by John Norman
The fellow to whom he spoke left the area.
Ellen, from her knees, looked up to Selius Arconious. “May I speak, Master?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Did you purchase me,” she asked, “as only part of a plan?”
“Do you think you are important?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said. “Master.”
“Yes?” said he.
“Did you not want me, just a little, if only to beat and whip me?”
“Think,” said he, “stupid little slut.”
“Master?” she asked.
“I could have bid with the same effect, with no compromise to a plan, upon hundreds of other women,” he said.
“Yes, Master!” breathed Ellen, kneeling before him, suddenly again helplessly alive in her belly. She had suspected this earlier, of course, but she had wished to hear it from his lips, those of her master.
“Things fell nicely into place,” he said. “I purchased a worthless slave with a plenitude of Cosian gold, thus felicitously insulting the state of Cos. I arranged matters so that suspicion would fall upon a tarnster, as soon as the news of the theft of Cosian gold would reach the camp. This will help to create a useful diversion. And I obtained a cuddly slut, one who was once troublesome, but one who will now be well advised to learn to serve me zealously, with detailed, abject perfection.”
“You wanted to own me?” asked Ellen, happily.
“Yes,” said he, angrily, “meaningless slut. I have wanted to own you since the first time I laid eyes upon you. I do not know why. Surely there is no good reason for this aberration on my part. I am sure it is irrational. But ever since I first saw you I wanted to own you. I wanted you in my collar, and that is now where you are.”
“Yes, my master!” breathed Ellen.
“Have you not overlooked something?” asked Portus Canio, grinning.
“What?” asked Selius Arconious.
“Let us consider the matter,” said Portus Canio. “She was taken from me by confiscation in Ar,” he said.
“Yes?” said Selius Arconious, warily.
“Now I surely acknowledge that the confiscation was within the letter of the law, given the current sorry state of Ar and the ordinances of the occupation; and I acknowledge further that she has been out of my hands for more than the number of days which, in Merchant Law, legitimate her seizure and claiming by another, and I recognize, further, of course, that she has passed through one or more hands in this time, as his or their slave, and that she was honestly purchased in open auction, in good faith, from her actual and completely legitimate owner, the state of Cos.”
“You see then,” said Selius Arconious, “that you no longer have any claim to her.”
“Of course not,” said Portus Canio. “That is clear. On the other hand, we do share a Home Stone.”
“Very well,” said Selius Arconious. “She is yours. I give her to you.”
“Master!” protested Ellen. Then she swiftly put down her head. “Forgive me, Masters,” she said.
“But,” said Portus Canio, “I might be willing to sell her to you.”
Ellen lifted her head, hopefully.
“How much?” asked Selius Arconious. “Six gold pieces? I paid five.”
“What was the highest bid in silver for her?” asked Portus.
“Twenty,” said Selius.
“Very well, I will ask twenty-one, in the coin of Ar.”
“But that is my own money!” protested Selius.
“That is my price,” said Portus.
“You should have left him in the chains of Cos,” smiled Fel Doron.
“She is pretty, but she is not worth that much,” said a man.
Slowly, as Ellen watched, delighted, Selius Arconious, angrily, reluctantly, removing them one by one from his purse, placed twenty-one silver tarsks, of Ar, in the hands of Portus Canio.
Portus Canio looked down at Ellen. “You see, little vulo,” he said, “you are worth that much.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Ellen, kissing his sandals.
When she raised her head, Selius Arconious was looking down at her, in fury. She looked away, innocently.
“Do you think you are worth that much?” he asked.
“As a slave girl,” she said, “I dare not speculate on such matters. My value, if value I have, will be determined by men.”
“Gloat now, little she-sleen,” said Selius Arconious, angrily, “but do not forget that it is in my bracelets that your wrists are locked.”
“No, Master,” said Ellen, happily.
“I wanted to see how much you wanted her,” said Portus Canio. “Here are your silver tarsks back. I will sell her to you for less.”
“I do not understand,” said Selius Arconious.
