Prize of Gor

by John Norman

  “But men may seek you, for you possessed gold, coins which, it seems, may have borne the quality and weight certifications of Jad, on Cos!”

  “Do not concern yourself with such matters,” he said.

  “You may be seized, Master!”

  “Then you will doubtless be resold, and will have another master, slut. Do not forget that you are a mere chattel. As such you are trivial and meaningless. These matters have no more to do with you than they would with a tarsk, a creature more valuable than yourself.”

  “Few tarsks go for as much as five gold pieces, Master,” said Ellen.

  “The gold was meaningless,” said he, “save as a gesture, as an insult to Cos, which I suspect that only now they comprehend.”

  “An insult?” asked Ellen.

  “Certainly,” said he. “Thus one of Ar shows his contempt for the coins of Cos, that he uses them to buy no more than a worthless slave.”

  “There were silver tarsks bid for me!” said Ellen.

  “That is true,” he said. “Perhaps you are worth a handful of silver tarsks.”

  “Surely you purchased me for something!” said Ellen.

  “Perhaps you will amuse me for a time,” he said, “until I tire of you.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Ellen, sobbing.

  “Know yourself a slave, little vulo,” said he.

  “Yes, Master,” said Ellen. “Master.”

  “Yes,” said he.

  “It is your collar on me, is it not?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Perhaps you care for me a little, to put your collar on me?”

  “It is common to collar slaves,” he said.

  “Do I have a name?” asked Ellen.

  “‘Ellen’ will do,” he said. “It will serve to summon and command you as well as any other name.”

  “Is that name on my collar?” she asked.

  “Do you think that would be wise?” he asked.

  “No, Master,” said Ellen. She knew she had been sold under that name, that that name was on the records of scribes.

  “Also, that way,” he said, “the collar may be used for an indefinite number of female chattels.”

  “Yes, Master,” said Ellen, angrily.

  “To be sure,” he said, “one could always use the name ‘Ellen’ for any number of kajirae.”

  “Certainly, Master,” said Ellen, angrily. “May I ask what the collar says?”

  “Perhaps you can make it out one day, deciphering it in a pool or mirror,” he said.

  “Please, Master!” protested Ellen.

  “Ah,” he said, “I had forgotten that you are illiterate.”

  “Master?” she asked.

  “It says,” said he, “‘I am the property of Selius Arconious, of Ar.’”

  For a moment Ellen’s heart leaped within her bosom, incomprehensibly, with joy, that she would be such, and publicly designated as such. She had forgotten, for the moment, it seems, that she hated him. But then she asked, “Is that wise, Master?”

  “They do not know me,” said he. “Too, a blank collar might arouse even more suspicion. Besides, it pleases me to have the little barbarian slut in my collar, and in one which identifies her as mine.”

  “I hope to wear your collar worthily, Master,” said Ellen.

  Then she cried out within the hood as she was drawn roughly to her feet. “Do not lie to me, little slut,” said he.

  “No, Master!” she cried.

  “Do you think I do not know what the women of Earth do to the men of Earth?” he asked. “You, Earth slut, will be a slave amongst slaves!”

  “As Master wishes,” said Ellen. “I am his!”

  “It is pleasant to own women,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

  “Did the leash warm you?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master!” sobbed Ellen.

  “Good,” he said, angrily. And then he cupped her, casually, possessively, holding her in place with his left hand behind her back. She sobbed, and whimpered, and squirmed, helpless in the bracelets. “I see that it is true,” he said.

  “Please, Master,” cried Ellen, “be kind to me!”

  “Be silent,” said he, “female.”

  It seemed he had little intention of treating her with gentleness. He then held her by her upper left arm, not even bothering with the leash, and drew her forcibly, she stumbling, beside him. She was thusly dragged for some twenty yards. Seldom had she felt more female, thus helpless, thusly imperiously handled. What men can do with us, she thought. Then she was thrust down, on her stomach over some surface, that of seemingly a large, felled log. She felt the rough bark on her belly. She was helpless. She squirmed. He pushed up her braceleted wrists and entered her. He had told her she would be a slave amongst slaves. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh!”

