Captive of Gor (17 page)

The grass felt good to my bare feet. It seemed I could feel each blade. I felt

the rough fabric of the camisk on my body as I moved, the pull of the strap on

my shoulder, the heavy, swaying touch of the bota as, in the rhythm of my walk,

it touched my side.

(pg. 113) Beyond the fire, in the distance, like an irregular margin, a torn,

soft, dark edge hiding the bright stars of Gor, I could see the lofty, still

blackness of the borders of the northern forests. Far off, I heard the scream of

a hunting sleen. I shivered.

Then I heard the laughing of the men, and turned again toward the fire.

Back away toward the compound, here and there on the meadow, I could see other

fires, and clusters of wagons. This was a night for paga, for celebration.

Tomorrow, Targo, and his men and his merchandise, would make their way to Laura

and, crossing the river there, begin their long, overland journey to Ko-ro-ba,

called by some the Towers of the Morning, and from thence to luxurious Ar

itself. The journey would be not only long and hard but dangerous.

“Paga!” called the guard.

I hurried to him.

* * *

“Let Lana dance,” whimpered Lana.

The guard handed me a piece of meat and I took it in my teeth kneeling beside

him, where he sat cross-legged, I lifting and squeezing the bota of paga, filled

from one of the large jugs, guiding the stream of liquid into his mouth. I bit

through the charred exterior of the meat, into the red, hot, half-raw, juicy

interior.

The guard, with one hand, gestured that he had had enough.

I laid the bota aside on the grass.

I closed my eyes, running my tongue about the inside of my mouth, and over my

teeth and lips, savoring the juice and taste of the externally charred, hot,

half-raw meat.

Tomorrow we would begin the journey to Ko-ro-ba, and from thence to luxurious,

glorious Ar.

I opened my eyes.

The fire was very beautiful, and the shadows on the wagon canvas.

Ute was humming.

“I want to dance,” said Lana. She was lying beside one (pg. 114) of the guards,

her head at his waist. She bit at his body through the fabric of the tunic. “I

want to dance,” she teased. Her body was beautiful in the parting of the camisk.

“Perhaps,” he encouraged her.

The guards had liked us, muchly, and had apparently expected that they would

for, to our delight, they had purchased a small bottle of Ka-la-na wine, in a

wicker basket, which they had permitted us, swallow by swallow, to share. I had

never tasted so rich and delicate a wine on Earth, and yet here, on this world,

it cost only a copper tarn disk and was so cheap, and plentiful, that it might

be given even to a female slave. I remembered each of the four swallows which I

had had. I tasted them even still, with the meat and bread which I had eaten. It

was the first Gorean fermented beverage which I had tasted. It is said that

Ka-la-na has an unusual effect on a female. I think it is true.

I took the hand of the guard near whom I knelt, and placed it at my waist,

slipping his fingers inside the double loop of binding fiber that belted my

camisk, that he might hold me.

His fist suddenly tightened the loop, and I gasped, being suddenly drawn toward

him.

We looked at one another.

“What are you going to do with me, Master?” I asked.

He laughed. “You silken little sleen,” he said. He removed his hand from the

binding fiber. I reached out for him. He thrust a huge piece of the yellow

Sa-Tarna bread into my hands. “Eat,” he said.

Looking at him, smiling, holding the bread in both hands, I began to eat it.

“She-sleen,” he smiled.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Targo would take my hide off to the backbone,” he muttered.

“Yes, Master,” I smiled.

“She is only white silk,” said Lana. “Lana is red silk. Let Lana please you.”

“Lana,” I told her, loftily, “could not please an urt.”

(pg. 115) Lana screeched with rage as Ute, and the men, laughed, and leaped

toward me. The fellow over whom she leapt seized her by one ankle, and she fell

short of me, crying out in fury. He dragged her back and pulled her to her feet,

where he held her by the arms, kicking and squirming.

