It is no wonder that the institution of slavery provides the human female, in all her sensitivities and vulnerabilities, in all her psychophysical complexity, with the deepest fulfillments and most exquisite emotions she can know.
Briefly put, the second reason that Earth girls make such astoundingly desirable slaves is that they have been, in their Earth years, subjected, in effect, to sexual and emotional starvation. They have labored in a fruitless desert, often not even understanding the causes of their unhappiness, of their misery and frustration. Confused, they have lashed out at themselves and others, ultimately profitlessly and meaninglessly.
Translated to Gor, encountering true men in large numbers, in overwhelming numbers, so different from the crippled males of Earth, finding themselves in an exotic environment, and participating in a culture markedly different from their own, and in many respects both fearful and beautiful, and founded on the order of nature, they find themselves, in effect, restored to love. The Gorean girl knows such joys can exist, though she may or may not have experienced them. The Earth girl, commonly, did not know that such joys, truly, could exist. Only in her troubled sleep, perhaps, did the Earth girl dream of the slaver's noose or the harsh, flat stones of the dungeon on which she might be forced to kneel.
There was a sudden, loud pounding on the cabin door.
The startled girl lifted her head, suddenly, fearfully, looking at me.
With a curt gesture I signaled she should flee to the captain's berth. She crawled rapidly into it. I accompanied her to the berth, and stood beside her. She knelt there, on the berth, frightened. If she were to speak, her voice must be recognized, through the door, as coming from the vicinity of the berth.
She knelt there, clutching the scarlet sheet. I did not speak.
Again came the pounding. "Luta," called a voice. "Luta!"
"Respond to the false name," I told the girl.
"Yes, Master," she called.
"Are you naked, and in the berth?" called the voice.
"Yes, Master," she called.
"Are you all right?" he asked, through the door.
I drew the knife from my belt and thrust its point a quarter of an inch into her sweet, rounded belly. She looked down at it, wincing.
"Yes, Master," she called.
"Who is it?" I whispered.
"Artemidorus," she whispered, "first officer."
"Are you certain that you are all right?" asked the officer, through the door.
I placed my left hand behind the small of her back, so that she could not pull back from the point of the knife. A plunging slash, she knew, might disembowel her.
"Yes, Master," she called.
"Are you keeping yourself hot for your master?" laughed the voice, roughly.
"Yes, Master!" she called. "Is the battle nearly over?" We could hear the occasional sounds of fighting outside, from some hundreds of yards off, across the water.
"Curiosity is not becoming in a Kajira," laughed the fellow.
"Yes, Master. Forgive me, Master," she said.
"Keep yourself hot," he said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
I then heard him laugh again, and then turn about and climb five stairs, which must have led to the main deck, from a short companionway.
"The battle must be nearly over," she said.
"Why do you think so?" I asked.
"My readiness for the master was being checked," she said.
"It is fortunate that he did not choose to check it by hand," I said.
"Yes," she said, shuddering. She looked down at the knife.
I was curious to know how the battle outside waged. I removed my hand from the small of her back, and the knife from its ready and threatening location at her belly. She respired in relief. I placed the knife in my belt again. I saw that her lower belly, so sweetly rounded, was beautiful.
"Lie down," I told her.
She lay on her back, and by the brass rings, some two inches in diameter, and by the leather thongs, near her shoulders, and at the bottom sides of the berth, tied her upon it.
I looked down upon her. She was beautiful, and secured.
I then went to the shattered window at the rear of the cabin. I did not make my surveillance obvious.
"May I inquire as to the situation, Master?" she asked.
"No," I told her.
"Yes, Master," she said.
Through a gap in the pirate fleet, I could see that the beleaguered, desperate ships of the defenders fought on, stoutly.
I was convinced that they, still active, pennons still flying on their stem-castle lines, could hold out until nightfall. Yet I did not think they could withstand the concerted attacks of the pirate fleets for another day. How nobly, and well, they had fought. I was bitter. I looked back to the berth. There, tied upon it, helpless, was she who had been the woman of a pirate captain, she who had been the woman of one of my enemies. I then looked again out the window. In the water, among the larger ships, were small boats, manned by pirates. Considering them I became furious. These were being used to hunt for survivors, luckless fellows, struggling in the water, fishing for them with attentive leisure, with arrows, and with spear and knife. They would also make it difficult to return to the _Tina_. I glanced to the table, to the packet, now in its oil-cloth envelope, which lay there. It had immense value, if only it could be exploited. I looked again, out the window, at the ships of the pirate fleet, and at the defenders, and then I returned to the table, and sat before it.
"Master," said the girl.
I did not respond to her.
