Witness of Gor (118 page)

"You learned the lessons of the pens well," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said.

Slaves must be superb lovers. If they are not, they may be whipped.

There are a thousand ways to please a man, even when one is bound.

In scarcely moments, however, he had again seized me. I looked up into his eyes, those of my master.

I was then put again to his purposes.

I later lay at his side, at his thigh, docile and grateful. "I love you, I love you, my master," I murmured.

"We shall see," he said.

"Master?" I asked.

He rolled over, and reached to one side, drawing to him his belt, with the sheathed knife upon it.

He then extracted the knife from the sheath.

I regarded this action with apprehension. Had he now recalled, in some fearful sense, I wondered, the putative object of his venture to this city? Had he tired of me so soon? Surely it was not necessary to kill me. Surely he could simply give me away or sell me!

Had he dealt with me as he had, merely for his amusement, only as one might toy with a meaningless slave? Did he hate me so? Had he now determined to comply with the wishes of his superiors, those who had dispatched him to this city, now that he had made me squirm, and cry myself his? Had such compliance been within his intent from the beginning? "Kneel," he said. I faced him, frightened.

"Turn about," he said. Apprehensively I did so.

Then I cried out with relief, as I felt the knife part the cords on my wrists. My hands came forward, weak, freed, and I was on all fours, beside him, shaken.

"What is wrong," asked he, "slave?”

"Nothing, Master," I sobbed, in relief.

"Ah!" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Turn about," he said.

I was then, again, kneeling, facing him. I rubbed my wrists.

Suddenly I was startled, for, on the stones, the knife lay before me.

He was lying on his back, looking up, at the ceiling. His hands were behind his head, pillowing it, his elbows to the side.

I looked down at the knife.

"You see the knife?" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Consider it," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

"Do you think you could seize it, lift it, and, before I could resist, or defend myself, plunge it into my heart?”

"I have no wish to injure my master," I said.

"Do you think you could do what I said?”

"I do not think so, Master," I said. Surely at my first movement he could turn and seize me.

"Pick it up," he said.

"Surely I may not touch it, Master," I said. "It is a weapon." In many cities, it is a capital offense for a slave to touch a weapon.

"Must a command be repeated?" he asked.

"No Master," I said. I lifted the knife, timidly.

"Approach," said he. "Hold it with both hands.”

I knelt over him then, the hilt of the knife gripped in two hands. That was well, otherwise I think my hand would have shaken miserably, helplessly.

"Put it to my heart," he said.

"Please, no, Master!" I begged.

He turned his head to regard me, and I, quickly, frightened, put the knife over his heart.

"Could you now thrust downward before I could resist, or defend myself?" he asked.

I considered the position of his hands, behind his head, the quickness with which the knife might thrust down, the nature of the blade, its sharpness.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"None know you are here," he said. "You could find your way out. You could frequent dangerous areas, where you might well be seized as a strayed slave, not to be returned to a master, but to be sold illicitly, in a black market. You might be out of the city in a week.”

"I do not even have clothing, Master," I said.

"Surely you have seen naked slaves in the street," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said. I had seen them, at least, in Treve. I myself, on the other hand, had never been put naked into the streets. It is normally done as a punishment. Normally, too, the slave is locked in the iron belt.

"You would have to be careful not to be picked up by a guardsman," he said.

"I do not understand what master is saying," I said.

"Surely you have lied to me," he said, "suggesting that you might care for me.”

"No!" I said.

"The knife is in your grasp," he said. "You need pretend no longer.”

"I love you, truly," I said.

"You are a barbarian," he said. "I am a Gorean.”

"You are a man," I said. "I am a woman.”

"Barbarian," he said.

"Do not hold my origins against me," I said. "I am now only a Gorean slave girl, and am as eager, or more eager, to serve you as any girl of your own world!”

"You could not care for me," he said, "for I would be a stern master.”

"Be so," I said.

"I am not the sort of male which I have heard you women of Earth prefer," he said.

"Do not believe all you have heard, Master," I said.

"Oh?" he said.

"Do you think we truly prefer manipulable weaklings who have surrendered their dominance?" I asked. "Do you think such can exact from us the depths of our womanhood? I cannot speak for all women of Earth, but I can speak for one, for myself. I want a man of strength, of power, one who will relish me, and desire me, with might and passion, one who will put me in my place, and keep me there, as a woman, and will see to it, to his joy and fulfillment, and mine, that I am well mastered. I want a man so strong, so intelligent, so energetic, so powerful, so overwhelming, so uncompromising, so mighty, that I can, before him, be no more than his abject slave.”

"You are truly a slave," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Do the women of Earth desire true men?" he asked.

"Master?" I asked.

"In the biological sense," he said, "as opposed to some political sense or another, whatever is current.”

"Yes, Master," I whispered. "We cry for them, in the darkness, Master.”

"My life," he said, absently, gazing at the ceiling, "is now worth very little.”

"Master?" I said.

