Magicians of Gor (8 page)

glance at her master. His gaze was stern, unpitying. She danced in terror.

“Ahh,” said Marcus. “Look!”

He was indicating the slim blonde, she with the chained wrists, whose dance

before her master seemed clearly placatory in nature. She had perhaps begged to

be permitted to appear before him in the dancing circle, that she might attempt

to please him. he had perhaps acquiesced. I recalled he had thrust her into the

circle, perhaps in this generously according her, though perhaps with some

impatience, and misgivings, this chance to make amends for some perhaps

unintentional, minuscule transgression. Perhaps his paga had not been heated to

the right temperature. Women look well in collars.

“See?” asked Marcus.

I wondered how long he could hold out.

“I can do that, Master,” sobbed Phoebe, trying to stand very still.

The blonde was now on her knees, extending her arms to her master, piteously,

all this with the music in her arms, her shoulders, her head and hair, her

belly.

“Aii!” said Marcus.

Her master seized her from the circle then and hurried her from the light, her

head down, held by the hair, at his left hip. This is a common leading position

for female slaves being conducted short distances. As the master holds her hair

in the left hand, it leaves his right hand, commonly the sword hand, free.

Another woman was thrust into the circle.

I thought the blonde had very successfully managed to divert her master’s wrath,

assuming that was what she was up to. The only whip she need fear now, muchly,

at any rate, would seem to be the “whip of the furs.” To be sure, she might be

given a stroke or two, if only to remind her that she was a slave.

“Look,” said Marcus, interested.

I saw that the girl with the sign about her neck had taken a leaf from the book

of the blonde, and cunningly, too. She, too, was now on her knees, advertising

her charms, attesting mutely to the joys and delicacies that would be attendant

upon her (pg. 47) ownership. I saw her owner look at her, startled. She, of

course, did not now see him. I gathered he had never seen her in just this

fashion or way before, her silk parted, writhing on her knees, kissing, lifting

her hands, her head moving, her hair flung about. “I will buy her!” called a

fellow. “How much do you want?” inquired another, eagerly. Her master rushed

into the circle. “Close your silk, lascivious slut!” he ordered her. Swiftly she

clutched the silk about her, startled, confused, kneeling small before him. He

looked about, angrily. He jerked her by one arm to her feet. She struggled to

keep her silk closed with the other hand. “She is not for sale!” he said. He

then drew her rapidly from the light, into the darkness outside the circle. We

heard a tearing of silk. There was much laughter.

“He did not know what he owned!” laughed a man.

“No!” agreed another.

I guessed that the possession of such a wench might not, after all, even in my

situation, have been too burdensome. After all, one could always have gotten a

great deal of good out of her, and a great deal of work. On the other hand, she

was no longer for sale.

“I can do that, Master,” said Phoebe.

“Nonsense,” said Marcus.

“I can!” she said.

Marcus and I watched the women in the circle. I think perhaps about two Ihn

passed. Perhaps one might have wiped one’s nose, quickly, in the interval.

“Well,” said Marcus, wearily, “it is getting late.”

“It is still early, Master,” said Phoebe.

“I think that I shall return to the tent,” said Marcus.

“A good idea,” I said. “But I think, I shall dally a bit outside.”

“Oh?” said Marcus, concerned, but, I think, not excessively disappointed.

“Yes,” I said.

“Perhaps we will return to the tent now,” said Marcus to Phoebe.

“As Master wishes,” she said, lightly. I thought she had carried that off rather

well.

“I thought you wished to return to the tent,” said Marcus.

“I am a slave,” she said. “I must obey my master.”

“Do you not want my touch?” asked Marcus.

“I am a slave,” she said. “I must submit to the will of my master.”

“I see,” said Marcus.

Phoebe moved her lovely little head in the leash and collar, (pg. 48) and looked

off into the distance. “I am at your disposal,” she said.

“I am well aware of that,” said Marcus.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Phoebe’s mistake, of course, was to look away. In this fashion she did not

anticipate Marcus’ touch. Too, it was firm, uncompromising, and not soon

released. “Ohh!” she cried.

Marcus regarded her.

She, eyes wide, looked at him, startled, reproachfully, unbelievingly. She was

half bent over. The leash dangled down from her collar.

She then began to tremble. Her small wrists pulled at the binding fiber,

pinioning her hands behind her. Then, not even daring to move, she stood, partly

bent from the waist, before him.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, my Master!”

“Perhaps you can move interestingly on your knees?” he said.

“Yes!” she said. “Anything! Anything!”

“And on your back and stomach?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“And your sides?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said.

“Perhaps you desire to do these things,” he said.

“Yes!” she said. “Yes!”

“Perhaps you will be bound,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” she said. “Bind me!”

It is common to bind slave girls.

“Do you have any petitions, any supplications?” inquired Marcus.

“Take me to the tent!” she begged. “Take me to the tent!”

He regarded her.

“I beg your touch, my Master!” she gasped.

“Oh?” he said.

“I beg it! I beg it, my Master,” she wept.

“Slut of Cos!” snarled Marcus suddenly.

“Your slave, only your slave, Master!” she wept.

He then, angrily, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, her head to the

rear. It is in this fashion that slaves are commonly carried. I saw her eyes for

a moment, wild, but frightened, and grateful. Then he had sped with her from the

place.

“A hot little vulo,” said a man.

“Quite so,” said a man.

“She could light a fire,” said another.

(pg. 49) “I wonder what he wants for her,” said another.

“I do not think she if for sale,” I said.

We then returned our attention to the dancing circle. New women entered it upon

occasion, as others were withdrawn. There were now some ten to fifteen slaves in

the circle. How beautiful women are!

