Beasts of Gor (42 page)

I did know the red hunters were extremely permissive with their children, even among Goreans. They very seldom scolded them and would almost never strike a child. They protected them as they could. Soon enough the children would learn. Until that time let them be children.

“There is no one in the feasting house who is of my people, who is not a child,” he said, “who has not seen people starve to death. Many times, too, it is not the fault of the people. There is sickness, or there is bad weather. Sometimes there is a storm and the snow hides the breathing holes of the sleen.” He spoke very quietly. “Sometimes,” he said, “there is an accident. Sometimes one’s kayak is rent. Sometimes one falls. Sometimes the ice breaks.” He looked at me. “No,” he said, “do not think too lightly of my people. Let them laugh and be happy. Do not despise them that they are joyful that for once their meat racks are heavy.”

“Forgive me, my friend,” I said.

“It is done,” he said.

“You are a great hunter,” I said.

“I am a terrible hunter,” he said. “But once I did slay six sleen in one day,” he said. He grinned.

“Let us return to the feasting house,” I said.

Together we returned to the feasting house.

21

“Let us put the lights out!” suggested Akko, happily.

This suggestion met with enthusiastic acclaim.

“What are they doing?” asked Thimble, or Barbara, who had been serving boiled meat to the hunters and their women.

“You will learn,” I told her.

I, like the others, slipped from my garments. The slave beasts in the feasting house, Poalu, Arlene, Thimble, or Barbara, and Thistle, or Audrey, were already naked. The feasting house, because of its structure, the lamps and the heat of the many bodies within it, is quite warm. I have no way of knowing precisely what its temperature often was but I would have conjectured it would often have been in the eighties. The huts, and even the houses of ice sometimes built by the hunters in their journeys and hunts, can be quite comfortable, even when the weather outside may be dozens of degrees below zero. Often, however, in the night and near morning, the lamps extinguished, and the guests departed, it can become quite cold in such dwellings, often falling below the freezing point. Often, in the morning, one must break through a layer of ice in the drinking bucket. When the houses are cold, of course, the hunters are generally sleeping in their furs, together with their women. Because of the body heat of the companion it is much warmer to sleep with someone than to sleep alone. The furs, being impervious to the passage of air, of course, tend to trap the generated body heat. It is thus possible to sleep quite comfortably in a dwelling whose objective interior temperature may be well below freezing. Also, sleeping is usually done on a sleeping platform. This is raised above the floor level. The platform is warmer than the floor level of the dwelling, of course, because of the tendency of warm air to rise. A yard of height can make a difference of several degrees of temperature inside a typical dwelling of the red hunters. Although the red hunters can and do experience intense cold their lives, generally, are not made miserable by their climate They have intelligently adapted to it and are usually quite comfortable both indoors and outdoors. Also, it seems to me objectively true that they are less sensitive to cold than many other types of individual. For one thing they are generally short and heavy, a body configuration which tends to conserve heat; for another there are serological differences between them and even other red races of Gor; these serological differences, presumably selected for in the course of generations, doubtless play some role in their adaptation to cold. I think it is probably true, though it is difficult to tell, that a given degree of severe cold will not be as unpleasant to one who is a red hunter as it would be to someone who is not of that background or stock. Red hunters, for example, will often go about cheerfully stripped to the waist in weather in which many individuals of the south would find both a tunic and a cloak comfortable.

There were six lamps in the feasting house.

One after the other began to be extinguished. Imnak had his eye on Poalu. Arlene, Barbara and Audrey looked at one another, uneasily. “What is going on?” asked Barbara. “If they put out the last lamp, the room will be dark.”

The last lamp was extinguished. I saw hide pulled over the smoke hole.

“Walk around!” called Akko, cheerfully. “Do not touch anyone! Change your places!”

I moved about. It was, after all, the culture of the red hunters.

