Guardsman of Gor

by John Norman

  "But is this not all incomprehensible?" I asked. "How can it be? Is it possible to understand this? Surely it cannot be! You are the former Beverly Henderson, of Earth!"

  "Please, Master!" she wept. "I beg you, I beg you to have me for a tarsk bit!"

  "I thought that you regarded Coin Girls as filthy, as terrible, as disgusting."

  "Please, Master!"

  "I recall a Coin Girl," I said, "from long ago, who suggested that you might be insufficiently desirable to be put out as a Coin Girl, and you retorted that you were beautiful, and she then speculated that you might then one day, too, wear a bell and coin box."

  She looked up at me, in anguish.

  "And you retorted 'Never!' as I recall."

  "Please," she whispered.

  "And did you not assert that Coin Girls were amongst the most degraded, the lowest and most worthless of slaves?"

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  "And that is now, it seems, what you are."

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  "Perhaps that other girl would be pleased, should she see you as you now are," I said.

  "Doubtless, Master," she whispered.

  "Much seems to have changed in your life," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Please, please, Master!"

  I looked down upon her.

  "I beg to serve you, and as what I am," she said. "I beg to serve you—as a slave. Please, please, Master!"

  She looked up at me, desperately, the former Beverly Henderson, on her knees before me. Her eyes were filled with tears. Tiny salty rivulets ran down her cheeks, and under the chain and collar, and some tears fell, too, upon the edges of her parted tunic, and on her small, soft, muchly exposed, proffered breasts, those of a pleading Coin Girl.

  "Please, Master," she said. "Please, please, Master!"

  I dropped the coin into the narrow, metal coin box. I thought the girl would almost faint with relief, and pleasure. Too, I saw another emotion in her eyes, which was harder to fathom.

  The girl with the leash bent down to a nearby slave ring. Such things are common in Gorean streets. They are usually mounted in a wall, a foot to a yard above the walk or pavement. This one was mounted about a foot above the street, and was ahead of me and to my right, a bit behind the kneeling girl, and to her left. "There," said the girl, knotting the end of the leash about the ring. Usually, at such rings, slaves are on a short leash or chain, and are fastened to them on their knees. If the slave is braceleted to the ring and the ring is in the neighborhood of a yard high her hands are braceleted before her face, and her belly faces the wall, or behind the back of her head, and her back or side faces the wall; with the lower ring her hands are braceleted before her lower body if she faces the wall or has her side to it, and roughly at the small of her back, if she has her back to the wall. But the girl who had controlled the kneeling girl's leash had left her a good deal of slack. She might lie, fully, on the stones, and be moved about on them, if I chose.

  "I shall withdraw," said the girl who had controlled the leash. "But understand clearly," she said, meaningfully, "that when I return her body will be closely examined."

  "I understand," I said.

  The girl who had controlled the leash then withdrew.

  I looked at the girl, kneeling on the stones before me. I crouched down, before her.

  "You know that you must use me fully," she said. "My body will be carefully examined, for the signs of your use."

  "I know," I said.

  She then, demurely, unbelted her tunic, and brushed it back.

  "You must have me, and fully," she said. "You have no choice."

  "I know," I said.

  She dropped her tunic behind her, on the stones. "It is my hope—," she said.

  "Yes?" I said.

  "—that I may please Master."

  How far she was then from the university, from the restaurant! I looked upon her, kneeling before me, mine, for a tarsk bit. I rejoiced in the naturalness of this world. I rejoiced in the glories of Gor.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "Your Linda," she said.

  "If I choose to have you by that name," I said.

  "Yes," she said. "You may have me by any name you care to fix upon me, or nameless, if it pleases you."

  "I know," I said.

  "In all this time," she said, "you have never had me."

  "No," I said.

  "You wanted to, didn't you?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And now I am only a leashed slut before you," she said, "one for whom you have paid your tarsk bit."

  "Yes," I said.

  She leaned forward, and kissed me, softly. "I will endeavor to be worthy of my tarsk bit, Master," she whispered.

  "Have no fear," I told her. "I shall see that you are."

  "Master?" she asked, drawing back.

  I then put my hands on her arms.

  She winced, in pain. She looked at me, disbelievingly. "That is not the grip of a man of Earth," she said, "that of one who treats women with respect." She squirmed.

  "You are a slave," I told her.

  "It is the grip of a Gorean male," she said, "of one who is the master of a woman."

  "Is it?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said. "Release me! I mean, 'Please release me, Master!'"

  "No," I told her.

  "No?" she asked. "But you are a man of Earth! You must do whatever a woman asks!"

  "Why?" I asked.

  "I do not know," she cried. "I do not know!"

  "Do you wish me to release you?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. "Yes!"

  "Lying slave," I sneered.

  "Please do not punish me, Master," she whimpered.

  "The brutes of Gor have their way with you, as it pleases them," I said, "and you serve them well. Do you think the men of Earth should be content with less?"

  "No, Master," she whimpered.

