Guardsman of Gor

by John Norman

  "The citadels of Policrates and Ragnar Voskjard have been burned, I heard," I said.

  "Yes," said Tasdron. The citadel of Ragnar Voskjard had been fled by its defenders, after the news of the battle at Victoria reached them, they knowing themselves too few to defend it against a concerted siege.

  "They might have been useful as bastions for the Vosk League," I said.

  "The Vosk League," smiled Tasdron, "is a simple league, whose intent it is merely to control piracy on the river."

  "That was the original intent, too, as I understand it," I said, "of the league on the Olni, which became the Salerian Confederation."

  "We did not want trouble with Cos and Ar," said Tasdron.

  "Not while we are weak," said Glyco.

  "I see," I said.

  "Not only have they been burned," said Tasdron, "but they will be dismantled. We have taken proposals on this work from stone merchants."

  "And salt will be cast upon the ashes," said Glyco.

  "Salt," I said, "can be a sign of life, and luck."

  "True," smiled Tasdron.

  "The headquarters of the Vosk League, as I understand it," I said, "is to be located in Victoria."

  "Yes," smiled Tasdron. "The choice seemed judicious."

  "Victoria was centrally involved in the resistance to the pirates," said Aemilianus.

  "And it was here that the decisive victory was won," said Calliodorus.

  "And in this fashion," grinned Aemilianus, "the headquarters of the league is not in Port Cos."

  "And, similarly," smiled Calliodorus, "it is not at Ar's Station."

  There was laughter at the table.

  The two slaves, their chains removed, now returned, and began to serve the black wine. The voluptuous slave of Aemilianus, whom he had not yet named, placed the tiny silver cups, on small stands, before us. The lovely little slave in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, holding the narrow-spouted, silver pouring vessel in a heavy cloth, to retain its heat and protect her hands, poured the scalding, steaming black fluid, in narrow, tiny streams, into the small cups. She poured into the cups only the amount that would be compatible with the assorted sugars and creams which the guest might desire, if any, these being added in, and stirred, if, and as, pertinent, by Aemilianus' slave, who directed the serving.

  "Have the pirates been disposed of, suitably?" I asked Tasdron.

  "Yes," said Tasdron. "We divided them among various wholesalers, with the understanding that no more than one of them will be sold in any given market, in any given city or town, or village or fair. Thus they will be well scattered, and distributed, over all known Gor."

  "I see," I said. Policrates, Kliomenes and Callisthenes, and such men, branded and collared, would soon be owned slaves, laboring for masters. There are many uses for such slaves. They can be purchased for work chains, to be rented out by their masters, sometimes marched between cities, depending on the seasons and the work available. They can serve, too, in such places as the mines, the quarries and great farms.

  "Master?" asked the girl in yellow gauze, who had been Shirley and now belonged, for the moment nameless, to my friend Aemilianus, of Ar's Station.

  "Second slave," I told her, which, among the river towns, and in certain cities, particularly in the north, is a way of indicating that I would take the black wine without creams or sugars, and as it came from the pouring vessel, which, of course, in these areas, is handled by the "second slave," the first slave being the girl who puts down the cups, takes the orders and sees that the beverage is prepared according to the preferences of the one who is being served.

  "Second slave," said the slave of Aemilianus.

  "Yes, Mistress," said the girl in bluish gauze. She was extremely careful not to spill a drop. Black wine, except in the vicinity of Thentis, where most of it is grown on the slopes of the Thentis range, is quite expensive. Also, of course, clumsy slave girls are often whipped. The expression "second slave," incidentally, serves to indicate that one does not wish creams or sugars with one's black wine, even if only one girl is serving.

  "Where is Krondar?" I asked Miles of Vonda.

  "On his way to Ar," said Miles.

  "To Ar?" I asked.

  "He fought well with us," said Miles. "I freed him."

  "Excellent," I said, "he is a splendid fellow."

  "And I gave him portions of my share of the spoils, from the holding of Policrates."

  "Excellent," I said.

  "Do you remember that luscious little brunette, Bikkie, from the holding?"

