Guardsman of Gor

by John Norman

"Yes," I said.

  "Then you must think little of me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Am I good?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I am glad," she said. "Master," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "What if I were not good?"

  "Then I would not have put another coin in your coin box," I said.

  "What if I were not good the first time, after you had put a coin in the coin box?" she asked.

  "Then I would have beaten you," I said.

  "Could you beat me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I told her.

  "Would you, truly, had you not been satisfied with me, have beaten me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I am pleased that you found me pleasing," she said.

  I smiled.

  "Too," she said, "you would have been entitled to a refund, though I myself could not have given it to you, for the coin box is locked. You could have obtained it, however, later from my master."

  "I know," I said.

  "But then, too, I would be again beaten," she said, "doubtless whipped."

  "Yes," I said. The satisfaction of Coin Girls, in its way, is guaranteed, or one can receive one's money back. It is not surprising, then, that the girls, under the conditions obtaining, strive to be pleasing.

  "I put a second coin, did I not, in your coin box?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Address yourself to my pleasures," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, and bent forward, over my body. I felt her sweet lips, and her small teeth and tongue, those of a slave, on my body. In a few moments I ordered her again to her back.

  * * * *

  She lay beside me.

  Then I pulled her by the neck chain closer to me. I thrust another coin into the small metal box on the chain. She kissed me. "Again, Master?" she asked. I took her by the arms and flung her beneath me. "Do you know the name of this street?" I asked.

  "The Street of the Writhing Slave," she said.

  "Writhe, Slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  * * * *

  It was an Ahn later.

  She lay beside me, pressing her softness against me, kissing at my arm, my shoulder and chest, softly, piteously. "Very well," I said.

  "Oh, yes, Master!" she breathed. "Yes, yes, Master!"

  I then put her beneath me, and looked down into her eyes. "Yes, Master," she said. "Yes, yes, yes, Master!"

  I was preparing to have her when suddenly I saw fear come into her eyes. "Oh, no, Master!" she cried. "No! No!"

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "The coin!" she cried, in misery, "the coin. You have not paid the coin!"

  I smiled.

  "I am a Coin Girl!" she cried, miserably. "I may not be had without the coin!"

  "Oh," I said.

  "Please," she begged. "Please pay the coin!"

  "Do you beg it?" I asked.

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

  "Very well," I said.

  I put another tiny coin in the coin box.

  "Thank you, Master," she breathed, lifting her lips to mine. "Now have me, have me, have me!"

  "Very well," I said.

  * * * *

  "It must be near dawn," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, softly, frightened.

  "We must think about having you returned to your master," I said.

  "Oh, please, Master, not yet," she begged. "Let me stay beside you for but a little more time."

  "Very well," I said, "for perhaps a moment more."

  "I never want to leave your side," she said. She clutched me.

  "Who owns you?" I asked.

  "I do not know," she said, "doubtless some renter of Coin Girls. I was apportioned to him in the division of the spoils taken from the holding of Policrates."

  "What does he look like?" I asked.

  "I do not know," she said. "I have never even seen him."

  "What manner of man is he?" I asked.

  "He is harsh and cruel, uncompromising and merciless," she said. "He keeps me well as a slave."

  "Do you fear him?" I asked.

  "I fear him terribly," she said. "I am his girl."

  "Perhaps he is not such a bad fellow," I said.

  "He keeps me chained in a basement, in the darkness," she said. "He throws me scraps of food for which I, on my chain, must search, or starve."

  "Perhaps he merely wishes you to learn that you are a slave," I said.

  "He has taught it to me well," she said.

  "He does not sound like such a bad fellow," I said. "If I owned you, I might treat you similarly, at least at first."

  "Until I had learned well to whom I belong?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And what if a girl is incapable of learning her lesson?" she asked.

  "She may always, then," I said, "be fed to sleen."

  "She will learn her lesson, and well," said the girl.

  "Of course," I said.

  "But he has never once summoned me to his couch, to abuse me, or caress me, or order me to serve his pleasures."

  "I see," I said.

  "If you owned me," she said, "you would have used me by now, would you not have?"

  "Yes," I said, "if I owned you, doubtless, by now, I would have put you, and well, to my pleasure."

  "Perhaps he does not find me attractive," she said. "Perhaps he has many women. Perhaps he does not even find me a curiosity to exploit."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  She then lay closely against me, her head at my hip, trembling.

  "I am afraid to be a slave," she whispered.

  "As well you might be," I said.

  "I can be bought or sold, or given away," she said. "I may even be slain, on the least whim of a master."

  "Yes," I said.

  "Master," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Masters do not respect their slaves, do they?" she asked.

  "Of course not," I said.

  "But might they not, sometimes, feel other emotions toward them?" she asked. Her voice was very soft, and frightened. I gathered that she feared she might be struck.

  "Yes," I said.

  "What emotions?" she asked, timidly, beggingly.

  "Irritation," I said, "desire, lust."

  "But is there no other emotion that a master might, sometimes, feel towards his slave?" she asked.

  "What emotion did you have in mind?" I asked.

