by John Norman
“Ah, yes,” I said, “sometimes, when I look at your legs, I forget.”
“Beast!” she hissed.
“As you have had ‘the wine of the noble free woman,’” I said, “it does not much matter. The substances, save in the pleasantness of their imbibings, are equivalent. Indeed, both have as their active ingredient sip root.”
“Do not touch me!” she said.
“I have no intention of doing so,” I said.
“I am a virgin!” she said.
“That surprises me,” I said.
“Why do you smile?” she asked.
“It is nothing,” I said. In some markets virgins sold well. That always seemed to me a bit strange. In any event, virgin slaves were rare.
“You think I am not attractive?” she asked.
“As a free woman of Earth,” I said, “I would think you are quite attractive.”
“I am!” she said.
“You are vain?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but legitimately so. My beauty is obvious. It is a matter of fact.”
“I see,” I said.
“I am beautiful,” she said. “I am extremely beautiful!”
“For a free woman of Earth,” I said. “But you have not yet even been opened.”
“‘Opened’?” she said.
“For the pleasures of men,” I said.
“I see,” she said, icily.
“But more importantly,” I said, “you have not yet been awakened, softened, and sensitized. Your body is not yet a sheet of awareness. Are you even aware of the feel, the exact feel, consider it now, of the straps on your wrists?”
She shuddered.
“There are horizons, and vistas, of your sex,” I said, “sensations, feelings, hopes, apprehensions, awarenesses, fears, anticipations, yearnings, longings, of which you are totally unaware. You have not yet begun to learn yourself. You are still a stranger to nature, to yourself, and the world. You do not yet know who you are, or what you are.”
“I know very well who I am, and what I am,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It is only in the collar that women learn themselves. It is only in the collar that the flower of their sex opens, one by one, its vulnerable petals. It is only in the collar that a woman comes to her true happiness, and true beauty.”
“Kneeling before a man,” she said, angrily, “her lips pressed to his feet!”
“Certainly,” I said. “Can you not conceive of yourself so?”
“Yes,” she said, “in terror of my life.”
“Yes,” I said, “it often begins so.”
“Leave me,” she said.
“What do you think of Pertinax?” I asked.
“He is a despicable weakling,” she said.
I then left her, as she had requested. A Gorean male, commonly, complies with the wishes of a free woman.
They are, after all, free.
I turned about, and went to Pertinax. “Take the first watch,” I said.
I then went and lay down near Cecily.
“Master,” she whispered.
“Yes?” I said.
“My needs are much on me,” she said. “Caress me, please.”
“No,” I said.
The satisfaction of the slave’s needs is up to the master. Occasionally one frustrates them. It helps them to keep in mind that they are slaves. On the other hand, the sex lives of slaves are a thousand times richer and deeper than those of a free woman, if the free woman, with her hauteur and grandeur, has anything worth considering a sex life. There is no comparison with that of a free woman. The sexual experiences of slaves, as opposed to those of free women, are lavish, vital, frequent, and prolonged. The sexual experiences of the free woman are usually brief and disappointing. The life of the slave, on the other hand, is essentially a sexual life; sexuality irradiates her entire existence; it does not begin and end with a caress; in the collar she knows she is essentially a sexual creature, a slave, at the master’s bidding, and this knowledge imbues her entire life with an erotic glow, a permeating ambience. For the slave, polishing a master’s boots, tying his sandals, presenting him with food, greeting him at the door, kneeling, and such, are sexual experiences. Normally, of course, the slave’s petitions for attention will be entertained, and usually acceded to, and readily. This should be easy to understand. It is, naturally, usually quite pleasant to assuage the slave’s needs, as anyone who has done so knows. Having a slave at one’s mercy and forcing her through the throes, she perhaps jerking at her chains, of a succession of belly-wrenching, belly-rocking orgasms, is gratifying. Who does not want a naked slave, in her collar, sobbing, and bucking and squirming, and begging for more? Also, one usually has, if not a duty to content the slave, for nothing is owed to the slave, an inclination to do so. Surely this is easy to understand. She is so needful, and beautiful! Too, have not men been responsible for the tormenting acuity of those very needs which so distress her? Has it not been men who have seen to it, with an almost cruel intent, that slave fires will rage in her lovely belly? Should not those who have set such tinder alight satisfy the very needs they have done so much to ignite and intensify?
Cecily moaned, softly.
“Be silent,” I said to her, softly.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”
In several Ahn I knew she would be even more needful and desperate. One of the controls a master has over a slave, as the control of her food, her clothing, and whether or not she is to be permitted clothing, and such, is the control he exercises over her in virtue of her sexual needs. Slave fires, even when extinguished by the mercy of the master, will soon rekindle.
Any woman in whose belly slave fires burn knows herself slave.
Such fires will put her at the mercy of even a hated master.
“Master,” said Cecily.
“Yes?” I said.
“The signs have vanished,” she said. “Why do we linger in the reserve?”
“Because the signs have vanished,” I said.
“I do not understand,” she said.
“We will be met,” I said. “We will have a guide.”
“And signs are not to be risked?” she said.
“Not beyond this point, I gather,” I said.