  "Of course," I said. "She was allotted to you, with Florence, in the division of the spoils."

  "I gave her to Krondar," said Miles.

  "Superb," I said. "He will make her writhe well."

  "That is certain!" laughed Miles.

  "How you men speak of us!" protested Florence.

  "Be silent, Slave," said Miles.

  "Yes, Master," she said, putting her head down, shyly. I smiled. Obviously she, too, was not averse to being made to writhe by her master.

  I saw the two slaves returning now to the kitchen.

  "Why is Krondar going to Ar?" I asked.

  "He intends to purchase fighting slaves," said Miles, "and then free them, and organize matches among free men. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

  "There are perhaps places where such things are done," I said.

  "Free men fight with weapons," said Miles. "They are not animals."

  "Warriors are trained in unarmed combat," I said.

  "But only as a last resort, only for emergencies," said Miles.

  I shrugged. There were surely those at the table who knew more of such things than I.

  "It is difficult to kill a man with your bare hands," said Miles.

  "There are several ways in which it may be done, easily," said Callimachus.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Yes," said Calliodorus.

  "Yes," agreed Aemilianus.

  "Oh," said Miles of Vonda.

  "Are you enjoying your supper?" I asked Calliodorus, who had been rather subdued most of the evening.

  "Yes," he said. "It is very nice."

  "I see that you have brought no slave with you," I said.

  "No," he said.

  Calliodorus, as we knew, had once wooed a maid in Port Cos. The companionship, however, had never materialized. The maid, it seems, before the ceremony, had fled the city.

  "You should have a slave," I said. "They are marvelous in contenting a man."

  "There is only one woman," he said, "on whose lovely throat I ever wanted to lock a slave collar."

  I lifted the tiny silver cup to my lips and took a drop of the black wine. Its strength and bitterness are such that it is normally drunk in such a manner, usually only a drop or a few drops at a time. Commonly, too, it is mollified with creams and sugars. I drank it without creams and sugars, perhaps, for I had been accustomed, on Earth, to drinking coffee in such a manner, and the black wine of Gor is clearly coffee, or closely akin to coffee. Considering its bitterness, however, if I had not been drinking such a tiny amount, and so slowly, scarcely wetting my lips, I, too, would surely have had recourse to the tasty, gentling additives with which it is almost invariably served.

  "Master, may I have that pastry?" asked Florence, indicating the one she desired.

  "No," he said.

  She knelt back.

  But I noticed that, in a moment, he had given it to her, and she knelt back on her heels, her knees closely together, holding it with two hands, eating it.

  I smiled. When they were alone, I wagered, her knees would not be in such demure proximity. When alone, I had little doubt she would kneel with her knees widely, appropriately, spread before him, thus baring to him the invitation of her soft thighs, and thus proclaiming before him, as is clear in the position, the availability, and vulnerability, of her owned intimacies. This is not unusual. It is thus that pleasure slaves are accustomed to kneel before their masters.

&n
bsp; I watched Aemilianus' slave emerging from the kitchen. I listened to the unobtrusive music of the musicians, who were sitting on a rug a few feet in front of, and to the left of, the table. I took another sip of the black wine.

  The voluptuous blond slave began to lower certain of the lamps.

  "What are you doing?" I asked her.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said. She then hurried again to the kitchen. As she had done this work the light in the room was romantically softened, but an area, soft as well, of greater illumination had been left before the table. When she had left the room, the musicians, too, had stopped playing. This seemed interesting.

  "What is going on?" asked Miles of Vonda.

  "I do not know," I said.

  "Is it an entertainment?" asked Glyco.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  The blond slave of Aemilianus then re-entered the room. She placed a large, folded square of sparkling white linen at the bottom of the table. She then lit a wide, large, low candle and placed this candle, on a plate, on the soft, wide square of folded linen. She then withdrew to the side.

  I looked at the white linen, and the candle, in the half darkness.

  I was startled.

  What memories this stirred in me!

  The musicians then began to play, softly. The girl emerged from the kitchen.

