Dancer of Gor

by John Norman

  As a female I looked across at him, such a master. To no weaker man would I have cared to belong. He would command; I would obey. I was his.

  "Perhaps Master will now bind his slave," I said.

  He regarded me.

  I could not deny that I loved bonds, both of a physical and social sort, those tangible evidences of my womanhood, and my place in nature. He might bind me, I supposed, merely to secure me for the night. On the other hand, I hoped that he might now bind me not for the night but rather for the evening, either in such a way as merely to make clear to me that I was a slave, little more than a symbolic binding, or even in such a way that I should be utterly helpless to resist his attentions, whatever they might be.

  "You are a woman made for bonds," he said.

  But he made no move to secure a neck chain, or physical bonds of any sort, nor did he order me to fetch such, hurrying to him, say, with chains, responsive to his command, that would be placed on my own body.

  "And love, Master," I said, boldly. "And love!"

  He frowned.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said.

  To be sure I already wore the most marvelous and joyous bonds of all, those of my womanhood, identical with myself, those of my slavery, natural and legal, and those of my love.

  When I saw his eyes upon me I moved my knees a tiny bit further apart. It was a subtle thing. He was not supposed, really, to notice it, or much notice it, at least on a conscious level.

  "You are a sly slave," he said.

  "Forgive me, Master," I said. I considerably narrowed the gap between my knees.

  "No," he said. "Open your knees even more widely than they were before."

  "Yes, Master," I said. Now, of course, I was merely a slave, obeying the orders of her master. How far away then seemed Earth, and the library.

  "May I speak, Master?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Fulvius," I said, "who was one of the brigands, did not care, it seems, to leave an enemy behind him."

  My master nodded.

  "I do not care to do so either," he said.

  "But you released Sempronius and Callisthenes," I said. "You even showed them hospitality. You even put Tela and myself to their pleasure."

  "They were not enemies," he said.

  "I see," I said.

  "One must beware of enemies," he said, "and the nobler they are, the more dangerous they are."

  "I am surprised that you have kept this camp as long as you have," I said. "I gather this was in deference to Mirus, who was recovering his strength."

  "Perhaps," he said.

  "But you did not leave with him this afternoon," I said.

  "No," he said.

  "Perhaps you intend to leave the camp in the morning?" I asked.

  "Perhaps," he said.

  I looked at my master. He had never used me. On Earth, and in the first house of my bondage, my virginity, it seemed, had protected me. Such was supposed to improve my price on the slave block, at least for certain buyers. Certainly it must have appealed to Hendow, for he had made good money on me, in the selling of chances, in raffling it off. Then I had been lost to him for a long time. Then, in the meadow, he had found me. I had come again into his power. He had put sword claim upon me. I was his, his slave! But he had still not used me. He had put me to the pleasure of Sempronius. Later, by another simple exercise of the rights of his mastery, I must serve Mirus. Yet he had sought me for months. Surely that had not been done merely to put me to the purposes of others. I looked at him. Surely he must desire me. He had said as much. I shuddered. I was afraid, a little, but terribly excited, to be the object of such desire, Gorean desire. It was so powerful, so ruthless, so absolutely uncompromising. Yet, too, I thought, he must care for me. Surely he must! Indeed, he must care very much for me! Perhaps he even loves me, I thought, absurd though that might seem. Was that really so impossible? He must love me, I thought. He must!

  "What is wrong with you?" he asked.

  "Nothing, Master," I said.

  I looked at him. I was sure he loved me!

  "Are you sure there is nothing wrong?" he asked.

  "Yes, Master," I said. "Master," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "You own me," I said. "I am your slave."

  "Yes?" he said.

  "But I am curious to know what my status is, Master," I said. I would try, slyly, to determine his feelings toward me.

  "Your status?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "What sort of slave am I?"

  "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Am I a high slave?" I asked.

  "Do you wish to be whipped?" he asked.

  "No, Master!" I said.

  "Turn about," he said. "Kneel down. Put your head to the ground, clasp your hands together, behind the back of your neck."

  "Yes, Master!" I wept. I hastened to obey. This is a common position for slave rape.

  "Oh!" I cried. Then I shuddered and gasped, and cried out. Then I gasped, again and again. Then he spurned me to the dirt, by the fire, with his foot. I turned about, from my belly, shuddering, to look at him.

  "That is your status," he said. "That is the sort of slave you are."

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "Speak your status, the sort of slave you are," he said.

  "I am a low slave!" I said.

  "And you are the lowest of the lowest!" he said.