"I have not complied with the orders set to me," he said. "I have betrayed my superiors. They are not such, I assure you, as to look lightly upon such omissions. I can no longer return to Telnus. There is little, if anything, left for me now. Presumably I will be hunted down, and slain. If you were with me, you, too, would die.”

"Then I, too, would die," I said.

"Lie no longer," he said. "You may now kill me.”

"I do not lie," I said. "And I would rather plunge the dagger into my own heart.”

"You may kill me," he said.

"Never," I said.

He closed his eyes.

"Strike," he said.

The point of the dagger was over his heart. In an instant I might have leaned forward and, with all my weight, slight as it was, moved that thin blade deeply into his body, to the hilt, even through the heart.

"No," I said.

He opened his eyes.

"No," I said. "Forgive me, Master.”

"Must a command be repeated?" he asked.

"Repeat it a thousand times," I said. "I will not do it.”

"You disobey?" he asked, puzzled.

"Forgive me, Master," I said. "Yes, Master.”

"Why?" he asked.

"I love you," I said.

"You are prepared to die, for having been disobedient?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He regarded me.

It occurred to me that if he slew me, he would, in this way, fulfill his orders. What would it matter to his superiors how it was that I came to be slain? "Strike," he said.

"No," I said. "Forgive me, Master.”

"There is no other way," he said.

"But there is another way, Master," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"This!" I cried, and lifted the knife, it held in both hands, and turned it toward my own breast. I closed my eyes. I plunged the blade toward me.

But it never reached my heart for his mighty hands, moving like lightning, seized my wrists.

I cried out with pain, helpless in that grip. The knife fell to the stones. "Little fool!" he cried. He pulled me to my feet by the wrists, and regarded me, fiercely, and then forced me back down, on my knees, before him.

"Hear me!" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You may not take your own life," he said. "I forbid it.”

"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.

He then threw me to the stones, angrily, before him. He reached down and retrieved the dagger, which he replaced in its sheath. He then threw the sheath and belt to the side. He picked up his cloak, and dropped it down, beside me.

"Keep your head down," he said.

I dared then not lift my head.

"Why did you not kill me?" he asked.

"Because I love you," I said.

"Even though you knew your failure to obey could cost you your own life?”

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"I would rather die than injure you," I said.

"Why?" he asked.

"I am master's slave," I said.

He crouched down beside me and, with his fingers, lifted my chin, and looked deeply, inquiringly, into my eyes. Then I averted my eyes, for it was hard for me to look into the eyes of my master.

"What sort of slave are you?" he asked.

"Master, please!" I begged.

"Speak," he said.

"I confess myself master's love slave," I whispered.

"My love slave?" he said.

"Yes, my master," I said. "I know that you may not care for me. I know that you may despise me, that you may hate me. But it does not matter. I do not care. As worthless as my love may be, that of a meaningless slave, know that it is yours, unstintingly, irreservedly, all of it. It is yours, entirely. I am your love slave.”

He lifted up the cloak, and put it about my shoulders.

I looked up at him, through tears.

"I am unworthy to be loved," he said. "I have betrayed my honor. I have not obeyed my orders.”

"Is it well that the entire world should fall into the hands of Lurius of Jad?" I asked. "Is he not mad? Is he not a tyrant?”

"He is my ubar," he said.

"Honor," I said, "has many voices, and many songs.”

He looked down at me, startled. "That is a saying of warriors," he said. "It is from the codes.

It is a long time since I have heard it. I had almost forgotten it.

Where did you, a slave, hear it?”

"In Treve," I said.

"A den of thieves!" he said.

I did not respond. Who knows within what houses may be heard the voices of honor? Who knows within what walls may be heard her songs? "I do not think we can leave the city," he said. "We have no passes.”

"We must then remain here," I said.

"For those of the black caste to come, to kill us?”

"It would seem so, Master," I said.

"He who was Prisoner 41, in the Corridor of Nameless Prisoners, in the pits of Treve, may be in the city," he said.

I recalled the peasant. That seemed unlikely. How could any man have survived in the mountains, alone, for most practical purposes unarmed. Too, what difference could it make, really, if he were in the city, a mere peasant? "You could recognize him, if you saw him?”

"Yes, Master," I said.

"We must try to escape from the city," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"I wonder if I should keep you," he said.

I threw off the cloak and flung myself naked to his feet. I held to his ankles. I pressed my lips to his feet. "Please keep me, Master!" I begged.

"I must guard against weakness," he said.

I kissed his feet.

"You are dangerous," he said. "It is the soft foes who are most dangerous.”

"I am not your foe, Master," I said.

"I wonder," said he, musingly.

"Do not fear me, Master," I said.

"You cannot help what you are," he said. I licked and kissed at his feet.

"Still," said he, "the problem is not at all insoluble.”

"Yes, Master," I murmured.

"Women such as you prove to be exquisitely pleasing," he said.

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"Subject, of course, to the proper controls, and handling.”

"Yes, Master," I said.