Guardsman of Gor

by John Norman

  "But then why should I publicize so blatantly the heat of my little slave?" I asked.

  She sobbed.

  "I can name you anything, you know," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Now on all fours, arms straight, head up!" I said.

  Immediately she assumed this position.

  "Please do not put me in the slavery of the she-quadruped, Master," she begged.

  "I will put you there, and keep you there, if it pleases me," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "Perhaps I should call you 'Princess' or 'Trixie'," I said. I used the English expressions for these names, as there are no precisely equivalent Gorean expressions for them.

  "Master may do as he wishes," she said.

  "But such names are perhaps better reserved for our occasional private sport," I mused. "Too, they would make little sense to our Gorean friends."

  I walked about her. "You would make a pretty poodle," I told her. I used the English expression 'poodle,' of course, as the animal is unknown on Gor.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  "You might be interesting as a poodle," I told her.

  "Doubtless I shall perform for Master in many ways," she said.

  "You will," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I then took her by the hair, and twisted her about, so that she lay on her side, I crouching beside her. "But, generally," I said, "I think I shall keep you as an enslaved human female, for that is what you are."

  "Yes, Master," she said, wincing.

  "I could give you the name of a Gorean girl," I said, "but since you are of Earth origin, and are a low slave, it seems more appropriate that you be given the name of an Earth girl."

  I then flung her to her back, threw apart her legs and entered her.

  "Ohhh," she sobbed, softly.

  "You are a hot slave," I observed.

  "You are going to name me, in the having of me, aren't you?" she asked.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "And you will give me the name of an Earth girl, won't you?" she asked.

  "Perhaps," I said.

  "Even knowing what such a name will do to my slavery," she asked, "making it the slavery of an Earth girl on Gor?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "Cruel Master," she said.

  "I am rather fond of Earth-girl names for slaves," I said.

  "And so, too, are Goreans, the brutes," she said.

  "Earth girls are commonly regarded as being among the most desirable of slaves on Gor," I said.

  "At least among the lowest and most helpless," she said.

  "True," I said.

  "I shall tell you a secret, Master," she said. "So much a slave am I that I desire to wear no other sort of name."

  "I know," I said.

  Then she clutched me. I saw that she was on the brink of orgasm.

  "Do not move, in the slightest, Slave," I told her.

  "Please, Master," she said.

  "No," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "There are many fine Earth-girl names," I said.

  "Please, Master," she said.

  "'Phyllis' is a lovely name," I said.

  "Name me," she begged. "Name me!"

  "'Tracy' and 'Stephanie', too," I said, "are lovely names."

  "Anything," she said, hoarsely. "Anything! Name me, I beg you. I cannot stand it! I must move! I beg to be named!" I felt her fingernails digging into my flesh. Her eyes were wild. "Name me, my Master," she whispered, begging, "name me, name me, please, name me!"

  "Very well," I said, and began to move within her. Immediately she was clutching me and shuddering. She looked at me, wildly. Then she threw back her head, helplessly.

  "I name you 'Beverly'," I said.

  "I am Beverly!" she cried. "I am Beverly!"

  Then, in a few moments, she was sobbing, and clutching me. "I am Beverly," she sobbed. "I am Beverly!" Then, after a time, still holding to me, she lay trembling in my arms. "I am Beverly," she whispered. Then, in a few minutes, she lay softly on her side on the furs, facing away from me, her knees drawn up. "My Master has named me," she said. "I am Beverly."

  I stood up and looked down at her. She rolled to her back, and looked up at me.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  "Beverly," she said.

  "I do not think you will forget your name," I said.

  "No, Master," she smiled.

  "Do not forget, either," I said, "that you, who are an animal, a slave animal, were hitherto nameless, that before you had no name, that you were as nameless as any other animal, a verr, a kaiila, or tarsk, owned, not yet named."

  "I am well aware of that, Master," she said. "I am an animal, your slave, and hitherto I was an animal without a name."

  "And now I have seen fit to give you a name."

  "Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

  "'Beverly'," I said.

  "A slave is grateful to Master."

  "Perhaps you recall the name."

  "Yes, Master, surely, it was my name as a free woman."

  "It is a lovely name," I said.

  "Thank you, Master?"

  "But it is now the name of a slave."

  "I fear it was always the name of a slave," she smiled.

  "But not of a legally embonded slave," I said.

  "No, Master."

  "You must clearly understand," I said, "there is an important difference here. The name was once that of a free woman, true, a name to which she was, in her own right, legally entitled. That is indisputable. But now the same name functions quite differently. And that, too, is indisputable. Now, it is the name of a rightless slave, put upon her by the decision of her master, at his convenience, and by his will alone, a name to which she has no more entitlement than any other form of animal."

  "I understand, Master."

  "The girl wears it now as a slave name, revocable, changeable, and so on."

  "I hope Master will be pleased to keep it on me."

  "Perhaps," I said.