  He growled like an animal and she was claimed.

  Then he withdrew and she sank to her knees beside the log, pressing the hood against it. She could feel particles of bark on her belly, and grass beneath her knees. She was aware of his collar on her neck.

  “Oh, Master, Master,” she sobbed softly.

  “There is no time,” he said. “Do not fear, Earth slut. I am looking forward to pegging you down and having you writhe and scream yourself mine. I will bring you to the point of yielding a hundred times before I permit you relief, if I choose to do so at all. I will impose a domination on you that you will never forget. When I am through with you, Earth slut, you will know who your master is.”

  She wept in the hood.

  “Please do not be cruel to me, Master,” she whimpered. “I am only a slave.”

  “So the little barbarian slut acknowledges herself a slave?” he said.

  “Yes, Master!”

  “Say it,” he said.

  “I am a slave, Master,” said Ellen.

  “Are you obedient and docile?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Are you hot, devoted and dutiful?” he asked.

  “I will do my best to be so, Master,” she said.

  “Earth woman,” he laughed.

  “No, Master,” said Ellen. “No more am I an Earth woman. I am now only a woman, and a slave.”

  “Stand,” said he, “kajira.”

  Ellen rose to her feet. She quivered. She was unsteady. She pressed her thighs together. She whimpered. “Master muchly denies me,” she whispered.

  “Follow,” said he, and she felt a tug on the leash.

  Why is he cruel to me, she asked herself. Does he not know that I am now no more than a slave?

  And so she followed her master, on his leash. She wondered if any of the women of Earth knew such men, masters. How many, she wondered, clung to their tear-stained pillows, longing for the domination, the mastering, that would complete them, that would give meaning to their lives.

  She was led for some ten to fifteen Ehn. Sometimes she sensed the smoke of fires, sometimes their warmth. The odor of roast bosk penetrated the leather of the hood. Once the odor of scalding kal-da came to her nostrils. Sometimes she heard men talking. Once she heard the laughter of a woman, in this camp doubtless a slave. Once she trod through cooling ash. She supposed it would be dark, or nearly dark, by now. Too, something in the feel of the air on her body suggested the dampness of the coastal evening. She realized that, in the hood, it was not likely she could be recognized, either as the dancer of two nights afore, nor as the slave for whom, yesterday evening, such a surprising price had been paid. She wondered if Selius Arconious, whom she supposed still held her leash, was disguised, or wore about his features the hoodlike folds of a cloak. She suspected he was not alone. Surely he, alone, could not have obtained the loot of Cos. He must have confederates! Had not another brought her away from the holding area? But he must have risked much to have secured her, she thought, in open auction, and to have dared to use gold, whether that of Cos or no, to buy her. She did not take too seriously the thought of his suggested insult to Cos, t
hough she did not doubt but what that might have provided some sort of pleasant, subsidiary satisfaction. That was just too pat, too convenient. There would have been too much risk involved, surely, to justify a mere gesture, even for a Gorean. Too, with such wealth at his disposal, he might have bought any offered slave, or a great number of offered slaves, in the camp. He could have purchased enough girls to have set himself up in business, chaining them together, and then seeing what he might get for them in other venues. Many Goreans buy women on speculation. That is not uncommon. And, indeed, do not many slavers do just this, those who buy them, rather than hunting them down, say, like horses. To be sure, it is not unusual, as I understand it, that a slaver will note and then pick out a particular woman for himself, keeping her at least for a time. I do not think this is surprising. Such would seem an opportunity unlikely to be neglected. Indeed, is such not a privilege of his position, an entitlement, in its way, of his sort of enterprise? This doubtless happens with some Gorean women, and, I would suppose, with some Earth women, as well. Certainly some unusually beautiful Earth woman, all unaware of such matters, and, like others, scouted without her least knowledge or suspicion, might find, upon her arrival on Gor, after her initial terror and consternation, discovering herself stripped and chained, a slave, that a rather different or uncommon fate was in store for her, that she had been selected out, and a reserve, so to speak, placed on her, that she had been brought to Gor not like her sisters for the markets, at least immediately, but rather, it seems, for the personal service and delectation of a particular fellow, one by whom in the mysteries of such matters she had been found, totally unbeknownst to herself, appealing, presumably some slaver. She must then wait to discover to whom she belongs. To be sure, most are doubtless acquired with an eye to profit. Slaving, after all, is a business; accordingly the great majority of women brought to Gor would be put up for sale, usually publicly.