  "Yes, Master!" I said. There were tears in my eyes. Obviously I was a full slave to this man. No intention in the least had he of weakening or compromising my bondage. He had not picked me out on Earth to be a half slave. My feelings were very mixed. I was wildly grateful to have been taken, but yet he had given me little time for pleasure. His attentions, and his domination, had done little more than teach me that I was a slave, and further arouse me. It had been little more than an instructional and disciplinary taking, but still I had wept and reveled in it. It was the first such touch, even so arrogant and contemptuous, which my master had granted me. Too, I knew that even though I might be a low slave, as I had little doubt that I was now, and even among the lowest of low slaves, I was not disheartened, or, indeed, even disappointed. First, I knew that women who are kept as low slaves, and even strictly so, are often among those most loved. Many love masters keep their love slaves, for example, as low slaves. I had little doubt that Mirus would keep Tupita as such. She was even braceleted when she left the camp. I knew, too, that even high slaves are occasionally subjected to such imperious uses, which in their way are delicious, just as they might, to their shame, frustration and pleasure, find themselves occasionally clad in rags and put to disagreeable tasks. Such things remind them that they are slaves, and must obey their masters. Such enforcements, too, tend to be reassuring, and arousing, to a woman. Even if I were not loved, I now had no doubt that I was keenly desired, and that I need not fear that I might not be put to my master's pleasure and as a slave. The ruthlessness of his use only doubled my desire, that of a slave, to serve and love him. It was clear he had known what he was doing when he had picked me out on Earth.

  "You may resume your position," he said.

  "Thank you, Master," I said, returning to my place, kneeling across the fire from him. I was still shaken and heated from my rape. To some extent I was ashamed and chagrined, for had I not once been a free woman of Earth, but mostly I was very pleased, and grateful, and loving. Too, I was in awe of him. He had wanted me; he had taken me. He would do what he wanted with me. I would be treated as he pleased. There would be no compromising with me. I was his slave.

  "May I speak?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "How did you know that you might trust Callisthenes and Sempronius?" I asked.

  "I think I have some skill in reading men," he said.

  "Can you read women, as well?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "And what do you read in me?" I asked.

  "Straighten your body, and spread your knees more widely," he said
.

  I complied.

  "I read that you are an exquisite female slave," he said, "who needs only a strong master to achieve the total perfections of her femininity."

  "It is true, Master," I said, reddening, putting down my head. I was sorry I had asked. I was so embarrassed! It was as though he could read my innermost thoughts and needs. Was I truly so open to him? It seemed that my thoughts and needs were as naked to him as now, by his will, was my body.

  He then fetched a bit of oil and a sharpening stone from his things and, returning to his place, removed his sword from its scabbard. He then, slowly, patiently, with great care, addressed himself to the blade. Gorean men usually sharpen their own swords. They tend to trust the edge on the weapon to no one but themselves. I regarded the blade with uneasiness, but fascination. I had seen such things at work.

  "Be certain that we speak in English," he said, not looking up.

  "Very well, Master," I said. We had been speaking in English. I did not understand why he should say that now.

  "We must make do, as we can," he said.

  "Master?" I asked.

  "Had you oil to pour upon the fire, causing it to blaze up suddenly, from the darkness of embers, that might make it difficult to see, for a moment, the light."

  "Yes, Master?" I said.

  "But it is too early for the fire to have died down as yet," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

  I watched the sharpening stone move on the blade, so slowly, so smoothly, so evenly.

  "If someone were to approach," he said, "from behind me, you would undoubtedly see him almost immediately."

  "Yes, Master," I said. "There is a clearing behind you, for perhaps fifty feet or more."

  His head was down. He worked with the stone.

  "Accordingly," he said, "if someone did not wish to be observed in approaching the camp, he might come from that direction which lies more behind you, where there are trees and brush."

  "I suppose so, Master," I said.

  "Do not look around," he said.

  "Very well, Master," I said.

  "Such an individual," he said, "might await his opportunity, for example, for a time when he might approach, unobserved."

  "Master?" I said, frightened.

  "For example," he said, "when someone might be intent upon some other task, not paying attention to that avenue of approach."

  "Master?" I asked.

  "Do you recall this afternoon," he asked, "when we went for our walk?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "Do you recall the bodies of the two beasts in the meadow," he asked.

  "Yes," I said. I had not cared to much look at them, but he had drawn me to them, by the leash, and had had me do so. They had lain contorted in death. The sight was not pretty. He had then, mercifully, had us return to the camp.

  "Do you recall anything unusual about them?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Do you not recall," he asked, "that on each there was a sprinkling of dust?"

  "Yes," I said, puzzled.

  "How do you suppose it got there?" he asked.

  "Blown by the wind," I said.

  "No," he said, "not in the meadow."

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "You do not understand the significance of that dust?" he said.

  "No," I said.

  "They, too, have their ceremonies, and rites," he said.

  "'They,'?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said. "The dust is ceremonial."

  I said nothing.

  "It counts as a burial," he said.

  The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.

  "It would seem," he said, "I am now nearly finished with sharpening the sword. Shortly, then, I might be expected to look up."

  "Oh, Master," I said, terrified.

  "Do you detect anything?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "He will approach from downwind," he said.

  "Yes, Master," I said.

  "If you have time," he said, "you are not to rise to your feet, but to throw yourself to the side. You may then rise up and flee." He spoke with an unnatural calmness. His movements with the stone on the blade were smooth and unhurried, but I sensed that every nerve and cell in his body was tense and alive. "I will have the opportunity for only one thrust," he said. The blade was now oriented toward me. Almost directly toward me. "Do you remember the direction in which I sent Tela, and Mina and Cara, from the camp?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "In that direction lies the Viktel Aria," he said.

