Renegades of Gor (15 page)

hand, an expression of gratitude, or such, before hurrying away.”

“You must leave a few frustrated fellows in your wake,” I speculated.

“I enjoy frustrating me,” she said, angrily. I gathered from her vehemence that

she was disappointed in men, that she had decided to despise them, that she

wished to hold them in contempt. I gathered, too, however, that she was

fascinated with them, and that something in her feared them, or what they might

be.

“Fortunately I managed to elude them,” she said.

“I wonder what they had on their mind,” I said.

“I have no idea,” she said.

On Earth, as I understand it, there are certain romantic notions about, for

example, that heroes may expect to ““in” damsels in distress, so to speak, by

the performance of certain heroic behaviors, which, for example, might bode

little good to dragons, evil wizards, wicked knights, and such. These damsels in

distress, once rescued, are then expected to elatedly bestow their fervent

affections on the blushing, bashful heroes, and so on. Needless to say, in real

life, to the disappointment, and sometimes chagrin, of the blushing, bashful

heroes, this denouement often fails to materialize. (pg.100) Although such

notions are not unknown on Gor, the average Gorean tends to be somewhat more

practical and businesslike then the average hero of such stories, if we may

believe the stories. For example, the damsel of Earth, if she found herself

rescued on Gor, might not have to spend a great deal of time gravely considering

whether or not to bestow herself on the rescuer. She might rather find her

wrists, to her surprise, being chained behind her, her clothing being removed

and a rope being put on her neck. She might then find herself hurrying along on

foot, beside his mount, roped by the neck to his stirrup. If he finds her

pleasing, he might keep her, at least for a time. If he does not, she will be

soon sold.

“I must find a gentleman to redeem me,” she said, “a true gentleman, one who

will take pity on me and nobly buy me out of my difficulties.”

“Another fool?” I asked.

“Yes!” she laughed.

I was silent.

“But do you think I will find one?” she asked, anxiously. “Never before have I

been stripped and put in a chain collar.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“I must!” she said, firmly.

There are many mythologies having to do with human beings. Many function like

ideological garments, designed to conceal or misrepresent reality. The

misrepresentations and concealments, of course, are then called “truth.” Truth,

crushed to earth, is supposed to rise again, but if it didn’t, we wouldn’t know

it. Indeed, if it did have the temerity to show up, it could probably count on

being suppressed again as rapidly as possible, in the name, of course, of

“truth.” The name of truth all prize; the face of truth most fear. Yet I think

the nature of truth is not that terrible. It is just that it is different, and

more beautiful than the lies. The demythologization of a man has yet to take

place. His reality exceeds the myths; it is reality which is darker and more

dangerous than the myths; but it is also glorious and more real.

“But what am I to do until I can find such a fool?” she asked.

“It is true,” I asked, “that sometimes, when a fellow (pg.101) bought you out of

your difficulties, you merely turned your back upon him?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Turn your back upon me, now,” I said.

“Please!” she said.

“Do so, now,” I said.

She did so. “Oh!” she said, gripped.

“Bend forward,” I said.

She obeyed.

“I think I can give you some idea,” I said, “as to what you will be doing until

you find such a fool.”

“Please,” she said, “Mercy!”

“Look at it this way,” I said. “You lived off men, with very little recompense

to them. You will now, in a sense, for the time being at least, merely continue

doing that, that is, continue to receive your living from me, only now, as

opposed to before, you will be doing something for it, indeed, a great deal. You

are, at least, going to be good for something. Men, at long last, are going to

get some food out of you.”

“I am not a slave!” she said. “Oh!” she said.

“Before,” I said, “men, in a sense, were subject to you. Now you are subject to

them.”

She moaned.

“You may move or not, as it pleases you,” I informed her.

She writhed briefly, trying to reach back, but could not escape. She cried out

in frustration, and then fear. She then lay extremely quiet.”

“I am not a slave,” she said.

“At least not a legal slave,” I said.

