Swordsmen of Gor

by John Norman

  “Mr. White?” said Lord Nishida.

  “Yes,” said Miss Wentworth. “And now I come to my demands.”

  “But, please,” said Lord Nishida. “You were approached by no agent of mine.”

  “I do not understand,” she said.

  “Can you make tea?” he inquired. “Properly?”

  “No,” she said, puzzled.

  “Can you arrange flowers,” he asked. “Properly?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Can you play a stringed musical instrument, a lyre, a lute, a samisen?”

  “No,” she said.

  I saw the two contract women exchange amused glances. One giggled, slightly, she on the right, as one faced them. This displeased Tajima, but the girl did not seem disconcerted by his disapproval.

  Lord Nishida did not see fit to acknowledge the contract woman’s indiscretion.

  The woman’s name was Sumomo, and Tajima, I would later learn, was interested in her contract, which he could not afford.

  “Perhaps you can dance,” said Lord Nishida.

  “No,” she said.

  Lord Nishida would surely not have in mind dances which might be indigenous to his own culture. Miss Wentworth could not be expected to have such skills. They would be quite foreign to her.

  He must have in mind then, I supposed, Gorean slave dance.

  To be sure, she would doubtless know nothing of that, as well.

  The forms of dance of the women of the “strange men” would, I supposed, be lovely and would be backgrounded by a rich cultural tradition, but I also supposed they would be quite different from Gorean slave dance.

  Whereas Gorean slave dance can be as subtle as the opening of the petals of a flower it is commonly richly, luxuriantly, unmistakably, outspokenly, unapologetically, brazenly erotic. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than in slave dance, where the slave, barefoot in sand, in a swirl of diaphanous silk, bangled, belled, and collared, dances before masters.

  A skilled dancer brings high prices. I had once owned one, Sandra, whom I had sold long ago to a dealer in such wares, for a golden tarn disk.

  Many masters require that their slaves learn at least the rudiments of such dance.

  One supposes that the motivation of this is clear.

  “Are you skilled,” asked Lord Nishida, “in the art of conversation?”

  “No,” said Miss Wentworth, “and I do not understand the purport of these bizarre questions.”

  “What then are you good for?” asked Lord Nishida.

  “I do not understand,” she said. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, and I now demand my compensation, and to be conducted to some point, from which I may be promptly returned to Earth, to New York City. Please secure the moneys as soon as possible, or arrange for their delivery on Earth, as I intend to waste no more time here.”

  “It will be seen to,” said Lord Nishida, “that your time is not wasted.”

  “Good!” she said.

  “But I fear it is not within my power,” he said, “to see to it that you are returned to your world.”

  “I was promised!” she said. “Your agent, or some agent, arranged this whole matter! I do not understand what is going on.”

  It was not difficult to tell that Miss Wentworth was now not only puzzled, but frightened. She had, as she had pointed out, fulfilled her part of a bargain, be it one of unscrupulous betrayal, and now she found herself in an alien environment, in which little or nothing of the arrangements into which she had entered seemed to be known.

  She turned about. “White, White,” she exclaimed, “what is going on?”

  “There is no ship,” said Pertinax.

  “No, no!” she cried. “There is a ship!”

  “No,” said Pertinax.

  “Perhaps I can explain,” said a voice.

  “You?” she said, questioningly. Then she cried out, “You!”

  He who had spoken was the fellow on the platform at the right hand of Lord Nishida, he in the informal, brown robe, seemingly indicative of no caste in particular, he of the short-cropped blond hair, and heavy features, he whom I took to be an agent of Kurii.

  “Joy! Joy!” cried Miss Wentworth suddenly, in wild relief, now certain it was he whom she thought. “There! He will tell you! He will tell you!” she cried to Lord Nishida. “Now things are all right! Now, all will be explained!”

  “You have met before?” said Lord Nishida.

  “Certainly!” she cried. “It is he, Mr. Stevens! He was my contact! It was he with whom I entered into agreement! I received an advance payment of several thousand dollars from him! Mr. Stevens, explain all to these fools!”

  “You know him?” said Lord Nishida.

  “Certainly!” she said. “He is Thaddeus Stevens, of Stevens and Associates.”

  “I am Thrasilicus,” said the man. “As you were disguised on Gor so I was disguised on Earth. There is no firm ‘Stevens and Associates.’”

  I did not think that it was really surprising that Miss Wentworth had not immediately recognized Thrasilicus. She had probably met him only once or twice before, probably months ago, in very different circumstances, and in very different garb. Here he would seem much different, in a different garmenture, in a different environment. Too, he had been rather in the background, and her attention had been much fixed on Lord Nishida, who occupied the center forefront of the platform. Too, Miss Wentworth had been distracted by her various concerns and the perhaps intimidating unfamiliarity of this milieu. Too, his appearance might have been somewhat different on Earth. For example, he would presumably have attempted to duplicate the diffident, half-apologetic body language of the man of Earth, and the subdued discourse of the typical, reduced male of Earth, culturally engineered to betray his natural power and manhood.

