John Norman - Counter Earth11

by Slave Girl Of Gor(Lit)

  The young men of Bran Loort gathered about him, encouraging him. Thurnus stood to one side, not seeming to pay them attention.

  With a cry of misery I was thrown onto the beams of the rack. My left ankle was thrust into the semi-circular opening in the lower left ankle beam and the upper left ankle beam, with its matching semi-circular opening, was dropped, and locked, in place. My other ankle was similarly secured in the separate matching beams for the right ankle. The rape-rack at Tabuk's Ford is a specially prepared horizontal stock, cut away in a V-shape at the lower end. My wrists were seized and my hair and I was thrown down on my back, wrists held in place, and my head, too, by my hair, in three semi-circular openings. A single beam, with matching semi-circular openings, on a heavy hinge, closes the stock. It was swung up and then dropped in place, and locked shut. I was now held in the stock, on my back, by my ankles, wrists and neck. I could move very little. I closed my eyes. I opened them to see a man above me. Looking up and back, my head down, I saw a piece of cloth in his hand. It was large. I wept as it was wadded, painfully, in my mouth. He then secured it in place with a narrow piece of folded cloth which slipped deeply between my teeth. He then, with another three scarves, covering the bottom portion of my face, one over the other, completed the task of gagging the slave girl. I could not utter a sound. I did not know why I had been gagged. My neck rested on the back of the semi-circular opening in the lower beam. It was painful. I am Judy Thorton, I tried to tell myself. I am Judy Thorton! I am an Earth girl! This cannot be happening to me! But I knew I was only Dina, a Gorean slave at the mercy of masters.

  I turned my head to the side, to see the combat. I saw Turnip looking at me. Her eyes were frightened. Then she looked away. It could have been she in the stock. Radish was watching Thurnus, frightened. So, too, was Verr Tail. Sandal Thong was nowhere to be seen.

  "Are you ready, Thurnus?" asked Bran Loort.

  Villagers had cleared a circle. The fire was now high, and one could see well.

  "Will you not require a staff?" asked Bran Loort, grinning.

  "Perhaps," said Thurnus. He looked at the eight cohorts of Bran Loort. "These fellows, I gather," said Thurnus, "will not enter our competition."

  "I am sufficient onto the task of putting a slack, fat fellow such as you under caste discipline," grinned Bran Loort.

  "Perhaps," granted Thurnus.

  "You will need a staff," pointed out Bran Loort.

  "Yes," said Thurnus. He turned to one of Bran Loort's cohorts. "Strike at me," he said.

  The young man grinned. He smote down at Thurnus. Thurnus seized the staff and, suddenly, with strength like that of a larl, jerked the young man toward him, at the same time kicking upward savagely, blasting the fellow in the teeth with the heel of his sandal, the young man reeling back, blood spattering from his nose and mouth, clutching at his face, the staff in the hands of Thurnus. There were teeth in the dirt. The young man sat, dazed, on the ground.

