Magicians of Gor (4 page)

“And so, too, many other men,” he said, angrily.

“Of course, Master,” she said, “for I am a slave!”

“She is extraordinarily beautiful,” I said. “Let her be so displayed and

exposed. Let other seethe with envy upon consideration of your property.”

“She is just a slut of Cos!” said Marcus, angrily.

“Now only your slave,” I reminded him.

“You are a pretty slave, slut of Cos,” said Marcus to the girl, grudgingly.

“A girl is pleased, if she is found pleasing by her master,” said Phoebe.

“Surely, by now,” I said to Marcus, “you have thought the better of your mad

project.”

“No,” said Marcus, absently, rather lost in the rapturous consideration of his

lovely slave.

The Home Stone of Ar’s Station, as I have suggested, was in Ar. It was primarily

in connection with this face that Marcus had come to Ar.

“She is marvelously beautiful,” said Marcus.

“Yes,” I said.

“For a Cosian,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

Given the anger in Ar at Ar’s Station, and the fact that the Home Stone of Ar’s

Station had been sent to Ar, supposedly, according to the rumors, not for

safekeeping, given the imminent danger in the city, but in a gesture of defiance

and repudiation, attendant upon the supposed acceptance of a new Home Stone, one

bestowed upon them by the Cosians, the stone was, during certain hours, publicly

displayed. This was done in the vicinity of the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue

of the Central Cylinder. The purpose of this display was to permit the people of

Ar, and elsewhere, if they wished, to vent their displeasure upon the stone,

insulting it, spitting upon it, and such.

“The stone,” I said, “is well guarded.”

We had ascertained that this morning. We had then gone to the Alley of the Slave

Brothels f Ludmilla, on which street lies the insula of Achiates. I did not

enter the insula itself, but made an inquiry or two in its vicinity. Those whom

I had sought there were apparently no longer in residence. I did not make my

inquiries of obvious loungers in its vicinity. I went back., with Marcus and

Phoebe, later in the afternoon. The loungers were still in evidence. I had

assumed then they had been posted. There was a street peddler nearby, too,

sitting behind a (pg. 25) blanket on which trinkets were spread. I did not know

if he had been posted there or not. It did not much matter. Normally in such

arrangements there are at least two individuals. In this way one can report to

superiors while the other keeps his vigil. As far as I knew, no one knew that I

was in the vicinity of Ar. I did know I could be recognized by certain

individuals. The last time I had come to Ar, before this time, I had come with

dispatches to Gnieus Lelius, the regent, from Dietrich of Tarnburg, from

Torcadino. I had later carried a spurious message which had nearly cost me my

life to Ar’s Station, to be delivered to its commanding officer at the time,

Aemilianus, of the same city. I had little doubt that I had inadvertently become

identified as a danger to, and an enemy of, the party of treason in Ar. I did

not know if the regent, Gnieus Lelius, were of this party or not. I rather

suspected not. I was certain, however, from information I had obtained at

Holmesk, at the winter camp of Ar, that the high general in the city, Seremides,

of Tyros, was involved. Also, secret documents earlier obtained in Brundisium,

and deciphered, gave at least one other name, that of a female, one called

Talena, formerly the daughter, until disowned, of Marlenus of Ar. Her fortunes

were said to be on the rise in the city.

“I am well aware,” said Marcus, “that the stone is well guarded.”

“Then abandon your mad project,” I said to him.

“No,” said he.

“You can never obtain the stone,” I said.

“Have you come to Ar for a reason less likely of fruition?” he asked.

I was silent.

The girl did not understand our conversation as we had not spoken before her of

these things. She was a mere slave and thus appropriately kept in ignorance. Let

them please and serve. That is enough for them.

“Well?” smiled Marcus.

I did not respond to him. I thought of a woman, one now high in Ar, one for whom

I had once mistakenly cared, a vain, proud woman who had once, thinking me

helpless and crippled, mocked and scorned me. I though of her, and chains. It

would be impossible to obtain her, of course. Yet, if somehow, in spite of all,

I should obtain her it was not even my intention to keep her but rather, as a

gesture, merely dispose of her, giving her away or selling her off as the least

of slaves.

“I see,” said Marcus.

“Master?” asked Phoebe, turning before Marcus.

“Yes,” he said, “you are very pretty.”

“Thank you, Master,” she said, “for giving me a garment.”

(pg. 26) “For permitting you to wear one,” Marcus corrected her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“For at least a moment or two,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” she laughed.

“You have an exquisitely beautiful slave, Marcus,” I said.

Phoebe looked at me, gratefully, flushed.

Marcus made an angry noise, and clenched his fists. I saw that he feared he

might come to care for her.

He whipped the cord, some five feet in length, from his shoulder.

Phoebe approached him and held her wrists, crossed, before her. “Am I to be

bound, Master?” she asked. In extending their limbs so readily, so delicately,

for binding, slaves express and demonstrate, their submission.

“Do you like the garment?” he asked.

“Whose use I may have, if only for a moment,” she smiled. “Yes, Master. Oh yes,

my Master!”

“Are you grateful?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “A slave is grateful, so very grateful.”

“It is not much,” he said.

“It is a treasure,” she said. I smiled. To her, I supposed, a slave, such a tiny

thing, little more than a brief rag, would indeed be a treasure.

“You understand, of course,” he said, “that its use may be as easily taken from

you as given to you.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Do you wish to retain its use?” he asked.

“Of course, Master,” she said.

“You now have an additional motivation for striving to please,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she smiled. The control of a girl’s clothing, and many other

things, such as her diet, chaining, name, whether or not her head is to be

shaved, and so on, are all within the purview of the master. His power over the

slave is unqualified and absolute. Phoebe, of course, was muchly in love with

Marcus, and he, in spite of himself, with her. On the other hand, even if she

had been, as he sometimes seemed to want her, the hating slave of a hating

master, she would still have had to strive with all her power to please him, and

in all things, and with perfection. It is such to be a Gorean slave girl.

