Prize of Gor (94 page)

The “scarlet caste” was a way of referring to the caste of Warriors, the expression being suggested by the usual color of their tunics. Ellen had seen many scarlet tunics in Ar, mostly those of mercenaries and Cosian regulars. As Portus Canio had referred to Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s Station, as friends of the “scarlet caste,” they must be then, thought Ellen, of the Warriors. She had, of course, suspected as much earlier. They were large and powerful, and had the look about them of men not unaccustomed to look upon war, men not unfamiliar with the darker uses of steel. They were not, however, now in the scarlet of their caste, but wore simple brown tunics. In a sense, she supposed, they were incognito. Doubtless that was wise in a Cosian camp, if they were not of Cos, even though the camp was in theory an open camp. To be sure, in raids, in battle, red is not always worn. Much depends, as would be expected, on the terrain, the situation, the objective, the mission, and such.

“Have arrangements been made for me?” asked Selius.

He did not mention Ellen, for she was property, and, as property, might, or might not, be brought along, as the master chose.

“Yes,” said Portus Canio. “You will come with me, in a prepared wagon, and Fel Doron will accompany us. Too, until it is time for their departure for the rendezvous point, the place of concealed tarns, we will have at our disposal the swords of our friends, Bosk of Port Kar and Marcus, of Ar’s station.”

“Can one trust one of Port Kar?” asked Selius Arconious.

“He is with us, for whatever reason,” said Portus Canio.

“In Port Kar,” said the red-haired man, he like a larl, “there is now a Home Stone.”

“I did not know,” said Selius Arconious. “Forgive me.”

“It is nothing,” said the red-haired man.

The red-haired man frightened Ellen. She would have feared to belong to him. His speech had a foreign flavor, almost as though his Gorean had the trace, impossibly enough, of an English accent. But there are many accents on Gor. It did not seem likely that he would have a barbarian origin. He was too Gorean.

He glanced at her, and she, kneeling, quickly put down her head, unable to meet his eyes. She felt, beneath his gaze, as beneath that of many others, strong men, masters, completely slave. She knew that Gorean men saw her as a slave, and she knew in her heart that they saw her truly.

“There is little to do now,” said Portus Canio. “In the morning, after the alarms of the night, if all goes well, we will make our way to the wagons and, with thousands of others, unnoticed in the general thronging, leave the camp.”

“How many of our men are in the camp?” asked Selius Arconious.

“Not counting the freed prisoners, fifty,” said Portus Canio. He then turned aside, to speak to others.

“May I speak, Master,” whispered Ellen, softly, looking up to Selius Arconious.

“Very well,” he said.

“I think Master finds me of interest,” she said.

“Oh?” he said, skeptically.

“He could have purchased others in the auction. He purchased me. He was willing to pay twenty-one silver tarsks, of his own money, for this girl.”

“He is a fool,” said Selius Arconious.

“I hope not,” she said, “for he is my master.”

“Do you want a taste of the leather?” he asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“I had you for a tarsk-bit,” he said, “no more. You are only a tarsk-bit girl. Do not forget it.”

“I sold for more than that the first time,” she said.

“Then someone paid more for you than you are worth.”

“I think Master may like me a little,” she said.

“Absurd,” he said.

“Just a little — perhaps, Master?”

“Do not presume,” he said.

“At least it seems that Master may want me,” she said.

“That is an altogether different thing from “liking,” he said.

“True,” she said, “but it pleases a slave that she should at least be wanted.”

“Good,” said he. “Be pleased, slave.”

“Perhaps you want me muchly?” she said.

“Absurd,” he said.

“Twenty-one silver tarsks is a great deal of money,” she said.

“It was a momentary act of madness,” he said, angrily. “Nothing more.”

“But did he not tell Ellen, his slave, and in the presence of Master Canio, and others, that he wanted her, and seemingly badly, in his collar?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Surely Master must have had something in mind,” she said.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“I was curious to know what you would look like, bound and whipped.”

“Whip me if I deserve it, Master,” she said.

“I will whip you if, and when, I wish,” he said, “whether you deserve it or not.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you think that you are not a slave?” he asked. “Do you think that you will have an easy slavery with me, if I decide to keep you, for more than a night of abuse, selling you in the morning?”

“I know I am a slave, Master,” she said, suddenly frightened.

“And you will learn it,” he said. “Portus! Portus Canio!”

