Guardsman of Gor

by John Norman

  I walked about the slave, and then stood before her, she still on all fours. She had not been given permission to break position.

  She looked up at me.

  I regarded her, appraisingly.

  "Please do not sell me, Master," she whispered.

  "You are a pretty little thing," I said.

  "Please do not sell me, Master," she said.

  I walked behind her.

  She could not then see me.

  She was apprehensive.

  "What do you think you are worth?" I asked.

  "Worth?"

  "In coin, of course," I said.

  She shuddered.

  "Are you going to sell me, Master?" she asked.

  "I will, if I wish," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "What do you think I could get for you?" I asked.

  The free woman regards herself as priceless. The slave girl, on the other hand, knows that she has a particular value, what men will pay for her. In a sense then the free woman, being priceless, is worthless, but the slave girl has a worth, what she will bring on the slave block. There are few free women who have not speculated on what men might pay for them.

  Even the free woman of Earth, in her tragic loneliness and misery, in her pathetic frustration, unfulfilled, and unmastered, weary of the pretenses of pseudomasculinity, may stand naked before a mirror, in her bedroom or apartment, and wonder on the existence of other worlds, and what it might be to be a woman upon them, and be sold as such. Perhaps she is shy, virginal and unmated; she senses the boys she knows are callow and cannot satisfy her; only in her dreams has she awakened to the casual, possessive hands of a master upon her, who will see to it, she knows, that she will, willing or not, well slake his lusts; or perhaps she is older, and has had affairs with disappointing men, unsatisfying weaklings and complaisant fools, who are not really much interested in her, and her needs, and see her, if at all, only in terms of socially engineered generalities; she can only speculate what it might be to meet someone quite different, a man unlike any she has ever known, a powerful, dominating male, a man as if from another time, or world, a master, and to be overwhelmed by this man, and, as a matter of course, as it is his way, enslaved, thence to be his, to the very collar; perhaps she is trapped rather in a gray, depressing, loveless marriage, sans romance, sans meaning, and wonders how life has passed her by. How different might be life in another world, she thinks, or in her own world, were things different. Is there no one anywhere to care for her, or fulfill her, or love her? What would it be to be owned, to be subject to a master? What might she bring, that fascinating, stripped creature in the mirror, were her life to begin again, were she to be sold, were she to be taken by some interested fellow, for what he was willing to pay, as something he wants, really wants, off the slave block? She turns away, in tears.

  Or perhaps she is haughty and vain, an affluent, prized darling of Earth, au courant with the latest fashions, familiar with magazines and shops, an exemplar of, and fulfiller of, prescribed stereotypes, seeming to be something out of a lavish advertisement, or commercial, and regards herself with undisguised approval in the mirror. How marvelous she is, she thinks. How men would desire her! How they would want to get their hands on her! How they would compete for her! How the bidding would rage for her! She thinks she would bring a very good price. Well, perhaps she would. On the other hand, it is hard to tell, for Goreans tend to favor the natural female. She might end up as a kettle-and-mat girl or a mere serving slave for women her arid, linear, mechanistic culture has led her to believe are less attractive than she. In any event, on Gor, in one way or another, she would be on a chain. To be sure, men differ considerably in their interests in women, and it is a near certainty that she will appeal to one fellow or another. If this was not true, then, as a simple matter of economics, it is highly unlikely that she would have been brought to Gor.

  To be sure, slavers are human, and they doubtless, sometimes, bring a woman to Gor for their personal gratification. Those slavers who are natively Gorean expect arrogance and insolence from Gorean free women, who, after all, are free, but they do not find it acceptable in Earth women, whom they regard for the most part as uncollared slave stock. Accordingly I would recommend to Earth women that they be wary of their behavior in the presence of strangers, particularly those who seem watchful, quietly respectful, and gentlemanly virile. They may not be of Earth. Save then, dear ladies, your cleverness and assertiveness, your rudenesses and malicious wit, your threats and coldnesses, for the lame, intimidated men of Earth, who are trained to submit to such abuse with accommodating docility. I suspect that more than one young lady who mistook the nature of her interlocutor has found herself on Gor, chained to a wall. Few things, as is well known, improve an insolent woman as quickly as a collar, nudity, and a whip.