  "A good staff," said Thurnus, "must be one with which one can thrust," and, saying this, looking at one young man, he drove the staff, like a spear into the ribs of another, "and slice," added Thurnus, who then smote the first fellow, whose attention was now on his struck fellow, along the side of the face. The first fellow fell in the dirt clutching his ribs. I had little doubt that one or more had been broken; the second fellow lay inert in the dirt, blood at the side of his head. "But," said Thurnus, "a good staff must also be strong." The young men stood, tensed, five of them, and Bran Loort. "Come at me," said Thurnus to another of the men. Enraged the fellow charged. Thurnus was behind him and smote down, shattering the heavy staff across the fellow's back. He lay in the dirt, unable to rise. The staff had been more than two inches in diameter. "That staff, you see," said Thurnus, instructing the younger men, "was flawed. It was weak. He gestured to the fellow lying in the dirt, his face contorted with pain, scratching at the dust. "It did not even break his back," said Thurnus. "Such a staff may not be relied upon in combat." He turned to one of the four young men, and Bran Loort. "Give me another staff," he said to one of them. The young man looked at him and, frightened, threw him the staff, not wanting to come close to him. "A better weapon," said Thurnus, hefting the staff. He looked at the fellow who had thrown him the staff. "Come here," he said. Uneasily the lad approached. "The first lesson you must learn," said Thurnus, swiftly jabbing the staff deeply, without warning, into his stomach, "is never to give a weapon to an enemy." The young man, bent over, retched in the dirt. Thurnus smote him sharply on the side of the head, felling him. He then turned to the other two young men, and Bran Loort. "You should keep your guard up," said Thurnus to one of them, who immediately, warily, raised his staff. Thurnus then smote the other fellow, at whom he did not appear to be looking. He turned, watching the fellow fall into the dirt. "You, too, of course," said Thurnus, "should keep your guard up. That is important." The other young man, he beside Bran Loort, then suddenly struck at Thurnus, but Thurnus, clearly, had been expecting the blow. He parried it and slipped behind the other's staff, bringing up the lower end of his own staff. The fellow's face turned white and he sank away. "Aggressiveness is good," said Thurnus, "but beware of the counterstroke." Thurnus looked about himself. Of the nine men only one, Bran Loort, now stood ready. Thurnus grinned. He indicated the young men, strewn about. `These others, I now gather," said Thurnus, "will not enter our competition."

  "You are skillful, Thurnus," said Bran Loort. He held his staff ready.

  "I am sorry that I must now do this to you, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "I had thought you had in you the makings of a caste leader."

  "I am caste leader here," said Bran Loort.

  "You are young, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "You should have waited. It is not yet your time."

  "I am caste leader here," said Bran Loort.

  "The caste leader must know many things," said Thurnus. "It takes many years to learn them, the weather, the crops, animals, men. It is not easy to be caste leader."

  Thurnus turned away, his head down, to tie his sandal. Bran Loort hesitated only an instant, and then he struck down, the staff stopped, striking across Thurnus's turned shoulder. It had been like striking a rock. Bran Loort stepped back.

  "Too, to earn the respect of peasants," said Thurnus, straightening up, retrieving his staff, his sandal tied, "the caste leader should be strong."

  Bran Loort was white-faced.

  "Now let us fight," said Thurnus.

  Swiftly did the two men engage with their quick staves. There was a fierce ringing of wood. Dust flew about their ankles. Blows, numerous and fierce, were struck and parried. Bran Loort was not unskilled, and he was young and strong, but no match was he for the grim and mighty Thurnus, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford, my master. As well might a young larl with spotted coat be matched against a giant, tawny claw Ubar of the Voltai. At last, bloodied and beaten, Bran Loort lay helpless at the feet of Thurnus, caste leader of the village of Tabuk's Ford. He looked up, glazed-eyed. Some five of his cohorts, two of whom had recovered consciousness, seizing their staves, edged nearer.

  "Beat him!" cried Bran Loort, pointing out Thurnus.

  There was a cry of anger from the onlookers.

  The young men raised their staves, together, to charge upon Thurnus, who turned, to accept their challenge.

  "Stop!" cried a voice. There were the shrill squeals of sleen. Sandal Thong stood at the edge of the circle, in each fist the leash, a short leash, of a sleen. The animals strained against the leashed collars, trying to creep forward, their eyes blazing, saliva loose and dripping from their jaws, the wet fangs shining in the firelight. "On the first man who moves," cried Sandal Thong, "I shall set a sleen!"

  The young men drew back.

  Melina cried out with fury.

  "Throw down your staves," ordered Thurnus. They, looking at the sleen, threw down their staves.

  "She is only a slave!" cried Melina. "How dare you interfere?" she cried to Sandal Thong.

  "I freed he
r this afternoon," laughed Thurnus. I saw no rope collar on her throat. She had removed it when she had stolen away from the circle of the fire.

  She stood there, holding the sleen leashes, a proud free woman, in the firelight, though she wore still the rag of a slave.