"Forgive me, Master," she whispered.
That the defenders had lasted this long was a function largely of two factors, first, of the crowding of the pirate fleet which made it difficult for them to bring their rams and shearing blades into play, and, secondly, the unusually large numbers, and skill, of the soldiers of Ar who had been transported in the holds of the ships of Ar's Station, making boarding hazardous and costly.
The tactics which seemed to me obvious in such a situation the Voskjard had not yet employed.
I suspected then he might not be with his own fleet, that it might be under the command of a lesser man.
Carefully, with the sealing wax, I closed the oil-cloth envelope. I then folded it over, into a rectangular packet, and, with some binding fiber, cut from a coil of such fiber, looped at the bottom of the berth, tied it in this shape. I noticed that the girl was watching me. Accordingly, not speaking, I tore a broad strip from the scarlet sheet and, folding it five times, encircling her head with it, tied it tightly behind the back of her head, blindfolding her with it.
"Forgive me, Master," she whimpered.
I then broke loose a board from the wall, a shelf, some two feet in length, with spike holes in it, to accommodate projections such as that on the silver candle bowl on the table. With binding fiber I tied the packet to this board. Then, with more binding fiber, I improvised a towing loop for the board. This board, then, with its towing loop, and its cargo, the packet in the sealed, oil-cloth envelope, I placed near the window.
It was at this time that I heard the signal horns of the pirate fleet. The orders, I thought, had been too long delayed. I looked out the window. As I had thought, the pirate fleet was now drawing back. The self-frustrating futility of their attack, obstinate and unimaginative, had, at long last, apparently been brought home to its commander. The pirate ships now, sent forward judiciously, singly or doubly, supported as need be, no longer crowded together in useless attempts at boarding, could now bring their rams and shearing blades into play against the cornered, pathetically outnumbered barks of the defenders. But it was now quite late in the afternoon. Doubtless this attack would be postponed until morning, that the slaughter might lose nothing of its effect, some survivors perhaps being enabled, in small boats or in the water, to slip away under the cover of darkness.
I turned and slowly walked back to the side of the berth, on which the voluptuous slave was blind
folded and bound.
I looked down upon her. She knew I stood beside her. She trembled. Her sweet wrists and slim ankles moved in the leather bonds which, tied to the brass slave rings, confined them.
I removed the folded, scarlet strip of the sheet which had covered the upper part of her head, and cast it to one side.
She looked up at me, frightened. She shrank deeper, back in the berth. She had been the woman of Reginald, one of the captains of the Voskjard.
"Please, Master," she whispered, "do not hurt me."
She had been a woman of the enemy.
"Please, Master," she begged, "show me mercy."
How beautiful she was in her collar, close-fitting, and of gleaming, engraved steel, which she could not remove. How beautiful women are in collars. It is no wonder men enjoy putting them in them. How beautiful is the collar itself, and yet how insignificant is the beauty of the collar compared to the beauty and profundity of its meaning, that the woman is owned.
"You are well tied, Slave," I told her. "You are absolutely helpless."
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are lovely," I told her.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"A veritable delicacy," I mused, "which was to have been kept simmering on the stove, so to speak, awaiting the pleasure of her master."
"Yes, Master," she smiled.
"Why did Artemidorus, the first officer, when he inquired as to your readiness, not attempt to enter the cabin, and check you by hand?"
"None may touch me save Reginald, my master," She said, proudly, "unless I have displeased him."
"Oh," she cried. "Oh!"
"Have you forgotten, so soon," I asked, "pretty slave, to whom it is that you now belong?"
"To you," she said, "to you, Master! Oh!"
"It seems you are still simmering, little sweet, little delicacy," I said.
She looked at me, wildly. "Your touch!" she whispered. "What is it doing to me?" Then she lifted her body, piteously, the sweet, rounded centralities of her, to me. Then I took her by the hips, holding her, pressing my thumbs into the sides of her belly. She recoiled, frightened. "Show me mercy," she said.
"No," I said.
***
I pulled the portion of the wadded strip of scarlet sheet, wet and heavy, out of her mouth, a portion of the same, and still attached to it, that I had used earlier to blindfold her. I had thrust it in her mouth to muffle her cries. She was moaning softly, and kissing at me.
"I see that you are still simmering," I said.
"Simmering?" she laughed, ruefully, softly. "You brought me to a boil, and then, when you had well tasted of me, let me subside, and then again, when it pleased you, made me simmer, and then again brought me to a boil, and then again made me simmer, and then, once again, brought me to a boil."
I brushed back some blond hair from her face.
