my own lips.

  "That will do," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. In a sense, then, I had the same name, 'Tuka,' but, in another sense, it was a new name, put on me afresh. I now wore it not by the will of another, but by his own will. Once I had been Miss Doreen Williamson. Now, again, by a man's decision, I, an animal, was simply "Tuka." It was an exciting name. It made me flame between my thighs. I squirmed a little.

  "Do you know what this is?" he asked. He had picked up the slave whip.

  "A slave whip," I said.

  He held it before me and I eagerly licked and kissed it.

  "You do that well, slave," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "Can you speak Gorean?" he asked.

  "A little, Master," I said. He knew, of course, I could speak at least a little Gorean. For example, he had heard me speak with Mirus and Tupita. "Master would know more of such matters," I said, "had he, when I requested it upon occasion, given me permission to speak."

  He toyed with the whip. I hoped I had not been too bold.

  "A girl can understand simple commands," I whispered.

  "Perhaps, by now, she should be better than that," he said.

  "I can speak Gorean," I said, "at least well, I think, for my time here. I have had to learn it rapidly and efficiently. It is the language of my masters."

  He nodded. Slave girls from Earth learn Gorean quickly. We are encouraged, of course, by the switch and whip. They are useful pedagogical devices.

  "May I speak?" I asked. It seemed strange to request permission to speak, in English. Yet it was fully proper, for I was a slave. That was what was important, that I was a slave, not the language in which I spoke.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Is it to your whip that I am subject?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "I am yours?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said. "I put sword claim upon you. Let he who will dispute it with me."

  I twisted in the bonds. I was his, then, girl loot, kajira spoils, as much as a tharlarion or a crate of jewels, by the right of the sword.

  "Did you search for me?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said, "for months, from Market of Semris, to Brundisium, to Samnium, to Argentum, to Venna."

  I recalled Tyrrhenius had spoken of "inquiries." I had thought they might be inquiries being made by praetors' agents, or something. It had not been clear, even, whether the "inquiries" were related, or were being made by one or more parties. It now seemed that at least two parties, separately, doubtless unknown to one another, each with its individual motivation, had been searching for me. No wonder
Tyrrhenius had wanted to sell me out of Argentum as quickly as he could!

  "Why?" I asked. "To free me?"

  "Do you think you should be a free woman?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Do you really think, too," he said, "I picked you out from hundreds on Earth, and selected you, screening you according to my own tastes and criteria, as my final and most exquisite Earth capture merely to bring you here to be a free woman?"

  "No, Master!" I said.

  He looked at me, and he seemed angry, and I was afraid of him.

  "I realized, after I had let you go, that I had really brought you here for myself."

  "Oh, Master!" I cried, joyfully.

  "So I followed you," he said, "fool that I was ever to have let you go."

  "Why did you not buy me from your employers, and put me in your collar, and keep me, and train me to please you, according to your dictates?"

  "I feared you would drive me mad with passion," he said. "But there is a way to handle such women, to keep them in collars, and under strict control."

  "Yes, Master!" I said. "Yes!" He had searched for me! He had found me!

  He looked down at me.

  "Master has labored long to find me," I said. "He has risked much for a mere girl."

  He shrugged.

  "It is my hope that master is not disappointed, now that he has me in his bonds," I said.

  He smiled.

  "I gather that master is not disappointed," I said.

  "I shall let you know later," he said.

  I laughed. But how tightly I was bound! How helpless I was! "It is surprising, is it not," I asked, "that you should search so long for a mere slave?"

  "I suppose so," he said.

  "May I not inquire more closely then into master's motivation?" I said. I so wanted him to tell me that he found me of interest, that he found me pleasing!

  "You are a not unattractive slave," he said, dryly.

  "But surely there are many attractive slaves," I said.

  "That is true," he said.

  "Might a slave hope that master might care for her, just a little?" I asked.

  "Rather let her hope that such an improper, impertinent question does not earn her a meeting with the whip," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "You were desired," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I must then put aside all thoughts of love or affection. I was unworthy of such, from such a man. I was unutterably beneath him, worth less than the dust beneath his sandals. How absurd was my question! How shamed I was at my pride! How bold I had been! How could I even think of such a thing? Did I not know I was from Earth, and only a slave! But I loved him, and with the whole heart and body of me! I tendered to him the wholeness of my helpless slave's love, worthless though it might have been. I had love enough in my small, marvelous body for a thousand of us, a thousand times over! So I was not loved! What did it matter! I was desired, and this would be enough. Too, I myself felt desire, and profound, raging slave desire, as he on his part must have felt the passions of the master. I was inflamed with need and heat before him, my master. Unworthy though I might be he had clearly wanted me! He had picked me out on Earth, he had fought with himself on Gor, then he had pursued me like a sleen, threading patiently through the harrows of time, disregarding the perils of both men and beasts. Loved or not, I had been for months, unknown to myself, an indisputable object of Gorean passion. I had been woman prey, a hunter's curvaceous quarry. Now the hunt was done and the lovely beast was taken, and tied naked at the hunter's feet. She desired muchly to serve him.

  I tried desperately to conceal my passion. "May I inquire," I asked, as unconcernedly, as lightly, as I could, "what may be your intentions with respect to me?"

  "It is my intention," he said, "at least for a time, to keep you as a slave if you endeavor to prove satisfactory."