Outside, objectively, it was rather dark. Also, the feasting house had no windows. It is harder to heat a building with windows, of course. Too, hides, from tents, were hung about the inside of the feasting house, supplying additional insulation and warmth. Light in the feasting house was supplied generally from lamps. These were now extinguished, and the smoke hole covered. It was quite dark within.

No one spoke while they moved around.

I heard Barbara whimper. She was frightened. There was nothing to be frightened about. It was only that someone, she would not know who, would find her, catch her and have her.

“Now” cried Akko. “Who can you catch?”

I heard women laugh, and move swiftly. Men groped about.

I felt my way around, as I could. I heard a woman cry out with pleasure, caught.

“Be quiet!” called Akko.

I heard a pair, struggling, near me. Then the woman was, as I determined by putting forth my hand, put down on her back, on the floor of the feasting house. She squirmed in the dirt, pushing futilely up against the aggressive male who pinioned her beneath him for his pleasure. He was surprised at her resistance, so he struck her, and then she was quiet, until, in a few minutes, she began to cry out with pleasure. I felt bondage strings on her throat. I did not know if it was Thimble or Thistle. In touching the hair I knew it was not Poalu, whose hair was bound high on her head, in the usual fashion of her people.

I heard more women caught. One brushed past me but I missed her in the darkness.

Suddenly a nude girl, fleeing, struck against me. “Oh,” she cried. And my arms had closed about her. She was caught. She was helpless. I put her to the floor. She squirmed. I did not permit her struggles to be successful.

In a few moments her belly and haunches were writhing with pleasure which I had enforced upon her.

Then, helpless, she yielded.

When the lamp was relit I looked down into the face of Barbara.

I had known it was she, from the bondage strings on her throat, and the responses of her body.

“You make a slave yield well, Master,” she said. “You make her yield totally, leaving her no dignity.”

“Did you know it was I?” I asked.

She looked up at me. She lifted her lips to mine and kissed me. “I knew it the moment your arms closed on me, Master,” she said.

I shrugged.

“I have been many times in your arms, Master,” she said. “And no two men, I suspect, will seize and rape a slave identically.”

“I suppose not,” I said. I looked about. Many of the women were laughing, and the men, too. Poalu, I saw, was beside Imnak. I suspected they had cheated. Thistle, or Audrey, and Arlene looked at me, still held by the men who had caught them.

“Let us feast!” called Akko.

The lamps were relit. The women who had been caught by given men must now serve them.

In the hours that followed this game was played again, and again, five times in all, interrupted by feasting.

In the second and third round I caught women of the red hunters. In the fourth round I got my hand on Audrey’s neck and threw her down to the floor. She was quite good. I spent a long time with her. In the fifth round, when the lamps were relit, it was Arlene who looked up at me from my arms.

“Greetings,” I said to her, “former agent of my enemies.

“Greetings, Master,” she said to me. “Did you know it was I?” I asked.

“Must a girl tell the truth?” she smiled.

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “I knew it was you, instantly.”

“How could you know?” I asked.

“Do you think a girl does not know the touch of her master?” she smiled.

“I suppose so,” I smiled. I supposed a girl had better know the touch of her master.

“But did you know it was I?” she asked, archly.

“Of course,” I said.

“From the strap on my throat?” she said.

“I would have known without that,” I said.

“How?” she asked.

“From the feel of you,” I told her.

‘The master knows the feel of his slave,” she said.

“Certainly,” I said.

“I would have thought all slaves, all miserable girls in bondage would be alike,” she said.

“No,” I said. “Each girl wears her bondage differently. Each girl is unique and excitingly different.”

“How can that be?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps bondage releases a woman’s uniqueness and individuality. It releases her from the constrictions of verbalisms and stereotypes and permits her to be truly herself, within of course the latitudes of her nature, that of slave.”

“Do you think women are truly slaves?” she asked.