“Give me a tarsk-bit,” smiled Portus Canio. Fel Doron laughed. One of the other men about slapped Selius Arconious good-naturedly on the back. There was much laughter.
Selius Arconious, reddening, replaced the silver in his purse. Ellen stiffened as he then gave a tarsk-bit, the hundredth part of a mere copper tarsk, to Portus Canio. Portus took the coin and put it in the guardsman’s wallet at his belt.
“That is doubtless, objectively, what she is worth,” said Portus Canio.
“Alas,” said Selius Arconious, “there is no smaller coin.”
Ellen looked angrily, from her knees, she back-braceleted, from Portus Canio to Selius Arconious.
“To the feet of your master, slut,” snapped Portus Canio.
And quickly, frightened, Ellen put down her head and began to lick and kiss the sandals of Selius Arconious, once again a slave, once again reminded of the absoluteness of her bondage.
“I am yours,” she said. “I will try to be pleasing to you.”
And as she performed this simple, homely act of respect and obeisance, common amongst female slaves, she groaned inwardly with need. How arousing it was to her to so kneel, naked, back-braceleted, head down, rendering submission to a man, her master. She felt incredibly female, incredibly feminine, incredibly thrilled and fulfilled. Men on this world, she thought, know the proper handling of women. She wondered if these men even realized what such postures, acts and rituals, so much taken for granted on this world, did to a woman. The culture of Gor was not devised to deny nature but to fulfill her. What might seem convention, taken for granted, and scarcely understood, by many on Gor, were profoundly symbolic acts, deeply moving acts, expressions of, and enhancements of, nature, which in their beautiful ways, and forms, stated, and celebrated, profound truths. Even chains, and the whip, were largely symbolic, the woman thusly understanding herself slave, and subject appropriately, as nature would have it, to the will of the dominant sex.
She lifted her head and looked up into the eyes of her master. Tears formed in her eyes. He looked away.
“Some of our men, clad as Cosian guardsmen,” said Fel Doron, “will raise a cry that the suspect tarnster has been seen. Shortly thereafter our friend, Tersius Major, gagged and bound, clad appropriately, will be put aflight on a tarn. There will doubtless be a pursuit. It should take some time to bring the tarn down. Later, say, an Ahn later, other tarns will be freed. This will be taken as the actual departure from the camp of the conspirators, and a new pursuit will be mustered. In the general confusion, and disbandment, of the camp, the former prisoners and the rest of our men will go their hundred ways, afoot, some of the Cosian gold divided amongst them. Those of Ar will attempt to severally work their way southeast to Ar. Our friends, Marcus, of Ar’s Station, and Bosk, of Port Kar, who have been instrumental, with others, in the purloining of the gold, and its subsequent temporary concealment, will in a few days attend a prearranged rendezvous with diverse cohorts, at a place of concealed tarns. There they will convey information as to the location of the great bulk of the gold, in its temporary cache, to these cohorts, who will then, as planned, see to its movement and disposition. Our friends of the scarlet caste will then attempt to return to Ar b
y tarn, traveling at night, utilizing the cover of darkness.”
The “scarlet caste” was a way of referring to the caste of Warriors, the expression being suggested by the usual color of their tunics. Ellen had seen many scarlet tunics in Ar, mostly those of mercenaries and Cosian regulars. As Portus Canio had referred to Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s Station, as friends of the “scarlet caste,” they must be then, thought Ellen, of the Warriors. She had, of course, suspected as much earlier. They were large and powerful, and had the look about them of men not unaccustomed to look upon war, men not unfamiliar with the darker uses of steel. They were not, however, now in the scarlet of their caste, but wore simple brown tunics. In a sense, she supposed, they were incognito. Doubtless that was wise in a Cosian camp, if they were not of Cos, even though the camp was in theory an open camp. To be sure, in raids, in battle, red is not always worn. Much depends, as would be expected, on the terrain, the situation, the objective, the mission, and such.
“Have arrangements been made for me?” asked Selius.