  There were sounds of pleasure, and surprise, from those about the table.

  "She is beautiful," said Tasdron.

  "What manner of garments are those?" asked Glyco.

  The dark-haired girl, exquisite and lovely, stood in the light, on the tiles, back from the foot of the table, that we might well see her. Her hair was drawn severely back on her head. She wore what seemed to be a svelte, satin, off-the-shoulder, white-sheath gown. Twisted about her feet, over and under, were golden straps.

  "I do not understand this," said Miles of Vonda. "Is this meaningful?"

  I was almost overwhelmed. "It is very meaningful to me," I said. "Permit me, my friends, to explain. First, Glyco, in answer to your question, the garments she wears are much like, and are meant to suggest, the garments which a free woman may wear on Earth."

  "But they are slave garments," said Glyco. "See! The arms and the shoulders are bare!"

  "Nonetheless," I said, "on Earth free women may wear such garments."

  The girl then turned gracefully before us, displaying the garments. I saw that her hair, severely drawn back on her head, was fastened behind the back of her head in a bun. I had known it would be. I had not forgotten.

  "They are slave garments," said Glyco.

  "True," I said, "but to understand what she is doing, you must understand that such garments, on Earth, are understood to be exquisite and lovely free-woman's garments."

  "Very well," said Glyco.

  "Too," I said, "they are, in this case, meant to remind me of, and resemble, the garments which she once wore, as a free woman, to a meeting with me. That is important."

  "I understand," said Glyco.

  "They would also be the garments in which, for the first time, to my knowledge, she had ever dared to explicitly express her femininity."

  "Do the women on Earth not dare to express their femininity?" asked Glyco.

  "Many fear to do so," I said.

  "What of the men of Earth?" asked Glyco.

  "Many of them encourage the women to pretend to be pseudo-men," I said.

  "What sort of men are they?" asked Glyco.

  "I do not know," I said.

  "Observe the hair," I said.

  "It seems severe, tight, rigid, constricted, constrained," said Glyco.

  "That is part of the costume, so to speak," I said, "of many male-imitating women. The straight lines and severity are supposed to suggest, I gather, efficiency and masculinity."

  "Interesting," said Glyco. "It is incongruous, of course, with the garment, which seems rather feminine."

  "Such incongruities," I said, "are not uncharacteristic of many Earth women. They can indicate ambiguities in self-images and confusions, in particular, as to their sexuality. There might, of course, I suppose, be many other reasons for them. For example, in some cases, they may represent that a transition is in progress toward femininity."

  "The cloth on the table and the candle," said Miles of Vonda, "are supposed to suggest to you the place of this meeting of which you spoke."

  "Yes," I said. "It was a place where food was served, and where one might engage in pleasant conversation."

  "A tavern?" asked Tasdron.

  "Not exactly," I said. There is no precise Gorean expression for a restaurant. "There were no paga slaves there, and no dancers."

  "Why would one go to such a place?" asked Miles of Vonda.

  "She went there that she might engage in delicate and intimate discourse with me," I said.

  "That she might offer herself to you as your slave?" asked Glyco.

  "If so," I said, "that was not clearly understood at the time."

  "She appears then now before us," said Glyco, "much as she appeared then before you?"

  "Yes," I said, "though there are, of course, differences. For example, at that time, her throat was bare." The girl now wore a light white scarf twisted about her throat, the ends over her left shoulder. "Too," I said, "at that time she carried a small silver-beaded pouch."

  "I see," said Glyco.

  The girl did not now, of course, carry a purse. Slave girls are not permitted to carry such things. When shopping she carries the coins usually in her mouth or hand. Sometimes she ties them in a scarf about a wrist or ankle. Sometimes her master places them in a bag, which is then tied about her neck. Gorean garments, generally, incidentally, except for the garments of craftsmen, do not have pockets. Coins, and personal items, and such, are usually, by free persons, carried in pouches, which are usually concealed within the robes of a free woman, or slung about the waist, or shoulder, of a free man.