  Yes, Selius Arconious could have done much with his gold, she thought.

  But he had bought her.

  He had bought her!

  He must have wanted me very much, she thought. Very much, indeed. Could that be true, she asked herself. Perhaps. She smiled within the hood. Her steps became light. She knew she hated him, of course, but, still, he was very strong, and very handsome, and, too, of course, he owned her. And a slave must always be very careful of who owns one. He is, after all, the master.

  But surely it did not hurt that he was strong and handsome. One could do worse than be the slave of such a man.

  I hate him, of course, she reassured herself.

  It excited her that he would be her master. But how the brute had tormented her with the leash strap!

  She had no doubt what she would be to him!

  In his casual, insolent way, he would well know how to handle, and keep, a slave.

  I hate him, she thought.

  But perhaps she did not hate him, really, that much.

  In any event she must strive to please him, and perfectly, with every bit of her intelligence and beauty.

  She was, after all, a slave, and his slave.

  Then she became afraid, for she sensed that matters perilous were afoot in this disturbed camp of Cos.

  There might be brigands who had seen him with gold. And she remembered the men who had been with Mirus. Perhaps somehow, without understanding it, she had seen too much. Too, there were the beasts, the terrible beasts.

  And guardsmen might even now be seeking the mysterious stranger, the seemingly lowly fellow, who had had coins from the mint at Jad.

  Then there was no longer a sense of the leash draw on the hood ring, and so Ellen stopped, and knelt. This was appropriate. There might be free men present.

  Some men, she understood, in a moment, were indeed about.

  “Have you secured the guards?” she heard Selius Arconious ask.

  “Yes,” said a voice.

  As Ellen knelt she felt the leash strap between her breasts. She felt it best to widen her knees, and so did so. This proclaimed her a pleasure slave, but then that was what she was. She did not wish to risk a cuffing for having neglected the position which was appropriate for her. Too, though she hated Selius Arconious, she was sure, it nonetheless pleased her to kneel thusly before him. After all, she was his, and it was only fitting that she display his property suitably before him. Someone was standing, she was sure, before her. Perhaps it was Selius Arconious, her master. She straightened her body even more. Then, in a bit, the leash was unsnapped from the ring at the front of the hood. No longer then was the leash against her body. Presumably it was coiled and put somewhere. Then Ellen felt hands at the back of her neck. The hood lock was undone, and then, to her relief, but fear, the hood was pulled up, over her head, and removed.

  It was rather dark, but one could see somewhat. One of the moons was visible through a break in the clouds.

  The fresh air was glorious on her uplifted countenance, and she breathed it in, deeply, gratefully. Her face was doubtless reddened, blotched, from the confinement of the hood. Too, her face would be tear-stained.

  Selius Arconious was to one side, placing the hood in a pack. There was a cloak about his shoulders, but the hood of the cloak was thrown back about his shoulders.

  “Masters!” breathed Ellen.

  But Portus Canio and Fel Doron, each in the garb of a Cosian guardsman, cautioned her to silence. Other men were about, their chains apparently removed. Two others, too, wore the garb of guardsmen.

  Ellen then observed two more men approaching the group. They must have belonged with it, for their arrival caused no stir. One was dark-haired and lithe. The other was a large man, a strong, a dangerous-appearing man, who moved with the grace of a larl. He was red-haired, and was wiping a dagger on his thigh, which he then sheathed.