Another of the guards, laughing, untied the double loop of binding fiber which

belted her camisk, and drawing the fiber about her body, as she cried out, threw

it aside. Then he tore her camisk from her. The guard held her then threw her to

the grass at their feet. She looked up at them, frightened. Would she be beaten?

“If you have so much energy,” said the guard who had torn away the camisk, “you

may dance for us.”

Lana looked up, her eyes bright with pleasure. “Yes,” she cried, “let Lana

dance.” Then she threw me a look of hatred. “We shall see who can please men!”

she cried.

Another of the guards had gone to one of the wagons, and, as he returned, I

heard the sound of slave bells.

Lana stood proudly beside the fire, her head back and arms down, and extended at

her sides, while the bells, mounted in their double rows, on their straps, were

fastened on her wrists and ankles.

Meanwhile the Ka-la-na bottle was brought forth again by another guard. He held

it for Lana to drink, and then passed it to Ute and myself. There was a bit left

and I gave it back to him, and he handed it to the now-belled Lana. With a

barbaric jangle of bells she threw back her head and finished the bottle.

She threw the bottle to one side and put down her head, and then brought her

head up and back, shaking her head back and forth, her hair flying, and she

stamped down on her right foot.

Ute and the men began to sing and clap, one of them slapping at the leather of a

shield.

I thought I saw a movement in the darkness, beyond the wagons.

Lana, for an instant, stopped, her hands lifted over her head. “Who is

beautiful?” she demanded. “Who pleases men?”

(pg. 116) “Lana,” I cried, in spite of myself. “Lana is beautiful! Lana pleases

men!” I could not help myself. I was stunned, and then overwhelmed. I had not

realized that my sex was capable of such beauty. Lana was incredibly beautiful,

extraordinarily, utterly and incredibly beautiful.

I could scarcely speak, so thrilled I was.

Then with a tempestuous flash of slave bells Lana again danced in the firelight,

before the men.

I became aware, suddenly, that the hand of the guard near whom I knelt, his

fist, was in the binding fiber that belted my camisk.

I sensed furtive movement, to one side.

“Master?” I asked.

He was not watching Lana. He was lying on his back, looking up at me, kneeling

near him.

I could her the slave bells, the song of the Ute and the men, their clapping,

the slapped rhythm on the leather shield.

“Kiss me,” said the man.

“I am white silk,” I whispered.

“Kiss me,” he said.

I bent toward him, a Gorean Kajira, obeying her master. My hair fell about his

head. My lips, delicately, obediently, lowered themselves toward his. I was

trembling.

My lips parted, but his hands on my arms held me.

I struggled, terrified, trying to pull away.

I was held, his prisoner.

He seemed puzzled at my struggles, my terror. But then, too, I felt helpless,

and furious. I hated him. I hated all men, and their strength. They exploited

us, they dominated us, they forced us to serve them, and do their bidding! They

were cruel to us! They did not acknowledge our humanity! And mixed with my anger

and terror were the instinctual fears of the white-silk girl, dreading to be

made a woman. And most, perhaps, mixed therein were the fury and the

frustration, and terror, of the spoiled, rich, Earth girl, Elinor (pg. 117)

Brinton, resenting her station, repudiating the role that had been given her so

undeservedly on this barbaric world. I am Elinor Brinton, I cried to myself! She

is no slave! She obeys no man! She is free! Free! The girl who had worn the

black, buttoning, midriff blouse, the tan slacks, who had owned the Maserati,

who had had three quarters of a million dollars, who had had a penthouse, who

had modeled, and traveled, struggled. The exquisite, beautiful, educated,

sophisticated, smartly attired, tasteful girl struggled. The Earth girl

struggled, finding herself in the arms of a barbarian on a distant world.

“Do not touch me,” I hissed at him.

He turned about, easily, placing me on my back on the grass.

“I hate you! I hate you! I wept.

I saw the look of anger come into his eyes. He held me very tightly. Then, too,

to my dismay, I saw another look, which I, even white silk, understood. I would

not be simply used, and discarded. I had irritated him. I moaned. I would be

used with patience, and care, and delicacy and thoroughness, and efficient

mastery, until I had yielded myself to him, on his terms, not mine, until I,

proud and angry and free, had been reduced to a surrendered female slave.