“Ultimately and profoundly,” I said. “That does not agree with the principles you have been taught, principles developed to facilitate a certain sort of society, or perhaps even with your immediate intuitions on the matter, a function of your conditioning to accept these principles, but it stands up to the test of life experiences.”

“I sense that it is so,” she whispered.

“Why else,” I asked, “would women dream of chains and the collar?”

“I do not know,” she said.

“Why else do you think,” I asked, “that many highly intelligent women, functioning brilliantly in their world, are yet in the privacy of their own homes the secret slaves of their husbands?”

“I do not know,” she said.

“But you are not a secret slave,” I said.

“No,” she smiled, “I am openly and publicly a slave, yours or any other man’s, to whom you might give or sell me.”

“Absolute power is held over you,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “I am in your absolute power.”

“Or in that of any other who should own you,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“How do you feel about this?” I asked.

“It frightens me,” she said.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“It thrills me,” she whispered.

“Of course,” I said.

“Is this a sign that I am truly a slave?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“I feared it might be,” she said. She looked up at me, chidingly. “You are bringing me along slowly, aren’t you?” she asked. “You are liberating my slavery slowly, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why do you not have done with it,” she asked, “and make me a complete slave?”

“Perhaps, in time,” I said.

“The girl must wait upon the will of the master?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Of course,” she said. “What a slave you make me!” she exclaimed, bitterly.

“Of course,” I said.

“Yes, of course,” she said.

People were getting up around us, but I did not let her up.

“You caught me,” she said. “It is now time for the captured women to serve their captors boiled meat.”

“I will choose how you will serve me,” I told her.

“Of course,” she smiled. “It is you who will choose. You are the master.”

I lifted her up in my arms.

“Do you think I think only of food?” I asked her.

“I have never been under that delusion, Master,” she said.

I took her to the side of the feasting house, out of the way, and put her on her back again in the dirt. She held my arms. “Before me,” she said, “you caught Thimble in the dark.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Did she and you know one another?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“You caught Thistle, too,” she said. “Did she, the little vixen, and you, too, know one another?”

“Yes,” I told her. Thistle and I, or Audrey and I. as I usually thought of her, using her former name as a slave name, had, too, recognized one another immediately, even in the darkness.

“I would like to switch her!” said Arlene.

“Why?” I asked.

“What a little slave she is,” said Arlene.

“She will indeed prove to be a superb slave,” I said. “But so, too, will you.”

“I would like to beat her,” said Arlene.

“You and she,” I said, “are quite evenly matched. Perhaps you are a little stronger. I do not know.”

“I can beat her,” said Arlene.

“I do not know,” I said. “Perhaps she could now beat you.”

“That would be terrible,” said Arlene. “I could not stand to call her ‘Mistress.’” When one slave girl is beaten by another the loser commonly finds herself forced to call the winner ‘Mistress’. In slave kennels and pleasure gardens the beaten girl is often expected to obey and serve the stronger girL Such cruel devices help to keep order among female slaves.

“You and Thistle,” I said, “are extremely well matched. Perhaps that is why you hate her so.”

“She wants your hands on her!” said Arlene.

“Are you jealous?” I asked.

“You are my master, not hers,” she said.

“You and Thistle had better watch your step,” I warned her, “or I will have Thimble thrash you both.”

“Yes, Master,” smiled Arlene. She feared Thimble, whom she knew could easily best her.

I looked about. I saw Thimble, or Barbara, serving a hunter, and Thistle, or Audrey, bringing meat to anotber. Poalu served Imnak.

“I note.” I said, “that Poalu is bringing meat to Imnak.”

“That makes five times in a row,” smiled Arlene, looking up at me.

“Yes,” I said.

“It is possible he has not played the game fairly,” she smiled.

“Yes,” I said, “I think that is possible.”

“I think he is a scoundrel, like all men,” said Arlene.

“Beware how you speak of men, Slave Girl,” said I.

“Is a slave not expected to tell the truth?”

“Yes,” I said, irritably.