  She suddenly twisted in the tangle of her chain. She looked at me, angrily. Did she not know she was neck-chained to a man's slave ring? "Suddenly," she said, "I see what you are doing! How amusing for you, to put what was once my own name on me as a slave name! How droll! How helpless his girl! How delightful, for that insensitive, uncaring, imperious beast, the master! How he does with me what he pleases, I now so subject to his will, that of the master beast! How could I be better humiliated? How could I be better brought low, better shamed, better chastened and abashed? Let me be reminded each time I hear that name of whose name it once was, her own name in her own right, that of a proud free woman, and of whose name it now is, that of she now reduced and degraded, now naught but a collared slave! How sweet his vengeance! Is it not a clever joke, at the expense of she who might once have annoyed him as a free woman, and is now naught but his goods, a poor, defenseless slave?"

  "Poor and defenseless," I said, "but richly pelted and lusciously curved."

  "Doubtless I look well in slave iron," she said.

  "As does any woman," I said.

  "Of course," she said.

  "I did not think about it," I said, "but I suppose, upon reflection, that the naming, giving you your old Earth name, curvaceous little tart, might have its amusing aspects."

  "Doubtless," she said, as though pouting, feigning reproach. "And doubtless Master is well aware of the dangers of a slave wearing an Earth-girl name on Gor?"

  "Certainly," I said, "and particularly if one is an Earth-girl slave."

  "I do not truly object, of course," she said, rolling to her back. I appraised the line of her body. One knee was lifted, a little. "I welcome the name. I am grateful for Master's decision. I love wearing my Earth-girl name as a slave name. How deliciously that impresses my bondage upon me."

  "Do you not think it a fine name for a slave?"

  "Yes, Master," she said, "very much so, Ma
ster."

  "It has a sensual, slavish ring to it," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered.

  "It is interesting," I said, "I think, as you suggested earlier, I may have always thought of you, somehow, on some level, at least, perhaps not fully consciously, from my first glimpse of you, as a slave."

  "You did," she said. "To me that was obvious."

  "So obvious?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said, "to a woman. Did I not make this clear to you? Do you think we do not know when a man's look strips us, as his hands might, when his glance wanders to our throat, where he might place a collar, when in his gaze we discover, to a warm, flattering, pleasurable uneasiness, that he is speculating on what we might look like, naked, at his feet? Surely it is the most healthy and natural thing in the world for a man to look upon one attractive woman or another and wonder what it might be like to own her."

  "And perhaps the woman has similar thoughts?"

  "Of course," she said, "we are women. We wonder what it would be, to belong to this man or that."

  "Did you then recognize yourself as a slave?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "I think," I said, "that even then, on Earth, I sensed the slaveness of you."

  "I am pleased to hear that," she whispered. "Master was insightful."

  She looked down, shyly. "And from my first glimpse of Master," she said, "I knew I wanted him as my master."

  "And from the first moment I heard your name, my first thought was that it was a superb name for a slave, and that it should be the name of a slave."

  "In a sense it was," she said, "even then."

  "True," I said.

  "But how arrogant, how lordly, how imperious of you to put it on me now, as a mere slave name!"

  "Oh?" I asked.

  "Master well knows how to treat a slave," she said.

  "Do you object to the name?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "I love it!"

  I knew that that was so, and that she would revel in this, the name connecting, in its way, the frustrated, petulant Miss Beverly Henderson of Earth in the bondage of her freedom with the collared slave of Gor in the freedom of her bondage.

  I would give her no other name.

  It was right for her.

  She would be Beverly.

  I had decided it.

  "Perhaps I should change it," I said.

  "No, please keep it on me," she said.

  "Do you beg it?"

  "Yes, Master!"

  "We shall see," I said.

  "Thank you, Master!"

  "I may take it away, of course, or change it to whatever I might please, if, and when, I might please."

  "Of course, Master."

  "For now," I said, "you are Beverly."

  "Thank you, Master. I shall endeavor to be worthy of the name."

  "Worthy, of a slave name?"

  "Of course," she said. "First, I shall try to be worthy enough, or pleasing enough, to be given a name. Secondly, I shall try to be worthy enough, or pleasing enough, to retain, at Master's pleasure, of course, the name he has bestowed upon me."

  "It is not now the name of a free woman," I said, sternly.

  "I know that, Master!" she said.

  "It is the name of a slave."

  "Yes, Master!"

  "The name 'Beverly'," I said, "is now on you, at my pleasure, rather like a collar. It is the name by which all will know you, whether they are slave or free."

  "Yes, Master."

  "To other girls in bondage, to free men, to free women, to male slaves, should you encounter them, to all, that is how you will be known, simply as 'Beverly'," I said.

  "Surely there is more to it," she said.

  "Oh?" I asked.

  "As Beverly," she said, "—the slave of Jason of Victoria."

  "Yes," I granted her.

  "Perhaps Master does not know, but it is a great honor to be the slave of Jason of Victoria. Many are the girls in Victoria who will envy me such a master! My heart swells with pride to be the slave of Jason of Victoria. Do you not know that there is great prestige in having such an owner?"

  "No," I said. "I did not."

  "'Look,' they will whisper. 'There is Beverly. It is she who lies in the arms of Jason of Victoria. It is she whom he fastens to his slave ring.'"

  "I see," I said, somewhat skeptically.