  “Explain who I am to these fools!” said Miss Wentworth. “Get me out of here!”

  “You have had little difficulty in the past,” said Thrasilicus, “in having your way with men.”

  “So?” she said.

  “And men strove to please you,” he said.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Perhaps now,” he said, “men will have their way with you, and you will strive to please them.”

  “I do not understand,” she said. “Explain things to these fools, and get me out of here!”

  Thrasilicus then turned to Lord Nishida. “Miss Wentworth,” he said, “was an employee in a large business establishment of a sort with which you would be unfamiliar, and one of which I doubt that you would approve. Her office was to solicit funds from male clients to be invested in other enterprises, for which she spoke, through the auspices of the business establishment she represented.”

  “In this endeavor she was successful?” asked Lord Nishida, with interest.

  “Very much so,” said Thrasilicus. “Men would do much to please her, to win a smile, a glance of gratitude, to avoid a frown, a tear, a trembling lip. She is a highly intelligent, sophisticated, beautiful woman, and she used her sex brilliantly. Few men realized how blatantly they were being manipulated. Some others understood her game only too well, and played the game with her, she not understanding how the player was being played. She supposed them as much the victims of her charm and beauty as their simpler brethren. In any event, she brought large amounts of coin to her employers, and accordingly soon stood high, in arrogance, in her company, was welcomed into her establishment’s chambers of power, and so on. Colleagues of mine, for purposes which you can guess, scout attractive females. Indeed, there are many women of Earth who, unbeknownst to themselves, are even now being scouted.”

  “What are you saying!” cried Miss Wentworth.

  “Please,” said Lord Nishida, gently cautioning Miss Wentworth to silence.

  “These colleagues,” continued Thrasilicus, “when they are convinced of the potential value of a given woman, enter her on an acquisition list.”

  “I do not understand!” said Miss Wentworth.

>   “I myself,” said Thrasilicus, “was the first to note Miss Wentworth, at a business luncheon, in which she was rather obviously cultivating potential clients. For a woman of Earth she was unusually attractive, and I thought something might be done with her. I was there, of course, as Stevens, of Stevens and Associates. She introduced herself, engaged in conversation, even light-hearted banter, and subtly attempted to suggest, from the very first, that she found me physically attractive. I pretended to take this seriously, and she grew bolder, even touching my hand, and then drawing back, as though in embarrassment, or confusion, as though in fear she had gone too far. I think she knew her work well. Naturally I encouraged her to believe that Stevens and Associates might have considerable investment capital in hand, and that we were looking to put it to use, pending the location of a suitable firm to handle this matter. By the end of the luncheon, after which we lingered for drinks, I had learned a great deal of Miss Wentworth, how she operated, clients she had obtained for her firm, and so on. Interestingly, two of these clients were associates of mine. In any event, quite soon, almost immediately, and long before our conversation was concluded and I had placed the business card of Miss Wentworth in my wallet, she had been found, unbeknownst to herself, an apt candidate for a Gorean slave block. Indeed, I myself, that very afternoon, convinced of the matter, with no hesitation, entered her, by my own hand, on an acquisition list. The matter was then settled. All that remained was to determine a suitable time for her harvesting. I thought some fellow would have an amusing time teaching her her collar.”

  “Collar?” said Miss Wentworth.

  “But we concern ourselves, of course,” said Thrasilicus, “not only with acquisition lists, but want lists, as well, and a new customer, whom we were muchly concerned to please, for various reasons, had specified a particular form of merchandise. We examined the acquisition lists, and a large number of potential candidates for that list, more than two hundred, as I believe. And, all in all, after considering these women, those listed, and those under consideration for listing, it seemed to me, personally, and to others, as well, that Miss Wentworth was a splendid choice. To be sure, I admit the possibility that some aspects of her personality, and a certain personal annoyance with her, from when she had tried to manipulate me, might have had some influence on my choice. I hope so. Although the final choice was mine, I thought it judicious to subject it to the consideration of two of my associates, prominent in business in New York City, aware of my concerns and interests in certain matters, and muchly aware through personal experience, as they were clients of hers, of Miss Wentworth’s personality, techniques, practices, and activities. These were two, of course, of presumably several, who understood quite well what she was trying to do, and, for their amusement, or in their contempt, had let her think that they had been taken in, so to speak, that they were, as many others, the unwitting dupes of her charm and beauty. They were also aware, of course, that my primaries often make use of such women. In any event, they concurred with my judgment, and so the matter was settled, over drinks, and the clinking of glasses, in a dimly lit bar in Manhattan, that is, a drinking place in an area on the planet Earth. Miss Wentworth would strike two targets with one arrow, so to speak, a transitory purpose of interest to my primaries in the north and the satisfaction of an order from a new and valued client, currently in the same area.”

  “Excellent,” said Lord Nishida.

  “All that remained then,” said Thrasilicus, “was to waft the fantasy of wealth before the greedy, unscrupulous, shapely Miss Wentworth. She rushed to it as a vulo to sa-tarna.”

  “Good,” said Lord Nishida.