He did not mention Ellen, for she was property, and, as property, might, or might not, be brought along, as the master chose.
“Yes,” said Portus Canio. “You will come with me, in a prepared wagon, and Fel Doron will accompany us. Too, until it is time for their departure for the rendezvous point, the place of concealed tarns, we will have at our disposal the swords of our friends, Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s station.”
“Can one trust one of Port Kar?” asked Selius Arconious.
“He is with us, for whatever reason,” said Portus Canio.
“In Port Kar,” said the red-haired man, he like a larl, “there is now a Home Stone.”
“I did not know,” said Selius Arconious. “Forgive me.”
“It is nothing,” said the red-haired man.
The red-haired man frightened Ellen. She would have feared to belong to him. His speech had a foreign flavor, almost as though his Gorean had the trace, impossibly enough, of an English accent. But there are many accents on Gor. It did not seem likely that he would have a barbarian origin. He was too Gorean.
He glanced at her, and she, kneeling, quickly put down her head, unable to meet his eyes. She felt, beneath his gaze, as beneath that of many others, strong men, masters, completely slave. She knew that Gorean men saw her as a slave, and she knew in her heart that they saw her truly.
“There is little to do now,” said Portus Canio. “In the morning, after the alarms of the night, if all goes well, we will make our way to the wagons and, with thousands of others, unnoticed in the general thronging, leave the camp.”
“How many of our men are in the camp?” asked Selius Arconious.
“Not counting the freed prisoners, fifty,” said Portus Canio. He then turned aside, to speak to others.
“May I speak, Master,” whispered Ellen, softly, looking up to Selius Arconious.
“Very well,” he said.
“I think Master finds me of interest,” she said.
“Oh?” he said, skeptically.
“He could have purchased others in the auction. He purchased me. He was willing to pay twenty-one silver tarsks, of his own money, for this girl.”
“He is a fool,” said Selius Arconious.
“I hope not,” she said, “for he is my master.”
“Do you want a taste of the leather?” he asked.
“No, Master,” she said.
“I had you for a tarsk-bit,” he said, “no more. You are only a tarsk-bit girl. Do not forget it.”
“I sold for more than that the first time,” she said.
“Then someone paid more for you than you are worth.”
“I think Master may like me a little,” she said.
“Absurd,” he said.
“Just a little — perhaps, Master?”
“Do not presume,” he said.
“At least it seems that Master may want me,” she said.
“That is an altogether different thing from “liking,” he said.
“True,” she said, “but it pleases a slave that she should at least be wanted.”
“Good,” said he. “Be pleased, slave.”
“Perhaps you want me muchly?” she said.
“Absurd,” he said.
“Twenty-one silver tarsks is a great deal of money,” she said.
“It was a momentary act of madness,” he said, angrily. “Nothing more.”
“But did he not tell Ellen, his slave, and in the presence of Master Canio, and others, that he wanted her, and seemingly badly, in his collar?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Surely Master must have had something in mind,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“I was curious to know what you would look like, bound and whipped.”
“Whip me if I deserve it, Master,” she said.
“I will whip you if, and when, I wish,” he said, “whether you deserve it or not.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Do you think that you are not a slave?” he asked. “Do you think that you will have an easy slavery with me, if I decide to keep you, for more than a night of abuse, selling you in the morning?”
“I know I am a slave, Master,” she said, suddenly frightened.
“And you will learn it,” he said. “Portus! Portus Canio!”
“Yes,” said Portus, turning about.
“How many guards were there with the prisoners?”
“Four,” said Portus. “They are now bound and gagged, concealed in that declivity, and stripped, of course, for we required their uniforms.”
“To them, and please them,” said Selius Arconious, “with your kisses, and lips, and tongue and mouth. Draw their seed forth, and leave no traces, for we do not wish them to be slain in the morning, signs of pleasure about their bodies.”
“Master!” protested Ellen, in horror. “You cannot be serious!”
“They are doubtless good fellows,” said Selius Arconious. “And surely they should receive at least some small recompense for their help, their cooperation, in our endeavors this night.”
