Prize of Gor (119 page)

The slave lay, sleepless, needful, uncaressed, at the thigh of her master.

The grasslands were muchly quiet.

The slave, in her duties, could scarcely have avoided hearing the casual conversations of masters. Soon, she gathered, Mirus and his fellow, now muchly recovered, though still unable to walk, would leave the group and make their way toward Brundisium, Mirus dragging an improvised travois, constructed of rope, a pair of poles and a tarpaulin. This device had been constructed the preceding evening, their trek having come to a small grove of dark temwood, bordering a tiny stream. In a day or two it was anticipated that worn trails might be encountered. They had already passed two small streams.

The slave’s master had not touched her. She could not have been more deprived if she had been weeks in a dealer’s house, in a cramped, readying cage, in which she might be kept until she was ready to scratch and scream with need and beg to be sent to an auction block. Portus Canio and Fel Doron scarcely looked upon her. She tried, as though inadvertently, as though not really intending to do so, to put herself before Mirus, and as a slave. But he, too, had paid her no attention. I need relief, she had shrieked to herself. How she then cursed the very thought of men, and, in particular, of honor.

On his other side, opposite the restless, discomfited slave, Selius Arconious had laid an unsheathed weapon.

“If you will not use me, Master,” she whispered, “rent me, or assign me, to another!”

“You wish to be ordered to report to another?” he asked.

She shuddered; she could easily be put in such a situation; she could be ordered to report to another, in the full sense that is meant by “reporting to another.” She could, she knew, at her master’s merest word or whim be thusly put, in the fullness of her slaveness, to another’s feet; she was branded; she was collared; she was slave.

“No, Master,” she whispered.

He seemed to be listening, intently.

“I love you, Master,” she whispered.

“As a slave loves?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “But even if I were a free woman the love I feel for you would make me your helpless slave! But I am not free, but am a true slave, and belong in the totality of my being to my master! There can be no greater love than the love of a loving slave!”

He was silent.

“Use me,” she begged.

“No,” he said.

“Use me in any way you please, as is your right, Master! Use me with rudeness, with brutality, if you wish! Claim me with the whip, teaching me my bondage, should it be your pleasure! But see me, look at me, hear me! Let your fingers stray but idly to my hair. Let your hand but lightly touch my forehead. Cast but a glance upon me! Though I am only a slave and animal I exist! I am here! Do not be cruel! Be kind! I am yours, wholly yours! Do not ignore me!”

“Rest,” said he.

“Are you my master?” she asked, angrily.

“Yes,” he said.

“Prove to me that you are my master,” she said.

“Beware,” said he.

“If you will not use me,” she said, angrily, “sell me to one who will! Sell me to one who is a
man
!”

He turned then angrily, suddenly, to the slave but, at the same moment, there was a great roar splitting the silence of the camp and a dark, monstrous, violent shape leapt into the camp and Fel Doron, at the wagon, cried out, and the slave screamed, and Selius Arconious grasped for the weapon beside him and Kardok, gigantic and wild in the cold morning light, jaws slavering, eyes blazing, seized up Mirus and bent toward his throat, and Mirus, with his feet and arms, tried to fend the beast away, but he was lifted from his feet and brought, struggling, toward the distended jaws, the wet, long, curved, whitish fangs and Selius Arconious, his blade held in two hands, was hacking at the back of the beast’s neck, and then at the side of its throat, and it turned about, enraged, and put up a paw which, severed, was flung into the grass, and it turned full then upon Selius Arconious and Selius Arconious, with a cry of rage as hideous as that of the beast, thrust his blade deep into the chest of Kardok and the beast spun about wresting the blade from his hand.

Fel Doron rushed forward, Portus Canio had thrown off his blankets.

The second beast then seemed to appear from nowhere and scrambled its way on all fours, dirt spattering behind it, toward Selius Arconious and the fallen Mirus.

But at that moment it stopped, suddenly, abruptly, and lifted its hands, a great spear thrust into its body, the point and a quarter of the shaft emerging from its back.

“Bosk, Bosk of Port Kar!” cried Portus Canio.

Behind him was the warrior known as Marcus, of Ar’s Station.

