Magicians of Gor (7 page)

I saw a yoked slave girl, two buckets attached to the ends of the yoke. She was

probably bearing water for draft tharlarion. There were some in the camp. I had

smelled them.

A fellow stumbled by, drunk.

I looked after the girl. She was small, and comely. She would probably have to

make several trips to water the tharlarion.

I wondered if the drunken fellow knew where his camp was. Fortunately there were

no carnaria in this vicinity. It would not do to stumble into one.

(pg. 41) Around one of the campfires there was much singing.

I heard the sound of a lash, and sobs. A girl was being disciplined. She was

tied on her knees, her wrists over her head, tied to a horizontal bar between

two poles. I gathered that she had been displeasing.

In a tent I heard a heated political discussion.

“Marlenus of Ar will return,” said a fellow. “He will save us.”

“Marlenus is dead,” said another.

“Let his daughter then, Talena, take the throne,” said another.

“She is no longer his daughter,” said a fellow. “She has been disavowed by

Marlenus. She was disowned.”

“How is it then her candidacy for the throne is taken seriously in the city?”

asked a man.

“I do not know,” admitted the other.

“Some speak of her as a possible Ubara,” said a man.

“Absurd,” said another.

“Many do not think so,” said a man.

“She is an arrogant and unworthy slut,” said another. “She should be in a

collar.”

“Beware, lest you speak treason,” said one of the men.

“Can it be treason to speak the truth?” inquired a fellow.

“Yes,” said the other fellow.

“Indeed,” said a man, heatedly, “she may even know the whereabouts of Marlenus.

Indeed, she, and others, may be responsible for his disappearance, or continued

absence.”

“I have not heard what you said,” said a man.

“And I have not said it,” was the rejoinder.

“I think it will be Talena,” said a man, “who will sit upon the throne of Ar.”

“How marvelous for Cos!” said a fellow. “That is surely what they would wish,

that a female should sit upon the throne of Ar.”

“Perhaps they will see to it that she does,” said a man.

“Ar is in great peril,” said a man.

“She had might between Cos and her gates,” said a fellow. “There is nothing to

fear.”

“Yes!” said another, fervently.

“We must trust in the Priest-Kings,” said another.

“Yes,” said another.

“I can remember,” said a fellow, “when we trusted in our steel.”

I then left the vicinity of this tent.

I wondered if I could balance on the greased wineskin. I knew a fellow who, I

had little doubt, could have done so, Lecchio, of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit.

(pg. 42) I recalled the free female whose capture I had noted in Ar, that which

had taken place in a street-level room in the Metallan district. Surely she must

have know the law. The consorting of a free female with another man’s slave

renders her susceptible to the collar of the slave’s master. The net had been

cunningly arranged, that it might, when released, activated perhaps by springs

or the pulling of a lever, fall and drape itself over the couch. It was clearly

a device designed for such a purpose. The net and the room doubtless constituted

a capture cubicle, simpler perhaps, but not unlike those in certain inns, in

which a woman, lulled by the bolting on the doors, and feeling herself secure,

may complete her toilet at leisure, bathing, combing her hair, perfuming herself

and such, before the trap doors, dropped from beneath her, plunge her into the

waiting arms of slavers. Guardsmen and magistrates, I had noted, had been in

immediate attendance. She had had light brown hair and had been excellently

curved. Yet I did not doubt but what her figure, even then of great interest,

would be soon improved by diet and exercise, certainly before she would be put

up on the block. To one side, in the half darkness, I heard the grunting of a

man, and a female’s gasping, and sobbing. There, to one side, in the shadows,

difficult to make out, a slave girl, I could see the glint of her collar,

writhed in a fellow’s arms. I wondered if he owned her, or had simply caught her

in the darkness. She was gasping, and squirming, and clutching at him. Her head

twisted back and forth in the dirt. Her small, sweet, bared legs thrashed. Such

responsiveness, of course, is not unusual in a female slave. It is a common

function of the liberation of bondage. It comes with the collar, so to speak.

Indeed, if a new slave does not soon exhibit profound and authentic sexual

responsiveness, which matter may be checked by the examination of her body,

within, say, an Ahn or so, the master’s whip will soon inquire why. One blow of

the whip is worth six months of coaxing. I though again of the captured free

woman, she taken in the net. Doubtless, she, too, soon, given no choice, would

become similarly responsive. Indeed, she, like other female slaves, would soon

learn to be, and discover that she had become, perhaps to her initial dismay and

horror, helplessly responsive to the touch of men, any man.

The pair thrashed in the darkness. She was pinioned, she sobbed with joy.

To be sure, if one prefers an inert, or frigid, or anesthetic, so to speak,

woman, one may always make do with a free female, inhibited by her status, and

such. They are plentiful, dismally so. Goreans, incidentally, doubt that any

female is, qua female, (pg. 43) irremediably or ultimately frigid. It is a

common observation, even on Earth, that one man’s petulant and frigid wife is

another man’s, to be sure, a different sort of man’s. passionate, begging,

obedient slave.

“I yield me, Master!” wept the slave, softly.

“It is known to me,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I heard the sound of a tabor several yards away, and the swirl of a flute, and

the clapping of hands.

I went in that direction.

“Marcus,” I said, pleased, finding him in the crowd there.

“Women are dancing,” he said.

“Superb,” I said.

Behind Marcus was Phoebe, standing very straight, and very close to him, but not

touching him. She was holding her lower lip between her teeth, presumably to

help her keep control of herself. Also there was a little blood at the left side

of her mouth. I gathered she must have dared in her need to brush hopefully or

timidly against her master, or whimpered a bit more than he cared to hear.

Indeed, perhaps she had even dared to importune him. Her wrists were still bound

behind her. The lead on her leash looped up to Marcus’ grasp.