  "Please, Master," she sobbed, "do not make me speak!"

  "Very well," I said.

  I felt her tears, and hair, at my hip. Doubtless it is hard, I thought, to be a slave girl. One is so helpless.

  "It is light now," I said.

  "I hear a bell," she whispered.

  "It is not the bell of a Coin Girl," I said. "It is the bell of a vendor of bosk milk. He is making his rounds, coming up the street."

  "Do not send me from your side," she said.

  "Would you be seen here," I asked, "as a naked slave, leashed, lying upon the street?"

  "Slaves have no pride," she said.

  "On your knees," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said, getting to her knees. I stood up, and looked down upon her, kneeling on the stones, in the gray light of the Gorean dawn.

  "Use me but once more," she begged, "before you send me away."

  I looked down at her.

  "Shorten my leash," she said. "Tie my hands before my body. Fasten me closely at the slave ring."

  "The vendor of bosk milk approaches," I said.

  "I care not," she said. "Take me before him."

  I pulled her back by the leather collar, and leash, not gently, to the slave ring. There I untied the leash and then retied it, considerably shortening it. She knelt there, then, against the wall. The tether, from the heavy metal ring to the stout ring at the back of her collar, taut, holding her head up, was about eighteen inches in length. S
he held out her hands to me, wrists crossed. With the free end of the leash I bound them together, tightly, before her body.

  I looked down at her. "You are now tied, or muchly so," I said, "as was the girl on the walk, outside the shop of Philebus, in Ar."

  "Yes, Master," she said, happily.

  "I had brought her a drink of water," I said. "I had set the price for this favor as my having of her." This had occurred long ago, when I had been a silk slave, owned by the Lady Florence of Vonda. I had, myself, later captured my mistress, and sold her into slavery. She belonged now to Miles of Vonda, who had helped us in our work with the pirates, part of the spoils, as many other slave girls, taken from the holding of Policrates. My former mistress was now naught but the obedient and joyful love slave of the proud Vondan.

  "You were a beast, of course, my Master," she said.

  "Yes," I said.

  I looked down upon her, she who had once been Miss Beverly Henderson, of New York City. She looked well, naked and bound, tethered at the slave ring.

  "You accused me of raping her," I said. "You were furious."

  The palanquin of Oneander, a salt and leather merchant of Ar, had been passing. To the rear of the palanquin, in a double coffle of briefly tunicked beauties, display slaves, their hands braceleted behind their backs, had been the girl who now knelt before me. Then the palanquin had stopped, as Oneander had chosen to pass the time of day with another fellow, he, too, in a palanquin, with display slaves. When I had withdrawn from the girl at the ring I had seen her, she who had once been Miss Henderson, among the display slaves. It had been the first time that I had seen her as a slave. I had never forgotten that first glimpse of her as a slave. It had been one of the most exciting moments of my life.

  "Yes," she said, "I was furious."

  "I was only making her pay for the drink of water," I said.

  "But making her pay as a slave," she said.

  "Of course," I said. "She was a slave." "As you are," I added.

  "Do you know why I was furious?" she asked.

  "You felt pity and indignation seeing the abuse of one of your sisters in bondage?" I asked.

  "No," she said, "I was furious because it was she, and not I, whom you forced, with such casual audacity, to serve your pleasure at the ring."

  I smiled.

  "I wanted to be at the ring, not she," she said.

  "I see," I said.

  "I am now at such a ring, before you," she said.

  "And well tethered there," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "That girl," I said, "was not, truly, raped at the ring. She was only paying for a drink of water." I looked down at her. "It is you, rather," I said, "who will be raped at the ring."

  "Yes, my Master!" she said.

  I crouched down before her. I heard the bell from nearby, that of the vendor of bosk milk. "The vendor of bosk milk approaches," I said to her.

  "Take me, take me!" she begged.

  "Are you shameless?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "I am a slave. Take me!"

  I looked at her. She regarded me wildly. Then I placed the tiny coin, a tarsk bit, into the coin box on her neck chain. Then, straining against the leash and collar, she tried to press herself forward, against me. I took her by the ankles, her right ankle in my left hand, and her left ankle in my right hand, and pulled her to a sitting position. I then drew her toward me, and then thrust her bound hands up and over her head. I then threw apart her ankles. "Yes, Master!" she cried. I heard the bell, and the creak of the narrow, wooden wheels of the cart of the vendor of bosk milk, nearby. Then, rather behind us, and to my right, it stopped. "Yes, Master, yes, Master," the girl was sobbing. When I had finished with her I stood up. She lay there at my feet, on the stones, on her side, breathing deeply. She turned to look at the vendor of bosk milk, and then again lay on her side, the right side of her head on the stones, her eyes, half glazed, regarding the surface of the street.

  "She is a hot one," said the vendor of bosk milk.

  "Yes," I said.

  He then, ringing his bell, leaning into the traces, attached to two wooden handles, drawing his two-wheeled cart behind him, proceeded up the street.

  "How you had me!" said the girl. "Surely there is nothing left in you of the weakling of Earth."