  "As an embonded girl," I said, "I shall, of course, endeavor to prove satisfactory."

  He smiled.

  "Never let me go again," I wept, suddenly. "Keep me forever!"

  He looked at me.

  Swiftly I spread my knees further apart. I did not wish to be whipped.

  "You smell like an aroused slave," he commented.

  "I am an aroused slave!" I wept.

  "Are you not a highly intelligent modern woman?" he inquired.

  "I beg permission to kiss the feet of my master," I said.

  "You have come a long way from your library, librarian," he said.

  I looked up at him, tears in my eyes.

  "They have put slave fires in your belly, haven't they?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "How cruel of them," he said.

  I squirmed helplessly.

  "Perhaps a girl wishes to serve her master?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master!" I said. "Yes, Master! Please, Master!"

  He then went behind me and untied my ankles. He then put his hands gently on my flanks, and waist, and body, and I pressed back against him, sobbing, my eyes closed, moaning, begging to be touched. Then he whipped loose the fiber on my wrists and, rolling it and putting it in his pouch, went to stand before me. I put my head down and began to lick and kiss his feet, sobbing.

  "Yes, you are obviously a highly intelligent woman," he said. "You do that very well."

  I sobbed.

  "You look well, modern woman," he said, "at my feet."

  "Please, Master," I begged. "I am not a modern woman. There is nothing left in me of the modern woman, really, as you, of all men, must know and recognize, even if ever there was anything of that sort in me to begin with! I am now only a Gorean slave girl at the feet of her master!"

  "And what is the name of your master?" he inquired.

  "My master is Teibar," I said.

  "And of what city is he?" he asked.

  "I do not know, Master," I said.

  "He is of Ar," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Whose slave are you, then?" he asked.

  "I am the slave of Teibar of Ar," I said. This was the first time I had ever spoken these words. I was thrilled to speak them. They gave the name and city of my master. If a guardsman or any free person, or even a male slave, or a female slave in a position of authority, were to inquire as to the identity of my master, that was the information that I would be expected to give them. To be sure, such things may be read on collars. At this time, however, I still wore the collar of Ionicus. The recovery period, germane to that collar, expired at midnight tonight. Sword claim, however, if uncontested, took priority. I knew little of Ar, but I did know it was a large and powerful city.

  "You are lovely, slave of Teibar of Ar," he said, looking down at me.

  "Thank you, Master," I said.

  "I think," he said, looking down at me, "that indeed, truly, there is little of the modern woman left in you."

  "There is nothing of that hateful tragedy, of that barrenness and lovelessness, left in me, Master," I said, "if ever there was anything of it in me to begin with. And I love you. I love you! I love you!"

  "Interesting," he said.

  "Do not whip me, Master," I said, "I beg you, but I do love you, and from the depths of my heart! I loved you and wanted to please you, and be yours, from the first moment I saw you!"

  He looked upon me.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. I seized up the slave whip and handed it to him. "Let an impertinent slave be whipped!"

  But he only held the whip to my lips and I kissed it, fervently, gratefully, and then looked up at him.

  He looked at me, and I squirmed in need.

  He touched the whip to my shoulder and I moaned, and put my head to the side, and kissed it.

  "You seem to be in need," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Indeed, you seem to be an extremely aroused, excited slave," he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said.

  "Do you wish to serve your master?" he asked.

  "Ye
s, Master!" I said.

  "Perhaps I shall permit you to do so," he said.

  "Thank you, Master!" I said. He was the most exciting man I had ever known. His least touch made me want to cry out with passion and surrender myself, totally.

  "You may do so," he said.

  "Thank you, Master!" I breathed, looking up at him, with tears in my eyes. I was more than eager to serve him in a thousand intimate and delicious modalities. I would try to be more marvelous than the most marvelous slave he might ever have dreamt of. "Command me, Master!"

  "But first," he said, "as it is still light, we are going for a short walk. You will be taken on a leash. We will then return to the camp."

  "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

  In a few minutes we had returned to the camp, I on my leash. Though he had waited for me, once, to relieve myself, I do not think that that was the purpose of the walk. That I could have done anywhere outside the camp, chained to a tree, if necessary. We had gone down by the long building, beyond the well, in the meadow, where the beasts lay. He unsnapped the leash and I knelt before him, then, waiting to be commanded.

  "Yes, Master?" I said, eagerly.

  "Cook," he said.

  33

  Dust

  I knelt down, across the fire from him, in our small camp in the woods, not far from the meadow. It was dark now. There was a space of some fifty feet of cleared ground behind him. Closer to me there were some trees and brush.

  I was naked. He had not given me clothing, even the belt of rolled cloth and the slave strip, which he had earlier removed, when I had been bound, after the departure of Mirus and Tupita, they with the tharlarion and wagon.

  "Is the camp in order? Is your work finished?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said. I had tried to do my best to cook well for him. I hoped he had not been dissatisfied. He had eaten in silence, but well. I hoped I had not done too badly. I had not been whipped. The whip is a very tangible symbol of the relationship between the master and the slave, and if the master is not satisfied, it can quickly become, as the slave knows well, more than a symbol. After he had begun to eat he had given me a piece of bread, thrusting it in my mouth as I was, by his command, on all fours near him. After that he had, from time to time, thrown me scraps, tossing them to the crushed leaves. These I must eat without the use of my hands.