Magicians of Gor (19 page)

to the first ubarate of Titus Honorious. Many of the functions originally

discharged within its precincts had long ago been assumed by the newer Cylinder

of Justice, located in the vicinity of the Central Cylinder. Incidentally, many

buildings, particularly public buildings, in this part of the city, which was an

older part of the city, were quite old. Many smaller buildings, dwellings,

shops, insulae, and such, on the other hand, were relatively new. I might also

mention, in passing, if only to make the controversy concerning the “Auborbion

marbles” more understandable, that many Gorean artists do not sign or otherwise

identify their works. The rationale for this seems to be a conviction that what

is important is the art, its power, its beauty, and so on, and now who formed

it. Indeed many Gorean artists seem to regard themselves as little more than

vessels or instruments, the channels or means, the tools, say, the chisels or

brushes, so to speak, by means of diversities, in its beauties and powers, its

flowers and storms, its laughters and rages, its delicacy and awesomeness, its

subtlety and grandeur, expresses itself, and rejoices. Accordingly the Gorean

artist tends not so much to be proud of his work as, oddly enough perhaps, to be

grateful to it, that it consented to (pg. 108) speak through him. As the hunters

of the north, the singers of the ice pack and of the long night have it, “No one

knows from whence songs come.” It is enough, and more than enough, that they

come. They dispel the cold, they illuminate the darkness. They are welcomed, in

the darkness and cold, like fire, and friendship and love. The focus of the

Gorean artist then, at least on the whole, tends to be on the work of art

itself, not on himself as artist. Accordingly this attitude toward his art is

less likely to be one of pride than one of gratitude. This makes sense as, in

his view, it is not so much he who speaks as the world, in its many wonders,

great and small, which speaks through him. He is thusly commonly more concerned

to express the world, and truth, than himself.

“Let us turn right here,” I said.

We then left the Avenue of Turia and were once again on a side street. Many

Gorean streets, incidentally, do not have specific names, particularly from one

end to the other, some being known by one designation here and another there.

Indeed, sometimes a long, winding street will have several names, depending on

its turns and so on. Others may have no names really, in themselves, but are

referred to, for example, as the street on which Sabor has his smithy, and so

on. This becomes more intelligible if one thinks of “alleys.” For example,

alleys seldom have names. So, too, many Gorean streets, particularly those that

are smaller and much like alleys, may not have names. One may usually hire a lad

from the district to direct inquiries of fellows in the area. In such inquiries,

the male will normally speak to a male, and the female to a female. This has to

do not only with matters of propriety, enshrined in Gorean custom, but also with

common-sense security measures. For example, a woman would not wish to seem

forward, nor, in effect, to be calling herself to the attention of a strange

male, which can be dangerous on Gor, and a woman, a free woman, might be well

advised not to respond to the accostings of a strange male. He might even be a

slaver, or a slaver’s man, interested in seeing if she had a pleasing voice, one

suitable for a slave. Similarly if she responds to a strange male this may be

taken as evidence that she is eager to please a man and obey, two attributes

which suggest her readiness, even immediately, for his collar. One may, of

course, make such inquiries of slave girls. In such a case they are expected to

kneel immediately, being in the presence of a free man, or person, and be as

helpful as possible. It is desirable, incidentally, for the girls of a district

to know the district well, in case they are asked (pg. 109) for directions and

such. If they do not know the information desired, it is sensible on their part

to keep their head very low, even to the stones, or even to belly to the

interlocutor. This may save them a cuffing or kick. This street, however, had a

name. It was Harness Street, apparently so called from long ago when it was once

a locale of several harness makers. The “harness makers” on Gor, provide not

just harnesses but an entire line of associated products, such as saddles,

bridles, reins, hobblings and tethers. Presumably the harness makers on this

street would not have dealt in slave harnesses. That product would have been

more likely to have been, as it still was, available on the “Street of Brands,”

a district in which are found many of the houses of slavers, sales barns, sales

arenas, holding areas, boarding accommodations, training facilities, and shops

dealing with product lines pertinent to slaves, such as collars, cosmetics,

jewelry, perfumes, slave garb, chains, binding fiber and disciplinary devices.

In such a district one may have a girl’s septum or ears pierced. There are many

varieties of slave harness, incidentally, with various purposes, such as

discipline, display and security. Many of them are extremely lovely on a woman,

and many, by such adjustments as cinching, tightening, and buckling, may be

fitted closely and exquisitely to the individual slave.

“Look,” I said, “there is a woman in garments of Cosian cut.”

“I wonder how she would look on her knees, in a slave rag,” said Marcus.

“I do not know,” I said.

“Undoubtedly quite well,” he said.

“I would suppose so,” I said. After all, most women do.

“Talena of Ar, as you know,” said Marcus, “now affects the garments of Cos.”

“I have heard that,” I said.

We now crossed the Alley of the Slave Brothels of Ludmilla, actually a

reasonably large street.

“You need not look at the establishments on this street,” Marcus informed

Phoebe.

“Yes, Master,” she said, putting her head down, smiling.