“How disgusting,” said a free woman, nearby. I had not noticed her standing

there until now.

“Begone, slut!” said a peasant.

The free woman gasped, and hurried away. Peasants are not always tolerant of

gentlewomen. To be sure, they do not always object to them when they come into

their possession, as, say, they might after the fall of a city, or if one, say,

has been captured and deliberately sold to them, perhaps by some male

acquaintance, for one reason or another. Indeed I suspect the hardy fellows upon

occasion rather enjoy owning such elegant women, women who are likely in their

loftiness to have hitherto disparaged or despised their caste. It is pleasant to

have them in ropes, naked at their feet. Sometimes they are asked if they

rejoice to now be owned by peasants. If they respond negatively they are beaten.

If they respond affirmatively they are also beaten, for lying. Quickly then will

the women be taught the varied labors and services of the farm. Interestingly

these women, under the domination of their powerful masters, often become

excellent farm slaves. Sometimes they are even permitted to sleep in the hut, at

their master’s feet.

“That is an excellent dancer there,” said a fellow.

“Yes,” I said.

“I think she has auburn hair,” said another fellow. It was difficult to tell in

the light.

“Yes,” said another.

Auburn hair is highly prized in the slave markets. I recalled the slave,

Temione, now, as I understood it, a property of Borton, a courier for

Artemidorus of Cos. Her hair was a marvelous auburn. Too, by now, it would have

muchly grown out, after having been shaved off some months ago, for catapult

cordage.

I noted that the free female had gone a bit about the outside of the circle, and

now stood there, back a bit from the circle, where there was a space between

some men. From that position of vantage she continued to watch the dancers. This

puzzled me. If she found such beauty, such sensuous liberation, such fulfilling

joy, such reality, such honesty, the marvelousness of owned women before their

masters, offensive or deplorable, why did she watch? What did she see there in

the circle, I wondered. {pg. 50) What so drew her there, what so fascinated here

there? Like most free women she was perhaps inhibited, frustrated and unhappy.

She continued to gaze into the circle. perhaps she saw herself there, clad in a

rag and collar, if that, moving, turning with the others, like them so

beautiful, so much alive, so vulnerable, so helpless, so owned. Does her master

lift his whip? She must then redouble her efforts to please, lest she be lashed.

I supposed that she, even there, standing so seemingly still, pretending to be a

mere observer, could feel the dance in her body, in its myriad incipient

movements, tiny movements in her legs, in her belly, in her body, in herself, in

the wholeness of her womanhood. Perhaps she wished for her robes to be torn off

and to be collared, and to be thrust, in her turn, into the circle. I did not

doubt but what she would be zealous to please. Indeed, she had best be! But how

strange that she, a free woman, would even linger in this place. Perhaps free

women are incomprehensible. A Gorean saying came to mind, that the free woman is

a riddle, the answer to which is the collar.

“Away!” called a fellow, who had turned about and seen the free woman. he waved

his arm, angrily, “Away!” he said. The free woman then turned about and left the

vicinity of the circle, hurriedly. I felt rather sorry for her, but then, I

thought, surely the fellow was right, that the circle, or its vicinity, was no

place for a free female. It was a place, rather, for the joy of masters and

their slaves. Similarly, the vicinity of such places, though I did not think it

would be so in this camp, at this particular time, can be dangerous for free

women. For example, sometimes free women attempt, sometimes even disguising

themselves, to spy on the doings of masters and slaves. For example, they might

attempt, perhaps disguised as lads, to gain entrance to paga taverns. And often

such entrance is granted them but later, to their horror, they may find

themselves thrown naked to the dancing sand and forced to perform under whips.

Similarly if they attempt to enter such establishments as pretended slaves they

may find themselves leaving by the back entrance, soon to become true slaves. In

many cities, such actions, attempting to spy on masters and slaves, disguising

oneself as a slave, garbing oneself as a slave, even in the supposed secrecy of

one’s own compartments, lingering about slave shelves and markets, even

exhibiting an interest in, or fascination with, bondage, can result in a

reduction to bondage. The theory is apparently that such actions and interests

are those of a slave, and that the female who exhibits them should, accordingly,

be imbonded.

I noted a fellow approaching the circle, who had behind him, heeling him, an

unusual lovely slave.

(pg. 51) “Teibar!” called more than one man. “Teibar!”

I have, more than once, I believe, alluded to the hatred of free women for their

imbonded sisters, and to how they profess to despise them and hold them in

contempt. Indeed, they commonly treat such slaves with what seems to be

irrational and unwonted cruelty. This is particularly the case if the slave is

beautiful, and of great interest to men. I have also suggested that this

attitude of the free female toward the slave seems to be motivated,

paradoxically enough, by envy and jealousy. In any event, slave girls fear free

women greatly, as they, being mere slaves, are much at their mercy. Once in Ar,

several years ago, several free women, in their anger at slaves, and perhaps

jealous of the pleasures of masters and slaves, entered a paga tavern with clubs

and axes, seeking to destroy it. This is, I believe, and example, though a

rather extreme one, of a not unprecedented sort of psychological reaction, the

attempt, by disparagement or action, motivated by envy, jealousy, resentment, or

such, to keep from others pleasures which one oneself is unable, or unwilling,

to enjoy. In any event, as a historical note, the men in the tavern, being

Gorean, and thus not being inhibited or confused by negativistic, antibiological

traditions, quickly disarmed the women. They then stripped them, bound their

hands behind their back, put them of a neck rope, and, by means of switches,

conducted them swiftly outside the tavern. The women were then, outside the

tavern, on the bridge of twenty lanterns, forced to witness the burning of their

garments. They were then permitted to leave, though still bound and in coffle.