  The girl, then, to the music, moved gracefully, turning, her hands held out, about the table, displaying herself and her garments for us. She then returned to her place on the tiles, at the foot of the table.

  I regarded her. How beautiful she was! She looked at me. Then, gracefully and decisively, to the music, she unbound her hair.

  There was applause for this at the table, the gentle striking of left shoulders, for she had done it well, and the significance of a woman's unbinding her hair before a man is well understood on Gor.

  "You see now," I said, "how beautiful can be a woman of Earth."

  "We know that from our slave markets," laughed Glyco.

  She then, reaching to the left side, beneath her arm, of what seemed to be a white sheath gown, undid a fastening, and then others, at the side of her body, her waist, her thigh, and knee, and then, gracefully, the Gorean music unobtrusive but melodious in the background, removed the garment. I saw then that a rectangle of white cloth, cleverly tucked and sewn, had been used to simulate the off-the-shoulder, white sheath gown on Earth. Such an actual gown, of course, had not been available to her on Gor.

  There was gentle, appreciative applause.

  She now stood before us in what seemed to be a brief, silken, off-the-shoulder slip.

  "Now that is a slave's garment, obviously," said Glyco.

  "True," I admitted. But I smiled to myself, for I knew that such garments, on Earth, might be worn by free women. To be sure, on Earth, they were usually worn as undergarments, whereas, on Gor, such a garment, silken and smooth, with nothing beneath it, would be regarded as quite acceptable for a slave's street wear, particularly in warm weather. To be sure, of course, the color of the garment, on Gor, would not be likely to be white, but, commonly, red or yellow. White, on Gor, is a color commonly associated with virginity. It is, accordingly, worn by few slaves.

  The girl then sat on the tiles before us, but back a bit, where we, sitting cross-legged at the low table, could well see her. She extended her right leg, gracefully. It was flexed and, as her foot was placed fully u
pon the floor, her toes were pointed. These two things, respectively, curved her calf deliciously and extended the line of her beauty. Her left leg was back, its ankle beneath her right thigh. She looked at me, and then, bending forward, removed the golden straps wound about and under her right foot. In the restaurant she had worn golden pumps, with wisps of golden straps. She looked at me. Well did she, and the others, know the significance of removing footwear before a free man. She cast aside the straps she had taken from her right foot. Then, putting her hands back, swiftly and smoothly, beautifully, to the music, without rising, she changed her position on the tiles. Her left thigh now faced me. Her left leg was now gracefully extended, flexed and toes pointed. Her left thigh, and calf, and ankle and foot were marvelous. Her right foot, as her left previously had been, was back, the right ankle now beneath her right thigh. She then removed the golden straps from her left foot, and cast them aside. She looked at me. She had bared her feet before a free man. The golden straps she had used to simulate the footwear which she had worn on Earth were golden binding straps. They were the nearest thing she could find, within her limited resources, I gathered, to what she had worn in the restaurant. I did not object. They resembled somewhat, and well suggested, that footwear. Such straps, incidentally, are commonly used to bind the hands and feet of women. Sometimes, if it amused me, I could tie her in them.