  "On your feet, Bran Loort," said Thurnus.

  The young man, unsteadily, stood up. Thurnus, swiftly, tore away the tunic about his waist, and, taking him by the arm rudely thrust him to the heavy rack, where I lay helplessly secured. "Here is the little slave you find so lovely, Bran Loort," said Thurnus. "She lies before you, helpless." Bran Loort looked at me, miserable. "She is a juicy little beauty, is she not?" asked Thurnus. I recoiled on the beams, so spoken of. "Is she not a pretty little cake?" asked Thurnus. "Yes," whispered Bran Loort. "Take her," said Thurnus. "I give you my permission." Bran Loort looked down. "Go ahead," urged Thurnus. `Take her!" "I cannot," whispered Bran Loort. He was a defeated man.

  Bran Loort turned away from the rack and bent down to pick up his tunic. He went to the gate and it was opened for him. He left the village of Tabuk's Ford.

  "Follow him, who will," said Thurnus to the young men who had been his cohorts.

  But none made to follow their former leader.

  "Of what village are you?" asked Thurnus.

  "Tabuk's Ford," they said, sullenly.

  "And who is caste leader in Tabuk's Ford?" asked Thurnus, sweating, grinning.

  "Thurnus," they said.

  "Go to your huts," he said. "You are under caste discipline." They withdrew from the circle of the fire. I expected that they would tend his fields for a season.

  Melina had withdrawn from the circle of the fire, returning to the hut she shared with Thurnus.

  "Let there be made a feast," decreed Thurnus. There was a cheer.

  "But first, Thurnus, my love," said Melina, speaking now from the doorway of their hut, "let us drink to the victory of the night."

  There was silence.

  She carried a metal goblet, and, slowly, in stately fashion, descended the steps to the ground, approaching Thurnus.

  She lifted the cup to him. "Drink, noble Thurnus, my love," said she to him. "I bring you the brew of victory."

  Suddenly I realized what must be her plan. Melina was a shrewd, clever woman. She had counted on Bran Loort and his young men defeating Thurnus. Yet, in the event they did not manage this, she had purchased a powder from Tup Ladletender, the peddler. Had Bran Loort been victorious she had promised me to him. But, too, I had been promised to Tup Ladletender, in exchange for the powder, were it successful. In each plan Dina, the slave girl, had been the bauble with which to bring about her will. Had Bran Loort been successful, I would have been his. Ladletender's powder would then be unnecessary, and would be returned to him. If Bran Loort was unsuccessful, then the way would be clear to use Ladletender's powder, and I, of course, Bran Loort defeated, could then be straightforwardly tendered in payment for it. The plans, sharp alternatives, excluded one another; their common element was I, as payment. Melina had planned well.

  "Drink, my love," said Melina, lifting the cup to Thumus. "Drink to your victory, and mine."

  Thurnus took the cup.

  I tried to cry out, but could not. I struggled in the stock. My eyes were wild over the heavy gagging that had been inflicted upon me.

  None looked upon me. I struggled in the stock. I tried to scream. I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.

  "Do not drink it, Master!" I wanted to scream. "It is poisoned! Do not drink! It is poison!"

  "Drink, my love," said Melina.

  I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.

  Thurnus lifted the cup to his lips. He paused. "Drink," urged Melina.

  "It is our common victory," said Thurnus.

  "Yes, my love," said Melina.

  "Drink first, Companion," said Thurnus.

  Melina seemed startled. Then she said, "It is first your victory, then mine, my love."

  Thurnus smiled.

  "Drink you first, my love," she urged.

  "My love," smiled Thurnus, "drink you first."

  "First, you," said she.

  "Drink," said Thurnus. His voice was not pleasant.

  Melina's face went white.

  "Drink," said Thurnus.

  She reached forth, hands shaking, to take the cup.

  "I shall hold the cup," said Thurnus. "Drink."

  "No," said she. She put her head down. "It is poison."

