by John Norman
“My thanks, Sir,” she said, looking up at me.
“It is nothing,” I said.
“I am grateful,” she said.
“Perhaps you would care to join me at my table,” I suggested. “There is little but sul porridge, but I could order you a bowl,” I said.
“One must make do in trying circumstances,” she said, “with what there is.”
“Do you have any wine?” I asked Strobius.
He smiled. “Yes,” he said.
“Would you care for some wine?” I asked her.
Her eyes glistened over her veil. It had been some days, I gathered, since she had been able to afford or had had wine. “Yes,” she said, “it would give me great pleasure to drink your wine. “
“Please go to the table,” I said, indicating the table, “and I will make the arrangements.”
“Very well,” she said, and turned away, going to the table.
“Sul porridge,” said Strobius, “is ten copper tarsks. I will charge you forty copper tarsks for the wine, two cups.”
“Very well,” I said.
In a few moments he had had a fellow bring a tray with the sul porridge and two cups of wine to the counter. I paid him.
“Oh, by the way,” I asked, “do you have a packet of Tassa powder?”
He grinned, and reached under the counter. “Yes,” he said, handing it to me.
“How much do I owe you for this?” I asked.
“For that one,” he said, “it is free. Take it with the compliments of the house.”
“Very well,” I said.
The girl turned uneasily on the mat. She was then again on her side. Her legs were again drawn up. She moaned. I saw the small fingers of her right hand touch the mat. Her finger tips were soft against the rough fibers. On her legs, where she had lain, there were markings from the mat.
I saved a part of the crust of bread I was eating.
She moved uneasily, and made a small noise. She must now sense that it was morning.
I looked about myself. The inn was deserted. It bore the signs of having been hastily evacuated. Tarnsmen of Ar, the rumors had had it, were soon to be aflight toward Lara. The evacuation of the inn had been a portion of the evacuation of the entire city. Outside the streets were empty, and quiet. There were few persons, I conjectured, now left in Lara. There were, of course, the girl and myself.
She rolled onto her belly on the mat. She lay there, the left side of her face against the mat, her small hands at the sides of her head.
I watched her.
I saw her small fingers move slightly, and her finger tips touch the fibers of the mat.
Then, suddenly, I saw her finger tips press down on the mat, and then, suddenly; her fingernails, frightened, dug at it. Her entire body suddenly stiffened.
“You are awake,” I observed.
“What is this on which I find myself?” she asked, frightened.
“Is it not obvious?” I asked. “It is a slave mat.”
“Where am I?” she asked, lifting her head.
“In the main room of the inn of Strobius,” I said, “in the city of Lara.”
She rose to her hands and knees. I noticed that her breasts were lovely, inside the rag she wore. “What happened?” she asked.
“You were drugged,” I told her.
She shook her head. She looked at me. I did not think she could yet well focus on me.
“You should not have drunk my wine,” I told her.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked.
“I discarded, burned or destroyed your luggage and your things,” I said, “with the exception of what you now wear, a Ta-Teera and a collar.”
“I am collared,” she whispered, disbelievingly. She tried the steel.
“It is locked,” I assured her.
I saw her hand, subtly, furtively, touch the side of her Ta-Teera.
“The key is no longer there,” I informed her. “Too, I have ripped away and discarded the tiny pocket which you had had sewn there. Girls are not permitted to carry things in their Ta-Teera. Surely you know that.”
“Where is the key?” she whispered.
“I threw it away,” I told her.
She shook her head. “I remember you,” she said. “You paid for my lodging. You gave me wine.”
“Yes,” I said.
“It was drugged,” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
“Give me the key to this collar!” she cried, suddenly. She sprang to her feet, her hands pulling at the collar.
“Do not leave the slave mat,” I cautioned her. “I threw the key away,” I reminded her.
“Threw it away?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“But it is a real collar,” she said. “I cannot remove it.”
“No,” I said, “it has not been designed to be removed by a girl.”
She regarded me with horror.
“Do not leave the mat,” I told her.
She stepped back more on the mat.
“Kneel down,” I suggested.
She knelt, her knees pressed closely together.
“I found both the Ta-Teera and the collar among your belongings,” I told her. “Surely they are unusual objects to be found among the belongings of a free woman.”
She said nothing.
“Perhaps you are an escaped slave,” I said.
“No!” she cried. “I am not a slave! I am not branded!”
“Reveal your thigh to me,” I said, “that I may see whether or not you are branded.”
“No!” she said. Then she said, angrily, “You put me in the Ta-Teera. You know well I am not branded.”
“That is true,” I smiled.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked. “Who are you? Is this some bizarre joke?”
“No,” I said, “it is not a joke.”
She turned white.