“I see,” she said.
Chapter Eight
TAJIMA;
A WOMAN OF EARTH IS TO BE PRESENTED TO LORD NISHIDA
It was now the next morning.
I had had the second watch.
“Do not disturb him,” I said.
“Does he know we are here?” asked Pertinax.
“Certainly,” I said. “Sit here, cross-legged, beside me.” I looked over my shoulder, to the girls. “Slaves, kneel,” I said.
Pertinax assumed the suggested position, and, behind us, Cecily and Constantina knelt down.
They were still bound.
The rope leashes dangled from their necks.
We spoke in whispers.
We were some twenty yards from the fellow, who was engaged, I supposed, in certain martial exercises, certainly of a rather stylized, formal nature. I had never seen anything exactly like this before. He was standing, and sometimes wheeled about, gracefully. He had two hands on an unusual sword, with which he described certain evolutions, thrusts, strokes, a return to guard, and so on. It seemed ritualistic, but he was certainly intent on what he was doing. I had the sense of a severe concentration.
I was reminded somewhat of the Pyrrhic dances of Gorean infantry, particularly of those infantries who specialized in the tactics of the phalanx, rather than the shifting, melting, forming, reforming tactics of the squares. Nothing stood against the phalanx on level ground. The squares, however, were more flexible, and better suited to an uneven terrain. The Pyrrhic dances were used primarily as training exercises, but also figured in parades and martial displays, men shouting, spears clashing rhythmically on shields, the spear hedge rising and falling, wheeling about, a thousand spears in unis
on, this all to music. It is very impressive. This fellow’s exercises, however, were done by a single man and, as nearly as I could determine, from the distance, in silence.
He wore a light, loose, white robe, which came about to his knees. It had wide, but short, sleeves.
“I have been told of such fellows,” said Pertinax. “He is Tuchuk.”
“I do not think so,” I said. He did not look Tuchuk to me. The Tuchuks are, on the whole, short and broad, strong fellows, agile riders. This fellow seemed a bit taller, and certainly thinner, more lithe, more pantherlike.
“Tuchuk,” said Pertinax.
“There is no facial scarring,” I said.
“Surely not all Tuchuks are disfigured,” said Pertinax.
“They do not think of it as disfigurement,” I said, “but, if anything, as enhancement.”
“Surely they are not all scarred,” said Pertinax.
“True,” I said. And, indeed, it was true that not all Tuchuks were scarred. The scars were not easily come by. They had to be earned, by success in war, and such.
As noted, I had had the second watch.
In the neighborhood of dawn I had seen him through the trees. He was bare-headed. He carried a single sword. I saw him, and he saw me. We did not exchange a greeting. He determined that most of our camp was asleep, and then withdrew, to wait. He sat cross-legged for a time, facing our camp. Then, after a time, he had risen, unsheathed his unusual sword, and commenced his exercises.
I had the sense he did not wish to disturb the camp, but thought it appropriate to wait until it was awake.
This, I took, somewhat to my surprise, as politeness.
To be sure, it is dangerous to come on a sleeping warrior, which he would presumably take Pertinax to be. Normally one makes certain, if one’s intentions are peaceful, that any approached camp is well aware of one’s approach, even to one’s singing, calling out, pounding on a shield, or such. A surreptitious advance is usually taken as an act of war.
He took little note of the girls, other, I suppose, than to note that their wrists were bound behind them, and each, by the neck, was fastened to a tree. They were, in effect, tethered, as might have been kaiila. From his vantage point, he would not have been much aware of their quality as females, for example, their value as properties. To be sure, Constantina was priceless, as she was a free woman.
When he had begun his exercises I had come forward to the point where I might sit, and watch. I was careful, of course, not to approach too closely.
When Pertinax awakened, he discovered my absence, doubtless to his considerable uneasiness, and had seemingly, swiftly, cast about to locate me, which event took place shortly. He then awakened the girls and freed their rope leashes from the respective trees to which they had been fastened, and approached me, followed by the girls, still bound, but the leashes now dangling from their necks.
After a time, the fellow sheathed his sword, bowed to the southeast, and turned to face us.
He approached to within about fifteen feet of us, and Pertinax and I, which seemed appropriate, rose to our feet. In this way, though I do not think Pertinax was aware of this, we showed him honor. For us to have remained recumbent, so to speak, would have made it seem rather as though he was an inferior, reporting to us. “Remain kneeling,” I cautioned the girls. Cecily, of course, well aware that she was in the presence of a male, and one presumably free, had not stirred. Constantina, however, had seemed on the point of rising. At my word, of course, though she was not much pleased about it, she remained on her knees.
I lifted my right hand. “Tal,” I said. I hoped he spoke Gorean.
He seemed surprised that I had greeted him first. As he had come, presumably, to render us a service, to conduct us somewhere, his station, quite possibly, would have been subordinate to ours. I had never, however, put great store in protocol. I am English, but I was not derived, as far as I knew, at least recently, from strata in English society where such formalities or precedences much mattered. Too, I had lived for several months in the colonies, so to speak, and, as is well known, they tend be careless in such matters, even to the point of embarrassment. I sensed, however, that proprieties of one sort or another might be not only extremely important to this fellow, but might, to a large extent, govern his life.