  "If the men of Earth choose to surrender the birthright of their dominance, to exchange it for the garbage of a political perversion; if they should choose to deny their genes; if they should choose to subvert and violate the order of nature; if they should choose self-castration to manhood, that is, I suppose, their business."

  "I do not know, Master," she said.

  "Provided, of course, that they are willing to accept such penalties as anxiety, guilt, misery, frustration, sickness and shortened life spans."

  "I do not know, Master," she said.

  "A subverted nature cannot be expected not to retaliate," I said.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Does a man have a right to be a man?" I asked.

  "I suppose so," she said. "I do not know."

  "And are there not hierarchies among rights, and some which take priority over others?"

  "Be kind to me, Master," she begged.

  "And is not the right of a man to be a man the highest right of such a sort that man possesses?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "What right takes precedence over that?" I asked.

  "None, Master," she said.

  "Has man," I asked, "the right to bring about his own downfall, to destroy himself."

  "He has the capacity, Master," she whispered, "but I do not think he has that right."

  "He does not have that right," I told her, "for it conflicts with the higher right."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Rather," said I, "he has, beyond rights, duties, and high among his duties is his duty to be true to himself, his duty to be a man."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "The denial of his manhood, then, by a man, is not only irrational, but morally pernicious. Men have not only a right to preserve their manhood, but a duty to do so."

  "Perhaps there is no such thing as manhood," she whispered, "or womanhood."

  "Tell that," I said, "to strong men and yielding women, and history."

  "Perhaps there are no such things as duties, and rights," she said, "perhaps the
re are only the words, used as the instruments of manipulative rhetorics, devices of conditioning, cheaper and more subtle than guns and whips."

  "That is an interesting and profound possibility," I said, "but then there would still remain needs and powers, forces and desires, and the facts of the world, that certain courses of action lead to certain results, and that other courses of action lead to other results. And in such a world who will argue with the larl as to whether or not it should feed, or with a man as to whether or not he should be a man? In such a world the larl hunts, and the man is a man."

  "Gor, I fear," she said, "is such a world."

  "It is," I told her, "Slave Girl."

  "I'm frightened," she said.

  "As well you might be, rightless slave," I told her.

  "Rightless slave?" she asked.

  "Of course," I told her, "you are a rightless Gorean slave girl, leashed and ready for having."

  "Is that all I am?" she asked.

  "Yes," I told her.

  "To you?" she asked.

  "Yes," I told her.

  She shuddered.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "I dare not speak," she whispered.

  "Speak," I said.

  "I am aroused," she said.

  I continued to hold her right arm with my left hand, and placed my right hand on her body. She squirmed. "It is true," I told her.

  She tried to pull back. "You do not handle me like a man of Earth," she whispered.

  "I am not a man of Earth," I told her. "I am Gorean."

  I then pressed her back to the stones.

  "What are you doing?" she cried.

  "I have been patient," I told her. "I have waited a long time for you."

  She squirmed. Her strength was as nothing, compared to mine. I brushed the flattish bell and the coin box over her left shoulder, and to the side of her neck. I heard the bell, and the coin, my coin, in the small, narrow metal box on her neck chain.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked.

  "I am now tired of waiting," I told her.

  "Then you will truly have me?" she asked.

  "Of course," I told her.

  "But with dignity, and respect!" she begged.

  "I have waited too long for that," I told her.

  She struggled, unavailingly.

  "Be gentle, solicitous and tender!" she begged.

  "No," I told her.

  "No?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Oh!" she cried.

  "When I finish with you," I said, "you will not have any doubts, as you might with a man of Earth, as to whether or not you have been had."

  "Oh!" she cried.

  "You will know," I assured her.

  "This cannot be you," she wept. "It cannot be you!"

  "It is," I told her.

  "What are you doing?" she cried.

  "Treating you as the slave you are," I told her.

  "But I am a woman of Earth!" she cried.

  "No," I told her, "you are only a leashed slut, a rightless Gorean slave girl, who is soon to learn something of the meaning of her collar."

  "Yes, Master!" she cried, suddenly, helplessly.

  I could feel the movements of her body, its helplessness, its readiness. She felt good in my hands, hot, and trembling. Excellent! Excellent! She was no different than the sluts in the paga taverns!

  I was very pleased with her.

  "Do you admit to me, now, personally, now that we are alone," I said, "that you are a slave?"

  "Do not ask me, a woman of Earth, to admit to a man of Earth that I am a slave!" she begged. "It would be too shameful!"

  "You would admit it swiftly enough to the brutes of Gor, would you not?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she wept. "Yes, Master!"

  "Admit it then to me," I said, "for now you are no longer a woman of Earth, nor am I now any longer a man of Earth."

  "I am a slave, Master," she said. "I admit it." I recalled then the time that we had dined in the small restaurant on Earth, so long ago. Her hair had been bound back in a severe bun. She had worn an off-the-shoulder, svelte, white satin-sheath dress. She had carried a small, silver-beaded purse. She was now in my arms, sweating, naked and leashed. "I am a slave, Master," she said. "I have always known it."