  I untied her hands, and untied the leash from the ring. "Do not disparage the men of Earth," I said. "Some, perhaps one day, wearied of their suppression, may assume their manhood."

  "It is against the law," she said.

  I shrugged. "Antibiological legislation may be repealed," I said. "Political forms may be replaced."

  "The men of Earth are lost to manhood," she said.

  "Perhaps," I said. "I do not know."

  "It would require a revolution," she said.

  "Perhaps," I said. "I do not know." Then I said, sharply, "Kneel."

  Swiftly she knelt.

  "In the position of the pleasure slave," I said.

  She then knelt before me in the position of the pleasure slave, back on her heels, her knees widely spread, her back straight, her hands on her thighs, her head up. A woman is very beautiful in this position, proud, exciting, submitted, displayed.

  "No such revolution is required on Gor, Master," she said.

  "No," I said.

  I then turned the collar, slowly, carefully, on her neck, for it was high, thick and close-fitting. The stout collar ring was then in front of her throat, with its long, dependent leash. I looped the leash. She eyed the loops warily. Such loops serve quite well as a set of lashing surfaces.

  "Have you ever kissed the whip?" I asked her.

  "Other than in training and in the hands of an auctioneer, when I was being sold?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  She looked down.

  "Well?" I asked.

  "I was once given for the night in the holding of Policrates to he whom we, at that time, thought to be the courier of Ragnar Voskjard," she whispered.

  "Yes?" I said.

  "He put his whip to my lips."

  "And you kissed it?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Doubtless with great reluctance," I said.

  "No, Master," she said. "I did so gratefully, joyfully."

  "How can that be?" I asked.

  "It is perhaps hard for Master to understand," she said. "Master is not a woman, and a slave."

  "Speak," I said.

  "Many things are involved," she said, "and sometimes some things and not others."

  "Speak," I said.

  "The slave in woman responds to the master in man," she said. "In kissing the whip, she acknowledges her bondage and her master. She requires and thrills to his domination, and the whip impresses this upon her. The kissing of the whip is a lovely symbol of her submission. Too, that she is given the whip to kiss informs her that she is not to be immediately slain, and has interest to him as a slave. She is to be permitted to live, though it be on his sufferance. Too, it is a great honor to a slave to be permitted to kiss the master's whip, as it is to be permitted to kneel before him and be his slave. How unworthy is a woman to be the slave of a true man! She is grateful to be in the collar of a true man. Better that than in the jewels of a weakling. Too, she knows that the whip may be used upon her, if she is not pleasing. Indeed, if she loves the master, she may upon occasion wish to feel his whip, the lash of it, for this impresses his ownership of her upon her as little else. It reassures her, too, of her importance to him, and his seeing of her as a slave, which is important to her. It is a way, too, on his part, to remind her that she is a slave, and his. And, of course, if she has failed in some way, or has not been fully pleasing, this is an excellent way to improve her behavior. Few women will be displeasing who know that the master is strong and the lash is in the offing. A master's frown or casual glance at the whip, on its peg, is usually far more than is necessary to rectify any shortcomings in a girl's service. She knows that a failure to be fully pleasing is not likel
y to be one without consequences. Far more fearful it is to be ignored or neglected, for then one fears one may have lost his love. But many things are involved. Little is simple in the relation of master and slave, other perhaps than that she is slave and he is master."

  "Look up, Slave," I ordered her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "This fellow in the holding of Policrates," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Did you yield to him?"

  "Do not make me answer such a question, not to you, please," she pleaded.

  "Look into my eyes," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said, in misery.

  "Speak," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "I yielded to him."

  "Fully," I asked, "and as the degraded slave you are?"

  "Yes, Master," she said. "I yielded to him fully, and as the degraded slave I am."

  "Did you yield to him more fully, or as more of a slave, than you did to me?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said, tears in her eyes. "You two are the mightiest of the masters who have used me."

  "I see," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "What does he look like?" I asked.

  "I do not know, Master," she said. "In the feasting hall of Policrates he wore a mask. Later, in the chambers, when he used me, I was blindfolded."

  "I see," I said.

  "It was he who first taught me, fully, what it was to be a female slave," she said.

  "Are you grateful to him?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Kiss the whip," I said.

  She took the coils of the leash in her small hands and, putting down her head, covered them with kisses. She then lifted her eyes to me, in which there were tears. "Now, too, my Master," she said, "I have kissed your whip."

  "Perhaps someday you may come again into his possession," I said.

  "No, Master," she said, "doubtless he has high and beautiful Gorean girls to serve him. I am only a miserable Earth-girl slave. Doubtless he has already forgotten about me. I was only a novelty, and a pleasure, for a night to him."

  "I see," I said.

  "He made me a spasmodic and submitted slave, and then abandoned me."

  "You have not yet seen your master, you have told me," I said. "Perhaps, unbeknownst to you, it is that very fellow who owns you."

  "No, Master," she smiled, ruefully. "I know such a man. By now he would have used me, richly and fully. Muchly, by now, would I have had to crawl to him and serve him."