“Tal,” he said.
“Tal,” said Pertinax. “I gather you have come to meet us. You are the first Tuchuk I have met.”
The fellow looked puzzled.
I was reasonably certain he was not Tuchuk. The Tuchuk face is commonly swarthy and broad. This fellow’s face, a subtle yellowish brown, was narrower than would be common with the Tuchuk. He did have high cheekbones. He did have the epicanthic fold.
I had little doubt this was a fellow of the sort of whom I had heard yesterday on the beach, the sort spoken of as “strange men.”
“How are the bosk?” I said to him.
“Some are in the forest,” he said, uncertainly, “outside the reserve.”
He would be referring to wild bosk, which can be surly and territorial. In forested areas, they are substantially forward horned, and attack, head down, directly. The Tuchuk bosk, on the other hand, usually have wide, spreading horns. When angered they attack, a bit to the side, to tear the enemy. They also hook nicely, and, if one is caught on the horn, one can be hurled a hundred feet. They are large and powerful. The straighter horns of the forest bosk are presumably an adaptation to the arboreal environment. The plains bosk are, as suggested, usually more widely horned.
“Are the quivas sharp?” I asked.
“I do not know the word,” he said.
“It is important to keep the axles of wagons greased,” I said.
He regarded me, strangely. “I would suppose so,” he said. “The wagoners attend to such matters.”
“Forgive me,” I said to him.
“It is a test?” he said.
“In a way,” I said.
He seemed troubled. “Have I failed?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said. “You have done splendidly.” I then turned to Pertinax. “He is not Tuchuk,” I said.
“Very well,” said Pertinax.
Although there can be some variation in these matters I had rehearsed a common formal greeting often exchanged amongst Tuchuks. In response to my first question, a Tuchuk would most likely have informed me that the bosk were doing as well as might be expected; to my second question, that one tries to keep them that way, namely, sharp. The quiva is a Tuchuk saddle knife. Usually there are seven to a saddle. They are balanced, for throwing. In response to my third question, a Tuchuk would have been expected to agree, amicably, with some remark such as, “Yes, I believe so,” or “Yes, I think so.”
“Is one called Tarl Cabot, a tarnsman, amongst you?” he asked.
“I am Tarl Cabot,” I said.
“I am honored,” he said, “to greet a two-name person.”
I did not respond, as I did not understand what he had in mind.
“I am Tajima,” he said. “I am a one-name person, but I hope, one day, to be a two-name person.”
“It is my hope, as well,” I said, “that you will one day be a two-name person.” I was not sure, frankly, what I was doing here, but I gathered it must have been right, for he bowed, graciously. I bowed back, not sure of what was going on.
“We have located Cabot and brought him here,” said Pertinax. “Conduct us to your superior.”
“I will do the talking,” said Constantina, rising to her feet. “Untie me! Take this horrid rope off my neck.”
Tajima seemed startled.
“Who is the yellow-haired collar-girl?” he asked.
“I am Margaret Wentworth,” she said. “I am in command here. Tarl Cabot has identified himself. My colleague is Gregory White. Untie me! Free me of this disgusting tether.”
“She is a free woman?” said Tajima.
“Yes,” said he whom I had thought of as Pertinax.
“What of the d
ark-haired collar-girl?” asked Tajima.
“She is a slave,” I informed him.
“She is your slave?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“I was told to expect two free men and a slave,” said Tajima, “but I find two free men, and two slaves.”
“I brought a slave,” I said.
“I am not a slave!” said she whom I had thought of as Constantina.
“Lord Nishida,” said Tajima, “is fond of yellow-haired collar-girls.”
“I am not a collar-girl!” she snapped.
I supposed that, in a sense, Miss Wentworth had been a slave for some time, perhaps from the time she had been entered on certain records, or acquisition lists, at least from the point of view of slavers. They tend to regard such entries as effecting embondment, though, to be sure, there are various details to be later attended to, branding, collaring, and such. If one does not accept the slavers’ view of these matters, one would understand, at least, that the selectees had been designated for bondage.
I wondered if this “Lord Nishida” had put in a request for a yellow-haired collar-girl, if one had been included in, say, his “want list.”
“Miss Wentworth,” said Pertinax, for I shall continue to refer to him by this name, as it is familiar, and convenient, and as it would become his Gorean name, “is in disguise. As free women are apparently seldom, if ever, in this locality, we were advised to conceal her identity, to pretend that she might be naught but a mere, degraded slave, a low-value slave, such as might be brought hither.”
“‘Low-value’!” said Miss Wentworth.
“Whilst I myself,” said Pertinax, “assumed a disguise as a simple forester, assigned to the reserves of Port Kar.”
“Release me!” demanded Miss Wentworth.
Pertinax went to untie the wrists of Miss Wentworth.
“Wait, please,” said Tajima.
“Wait,” I told Pertinax.
“If there is a confusion in this matter,” said Tajima, “it will be clarified, three days from today, at the camp.”
“‘Three days’!” exclaimed Miss Wentworth!
“Two days with men,” said Tajima, “three days with females.”