  "Now you speak the truth," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Do you now feel shamed, that you have made this confession?" I asked.

  She looked up at me, startled. "No," she said.

  "How do you feel?" I asked.

  "It is strange," she said. "I feel exalted, glorious. It is strange. It is as though I had come home to myself."

  "The only true liberation," I said, "is to become what one truly is."

  "Oh!" she cried.

  "Does a slave object to being treated as a slave?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "I regret only that I never admitted my slavery on Earth."

  "There would have been little point," I said. "There are few masters on Earth."

  "There is no dearth of masters on Gor," she said.

  "No," I smiled.

  She shuddered in my arms. "I admit to you that I belong in a collar," she whispered.

  "It is true," I said.

  "I long to be taught its meaning," she said.

  "You will be," I assured her.

  "Teach me my collar," she begged. "Make me the slave I long to be."

  "I shall," I said.

  "Linda is now ready to serve her master," she said. "Master," she said, "what is wrong?"

  I looked down at her, locked as a hot, leashed slave in my arms. "I shall have you under the name 'Beverly'," I said.

  "That was my name on Earth, long ago, when I was free," she said.

  "I put it on you now, for my use of you, as a slave name," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You were once of Earth, were you not?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Are you now of Earth?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "Of where are you now?" I asked.

  "Gor, Master," she said.

  "Once you were a free woman, were you not?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Are you now free?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "Please, Master!"

  "What are you now?" I asked.

  "I am now naught but a Gorean slave girl!" she wept. "Please, Master!"

  "What is your name," I asked.

  "Beverly," she said. "My name is 'Beverly'. That is the name which my master has seen fit to put upon me."

  "It is a pretty name," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Thank you, Master. Please, Master!"

  "You appear to be sexually aroused, Beverly," I said.

  "I am, Master," she said. "Please, please!"

  "Speak, Slave," I said.

  "Beverly begs to serve her master," she said.

  "You seem to be a well-aroused helpless little slut," I said.

  "Yes, Master!" she said. "Yes, Master!"

  No, she, the former Miss Henderson of Earth, was not different from the sluts of the paga taverns.

  She was as female, as vulnerable, as beside herself with passion, as they.

  This much pleased me—to have her so in my arms.

  It was hard to believe that this ready, eager, pleading slave was the former Miss Henderson.

  She could scarcely move in my arms, so held she was.

  She looked up at me. Her eyes were wide.

  "Master?" she asked.

  "You are now going to be had, and as the slave you are," I told her.

  "Yes, Master! Please, Master! Now, Master! Now, please, Master!"

  "I have waited a long time," I told her.

  "Please, Master," she wept. "Please! Please! Take me! Have me! Take me!"

  I then took her, and, almost instantly, in helpless spasms, sobbing, in joy, she cried out her slave's submission to me. "
I am now naught but a Gorean slave girl! I am now naught but a Gorean slave girl!" she cried. "And I am yours, my Master! I am yours! I am yours!"

  * * * *

  The girl who had held the leash of the girl whom I had just enjoyed, having now returned, removed her hand from the docile, supine slave's body. She tasted, and smelled, her fingers. "I see that you have earned your tarsk bit," she said.

  "Yes, Mistress," said the girl, happily.

  The girl who was the Coin Girl's leash holder then bent to untie the leash from the slave ring.

  "Please, Mistress," begged the girl whom I had just enjoyed, scrambling to her knees and putting her head to the feet of the other girl, "do not yet untie my leash!"

  "It is well past the nineteenth Ahn," said the girl who was apparently the new girl's slave supervisor and trainer.

  "But the pleasures of the master are not to be interfered with," said the kneeling slave. "That I was told in the house!" Then, on her knees, she turned and looked pleadingly at me.

  I took out another tarsk bit, and held it out. The girl came then near to me, and leaned forward, that I might, from my reclining position, be able to reach the coin box chained on her neck. I put in another tarsk bit. The kneeling girl then turned and looked, pleadingly, at the girl under whose orders she was.

  "Very well," said the girl who was standing, looking down upon the kneeling slave. "I shall wait up the street." Then she looked at me. "When you are through with her," she said, "send her to me."

  "Very well," I said.

  Beverly knelt happily beside me, and I lay back, on my back, on the tunic, on the stones of the street. I felt her small hands, lovingly, timidly, touching me about the shoulders and chest. "I did not know you could be like this," she said. "I have never seen you before like this."

  "A woman looks differently at a man when she is a slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she smiled. "What must you think of me?" she asked, ruefully.

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "How I behaved, how I acted," she said.

  "I do not understand," I said.

  "How can you respect me?" she asked.

  "I do not," I said.

  "You do not respect me?" she asked.

  "No," I said, "of course not, for you are a slave."

  "Yes, Master," she smiled. She kissed me, softly, on the right shoulder. Then she knelt back, on her heels, beside me. Her knees were spread, in the position of the pleasure slave. "You think little of slaves, don't you?" she asked.