“Let me go,” she said.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Yes, terribly,” she said, uncertainly.
I threw her what was left of the crust of bread. It stuck the slave mat before her.
She reached for it.
“Do not use your hands,” I told her.
“I am a free woman,” she said.
“Place the palms of your hands down on the mat, and lower your head, and eat,” I told her.
“I am a free woman,” she said.
“Eat,” I told her.
She ate, as I had instructed her, not using her hands. I then placed a pan of water within her reach. “Drink,” I told her. She then drank, as she had eaten, not using her hands. I then removed the pan of water from her, threw out the water that had been left and put the pan aside. I then again returned to my place and sat down, cross-legged, behind the small table. She looked at me. I did not think she was displeased to have eaten and drunk.
“What do you want of me?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“Spread your knees,” I told her.
Angrily she did so.
“How is it,” I asked, “that a free woman should have among her belongings such unusual articles as a Ta-Teera and a collar?”
“I have been associated,” she said, “with female slavers, of the house of Tima. I have occasionally used such articles in my work.”
“I see,” I said.
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“Do you?” I asked.
“You are masked,” she said. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“It is true that you are well exposed before me,” I said.
She reddened.
“Do you know me from somewhere?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“From where?” she asked.
“Vonda,” I said.
She shrugged, angrily. “You could be any one of a thousand men,” she said.
“But I am not,” I said.
“No,” she said, “I suppose not.”
“Come over here,” I sa
id, “and lie down on the table, on your back, before me.”
She did so.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.
“You will learn,” I said. The table was low, and sturdy.
“Obviously you intend to treat me as a slave,” she said.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“I see you have prepared lengths of rope,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
Then, slowly, not hurrying, I began to tie her down across the table. I began with her left wrist, fastening it over her head and behind her, to one of the short legs of the table.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“The city has been evacuated,” I said.
“Why?” she asked.
“It was feared there would be an attack of tarnsmen from Ar,” I said.
I then jerked tight the rope pulling her right wrist over her head and behind her. I secured it in place.
I thrust up the Ta-Teera, that I might spread her legs.
“Did you truly throw away the key to the collar?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then you must help me to get out of it soon,” she said, “perhaps with tools.”
“Why?” I asked. I fastened down her left leg.
“Surely you have read it?” she asked. Such collars usually bear a legend. Usually the legend identifies the master, that the slave, if fled, or lost or strayed, may be promptly returned.
“No,” I said. “I cannot read Gorean.”
“Does it tell who your master is?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Oh!” she cried, as I pulled her right ankle to the right corner of the table and there, with two loops of the slim, coarse rope, tied it down.
I then jerked apart the Ta-Teera, that she be well revealed to me. She gasped. She squirmed, and trembled. I then stood up and looked down upon her, observing my handiwork.
She pulled at the ropes, and knew herself helpless. She looked up at me. “You have taken me boldly,” she said.
I said nothing.
She pulled again at the ropes. Then she lay back, helpless. “You have tied me well,” she said.
I shrugged.
“I suppose now,” she said, “you will wish me to address you as ‘Master’.”
“As you wish,” I said. “It does not matter.”
“Tied as I am,” she said, “it seems to me not unfitting that I should call you ‘Master’.”
I said nothing.
“I request your permission to do so,” she said.
“It is granted,” I said. “What does your collar say?” I asked.
Suddenly she reared in the ropes. “You must help me to remove it!” she said.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“It says, ‘I am the slave, Darlene,’” she said.
“It is an Earth-girl name,” I said.
“Precisely,” she said. “You can well imagine what might be done with me if I were caught in such a collar. Men might think that I was an Earth girl, or one of those girls like an Earth girl, and was thus given such a name!”
I smiled.
“Surely you understand my fears,” she said.
“Of course,” I said.
“I used to train Earth girls,” she said. “I know how men look upon them.”
I nodded. Gorean men were not gentle with Earth girls. They regarded them as natural slaves, and treated them accordingly, fully. Some of the most abject slaveries on Gor were assigned to Earth girls.
“So you will help me out of this collar as soon as possible, will you not?” she asked.
“I will if it pleases me,” I said.
She lay back. “I am in your ropes,” she shrugged.
I crouched then beside her.
“You know me, don’t you?” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“You heard my name about the inn,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “but even aside from that I would have known you.”
“Even veiled?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She pulled at the ropes. “You have then,” she said, “a shrewd eye for the flesh of women.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
“Do you truly know me?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“What is my name?” she asked.
“You are the Lady Tendite of Vonda,” I said, “who was assistant to the Lady Tima of Vonda, a slaver of that city, of the house of Tima.”
“Who are you?” she asked, frightened.
I drew away the mask.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Do you not recall me?” I asked. “I was once a silk slave. My name is Jason.”