"You well know how to prepare a girl for your delectation, Master," she whispered. "Surely you are a gourmet of slave use, a master chef well trained in the art of preparing delicious slave viands for the satisfaction of your lustful hungers."
"Be quiet, little delicacy," I told her.
She then thrust her body again against me, and I saw her need. Again I thrust the portion of the scarlet sheet, wadded, into her mouth. She could not protest. There were tears in her eyes. Again she pressed herself, as she could, against me.
The candle on the table had burned out. It was dark outside. I returned from the window of the cabin.
"Please, Master, once again," she begged.
"You are an amorous, passionate wench," I said.
"I cannot help myself," she said. "I am a female slave."
I smiled to myself. Slavery brings out the female in a woman.
I gently joined her on the berth. My knife was thrust, point deep, in the wood above the berth, and to one side, to my right, where I might reach it, if need be. It had been necessary only once to hold it to her jugular. I wadded the portion of scarlet sheet together in my hands and then, holding it between the thumb and fingers of my right hand, pushed it back in her mouth, deeply, behind her teeth.
I untied her and put her on her stomach, in the darkness, on the berth. The portion of cloth I had used to gag her lay to the left side of her head. Her head, too, was turned to the left.
"Am I not as low and passionate as the collared sluts of Earth?" she asked.
I took her wrists behind her back. "There is hope for you," I granted her. I then tied her wrists behind her back.
"Bah," she said, "a Gorean girl is a thousand times more passionate than an Earth slut."
"Perhaps," I said. I smiled. Let them compete with one another, to see who could please men more. Both Earth girls and Gorean girls, I knew, were marvelous. Both were women.
I then pulled the girl to her feet and stood her beside the berth.
"You have tied my hands behind my back," she said. "You have stood me naked before you. What are you going to do with me?"
I regarded her.
I removed the knife from where I had wedged it in the wood above the berth, to one side and to the right. I held it to her belly.
"Please do not kill me," she begged.
I thrust the knife in my belt.
She shook with relief.
"It is late," I said. "Go to the window."
In the darkness of the cabin, barefoot, stepping softly through the glass and bits of frame scattered on the floor, she went, as commanded, to the window. She stood facing it. I fetched the wadding of scarlet silk which I had earlier used to gag her and put it in my belt. I also fetched the remains of the scarlet sheet from which, standing beside her, I tore what I needed, and then discarded the rest.
"Do you intend to take me with you?" she asked.
I blindfolded her. She would be absolutely helpless in the water.
"Yes," I said. I thought someone might want her. She was a hot and lovely slave. Perhaps I could give her to Aemilianus.
"Listen," I said, suddenly. There was a step on the stairs leading down to the companionway.
"It is Reginald," she said, lifting her head. I did not doubt this. Slaves, like many domestic animals, can often recognize the step of their master.
"Reginald," she whispered, frightened. Her lip trembled. The step had approached down the companionway, and halted before the cabin door. I heard a heavy key thrust complacently into a lock on the outside of the door. It was late. Reginald had come to enjoy his slave. Gorean masters may or may not knock before entering compartments occupied by their slaves. The decision is theirs, as is the slave. If he knocks it is usually only to make his presence known to the slave, and the knock is commonly authoritative and rude, often startling her, even though she expects it, signaling her in no unclear or ambiguous fashion that she is to prepare herself, and well, to greet him, her master, which she does then in a position of docility and submission, usually kneeling and head down.
I heard the padlock, on its chain, fall to the side of the door. "Flee!" whispered the girl to me. Her head twisted in the blindfold. Her small wrists fought futilely the thongs that confined them.
I heard the door push inward, but, of course, it could not move, as I had secured it from the inside, with a lock and bar.
There was a silence.
I took the towing rope, attached to the board and packet, and looped it, and put it through the girl's collar. I passed the lower end of the loop about the board and packet.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Is this door locked?" inquired Reginald, not pleasantly from the other side of the door. I smiled. Clearly it was locked.
I pulled the rope tight on her collar.
"Open this door!" said Reginald. He struck the heavy wood with his fist.
The girl moaned. As she moved, the board, on its towing loop, cracked against her legs.
"Open this door!" commanded Reginald. He struck it twice, angrily, with his fist.
"Can you swim?" I inquired.
/> "No," she said, "and I am bound!"
"Open the door," commanded Reginald. Then he shouted, "Artemidorus! Surtus!"
The girl moaned in misery, unable to obey. I thrust her a step toward the window, holding her by the arm. I looked out I saw no small boats in the vicinity.
"Oh, no," moaned the girl, "please, no!"
Norman, John - Gor 16 - Guardsman Of Gor v2.txt Page 8