  I have mentioned the baring of the feet before a free man. As the reader may have grasped, that is regarded on Gor as a slave's act. So, too, of course, is the unbinding of the hair before a man. Slave girls, it might be mentioned, commonly wear their hair long. This is lovely, and the hair, of course, like the lips, and tongue, and fingers, may be used in a variety of ways to please a master. Indeed, it is a common Gorean belief that a trained girl, with her hands bound behind her back, can give a master a great deal more pleasure than a dozen free women. Long hair, too, can be used to bind a woman, for example, her hands at the back of her neck. Lastly, it might be mentioned that the Gorean slave girl is commonly barefoot, depending, of course, on the latitude, the weather, and such. In the house she commonly walks on tiles, rugs, smooth dark floors, and such. Outside, the surfaces on which she walks, the bridges, and such, are usually smooth, especially in the larger cities. Too, Gorean cities are generally kept clean and unlittered. This is thought to be owed to the Home Stone. I do not fully understand the allusion. But, for whatever reason, and this seems almost incomprehensible to one from Earth, the cities are thus, on the whole, respected, and beautiful. Thus there is little or no danger of her injuring herself on glass or shards, or other debris. Gorean free women, on the other hand, always wear footwear out of doors, and usually indoors. The footwear commonly consists of hose and slippers, both often quite ornate. In certain cities, such as Ar, high platforms might be worn, particularly by high-caste women. This, beneath their robes, increases their apparent height and imposingness. This sort of thing seems to me to be a bit silly. But then what does a man know about such things? An advantage of this cumbersome arrangement is the protection of the hose and slippers in foul weather. A disadvantage is the impediment given to movement. When a city is under attack these platforms are usually discarded, and quickly. In such a situation few women will choose measured, stately movement over a chance to scurry, however awkwardly, however gracelessly, to a defensive bastion. More than one free woman has been taken trying to free herself from such platforms, or has been tripped by them, or slowed, perhaps dragging one, absurdly enough, behind her, still attached to an ankle. Fashion, on any world, doubtless has its hazards. Slavers, of course, approve of such platforms because they make free women easier to apprehend. It takes time to remove them. Sometimes a free woman, the platforms discarded, will lift her ornate robes to the thigh, to free her legs to run. This can, of course, be a source of great embarrassment to the woman as, commonly, it is only the legs of a slave which are bared. Indeed, some free women seem to be so modest, dallying and such, hobbling, and stumbling along, in their robes, that it seems that they would prefer to be peremptorily stripped by a slaver, rather than risk revealing their legs to fellow citizens. But then perhaps, on some level, in a part of her, she wants to be captured. One does not know. Her discomfiture, in any event, footwear discarded, robes lifted, should she brazenly dare such boldness, flouting cultural decrees, as you might suppose, is often welcomed even by her defenders, though, one supposes, they will be civil enough to conceal their amusement and interest. The dignity of free women is to be respected; they are not slaves. Some women, sensitive to the fact that their modesty has now been so violently compromised, and so unworthily, as a result of mere fear, suppose then that they might as well be in a collar. How many have seen their legs? Has he, the brute, or he, the monster, or he, a mere, idle, casual appraiser of her limbs, or who? And not unoften, it seems, if only to conceal their shame, they begin, as it is said, "to court the collar." Better than shame is to be joyfully shameless. She does not want to be known at home, in her own city, as a compromised free woman, one who in terror unworthily, disgracefully, bared her body publicly. How unacceptable, how terrible, for a free woman! Better to be in an alien city, helpless, naked, kneeling, collared, at the feet of an enemy. So she begins to wear her veils loosely, her robes above her ankles, to frequent lonely streets, to traverse high bridges at night, or perhaps in a slave tunic she begins to loiter about markets where women are sold, or decides to satisfy her curiosity as to the interior of a paga tavern, and see for herself what the fellows and the girls are really like there, something about which she has always been curious. Needless to say, she soon needs not worry about her compromised modesty, for she is likely to soon find herself in a situation where the question of modesty does not arise, and is not even permitted to arise. What will it be? Will it be bound on her back over the saddle of a tarnsman aflight over green fields, or in a blue-and-yellow-canvassed slave wagon, her fair ankles chained about a central bar, or perhaps in a coffle being marched with a thousand others in heat and choking dust between cities, to a distant market? One does not know. "She who courts the collar," it is said, "will conduct a successful suit." Similar sayings are "A collar sought is a collar found," and "She who thinks of herself in a collar already has one locked on her neck." In any event, collars are not hard to come by, on Gor. The shop of every metal worker will have several. Too, there are various emporia where slave hardware, collars, and such, may be obtained at competitive prices. Indeed, sometimes collars are engraved before the woman is ever taken. Doubtless many attractive Gorean women, or women who may have been irritating, have, unbeknownst to themselves, as they go proudly, arrogantly, serenely, about their business, with innocent, blissful aplomb, collars already prepared, waiting for them. Unbeknownst to them, the matter has been already decided. They have been selected for bondage. In a sense, unbeknownst to them, they are already slaves.