“I beg to give you such pleasures, and a thousand other intimate, and beautiful, and precious pleasures, my Master, no limit of pleasure for you, for I am yours, but I beg you, do not ask me to so serve! Not others! Recall that I was not only a woman of Earth, but a lady, a lady of Earth!” She hoped that that expression would turn him from his intent, for the station of “lady,” on Gor, is a lofty one. He need not know that it had a lesser status on Earth.
She pressed her head down to his sandals. “Please, no, Master!” she begged. “I was a lady on Earth,” she said. “Please do not ask me to so serve!”
“You may have been a lady on Earth,” he said, “but you are a slave girl on Gor. And you will serve whomever, and however, I please.”
“Master, please!” she begged, head down.
“Must a command be repeated?” he asked.
“No, Master!” she said, frightened. In his tone there was ice, and iron, and she then knew what she was to him, and would be to him, what he would have her as, an uncompromised full slave.
Sobbing she sprang to her feet and hurried some yards away, to the indicated declivity. The clouds were more open now, and two of the three moons were visible. She had no difficulty in locating the bound guardsmen. They were tied apart, bound hand and foot, fastened in a row, tied by the neck and feet to two notched poles, so they could not reach one another. When she knelt near the first, she a naked slave, bending over him, her small hands braceleted behind her, the guardsman, sensing what was to be done, began to struggle fiercely, angrily. His eyes, over the gag, against which he helplessly fought, glared savagely at her. She was frightened, but she was even more frightened of her master, Selius Arconious, whom she now understood was not to be trifled with. He was to be obeyed categorically, instantly, unquestioningly, perfectly. She had no doubt now that h
e would use the whip on her, and without a second thought. She was, after all, his slave. “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered to the first man. “It will do you no good to struggle. You are helplessly bound, hand and foot, and though I am only a weak slave, know that you are now fully at my mercy. You cannot prevent me from doing what I will do. Please, forgive me, Master.”
Then, as he reared up in futile protest, she bent to his body.
Ellen then, to the best of her ability, pleased him. She tried to remember the lessons of her training, limited though they might have been, the kisses, the pneumaticities, the subtleties, the delicacies, the gentleness, the deeper grasps, the swirlings of the tongue, the touchings with the side of her face, the caress of her breasts and hair, the occasional, seemingly inadvertent brushing even of the eyelashes, light as feathers, her face beside him. “Please forgive me, Master,” she whispered. “I must do what I am told. Please forgive me.” And as she dealt with him she noted his responses, his twistings and turnings, and struggles, even the smallest movements of his body, and, even though he was gagged, the myriad subtleties and wealth of his expressions, resistant, demanding, furious, startled, disbelieving, helpless. “I hope to give you pleasure,” she whispered. “I am a pleasure slave, and I exist to please and serve men. It is what I am for, Master. It is accordingly my hope that I may please and serve you.” They guide you, she thought, through signs, even gagged. You can read the book of their pleasure, whether they wish it or not. He is teaching me! In his eyes she saw a reluctant, belligerent, begrudging admiration. I, a mere slave, she thought, am well pleasing a master. The thought crossed her mind then, as it had upon occasion before, that it was likely, at least for the most part, that only highly intelligent women were brought to this planet, to wear the collars of Gor. Who would wish to be served by a stupid slave? Certainly I am intelligent, she thought. At least I would suppose so. I would hope so. And others surely are, as well. We are not stupid. And slavers know that, she thought, the imperious, glorious, uncompromising, virile monsters! Even what I am doing, to do it well, she thought, requires sensitivity, attentiveness, intelligence. Even to serve as I am requires intelligence. Men will expect us to do such things well. A stupid girl might well diminish or bungle his pleasures. Then she swiftly, fearfully, dismissed such thoughts, those of the desiderata against which the values of slaves might be assessed and measured. Pay attention to what you are doing, slave girl, she thought. You do not wish to be beaten. How right I am in my collar, she thought. How right we are in our collars, she thought.