  To be sure, if one wants the collar one may behave accordingly. But I do not think one would be well advised to act precipitately. Surely the matter is worth careful thought. Do you really want a collar? Think carefully. Gorean slavery, like others, is a true slavery. If it is done to you, it is not as if you could change your mind. You would then be owned. You would then be truly a slave. It would have been done to you. You are then merchandise. You are then an animal. You must expect to be marketed, to be bought and sold, and mastered, perfectly, completely. You would be subject, at a master's discretion to the various accouterments of bondage. You might be chained. You might be whipped. You might be bound with ropes. You might wear cuffs. You might be led about, publicly, on a leash. You will learn to kiss, and kneel, and serve. Even your clothing, and whether or not you are permitted any, is at his discretion. Too, you must please him, in all ways. I wonder if you understand that. I hope so. So fear the collar, woman. It is on you. You cannot remove it. Yet it has its fascination, and its rewards, that is true. Else it would be incomprehensible why women long for masters. Doubtless sexual selections, genetic coding, female needs, the long, sweet, mysterious, dark currents of evolution, figure into these subtle and arcane matters. Thongs and caves whisper in the blood of women. What woman does not wish to be claimed by the mighty, by the bold and strong, by the master?

  The fashion plate, so to speak, of course, may be astonished that she does not sell for as much as many other women, but the fellow who buys her thinks of this as an obvious advantage. He gets something he likes for less money.

  And in the end she will be a slave, as much as any other. That has been clear, from her first appearance on a want list.

  She has been very special on Earth; she is nothing special on Gor. She must do her best, now little different from thousands of others, many regarded as more beautiful than she, to make herself something special to a master, lest she prove less than fully pleasing, and be fed to sleen. On Earth men sought to please her; on Gor she seeks to please men.

  And so free women, of whatever sort, might speculate on these matters.

  The slave girl, on the other hand, knows what prices she has brought, what has been paid for her.

  "I am sorry, Master," she said. "I do not know my current market value."

  I, too, did not know her current market value. Such things can shift from day to day. They are subject to considerable variance, being functions of many factors, such as the girl herself, her intelligence, and training and beauty, the money in the economy, the conditions of supply and demand, and even the market in which she is sold and the time of year that she is put upon the block. A girl who is sold in a prestige market and, in the afternoon before her sale, placed with other lovely inmates within the chromed, ornate bars of an exhibition cage, has moved and posed upon the instructions of prospective bidders, is almost certain to bring a higher price than another girl, who by the hair, is pulled from a crowded, wooden, bolted cage and thrown upon a sales platform, or who, say, is sold from one of the cement, public viewing shelves of a common street market. Too, generally girls bring higher prices in the spring. I have little doubt that there is some
intensification of the slaving done on Earth at a certain time of year, that the captured girls may be brought to the spring markets. Many Earth-girl slaves, on Gor, comparing notes, discover that they were sold in the spring. The more intelligent among them realize that this is not likely to have been a coincidence. They then have a deeper and more active appreciation of the intelligence, methodicality and organization of the men who saw fit to bring them to Gor.

  "The market is flooded now," I said, "with slaves." This was a consequence of the altercations upon the river, recently concluded. There was no question, of course, of those girls being freed. This was Gor. They would simply change hands, as might kaiila or tharlarion.

  "Perhaps then Master should hold me for a time," said the lovely, sweetly-bodied, stripped brunette.

  "Are you insolent?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said, quickly. "Forgive me, Master."

  Suddenly, angrily, I lashed her with the whip. She shuddered, struck.

  "Do you think you are clever?" I asked.

  "No, Master!" she said.

  Again I struck her. She cried out in misery, a whipped slave.

  "Do you like that?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said, "but I love it that you can do it to me, and will, if I am not pleasing to you."

  "Do you beg forgiveness?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. "I beg forgiveness, Master!"

  "Perhaps you will attempt to be more pleasing in the future," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "I will try to be more pleasing."

  "I wonder what I ever saw in you," I said.

  "It is my hope that you will see it again, Master," she said, "though it is now in a collar."

  I walked around, before her. "Worthless little trollop," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Are you conquered?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "I am conquered."

  "Totally?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said, "totally."

  "Can a man respect such a conquered woman?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said. "But perhaps I might have the interest of the conquered slave for him."

  I crouched down before her. She was still on all fours.

  "You are a poor slave," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Yet," I said, lifting her chin with the whip, "you are pretty."

  "In a trivial and servile way," she smiled.