Slowly recognition crept into her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No!” Then, struggling wildly, she tore at the ropes. “No,” she screamed. “No!” Then again she lay before me, tied as helplessly and perfectly as before. “No,” she whispered. “No, no.”
“Yes,” I whispered to her. “Yes.”
***
The Lady Tendite now lay on the slave mat, where I had put her later in the morning.
“You will help me get this hated collar off, won’t you?” she purred lifting her arms and putting them about my neck, lifting her lips to mine.
“Does Darlene beg it?” I asked.
“Darlene!” she said, lying back, angrily.
“Is that not the name on the collar?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “it is.”
“Does Darlene beg it?” I asked.
“Yes,” she purred, again lifting her arms and putting them about my neck. “Yes,” she whispered. “Darlene begs it.” Then we kissed.
“The request of Darlene is refused,” I told her.
Angrily she scrambled to her knees and pulled at the collar. She looked at me in fury. “You sleen!” she said.
I smiled.
“Sleen! Sleen!” she said.
The Ta-Teera had been half torn from her. She had squirmed well.
“Sleen! Sleen!” she wept.
She was soft, and luscious and curved. It was easy to see why men make women slaves.
“Be silent!” I said to her, suddenly.
She looked at me, frightened.
“Do not leave the mat,” I told her, getting up. I went to one of the narrow, barred windows in the inn. I saw five armed men running down the street.
“River pirates,” I said. “I think they must be.”
She moaned, and foolishly tried to cover her beauty. I looked back at her. “Do you think they would permit you modesty in their shackles?” I asked. Then I returned to her side. “They are not coming here,” I said. “I think they have decided it is time to leave Lara.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Yet I do not smell smoke,” I said. “It is interesting.”
“What is going on?” she asked.
“Can you not guess?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “No!”
I then took her by the arms and threw her to her back on the slave mat beneath me.
“My dear Lady Tendite, or ‘Darlene,’ as I may choose to call you,” I said, “I do not think we have a great deal more time to tarry in this place.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“And you must leave it somewhat earlier than I,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said. “Oh,” she said, entered and held. She tried to press me away, but could not do so. Then she clutched at me.
“Excellent, Darlene,” I said.
“What are you making me do?” she whispered.
“Can you not guess?” I asked her.
***
“You have won, Jason,” she whispered to me, lying on her side beside me, her head on her arm. “You have made me yield to you, irreservedly, helplessly, and as a slave.”
“As a free woman,” I said, “you cannot yet begin to understand the fullness, the helplessness, of true slave
yieldings.”
“I sense what they might be,” she whispered, “being fully owned, being fully and legally at the mercy of a master.”
“Do the thoughts intrigue you?” I asked.
“I must put them from my mind,” she said. “I must not even dare to think them.”
“Why?” I asked.
“They are too profoundly feminine,” she said.
“And thus not fit for a proud free woman?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“But suitable perhaps for a collared slave?” I said.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Such a woman is permitted to be true to herself.”
“I suspect,” I said, “she is given no choice but to be true to herself.”
“Yes,” said the girl. “She is given no choice. She must be true to herself. If she should be reluctant the master and the whip will see to it.”
“You seem to speak enviously of the miserable women in bondage.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
“You yourself wear a collar,” I said.
“But I am a free woman,” she said.
“For the time, perhaps,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“Get up,” I told her. We got up.
She faced me. “You are not going to help me get the collar off, are you?” she asked. She touched me about the shoulder with her finger.
“No,” I said.
“You fill me with strange feelings, Jason,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“I am accustomed,” she said, “to having men do what I wish.”
“I suggest, Lady Tendite,” I said, “that you begin to accustom yourself to doing what men wish.”
“What are you doing?” she asked. I had heard men nearby, the sound of weapons. I dragged her toward the door of the inn. I slid back the panel and looked out. The street, as far as I could tell, was clear. I then shut the panel, and swung up the heavy bars on the door. I opened the door and looked out. The street was clear. I held the Lady Tendite firmly by her left upper arm. She was barefoot, in the torn Ta-Teera and collar. I then flung her down the wide, shallow steps and some fifteen feet into the street beyond. She fell to her hands and knees in the street, and suddenly scrambled up, wildly, looking about herself. I then shut the door, dropping the two heavy beams into place. She ran to the door and began to pound on it. “Let me in!” she cried. “Let me in!”
Within the inn I left the main room and went up to the second floor where, from one of the room’s windows, I might command a better view of the street. I could still hear her pounding on the door below. “Let me in, Jason!” she sobbed. “Let me in!” Again and again she struck with her small fists against the door. “I will be your slave, Master!” she cried. “Have mercy on me, Master! Please have mercy on me, Master!”