  "Yes, Master?"

  "You might have time to get that far."

  "Master?"

  "Do you further recall the options I cited?"

  "Yes, Master," I said. "At the Viktel Aria, turning right would bring one to Venna, and the vicinity of the black chain of Ionicus. These are to the north. Turning left would take one south, toward the camp of Pietro Vacchi."

  He nodded.

  Tela, Mina and Cara had planned to venture south, Mina and Cara hoping to be taken in hand by the scouts of Pietro Vacchi, and Tela hoping to find Aulus in the camp, before his return northward toward Venna. Perhaps, with respect to lovely Tela, a brief note may be in order, as not everyone may understand these things. In her heart she, the former Lady Liera Didiramache of Lydius, was now naught, you see, but an enamored slave desperate to return to the feet of a beloved master. To attain this end, as many such slaves, she was prepared to endure untold hardship and peril. The explanation for this was simple, at least to those who can comprehend these things. She had become a love slave. If you cannot understand this, so be it. If you can understand, on the other hand, how a woman can love this profoundly, then the matter is less mysterious to you. Perhaps then you can sense how a woman can find her fulfillment at the feet of a master, and how a woman can go to great lengths to return to her master's collar, to obtain once more its precious and desiderated gift. These things are deep, I suppose, but some will find them easy to understand. In any event, such things are real. Make no mistake about them. The male may scour a planet searching for her, but she, a slave, can often do no more than pine, and can approach her lover no more closely than is allowed by the length of her chain. She is a slave.

  Gorean men enjoy claiming and collaring women. That is doubtless easy to understand. One wonders if you can also understand that there is a complementarity here, and that a woman may rejoice to be so wanted, so desired, so lusted for, and so tenaciously and unmitigatedly sought, that she is thrilled to be claimed and collared, that she is thrilled to be found worth owning, and thrilled to find herself owned.

  "You might consider such options," he said.

  "Master?" I said.

  "Better for you I would suppose would be to go south," he said. "That will take you away from the chains of Ionicus."

  "I want to stay with you," I said.

  "Going south," he said, "you might be picked up by the scouts of Pietro Vacchi."

  "I do not want to be picked up by the scouts of Pietro Vacchi," I said. "I do not want to be kept in his camp or sold out of it! Pietro Vacchi is a great man, but I do not want to belong to him, either as a single slave or as one of his women! I belong to you! I want to belong to you! Let me tell you the sort of slave I am to you! I will dare to speak it!"

  "Be silent," he said.

  I was silenced. He would not hear me. Tears sprang into my eyes. I dared not speak. I was only a slave. I sobbed, uncontrollably. I wanted to cry myself his love slave! Yes, his love slave, his love slave! I wanted to tell him that I had been his love slave even from Earth, from even before my capture. From even that first day in the library when I had knelt at his feet, the first time I had knelt at the feet of a man, retrieving a book, and had opened it, finding a message, which, at his command, I had read aloud, the message—I am a slave. I wanted to tell him of my love, to tell him that I would die for his collar, that I would a thousand times rather perish at his side than leave
him! How could I live without him? It was such as he that I had been bred to serve! It was to such as he that I was born to render obeisance. It was a whip such as his that I was born to kiss! It was at the feet of one such as he that I was destined to kneel! It was for one such as he that I was born to be a slave! It was for one such as he that I was born a woman!

  "If you are caught, on the other hand," said he, seemingly uncognizant of my agitation, "you might be considered a runaway, and be forced to bear the grievous consequences of such a foolish indiscretion."

  "I am a slave," I said, "I do not want to be free."

  "You will not be," he said.

  "Master!" I said.

  "Do you understand?" he asked.

  "Yes," I whispered.

  "I do not know what time you will have," he said.

  "Master?" I asked.

  "Remember," he said, "that there is ultimately no freedom or escape for you on this world. You are merely a collared slave. It is my advice, accordingly, if you cannot reach the camp of Pietro Vacchi, if it has moved or such, that you submit yourself as soon as possible to the first man, or men, you think are capable of defending you."

  "I do not understand what is going on," I said.

  "You understand that you have been given a permission to flee?" he said.

  "I have been told so by my master," I said.

  He continued to work on the blade, slowly, carefully.

  "I am afraid," I said, "terribly afraid."

  "Do not be afraid," he said. "He is not coming."

  "Oh, Master," I breathed, joyously, "Master!" I felt incredible relief. My entire body relaxed. I leaned forward, toward him, toward my master.

  Almost at the same instant I heard a sudden, bestial, deafening, screaming roar behind me and the movement of a huge body and my master was leaping to his feet lunging over the fire thrusting his sword into the darkness behind me over my head and I twisted and saw two great, hairy arms outstretched reaching for him, which closed about him, and I screamed, the body and jaws of the thing over me, I between it and my master, and I threw myself to the side.

  In an instant I turned, wildly, on all fours, and, in the half darkness, the fire muchly struck and scattered, tiny flames about, from fiery brands and flaring leaves, saw two shapes, a gigantic bestial shape, and that of a human being, a man, locked together, swaying, clawed feet and sandals moving in the dirt, struggling for leverage and position.