  I gathered that Miss Wentworth was exactly what Lord Nishida had had in mind.

  “I do not understand any of this,” said Miss Wentworth.

  “You are worthless,” said Thrasilicus.

  “I do not understand any of this!” she cried. “You hired me! We had an agreement! You paid me! You gave me a retainer, a token retainer, as you said, of one hundred thousand dollars!”

  “That money was never deposited,” he said.

  “I saw papers, certifications,” she said.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I do not understand!” she said.

  “I do not think it is so hard to understand,” said Thrasilicus.

  “Who were these business men you spoke of!” demanded Miss Wentworth.

  “Two known to me,” said Thrasilicus.

  “That you fabricated,” she said. “There were none such! All fawned upon me. There were none I did not dazzle, and charm! All sought my favor, my smile. I was popular!”

  “I do not doubt your popularity,” said Thrasilicus. “There were probably none who did not consider, from time to time, how you might appear, naked, and bound at their feet.”

  “No!” she said. “They were gentlemen!”

  “A gentleman,” said Thrasilicus, “not unoften contains a man.”

  “A woman,” she said, “is entitled to use her charms, to tease, to appear to offer, when there is no offer, and such.”

  “Perhaps a certain sort of woman,” said Thrasilicus.

  “I was successful,” she said. “I won many investments, much largesse, considerable capital, for my firm!”

  “True,” said Thrasilicus. “And your practice always wore the veil of mutual interest, of the earnest exploitation of timely opportunities, of the utmost business efficiency, of the highest standards of commercial professionalism, but, underneath, was concealed an agenda of unilateral advantage, for your firm and yourself, an end you shamelessly pursued by attempting to appeal to, and twist, the needs of men, with a thousand smiles, the suggestion of promises, the scattering of various seductive hints.”

  “I was successful,” she said. “I fooled them all!”

  “Several of your clients, as I understand it,” said Thrasilicus, “lost a great deal of money.”

  “That is not my concern,” she said. “They were dupes, gullible fools, all of them!”

  “It is interesting,” said Thrasilicus. “You seem to believe that none of these men understood your techniques and stratagems, that none of them understood what you were doing, and how you were doing it.”

  “None did!” she said.

  “Some did, surely,” said Thrasilicus, “and doubtless several others, as well. Not all men are naive, not all are silly fools.”

  “None did,” she insisted.

  “Some understood you only too well,” said Thrasilicus. “While pretending to succumb to your rather labored wiles, they found your meretricious trickeries transparent, and secretly regarded you with amusement, even contempt.”

  “No!” she said. “And, if I might ask, who were these two alleged businessmen to whom you referred earlier?”

  “You may ask,” he said. “But that is all.”

  “Who were they!” she demanded.

  “Curiosity,” he said, “is not becoming in one such as you.”

  “One such as I?” she said, puzzled.

  “If you persist in this matter,” said Tajima, “it may be necessary to once again restrict your speech.”

  Miss Wentworth regarded him, angrily, but said nothing.

  She was unwilling, it seemed, as many women, to undergo again the shameful indignity of the ball and strap, which had given her a proof that on this world a woman might not always be permitted to speak how and when she wished.

  I think she had then begun to suspect deeper meanings of her sex than she had been aware of on Earth.

  “I have heard much of your sort,” said Lord Nishida to Miss Wentworth. “I have long looked forward to meeting one of you.”

  “Of my sort?” she said. “One of me?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Then Lord Nishida addressed Tajima. “Please draw down the sheet to her shoulders.”

  Miss Wentworth struggled, but was held in place by the two guards. Tajima held the sheet in place.

  “You wear a slave collar,�
�� said Lord Nishida, concernedly.

  “It was part of my disguise!” she cried. “I am a free woman!”

  “It is very attractive,” said Lord Nishida. “Remove it.”

  “I cannot!” she cried, angrily.

  “You cannot?” asked Lord Nishida.

  “No,” she cried. “I had the key, I could have removed it, but that brute, that monster, Tarl Cabot, he whom we brought here, for you, as agreed, took the key from me, and cast it into the sea!”

  “I see,” said Lord Nishida.

  Slave collars, of course, are not made to be removed by the slave.

  “Get the hateful thing off my neck!” she cried.

  Cecily looked up at her, startled. Cecily loved her collar. Had she been capable of owning property, it would have been her proudest possession. Actually, of course, it, like herself, belonged to the master. She had a security, and an identity, in the collar. In its way it defined her, and governed her behavior, how she should act, how and when she might speak, what she might do, and not do, and so on. She wanted to be owned, and loved being owned. She loved belonging to a man, as his helpless, vulnerable, utter property. How free she was then, kneeling at his feet, and how right, and perfect! Too, it betokened that she was a woman of value, that she had worth, that she could be bought and sold. Too, not every woman was collared. The collar attested to her desirability as a female. It said, in its way, “Here is a female who has been found of interest to men.” And, from the woman’s point of view, it said, in a sense, “See me. Look upon me. I have been found worth collaring.” It was, in its way, thus, a badge of excellence, a certification of quality.