  "Doubtless I shall be much admired at the laundry troughs, or when shopping, running errands, or bearing burdens, when heeling you, when on your leash, when wearing your bracelets, when happily carrying flowers in my arms behind you at the festivals."

  "With your face and figure," I said, "you would be admired wherever you go and whoever might be your master."

  "Master is kind," she said.

  "It is pleasing to the master, too, of course," I said, "to own a slave who elicits such regard, whom men would wish to seize and own."

  "I hope to reflect credit upon my master," she said.

  "You will, or be beaten," I said.

  "Of course, Master."

  "You must keep yourself fastidiously beautiful, walk well, and such."

  "Yes, Master."

  The slave, of course, has no choice in such matters. She is her master's property and is on display. She must present it well. She must have the posture and grace of a dancer. She must have a shameless elegance. She must be radiant, proud and vital. Those of Earth have doubtless seen sleek and superb animals, certain dogs and horses, for example, exhibited or paraded, accompanying their owners, and so on. Perhaps you remember how striking were such animals, and how you enjoyed seeing them, and admiring them. They were healthy, clean, well-groomed, vital, beautiful, well-trained, and obedient. They were a credit to their masters. Well, so, too, must be the animal who is the slave female.

  Perhaps a cautionary word might be in order having to do with the appearance and demeanor of the slave female in the vicinity of the free woman. There her appearance and deportment is usually, and wisely, transformed. It would be a very foolish slave who would carry herself before a free woman as she is expected to carry herself before free men. Before the scrutiny of the free woman she is likely to lapse from joyful beauty to cringing scullion. She will not meet the eyes of the free woman; she is scarcely likely to leave her knees or lift her head; her body is bent and seems smaller; she seems to wilt and tremble; she tries to draw down the hem of her tunic; she grasps the edges of her tunic and tries to draw them closed, to conceal better the delights of her bosom; she is likely to whisper; her voice is uncertain, and scarcely audible. These are not inauthentic dissemblings; they are a real witness to the slave's terror of the authority and power of the free woman. What could a man see of interest, the free woman might ask herself, in such a frightened, confused, groveling drab? But, of course, too, the free woman is well aware of the appearance and demeanor of the slave when she is not accosted by them, or brought within the immediate ambit of their power. She is well aware that the girl before her, in another environment, is likely to be the subject of songs of lust and love, and the object of determined men who want her on their chain. The free woman, for obvious reasons, I suppose, hates the slave girl. Among these reasons doubtless are the attractiveness of the slave to free men, and their envy of the slave's happiness and fulfillment. Many free women carry a switch or whip with them and will often lash a slave unexpectedly across her calves. It is then not unusual for her to put the slave to her feet and, as the poor girl kneels, and tries to cover her head, put to the street, wantonly belabor her. None are likely to object to this, as the free woman is free, and may do much what she wishes, and the slave is only a slave. Perhaps she jostled the free woman in a crowd or met her eyes, as though she might have been free.

  "I wonder how I should garb you."

  "Master?"

  "Surely you are aware that your adornments and attire are entirely at my discretion."

  "Yes, Master."

  "I think I shall have your ears pierced."

  "You wo
uld make me so low a slave?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "May I pick out my own earrings?"

  "I welcome your views," I said, "but the decision is mine."

  "Yes, Master."

  "Perhaps a nose ring would be nice, with a dangling leading string."

  "Please, no, Master," she said.

  On Gor earrings are not worn by free women, and are commonly put upon only the lowest and most sensual of slaves. For example, a tower slave would not be likely to have her ears pierced, but the custom is becoming more widely spread with pleasure slaves. Apparently the practice began in the southern hemisphere, in Turia, and spread northward. Nose rings, on the other hand, are given little thought on Gor. It is said that they are even worn by some free women, for example, among the Wagon Peoples of the southern plains.

  "I will do as I please," I said.

  "Of course, Master," she said.

  "Your tunic, certainly, I have decided," I said, "will be quite short."

  "As Master, pleases," she said.

  "If I permit you a tunic," I said.

  "It is my hope that Master will permit me clothing."

  "At least out of doors?"

  "Certainly!"

  "Have no fear," I said. "I will permit you something to wear out of doors."

  "Thank you, Master."

  "Perhaps a collar," I said.

  "Master!" she cried.

  It is not unknown for female slaves to be seen naked, save for their collars, in Gorean streets. To be sure, this is usually done as a discipline. Children, sensing that the girl may have been displeasing, often swarm about such an unfortunate creature with pebbles and switches, hurrying her about her errands. She dare not object to, or resist, this abuse in the least or she will be punished severely. Too, she will be regarded with repulsion and horror by scandalized free women, with amusement by men, slave or free, who enjoy inspecting and appraising her publicly exhibited lineaments, and with contempt, as a worthless girl, by her sisters in bondage.

  "You would not treat me so, would you, Master?"

  "I might," I said.

  "I will strive desperately to be worthy of a tunic, Master," she said.

  "Or a rag, or slave strip?"

  "Yes, Master!"

  "I think it might be amusing," I said, "recalling Earth, to send the former Miss Beverly Henderson forth thusly, out into the streets, clad only in her collar."