I tried to struggle. I heard the bells of Lana, the singing and clapping of Ute

and the men, the slapping of the rhythm of Lana’s dance on the leather of the

shield.

His large head bent toward my throat. I turned my head to one side, weeping.

Suddenly there was a rush about us of bodies, the sound of blows, Lana began to

scream, but the scream was muffled. Ute cried out, but then her cry, too, was

abruptly terminated. The men tried to climb to their feet, shouting in anger.

There were blows, heavy blows from the darkness. The man who had held me leaped

half to his feet, crying out, when something large and heavy struck him on the

side of the head. He fell to one side in the grass. I tried to dart to my feet

but two bodies, those of girls, thrust themselves on me. Another girl snapped a

choke leash on my throat, twisting (pg. 118) it, so that I almost strangled. As

I opened my mouth, gasping for air, a wadding was thrust into it by another

girl. Then I was gagged. The pressure on my throat then eased. I was thrown onto

my stomach and, with binding fiber, my wrists were tied behind my back. Then, by

the choke leash, half strangling, I was dragged to my feet.

“Build up the fire,” said the leader of the girls, a tall, blondish girl. How

startling she seemed. She carried a light spear. She was dressed in skins. There

were barbaric golden ornaments on her arms, and about her neck.

Another of the girls threw wood on the fire.

I looked about.

Girls knelt beside the last two of the guards, fastening them in bonds.

Then they stood up.

I saw that Lana and Ute, were already bound and gagged.

“Shall we enslave the men?” asked one of the girls.

“No,” said the tall, blond girl.

The girl who had asked the question gestured to Ute and Lana. “What of them?”

she asked.

“You saw them,” said the tall, blond girl. “Leave them here. They are Kajiras.”

My heart leapt. These were forest girls, sometimes called panther girls, who

lived wild and free in the northern forests, outlaw women, sometimes enslaving

men, when it pleased them to do so.

Doubtless they had seem me struggle! I was no Kajira! Doubtless they wanted me

to join them! Now I would be free! Perhaps, somehow, they could even help me

return to Earth. In any case, they would free me! I would be free!

But I stood there on the grass, gagged, my hands bound behind my back, a choke

leash on my throat, held by one of the girls.

It did not seem that I was free.

“Drag the me about the fire,” said the tall girl.’

“Yes, Verna,” said one of the other girls.

Together, in pairs, the girls dragged the men back to the fire. The men, too, by

now, had been gagged. Only one of them had regained consciousness. One of the

girls in the skins (pg. 119) knelt before him, holding a knife at his throat,

her hand in his hair.

Some of the girls threw aside their clubs. They looked at the men, their hands

on their hips, and laughed.

How elated I was, that they had come swiftly from the darkness, with clubs, and

had made captives of men, taking them as simply as girls. But I, too, had been

bound.

The tall girl, the blond girl, their leader, called Verna, lithe in the skins of

forest panthers, in her golden ornaments, with her spear, strode to where Lana

lay on the grass, on her side, bound and gagged. With her spear, Verna rolled

Lana onto her back. Lana looked up at her in terror. Verna’s spear was at her

throat.

“You danced well,” said Verna.

Lana trembled.

Verna looked at her with contempt, and then drew aside the spear. She kicked

Lana savagely in the side. “Kajira!” she scorned.

The tall girl then went to Ute and kicked her as well, again saying, “Kajira!”

Lana whimpered, but Ute made no sound. There were tears in her eyes over the

gag.

“Tie the men in sitting positions about the fire,” ordered Verna.

Her girls, perhaps fifteen of them, complied. They used a heavy chest, and a

wagon tongue, to do so.

From a distance it would appear that they sat about the fire.

Verna approached me.

She frightened me. She seemed tall, and strong. There was a feline arrogance in

the barbarian beauty. She seemed magnificent and fierce in the brief skins and