  “You were followed,” said the lithe, dark-haired fellow who had just arrived with his companion.

  “I know,” smiled Selius Arconious. “But I knew you were in attendance.”

  “What occurred?” asked Portus Canio. He had a sword, presumably that of a guardsman, slung at his left shoulder.

  “He is no longer followed,” said the red-haired man quietly.

  “Who were they?” asked Fel Doron.

  The dark-haired man shrugged. “Brigands,” he said.

  “It was clever of you to publicly purchase this slave, with Cosian gold,” said one of the men about, indicating Ellen, who remained immobile, tense. “Thus, the camp will be looking for a tarnster.”

  “Has Tersius Major, the traitor, been apprehended?” asked a man.

  “He is in custody,” said the red-haired man. “He will be clad as Selius Arconious, gagged, tied in the saddle of a tarn and set aflight.”

  “That will provide the incident needed to begin the disruption of the camp,” said one of the men.

  “I would prefer to cut his throat,” said Portus Canio.

  “If he can turn his head about and squirm a little that will lend plausibility to the diversion,” said a man.

  “Perhaps you can cut his throat later,” said Fel Doron, slapping Portus Canio jovially on the shoulder, and Portus Canio grinned, and snorted in disgust.

  “Are the wagons ready?” asked Selius Arconious.

  “They are in place,” said a man. “Tarns will be released later and put aflight, and thus pursuit will presumably be directed to the skies, which Cos controls.”

  “Then,” said a man, “we will disperse with the hundreds of others, who will break camp tomorrow.”

  “The Cosian forces here will presumably march on Ar, to reinforce the occupation, and prevent mutiny,” said another.

  “Is it true,” asked Selius Arconious, of the red-haired man, “that Marlenus has been found near Ar?”

  “It seems so,” said the red-haired man. “He was discerned by a slave, who had tended him while he was imprisoned in Treve. It seems he escaped and made his way toward Ar, but somehow he seems unaware of the political realities in the city, and neither
to understand nor know his true self.”

  “We must regain him,” said a man. “He is needed as a symbol of resistance, as a rallying point.”

  “Without him, how can Ar be restored?” asked another.

  “He is needed to give the people courage, to ignite them, to rouse them to war, to cast out the Cosian sleen and their allies!”

  “We need Marlenus of Ar!” exclaimed another. “He is the leader, the Ubar! None can stand against him!”

  “Without him, what hope is there?” asked a man.

  “He must lead us!” said another.

  “Down with Talena, the traitress Ubara!” hissed a man.

  “Our vengeance on her will be sweet,” said a man, grimly.

  Ellen shuddered at the tones of the voices she heard.

  “Death to the traitress!” said a man. “Death to the Ubara!”

  “She shall know the penalties for betraying the Home Stone, those to be suitably inflicted upon a traitorous free person,” said a man.

  “Perhaps she is not a free person,” said the red-haired man. “Perhaps she is only someone’s slave.”

  “Absurd,” said a man.

  “She is Ubara,” said another.

  “Perhaps she who sits upon the throne of Ar,” said the red-haired man, thoughtfully, smiling, “is only a slave.”

  “How would she dare?” asked a man.

  “Let her fear then to be unmasked,” said another, softly.

  “Yes,” said the red-haired man, thoughtfully. “Let her fear to be unmasked.”

  “What would be the penalties for a slave, pretending to be a Ubara,” asked a man.

  “It is difficult to conjecture,” said a fellow.

  “I would not wish to be she,” said another.

  Again Ellen shuddered.

  “Is there to be a change of the guard here?” asked the dark-haired man of Portus Canio.

  “Not until morning,” said a man.

  “Good,” said the dark-haired man. “That will give us time.”

  “Have garments been brought for the former prisoners?” asked the red-haired man.

  “Yes,” said a fellow, “a variety of such.”

  “Have them distributed,” said the red-haired man.