Nomads of Gor (77 page)

 
master?"

  
"Have I any choice?" she asked.

  
"None," I said.

  
"Then," she said, with resignation, "I suppose I am ready."

  
I laughed.

Elizabeth was looking at me, smiling. Then, suddenly,

playfully, she put her head to the rug before me. I heard her

 
whisper, "Vella asks only to tremble and obey."

  
I stood up and, laughing, lifted her to her feet.

 
She, too, laughed, standing close to me, her eyes bright. I

 
could feel her breath on my face.

  
"I think now I will do something with you," I said.

 
She looked resigned, dropping her head. "What is to be the

 
fate of your beautiful, civilized slave?" she asked.

  
"The dung sack," I replied.

  
"No!" she cried, suddenly frightened. "No!"

  
I laughed.

  
"I will do anything rather than that," she said. "Anything."

  
"Anything?" I asked.

 
She looked up at me and smiled. "Yes," she said, "any-

 
thing."

 
"Very well, Vella," said I, "I will give you but one

 
chance
 
if you well please me the aforementioned miserable

 
fate will not be yours at least for tonight."

  
"Vella will well please you," she said earnestly.

  
"Very well," I said, "please me."

 
I recalled keenly how she had sported with me earlier and

 
I thought there might be some point in giving the young

 
American a taste of her own medicine.

 
She looked at me startled.

 
Then she smiled. "I will teach you that I well know the

 
meaning of my collar, master," she said.

 
Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon

 
ended.

 
"There"" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!"

 
Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoul-

 
der. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well."

  
I did not speak.

 
She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I

 
think one will be enough for master."

 
I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. 'The girls in the

 
public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss."

"Oh?" she said, turning about.

"They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls."

Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and

this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her

lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad."

"Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then noxlety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily.

"I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding."

She looked at me angrily and turned away.

Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl," she cried.

  
"And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast a beautiful little

collared beast."

"I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot."

 
"Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms."

The blaze of a challenge flared suddenly in her eyes. She transfused with excitement. "Though I am of Earth," she said, "try to use me as slave."

I smiled. "If you wish," I said.

"I will prove to you," she said, "that your theories are false."
      
                           
I shrugged.

"I will prove to you," she said, "that a woman cannot be conquered."
                                 
"You tempt me," I said.
    
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"I love you," she said, "but even so, you will not be able to

conquer me, for I shall not permit myself to 'he conquered, not even though I love your"

"If you love me," I said, "perhaps 1 would not wish to conquer you."

But Kamchak, generous fellow, gave me to you, did he," she asked, "that you should teach me as slave to be female?"

"I think so," I admitted.;

"And in his opinion, and perhaps yours, would that not be

In my best interests?"

"Perhaps," I said. "I do not really know. These are compli-

cated matters."

 
"Well," said she, laughing, "I shall prove you both wrong"

 
"All right," I said, "we shall see,"

"But you must promise to try to make me truly a slave if

only for a moment."

 
"All right," I said.

 
"The stakes," she pronounced, "will be my freedom

 
against"

 
"Yes?" I asked.

 
"Against yours?" she laughed.

 
"I do not understand," I said.

 
"For one week," she said, "in the secrecy of the wagon

 
where no one can see you will be my slave you will wear

 
collar and serve me and do whatever I wish."

 
"I do not care much for your terms," I said.

 
"You seem to find little fault in men owning female

 
slaves," she said. "Why should you object to being a slave

 
owned by a female?"

 
"I see," I said.

 
She smiled slyly. "I think it might be rather pleasant to

 
eve a male slave." She laughed. "I will teach you the

 
bearing of a collar, Tarl Cabot," she said.

 
"Do not count your slaves until you have won them," I

 
cautioned.

 
"Is it a wager?" she asked.

 
I gazed on her. How every bit of her seemed alive with

 
allengel Her eyes, her stance, the sound of her voice I saw

 
e tiny nose ring, barbaric, glinting in the light of the fire

 
bowl. I saw the place on her thigh where not many days

 
before the fiery iron had been so cruelly pressed, leaving

 
hind it, smoking for the instant, deep and clean, the tiny

 
ark of the four bask horns. I saw on her lovely throat the

 
ring of Turian steel, gleaming and locked, so contrast

 
g with, so barbarically accentuating the incredible softness

 
her beauty, the tormenting vulnerability of it. The collar, I

 
knew, bore my name, proclaiming her, should I wish, my

 
slave. And yet this beautiful, soft, proud thing stood there,

 
trough ringed and branded, though collared, bold and brazen

 
staringing at me, eyes bright, her challenge, the eternal chal-

 
lenge of the unconquered female, that of the untamed woman

 
daring the male to touch her, to try, she resisting, to

           
reduce her to yielding prize, to force from her the uncondi

           
tional surrender,-the total and utter submission of the woman

           
who has no choice but to acknowledge herself his, the help

           
less, capitulated slave of him in whose arms she finds herself

           
prisoner.

           
As the Goreans have it, there is in this a war in which the

      
     
woman can respect only that man who can reduce her to

           
utter defeat.

         
But it seemed to me there was little in the eyes or stance

         
of Miss Cardwell which suggested the plausibility of the

         
Gorean interpretation. She seemed to me clearly out to win,

           
to enjoy herself perhaps, but to win, and then exact from me

           
something in the way of vengeance for all the months and

      
days in which she, proud, independent wench, had been only

         
slave. I recalled she had told me that she would teach me

       
well the meaning of a collar. If she were successful, I had

        
little doubt that she would carry out her threat.

         
"Well," she challenged, "Master?"

       
I gazed at her, the tormenting vixen. I had no wish to be

         
her slave. I resolved, if one of us must be slave, it would be

           
she, the lovely Miss Cardwell, who would wear the collar.

        
"Well," she again challenged, "Master?"

          
I smiled. "It is a wager," said I, "Slave Girl."

           
She laughed happily and turned, and standing on her

          
tiptoes, lowered the tharlarion oil lamps. Then she bent to

           
find for herself among the riches of the wagon yellow Plea

          
sure Silks.

          
At last she stood before me, and was beautiful.

        
"Are you prepared to be a slave?" she asked.

           
"Until you have won," I said, "it is you who wear the

           
collar."

           
She dropped her head in mock humility. "Yes, Master," she

         
said. Then she looked up at me, her eyes mischievous.

           
I motioned for her to approach, and she did so.

           
I indicated that she should enter my arms, and she did so.

           
In my arms she looked up at me.

       
"You're sure you're quite ready to be a slave?" she asked.

           
"Be quiet," I said gently.

        
"I shall be pleased to own you," she said. "I have always wanted a handsome male slave."
  

  
"Be quiet," I whispered.

"Yes, Master," she said, obediently.

 
My hands parted the Pleasure Silk and cast it aside.

  
"Really, Master!" she said.

 
"Now," I said, "I will taste the kiss of my slave girl."

 
"Yes, Master," she said.

 
"Now," I instructed her, "with more passion."

 
"Yes, Master," she said obediently, and kissed me with

 
feigned passion.

 
I, hand in her collar, turned her about and put her on her

 
back on the rug, her shoulders pressed against the thick pile.

 
She looked at me, a sly smile on her face.

 
I took the nose ring between my thumb and forefinger and