Ellen could not even speak so frightened, so breathless, was she. The force of the spear thrust must have been prodigious, and its might was compounded by the charge of the beast.

He called Bosk of Port Kar, that fearful larl of a man, drew then his blade and went behind the beast, seized the fur of its head, thus holding the head, and then, with two terrible strokes of that small, wicked weapon, cut away the head.

Kardok back on its haunches, bleeding, forced the blade of Selius Arconious from his own chest, wedging it away by the hilt with one paw and the flowing stub of the other. It turned then and staggered about. Wavering, it bent down to pick up the blade, but the bootlike sandal of Bosk held it, pressed, to the grass.

Kardok, snarling, blood now bursting with air, hissing like foam, spreading about its jaws and fangs, looked about himself, from face to face.

The slave covered her face with her hands, seeing herself so regarded.

Kardok then turned about, and staggered out, into the grasslands.

Bosk of Port Kar picked up the warmed, bright, red-rich, drenched blade of Selius Arconious, and held it out to him.

Selius Arconious then followed Kardok from the camp.

“No, Master! No, Master!” cried the slave.

She would have fled after her master, but her arm was seized by the mighty hand of Bosk of Port Kar, and she, small and female, struggling, was held as helplessly as in a vise.

“Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed.

But in a matter of moments Selius Arconious returned to the camp, wading through the grass; in his right hand was a bloodied sword; in his left hand, dangling, was the massive, bleeding head of Kardok.

“Master! Master!” cried the slave, overjoyed.

“On your knees,” said Bosk of Port Kar.

Then she looked up at him from her knees. From his accent, she was certain that his origin was, like hers, Earth. She took him to have been English. Doubtless, if her surmise was correct, as to his world, and nation, of origin, he would have known her, from her accent, as easily as she knew him, known her to have been once of Earth, and doubtless it was as easy for him to conjecture her country or nation as it was for her to conjecture his. So he was an Earth man and she was an Earth woman, but here, on Gor, it was he who stood, and was perhaps even of the caste of Warriors, and she who knelt. Yes, she thought to herself. Here, on this world, it is he who stands and I who kneel! He does not in confusion, in guilty embarrassment, summon me to my feet but rather, in the order of nature, keeps me on my knees before him, where I belong!

“You deserted us, in the prairie,” said Fel Doron.

“No,” said Portus Canio. “They doubtless understood the meaning of the tarns in the sky, the scent of sleen. They then, under the cover of darkness, given the priorities of war, made their rendezvous, and saw to the care of the purloined gold.”

Selius Arconious cast aside the great head of Kardok.

“I love you, Master!” cried the slave, from her knees.

“Who were those outside the camp, our unseen allies?” asked Fel Doron.

“They,” said Portus Canio. “But there were but two, and thus they found it judicious, and most convenient, to do their work from without.”

“We owe you our lives,” said Portus Canio, “on more than one occasion.”

Bosk shrugged.

“It was you who brought the tabuk to the camp?” said Fel Doron.

“Yes,” said Bosk of Port Kar.

“You have drifted with us, have you not?” asked Portus Canio.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why did you not announce yourselves, after the departure of the Cosians?” asked Fel Doron.

“There were five beasts,” he said. “We located the bodies of only three. We conjectured then that two remained at large. As they had seemingly pursued you, we supposed they might not easily abandon that venture. Thus we stayed with you, unseen, that we might, if they should attack, act unexpectedly in your behalf, act with the element of surprise in our favor. But it seems you needed little assistance.”

“You saved my life,” said Mirus to Selius Arconious.

“Are we not then even?” asked Selius Arconious.

“Perfectly,” smiled Mirus, and the two men grasped hands, warmly.

“The beasts, and their allies,” said Portus Canio, addressing himself to Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus of Ar’s Station, “followed us, at least in part, it seems, to obtain and destroy this slave.”

“That was not my intent,” said Mirus.

“No,” smiled Fel Doron. “But it seems you were ready to carry her off.”

“I found her, as you have doubtless conjectured,” said Mirus, “a piece of goods of some interest, an attractive item of livestock.”