“Yes,” said Portus, turning about.

“How many guards were there with the prisoners?”

“Four,” said Portus. “They are now bound and gagged, concealed in that declivity, and stripped, of course, for we required their uniforms.”

“To them, and please them,” said Selius Arconious, “with your kisses, and lips, and tongue and mouth. Draw their seed forth, and leave no traces, for we do not wish them to be slain in the morning, signs of pleasure about their bodies.”

“Master!” protested Ellen, in horror. “You cannot be serious!”

“They are doubtless good fellows,” said Selius Arconious. “And surely they should receive at least some small recompense for their help, their cooperation, in our endeavors this night.”

“I beg to give you such pleasures, and a thousand other intimate, and beautiful, and precious pleasures, my Master, no limit of pleasure for you, for I am yours, but I beg you, do not ask me to so serve! Not others! Recall that I was not only a woman of Earth, but a lady, a lady of Earth!” She hoped that that expression would turn him from his intent, for the station of “lady,” on Gor, is a lofty one. He need not know that it had a lesser status on Earth.

She pressed her head down to his sandals. “Please, no, Master!” she begged. “I was a lady on Earth,” she said. “Please do not ask me to so serve!”

“You may have been a lady on Earth,” he said, “but you are a slave girl on Gor. And you will serve whomever, and however, I please.”

“Master, please!” she begged, head down.

“Must a command be repeated?” he asked.

“No, Master!” she said, frightened. In his tone there was ice, and iron, and she then knew what she was to him, and would be to him, what he would have her as, an uncompromised full slave.

Sobbing she sprang to her feet and hurried some yards away, to the indicated declivity. The clouds were more open now, and two of the three moons were visible. She had no difficulty in locating the bound guardsmen. They were tied apart, bound hand and foot, fastened in a row, tied by the neck and feet to two notched poles, so they could not reach one another. When she knelt near the first, she a naked slave, bending over him, her small hands braceleted behind her, the guardsman, sensing what was to be done, began to struggle fiercely, angrily. His eyes, over the gag, against which he helplessly fought, glared savagely at her. She was frightened, but she was even more frightened of her master, Selius Arconious, whom she now understood was not to be trifled with. He was to be obeyed categorically, instantly, unquestioningly, perfectly. She had no doubt now that he would use the whip on her, and without a second thought. She was, after all, his slave. “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered to the first man. “It will do you no good to struggle. You are helplessly bound, hand and foot, and though I am only a weak slave, know that you are now fully at my mercy. You cannot prevent me from doing what I will do. Please, forgive me, Master.”

Then, as he reared up in futile protest, she bent to his body.

Ellen then, to the best of her ability, pleased him. She tried to remember the lessons of her training, limited though they might have been, the kisses, the pneumaticities, the subtleties, the delicacies, the gentleness, the deeper grasps, the swirlings of the tongue, the touchings with the side of her face, the caress of her breasts and hair, the occasional, seemingly inadvertent brushing even of the eyelashes, light as feathers, her face beside him. “Please forgive me, Master,” she whispered. “I must do what I am told. Please forgive me.” And as she dealt with him she noted his responses, his twistings and turnings, and struggles, even the smallest movements of his body, and, even though he was gagged, the myriad subtleties and wealth of his expressions, resistant, demanding, furious, startled, disbelieving, helpless. “I hope to give you pleasure,” she whispered. “I am a pleasure slave, and I exist to please and serve men. It is what I am for, Master. It is accordingly my hope that I may please and serve you.” They guide you, she thought, through signs, even gagged. You can read the book of their pleasure, whether they wish it or not. He is teaching me! In his eyes she saw a reluctant, belligerent, begrudging admiration. I, a mere slave, she thought, am well pleasing a master. The thought crossed her mind then, as it had upon occasion before, that it was likely, at least for the most part, that only highly intelligent women were brought to this planet, to wear the collars of Gor. Who would wish to be served by a stupid slave? Certainly I am intelligent, she thought. At least I would suppose so. I would hope so. And others surely are, as well. We are not stupid. And slavers know that, she thought, the imperious, glorious, uncompromising, virile monsters! Even what I am doing, to do it well, she thought, requires sensitivity, attentiveness, intelligence. Even to serve as I am requires intelligence. Men will expect us to do such things well. A stupid girl might well diminish or bungle his pleasures. Then she swiftly, fearfully, dismissed such thoughts, those of the desiderata against which the values of slaves might be assessed and measured. Pay attention to what you are doing, slave girl, she thought. You do not wish to be beaten. How right I am in my collar, she thought. How right we are in our collars, she thought.