“The camp is in a holiday mood,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

I saw more than one fellow looking at Phoebe. She had marvelous legs and ankles,

and a trim figure. She stood very straight. It was not difficult to tell now,

even by glancing at her, that she was in need. One of the fellows looking her

over laughed. Phoebe trembled, and bit her lip a little more.

A fellow tore off the tunic of a slave girl and thrust her out, into the circle.

“Aii!” cried men.

The female danced.

“I entered Phoebe in “meat catch,” ” said Marcus, “but she failed to catch even

a single morsel.”

“I am not surprised,” I said. “She can hardly stand.”

“That one is pretty,” said Marcus. He referred to a redhead, thrust into the

circle.

“I had thought you might have taken Phoebe to the tent by now,” I said.

“No,” said Marcus.

There were now some four or five girls in the circle. One wore a sigh that said,

“I am for sale.”

Phoebe made a tiny noise.

“I think Phoebe is ready for the tent now,” I said.

“She did not even want to leave it,” said Marcus.

“True,” I said.

“Perhaps you should take Phoebe back to the tent,” I said. “She is hot.”

“Oh?” asked Marcus.

“Yes,” I said.

“Perhaps I should put her into the circle,” he said.

“She can scarcely move,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. I think he was pleased.

“She is in desperate need of a man’s touch,” I said.

“It does not matter,” he said. “She is only a slave.”

“Look,” said Marcus. He referred to a new girl, joining the others in the

circle. She wore ropes and performed on her knees, her sides, her back and

stomach.

“She is very good,” said Marcus.

“Yes,” I said.

The dance in the circle, as one might have gathered. Was not the stately dance

of free maidens, even in which, of course, the maidens, though scarcely

admitting this even to themselves, experience something of the stimulatory

voluptuousness of movement, but slave dance, that form of dance, in its

thousands of variations, in which a female may excitingly and beautifully,

marvelously and fulfillingly, express the depths and profoundness of her nature.

In such dance the woman moves as a female, and shows herself as a female, in all

her excitingness and beauty. It is no wonder that women love such dance, in

which dance they are so desirable and beautiful, in which dance they feel so

free, so sexual, so much a slave.

Another woman entered the circle. She, too, was excellent.

“How do you like them?” Marcus asked Phoebe. It was no accident, surely, that he

had brought her here to watch the slave dance.

“Please take me to the tent, Master,” she begged.

As Marcus had undoubtedly anticipated the sight of the slave dance would have

its effect on his little Cosian. She saw how beautiful could be slaves, of which

she was one. On the other hand, I suspected he had not counted on the effect on

himself.

Another girl, a slim blonde, was thrust into the circle. Her master, arms

folded, regarded her. She lifted her chained wrists above her head, palms facing

outward, this, because of the linkage of the manacles, tightening it, bringing

the backs of her hands closely together. She faced her master. Desperate was she

to please him. There was a placatory aspect to her dance. It seemed she wished

to divert his wrath.

(pg. 45) “Ah,” said Marcus, softly.

The girl who wore the sign, “I am for sale,” danced before us, as she had before

others, displaying her master’s proffered merchandise. I saw that she wanted to

be purchased. That was obvious in the pleading nature of her dance. Her master

was perhaps a dealer, and one, as are many, who is harsh with his stock. Her

dance, thusly, was rather like the “Buy me, Master,” behavior of a girl on a

chain, the “slaver’s necklace,” or in a market, the sort of behavior in which

she begs purchase. A girl on such a chain, or in a market, who is too much

passed over has reason for alarm. Not only is she likely to be lowered on the

chain, perhaps even to “last girl,” which is demeaning to her, and a great blow

to her vanity, but she is likely to be encouraged to greater efforts by a

variety of admonitory devices, in particular, the switch and whip. Earth-girl

slaves brought to Gor, for example, are often, particularly at first,

understandably enough, I suppose, afraid to be sold, and accordingly, naturally

enough, I suppose, sometimes attempt, usually in subtle ways, to discourage

buyers, thereby hoping to be permitted to cling to the relative security of the

slaver’s chain. Needless to say, this behavior is soon corrected and, in a short

time, only too eager now to be off the slaver’s chain, they are displaying

themselves, and proposing themselves, luscious, eager, ready, begging

merchandise, to prospective buyers.

The girl for sale was a short-legged brunet, extremely attractive. I considered

buying her, but decided against it. This was not a time for buying slaves. I

gestured for her to dance on. She whirled away. A tear moved diagonally down her

cheek.

She might, of course, not belong to a dealer.

There are many reasons why a master might put his girl, or girls, up for sale,

of course. He might wish, for example, if he is a breeder, to improve the

quality of his pens or kennels, trying out new blood lines, freshening his

stock, and such. He might wish, casually, merely to try out new slaves, perhaps

ridding himself of one to acquire another, who may have caught his eye. Perhaps

he wants to keep a flow of slaves in his house, lest he grow too attached to

one, always a danger. Too, of course, economic considerations sometimes become

paramount, these sometimes dictating the selling off of chattels, whose value,

of course, unlike that of a free woman, constitutes a source of possible income.

Indeed, there are many reasons for the buying and selling of slaves, as there

are for other forms of properties.

I continued to watch the female, the sign about her neck, dance. No, I said to

myself, it would not do to bring her into peril. Then I chastised myself for

weakness. One would not (pg. 46) wish to purchase her, of course, because she

might constitute an encumbrance. Still, she was attractive. Even as I considered

the matter she received a sign from a fellow, her master, I suppose, and she

tore open her silk, and danced even more plaintively before one fellow and then

another. She seemed frightened. I suspected she had been warned as to what might

befall her if she should prove unsuccessful in securing a buyer. I saw her