Ellen looked at him, suddenly. Impressed, thrilled, she on her knees. How Gorean he seemed now to be! He understood her now not as a person to be abducted, but as a slave, an item to be purchased or stolen, and mastered. At last he seemed to understand the meaning of the collar on her neck, truly. She felt slave fire within her, heat at his virility. She had no doubt that when he had a woman, perhaps a purchased barbarian, she recalled he had a score to settle with the women of Earth, he would now master her —
fully
. My love is Selius Arconious, she said to herself, but surely one could do worse than belong to one such as Mirus, he who once owned me. Fortunate will be the woman who finds herself in his chains! I rejoice in her happiness, whoever she may prove to be, she who will one day wear his collar!

“There was interest, as well, it seems,” said Fel Doron, “in Cosian gold.”

“I did not understand that,” said Mirus.

“Apparently not,” said Fel Doron.

“I am not clear as to the nature of their interest in the slave,” said Portus Canio. “Clearly it was not the sort of interest one would expect men to have in a well-curved slave.”

Bosk of Port Kar looked upon the kneeling Ellen.

Beneath his gaze, Ellen trembled.

Could he ever have been of Earth, Ellen asked herself.

We are both of Earth, she thought. Thus, should this not win me some concern, some understanding, some sympathy, some tenderness, some softening of his regard? Yet see how he looks upon me! I am seen merely as female and slave!

Momentarily Ellen was angry.

How complacently he regards me!

It does not matter to him that I am here, a woman of his former world, now with a collar on my neck! Indeed, I can see in his eyes that he regards it with indifference.

Then she dared to look up at him, again, briefly, furtively, and then, frightened, looked away, and down, fearing to look again into his eyes, those of a free man.

But she was angry again.

For she had seen the smile on his lips. It was as though he had read her concern, and had been amused.

How dare he look upon a woman once of Earth that way, she thought. Would he on Earth so look upon them? But presumably not, as they would be free, or most of them, save a few perhaps in secret enclaves.

She had seen the smile, that of a master.

He sees the collar on my neck as appropriate, she thought. Can he just look upon me and see that I belong in a collar?

How could he know that?

Clearly he has no intention of lifting me from my knees, and freeing me! He does not even look upon me with pity. He does not even express sympathy, or hasten to comfort and console me.

I saw his eyes!

He wants me in a collar! He likes it! If I were not collared, he might put me in one himself, if only to sell me or give me away! He looks at me! He understands me! He understands that I belong in a collar!

And doubtless he has seen many women of Earth in Gorean collars. We are nothing special. We are only more slaves.

Doubtless we belong in our collars!

Doubtless he likes us in our collars.

Would not any male?

Goreans, interestingly, believe the mistake was that we had not been made slaves on Earth. Our collaring, in their view, should have taken place on our native world.

Many Goreans also misunderstand the vaccination marks on many of us, taking them for a discreet slave mark, far inferior of course, in precision and beauty, to the various slave marks of Gor, usually burned into the thigh under the left hip.

She thought of Gorean free women.

Such hateful creatures!

He would pay heed to one of them, she thought. One does not ignore such! She would not be looked upon as he looks upon me! Would he not give her his undivided attention? Would he not treat her with the utmost civility and regard! Would he not esteem her and be solicitous for her, and see to it, as he could, that her many wants and concerns, however absurd or annoying, were attended to with alacrity and courtesy? But I, who was once a woman of his own world, how does he look upon me? How does he see me? I am at his feet, and find myself in his eyes looked upon as no more than what I now am, as no more than a slave!

But your lofty free women, she thought, would be no more than I, were they embonded!

I am half naked, kneeling, and collared, she thought.

Would you not like us all this way, or, at least, the pretty ones?

How many men of Earth, she wondered, see women so, see them as what they should be, see them as what they are?

He is now Gorean, she thought. But I, too, am now Gorean. He is Gorean as Master. I am Gorean as slave.

I am content.

“May I speak, Masters?” asked the slave.

“Yes,” said Selius Arconious.

“Perhaps they thought I had heard them speak, in the great camp, outside Brundisium, and was thus inadvertently privy to some plan, some plot, or secret,” said Ellen, “but I heard nothing, truly. It was all a terrible mistake. I am ignorant. I know nothing!”