  "Yes," I said. "And, too," I said, "you have good slave reflexes."

  "Which you have not seen fit to exploit, my Master," she whispered.

  "I wonder if I should sell you," I said.

  "Please do not sell me, Master," she said.

  "I will if it pleases me," I said.

  "Of course, my Master," she said.

  I lowered the whip, and, crouching before her, continued to regard her.

  "Is Master truly thinking of selling me?" she asked.

  "Yes," I said. She had displeased me this evening. Too, I thought I saw her this evening more objectively than ever before I had seen her. I saw her now as little more than a pretty triviality.

  "I would bring so low a price," she whispered, "that perhaps Master might keep me."

  I stood up, whip in hand. I looked down upon her, on all fours before me. There was something in what she said. She would probably not bring a high price. Perhaps she might as well be kept, at least for the time. There did not seem much point, at least at the moment, in sending her to a market.

  Too, as suggested, given recent developments, this was not really a good time to do so. This was a better time for buying than selling. The slave chains of Victoria, and some of the other river cities, were now heavy with luscious girl fruit. The "slavers' necklaces" had seldom been so bejeweled. It might well take months for the market to readjust to a condition of normality.

  Too, of course, she was pretty, if only in a trivial, servile way. Too, she had good slave reflexes. Surely I could find uses for her around the house.

  "Master?" she asked.

  I walked around, behind her.

  "Master?" she asked, frightened. She knew she might now be unexpectedly lashed.

  "I shall keep you, at least for the time," I said, "to see if you work out."

  "I shall endeavor to work out, Master," she cried, joyfully.

  I was silent.

  "Am I to be kept in full slavery?" she asked, not daring to look around.

  "Perhaps you should be again lashed," I said.

  "Please, no, Master!"

  "Your question is stupid," I said.

  "Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master!"

  "The answer to it is, of course, yes," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "In what full slavery, or slaveries, will Master place me?" she asked.

  It was true that there were different sorts. But each, in its way, was categorical and uncompromising.

  I looked at her position. "Perhaps in the slavery of the she-quadruped," I said.

  "Master may do so, if he wishes," she said, "if it pleases him, or amuses him."

  In this form of slavery, which is commonly used for disciplinary purposes, or for the amusement of the master, the woman is not permitted to rise from all fours; similarly she is not permitted human speech, though she may signify needs and desires by such means as cringing, and moaning and whimpering. Not permitted the use of her hands, save as a means of locomotion, she must also eat and drink from pans set on the floor, or, sometimes, to satisfy her thirst, she must lap the water permitted to her from puddles or lick spillages from the tiles; too, it is not uncommon to chain her near her master's feet, while he dines, that he may, if he wishes, throw her scraps of food. She will also be taught tricks, through which paces she may be put for the entertainment of her master's guests, such things as begging, lying down, rolling over, and fetching his sandals in her teeth. And, needless to say, when her master wishes to use her sexually, it will be in a position common to the she-quadruped.

  This form of slavery, incidentally, is often imposed on captured Ubaras. After a time, it is not unusual for the Ubara, on her belly before her master, given an Ehn in which to speak, to beg, in lieu of the slavery of the she-quadruped, that she be taught the salacious arts and lascivious dances of the female slave, that she may then be less a mere amusement for her master than a feast of slave pleasure for him. Her plea is usually granted. Such women tend to become superb slaves. They know, of course, that they may be, at any moment the master pleases, returned to the slavery of the she-quadruped.

  I walked around, before the girl. "You may kneel," I said.

  "Thank you, Master," she cried, joyfully. She was not then, at least, to be put into the slavery of the she-quadruped. She looked up at me. "I love you. I love you, my Master," she said.

  "Kiss the whip," I told her.

  "Yes, Master!" she said. She kissed it, fervently, again and again. The former Miss Henderson, of Earth, kneeling naked before me, now knowingly my collared slave, kissed my whip.

  She looked up at me, happily.

  "Do you think that you are much of a slave?" I asked.

  "No, Master," she said.

  "You need a bath," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Your body smells," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "It stinks," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master." To be sure, her pretty little body stank. This was little wonder, considering what her experiences had been, and the beatings I had put her through. Too, it was covered with dirt and sweat, much of the dirt in small, fine rolls on the fairly complexioned, exposed flesh.

  There were tears in her eyes.

  "Master," she said.