“Do you think me weak?” he asked.

“No, Master!” she said.

He regarded her, torn with his love for her, and his hatred of the island of

Cos.

She lifted her crossed wrists to him, for binding.

But he did not move to pinion them. The cord, of course, (pg. 27) was not for

such a purpose, though that was a purpose which it could surely serve.

She separated her wrists timidly, and looked him, puzzled, with love in her

eyes.

“I am eager to be pleasing to you,” she said.

“That is fitting,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“For you are a slave,” he said.

“And yours,” she said, suddenly, breathlessly, “yours, your slave!”

He looked at her, angrily.

“I exist for you,” she said, “and it is what I want, to please and serve you.”

She was much in love. She wanted to give all of herself to Marcus, irreservedly,

to hold nothing back, to live for him, if need be, to die for him. It is the way

of the female in love, for whom no service is too small, no sacrifice too great,

offering herself selflessly as an oblation to the master.

He regarded her, in fury.

She extended her arms a little, toward him, timidly, hoping to be permitted to

embrace him. “Accept the devotion of your slave,” she begged.

I saw his fists clench.

“I love you. I love you, my Master!” she said.

“Sly, lying slut!” he said.

“No!” she wept.

“Mendacious slut of Cos!” he cried.

“I love you! I love you, my Master!” she cried.

He then struck her with the back of his hand, striking her to one side, and she

fell, turning, to her knees. She looked up at him from all fours, blood at her

lips.

“Were you given permission to speak?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Master,” she whispered. She then crawled to his feet and, putting

her head down, kissed them. “A slave begs the forgiveness of her Master,” she

said.

Marcus looked down at her, angrily. Then he turned to me. “Her use, of course,”

he said, “is yours, whenever you might please.”

“Thank you,” I said, “but I think that I can find a rent wench outside in the

camp, or, if I wish, buy a slut, for they are cheap in the vicinity of Ar these

days.”

“As you wish,” said Marcus.

Although Marcus was harsh with his slave, pretending even to a casual and brutal

disdain for her, he was also, it might be mentioned, extremely possessive where

she was concerned. Indeed, he was almost insanely jealous of her. She was not

the sort of girl, for example, whom he, as a hose, even at the cost of (pg. 28)

a certain rudeness and inhospitality, would be likely to hand over for the

nightly comfort of a guest. It would be at his slave ring alone what she would

be likely to find herself chained.

“Stand up,” said Marcus to the girl.

“I hear some music outside,” I said.

“Yes,” I said.

“At least someone in the neighborhood seems cheerful,” I said.

“Probably peasants,” said Marcus.

I thought this might be true. There were many about, having fled before the

march of Cos. Driven from their lands, their stock muchly lost, or driven before

them, they had come to the shelter of Ar’s walls. Still they were ready to sing,

to drink and dance. I admired peasants. They were hardy, sturdy, irrepressible.

Phoebe now stood humbly before Marcus, as she had been commanded.

“Wipe your face,” said Marcus.

She wiped the blood away, or smeared it, with her right forearm.

“This cord,” said Marcus, “may function as a slave girdle. Such may be tied in

several ways. You, as a slave, doubtless know the tying of slave girdles.”

I smiled. Marcus would know, of course, that Phoebe would not be likely to know

much, if anything, of such matters. Only recently she had been a free woman,

though, to be sure, one who had been long kept, languishing, it seemed, and, of

course, incompletely fulfilled, in the status of a mere captive. Only a few

weeks again had she been branded and collared, and thusly liberated into total

bondage.

“No, Master,” said Phoebe. “I am not trained, save in so far as you, and before

you, Master Tarl, have deigned to impart some understandings to me.”

“I see,” said Marcus. I think he was just as pleased that Phoebe had not been

muchly trained. From one point of view, this suggested that she had presumably

been less handled before coming into his keeping that might have been otherwise

the case. Also, of course, if she was to strive to please, and squirm, under

strict training disciplines, he would prefer that she do so under his personal

tutelage, and in the lights of his personal taste, she thus being kept more to

himself, and also being trained to be a perfect personal slave, one honed to the

whims, preferences and needs of a particular master. To be sure, this sort of

thing can be done with any woman. it is part of her “learning the new master.”

“Master is undoubted familiar with many slaves, and things having to do with

slaves,” said Phoebe. “Perhaps then Master can teach his slave such things.”

(Pg. 29) Though Marcus was a young man and, as far as I knew, had never owned a

personal slave before Phoebe, he, as a Gorean, would be familiar with slaves.

Not only were they in his culture but he probably, as he was of the Marcelliani,

which had been a prominent, wealthy family in Ar’s Station, would have had them

in his house, in growing up, the use of some perhaps being accorded to him after

puberty. Similarly he would be familiar with them from his military training,

which would include matters such as the hunting and capture of women, who count

as splendid trophies of the chase, so to speak, and his military life, as

officers and men commonly have at their disposal barracks slaves, camp slaves,

and such. Too, of course, he would be familiar with the lovely properties

encountered in paga taverns, and such places. Indeed, together we had frequented

such establishments, for example, in Port Cos, after our landing there, as

refugees from Ar’s Station. The Gorean slave girl seldom needs to fear that her

master will not be fully familiar with, and skilled in, the handling, treatment

and discipline of slaves.

“I am not a professional slave trainer,” said Marcus, “or costumer or

cosmetician, but I will show you two of the most common ties. Others you might

inquire of, when the opportunity permits, of your sister slaves.”