And she continued to serve.

She wondered what her former colleagues and students would have thought of her, could they see her now, kneeling, bent, stripped, back-braceleted, deliciously serving. Would they even have recognized her, their former colleague and teacher, now a commanded, performing slave girl? Would her female students weep with need and desire to so serve as well, to find therein one of the thousand rewarding, fulfilling, beautiful meanings of their sex? Would not her male colleagues have cried out with envy, sensing how forlorn, tricked and deprived they were, screaming with misery that they did not live on a natural world where one might own such women? Seldom had Ellen felt so female as then, commanded, helpless, pleasing intimately, beautifully. Such an act brings home a woman’s slavery to her. Her subject suddenly reared, twisted, and emitted a soft, guttural, indescribable noise. “Thank you, Master,” said Ellen. He then lay back, his head back, trying to catch his breath. Ellen, as is common with slave girls, humbly, gratefully, joyfully, took into her body, imbibing it, relishing it, the gift she had been given. Too, she knew that there was to be no sign of his pleasure found on his body in the morning. In attending to his body, cleaning it with her lips and tongue, she was suddenly startled, for he had again become strong. Then, again, of course, she pleased him.

She then went to the second guardsman, who, doubtless aware of the futility of resistance, turned his head angrily away. “Forgive me, Master,” said Ellen. In a moment, however, he raised his head, and moaned softly. “A slave begs to please Master,” she whispered. “But, alas, even if he does not wish it, she must please him, for she is so commanded. He has no choice. She has no choice. Both are choiceless, he bound, she commanded. Forgive me, Master.” Then in a moment, she said, “Oh,” softly. “Forgive a slave, but she thinks that master is pleased. She hopes that that is the case. Surely she will do her best to give him pleasure.”

In a little while she went to the third guardsman, and then to the fourth. Kneeling beside the fourth, her wrists moved a little in the closely fitting, light steel bracelets behind her. It was a tiny thing, but, as often, it was muchly arousing to her. So simply was she reminded that she was embonded. She then felt herself very much a slave, felt herself very much what she was. Then, putting her head down, she bent humbly to his body, to please him.

****

Scarcely had Ellen backed away, on her knees, bent humbly, head down, from the fourth guardsman, that she might not rise to her feet at his side, this perhaps being taken as insolence, he supine and bound, than she heard, vaguely, obscurely, not really registering it at first, as she now recalls it, some sounds, some sort of commotion in the camp, in the distance. She stood up, unsteadily. Her dark hair, slave long now, was about her face. She tossed her head, trying to throw it behind her. She smiled. She hoped she had done well. Certainly she, a slave, might be severely punished if she had not done well. She had certainly tried to do well. Perhaps one of the most difficult things for an Earth woman to understand in the case of the female slave, unless of course she herself is a slave, is that one of the most significant fears known to the female slave is that she may not be found fully pleasing. You see, there are consequences for such lapses. Anything less than perfection of performance is not accepted in a kajira. They are not, after all, inert, vain, independent, quiescent, smug, bored, exalted, spoiled free women. For example, they are not permitted indifference to sex, indifference to appearance, indifference to movement, and such. They are trained and marketed for the service and pleasure of men. It is what they are for. The sounds were far off. She did not pay them much attention at first. She did not think they would have anything to do with her. It was still rather dark. Clouds raced overhead. The night was damp. Two of the three moons were visible. The grass was wet and cold beneath her feet. She touched the bracelets, behind her, to her body. They were cold, and damp. She supposed dew was on them. She licked her lips. On them she could taste the soft, lovely, adhering residue of her service. She shivered a little, in the darkness. She moved her neck in her collar. It identified her as the property of a Gorean, Selius Arconious. I hate him, of course, she thought. Indeed, consider what he has just made me do. But still I am his slave, and must strive to please him. What a lamentable fate, she thought, and smiled. Then suddenly she gathered her wits about her, and strained to listen. Two of the guardsmen must have heard the sounds, too, for they were struggling to free themselves. Quickly then Ellen hurried from the declivity concealing the guardsmen. A few yards away there was a small fire, and several men were gathered about it. There were some wagons rolled about, as well, but they were muchly dark, in the shadows.