  Thurnus smiled. Then he put his head back, and drained the cup.

  Melina looked at him, startled.

  "Greetings, Lady," said Tup Ladletender. He had emerged from between the huts.

  Thurnus threw away the emptied goblet, into the dirt. "It is a harmless draught," he said. "Tup Ladletender and I, as young men," he said, "have fished and hunted sleen. Once I saved his life. We are brothers by the rite of the claws of sleen." Thurnus lifted his forearm where one might see a jagged scar. Ladletender, too, raised his arm, his sleeve falling back. On his forearm, too, there was such a scar. It had been torn by the claw of a sleen, in the hand of Thurnus; the same claw, in the hand of Ladletender, had marked the arm of Thurnus; their bloods had mingled, though they were of the peasants and merchants. "He now, has, too saved my life," said Thurnus. "I am pleased to have had the opportunity," said Ladletender.

  "You tricked me," said Melina to Ladletender.

  He did not respond to her.

  Melina looked at Thurnus. She shrank back.

  "Better," said Thurnus, "that the draught had been poison, and you had drunk first."

  "Oh, no, Thurnus," she whispered. "Please, no!"

  "Bring a cage," said Thurnus.

  "No!" she cried.

  "And a sleen collar," he said.

  "No, no!" she cried.

  Two men left the group.

  "Let me be beaten with flails," she begged. "Set the sleen upon me!"

  "Come here, female," said Thurnus.

  She stood before him.

  "Shave my head and return me in dishonor to my father's village," she begged.

  His hands were at the shoulders of her robe. He tore it down, exposing her shoulders. The shoulders of a female are apparently exciting to a man. This fact is recognized in off-the-shoulder formal evening gowns on Earth. The existence of such gowns, if Goreans were familiar with them, except on slaves, would be taken as more evidence of the fittingness and naturalness of enslavement for Earth females. She who wears such a gown begs in her heart to be owned.

  "Thurnus," protested Melina.

  He held her by the arms, her shoulders bared. He shook her slightly. Her head went back. Her shoulders were wide, and strong, and beautiful. They would take a plow strap well.

  Yet every part of a female body is beautiful to a Gorean, a hand, a wrist, an ankle, the back of a knee, the turn of a thigh, the sweet, soft hair, almost invisible and delicate, below and behind the ear. Each part bespeaks the glory and wonder and promise of the whole. I have heard Gorean men cry out with joy at the sight of a woman. There is little on Earth to prepare the poor Earth girl for the lust and desire with which she will find herself viewed on Gor. Initially she is bewildered, stunned and shocked. Then she is thrown on her back. She makes swift adjustment. She must. It is the Gorean world, a truly man's world, in which she is a woman. The lust of Gorean males has much to do, doubtless, with the robes of concealment worn in most cities by Gorean free women. They would not wish the casual, inadvertent flirtation of an accidentally exposed ankle to lead to their hunt, capture and enslavement. Slave girls on Gor, on the other hand, when permitted clothing, are usually dressed briefly and lightly, that their charms be muchly revealed. Gorean men wish it this way. That, accordingly, is the way it is.

  Thurnus's hands were on Melina's upper arms, now bared, her robes pulled down from her shoulders. He looked at her arms. Then he looked at her face.

  The cage was brought, a small, sturdy cage, tiny and tight, and a sleen collar.

>   "Let me be killed, Thurnus," she begged.

  Thurnus lifted the sleen collar before her. With her hand she held it from her. "Kill me instead, Thurnus," she begged. "Please."

  "Put your hands to your side, woman," said Thurnus.

  She did so.

  Thurnus then looped the sturdy, leather, metal-embossed sleen collar about her throat. With an awl, brought by a man, he punched two holes, vertically, in the leather strap, and thrust the twin buckle-claws through the holes; he then took the long, loose end of the strap, for the sleen has a large neck, thrust it through the four strap loops, thick and broad, and then, with a knife, cut off the portion of the strap which protruded beyond the last strap loop.