I recalled my first visit to one of the slave brothels on the street, the

Tunnels. I recalled one of its slaves, a former Earth girl. She had been slight

but well curved for her size and weight. She had had red hair. Her name, perhaps

originally her (pg. 110) Earth name, but now on her as a slave name, had been

“Louise.” In my arms, as I recalled, she had learned to be pleasing. I also

recalled a blond free woman acquired later in the same place, the Lady Lydia, of

the High Merchants, whose wealth had been in gems and land, a tenant even of the

Tabidian Towers. I had sold her to a slaver. A few nights ago I had returned to

the Tunnels but had learned that Louise had been purchased long ago by some

sturdy young fellow who had been quite taken with her, finding her

extraordinarily pliant, eager and exciting. The brothel mistress could not

recall his name. On the other hand, she had speculated that he would prove to be

an exacting, stern and strong master to the former Earth girl, such as she

required. She did inform me that the girl had accompanied her new master

joyfully. I hoped that my instruction to the girl had been of some use in

bringing about this development, instruction primarily profitable to her with

respect to her nature and its correct relationship to that of the male. The

blonde, who had been highly placed in the society of Ar, would presumably have

been sold out of the city long ago. In another city, of course, she would be

only another slave.

We then continued east on Harness Street.

“Did you enjoy the performance at the great theater last night?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Marcus. “It was just the way to spend a long evening, prior to

having one’s sleep interrupted before dawn by a wagon convoy.”

“I thought you might like it,” I said.

The performance, a pageant, had been called “The Glory of Cos,” and the famed

Milo, the city’s most famous actor, though a slave, had played the part of

Lurius of Jad. The roofed stage of the great theater, usually called that,

though technically, it was the theater of Pentilicus Tallux, a poet of Ar, of

over a century ago, best known for his poems in the delicate trilesiac form and

two sensitive, intimate dramas, was over a hundred yards in width, and some

twenty yards in depth. This incredible stage, although only the center portions

of it were used on many occasions, lent itself to large-scale productions, such

as circuses and spectacles. It could easily accommodate a thousand actors. Too,

given its strength, ponderous tharlarion, together with numerous other beasts,

wagons and such, could appear on it, as they had last night, for example, in

staged battles, in which Lurius of Jad, by personal intervention and at great

personal risk, again and again turned the tide, and triumphal processions, as at

the climax of the pageant.

“Did you enjoy the pageant?” I asked Phoebe.

(pg. 111) “Yes, Master!” she said.

“I thought I heard you gasp when Milo first appeared on the stage,” said Marcus.

“He is very handsome in his costume, Master,” she said.

“Undoubtedly,” said Marcus.

“Surely master is not jealous?” inquired Phoebe, delightedly.

“No,” he snarled.

“You may beat me tonight, if you wish,” she said.

“I may beat you any night, if I wish,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“By count,” I said, “I think that some eleven free women were carried fainted,

or helpless, from the theater.”

“Surely no more than one or two,” said Marcus.

“No, eleven,” I said.

“Master is a thousand times more handsome than Milo,” said Phoebe.

“Apparently you do wish the lash,” he said.

“No, Master!” she said.

“Am I really so handsome?” asked Marcus.

“To me, Master,” she said.

“Hmmmm,” said Marcus, considering this, I speculate. He was, I think, a

good-looking young chap. To be sure, he may not have been quite as handsome as

I.

“Of course I am only one woman,” she said.

“And only a female slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Still,” he said, “you are a woman.”

“But only a female slave,” she said.

“True,” he said.

Phoebe, I think, in her way, was having her vengeance. For example, when we had

passed by various open-air markets, shelf markets, and such, many of the girls,

nude in their chains, usually fastened by the neck or ankle to heavy iron rings,

had clearly, to the fury of Phoebe, in posings, and by means of subtle glances,

and such, attempted to call themselves to the attention of the young warrior.

Only too obviously would they have welcomed being his slaves.

“Probably some women would regard me as being less handsome than Milo,” he

mused.

“Perhaps, Master,” she said.

“Probably at least eleven,” I said.

“I did not note women swooning over the sight of you,” said Marcus.

“It was dark,” I reminded him.

To be sure, as is well known, and doubtless fortunately for (pg. 112) we who are

not Milos, the attractiveness of a man to woman is seldom based on

physiognominal regularities. For example, men who are not in any normal sense

handsome, sometimes even grotesquely irregular men, often exercise an enormous

fascination over beautiful women. Women tend to respond to a great variety of

properties in a male, few of which are directly correlated with facial

symmetries. Among such properties are initiative, will, command, intelligence,

strength, and power, in short, with characteristics appropriate to a master.

Too, of course, with women, who are enormously sensitive, complex, marvelous

creatures, can hope for, welcome, and respond to, such things as tenderness,

gentleness, and softness. Here one must be careful, however, to distinguish

between the tenderness of the strong man, who is truly strong, and the softness

of the weakling, who is merely weak. Tenderness, gentleness, and such, become

meaningful only in the context of, and against a background of, a temporarily

suspended, perhaps even momentarily suspended, strength and command. Only she

who is truly at the mercy of a male, and his slave, and under his discipline,

can truly appreciate the value of such things.

“We are coming to the Wall Road,” said Marcus. This is the longest road, or

street, in Ar. It follows the interior circumference of the wall. It is not only

a convenience to citizens but it enables troops to be moved rapidly from point

to point in the defenses.

I could hear the flutes.

In attending the great theater last night we had conceded to public opinion, or,

more particularly, to the sensibilities of free women, clothing Phoebe modestly,

or at least somewhat modestly. Indeed, had we not, we would probably not have

been permitted within with her. First we drape a sheet about her. This, with a

piece of cloth, we rigged a veil. After this we drew the sheet up in the back

and put it about her head, that it might also serve as a hood. Phoebe herself,

of course, held the sheet about her. When we were finished we thought it a job

rather well done, an approximation to the robes of concealment, hood and veil.

Little more than Phoebe’s soft, dark eyes and the bridge of her nose could be