She trembled, her entire body, interestingly, responding to these words.

“—yet,” I added.

Again her entire body, helplessly, wholistically, organically, spasmodically,

responded.

“Please!” she begged. “Do not speak so.”

The wholisticality of the female’s response is an interesting one. Their

response is a whole, physical, emotional and intellectual. Men have sex; women

are sex.

“Why did you pay a tarsk bit for me?” she asked. “Why (pg.102) did you not pay

for an inn girl? Were they too expensive? Could you have afforded one?”

“I think so,” I granted her. Thanks, of course, to the coins from the brigands’

coin box, taken from them by the road, if nothing else, my finances were

currently in excellent order.

“Then it was I, truly I, whom you wished delivered to your space,” she

whispered.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“I thought you could use a little humbling,” I said, “and a little informing as

to the nature of your womanhood.”

“I hate you!” she said. “I hate you!”

Her body seethed with hatred. It was pleasant.

“I am giving you pleasure, aren’t I?” she asked, angrily.

“Yes,” I said.

She then tried to hold herself absolutely still.

“Too,” I said, “of course, I find you of sexual interest.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you think anyone else would?” she asked.

“Certainly,” I said.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, softly. “Ohh!”

“You moved,” I said.

“I am a free woman,” she said, angrily. “Yet I am at the mercy of the keeper! I

am a free woman! Yet I was made to serve at the tables! Now I have been

delivered to a guest, as though I might be a slave!”

I was silent. I did not tell her that the most common thing that is done with

debtor sluts is to sell them into slavery.

“Do you think that I will find another fool?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“I must,” she said. “I must! Else something terrible might happen.”

“What?” I asked.

“I might be sold to the collar,” she said. “Then I would be a slave!”

“If I were the keeper,” I said, “Such would certainly be my decision.”

“What?” she said.

“I would sell you into slavery,” I said.

“Never!” she said. “Never!”

(pg. 103) “You should be a slave,” I told her.

“No! No!” she said.

“You are moving,” I cautioned her.

She cried out in frustration.

Then she said. “Oh!”

Then she asked, “Are you going to make me yield?”

“Of course not,” I said. “You are a free woman/”

“Be done with it!” she said.

But I chose, somewhat perversely perhaps, to take my time with her.

Afterwards she clung tightly to me. “Oh,” she sobbed, softly. “Oh, oh.” She

seemed confused, frightened, bewildered, at what had been done to her, at what

she had felt. I thought the keeper’s man must be due soon.

“I yielded, did I not?” she asked, frightened. “Did I not yield?” The chain, its

loose ends, the padlock, the small metal tarn tag, indicating she was in debt to

the Crooked Tarn, clinked on her neck.

“In a manner of speaking,” I said. She had actually done very well for a free

woman, new to the handling of men who could do what they wished with her. The

Lady Temione, though the thought might have horrified her, as she was a free

woman, had unusually powerful female latencies. Subject to men and the whip I

had little doubt she would become extremely passionate, and eventually, even

helplessly so.

“You owe a silver tarsk, five,” I mused.

“Are you thinking of redeeming me?” she asked.

“I was thinking about it,” I said. I must try to gain admittance to Ar’s

Station. It was invested by Cosians, and mercenaries. I might have use for such

as she.

“I would be afraid to be redeemed by you,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“If you redeemed me,” she said, “I would be in your total power. You would, in

effect, own me.”

“You are aware, of course,” I said, “that you have, ultimately, no control over

who redeems you, no more than a slave has, ultimately, any choice over who buys

her.”

“I know,” she said.

I lay there, quietly, thinking. Yes, I thought, I might have use for a woman, or

women, such as she.

“You took me like a she-tarsk,” she said, poutingly.

(pg.104) “You responded well to the taking,” I said. “Perhaps it is fitting for

you.”

“You do not respect me,” she said.

“You do not want to be respected,” I said. “You want to be cherished, treasured,

handled, abused, mastered, owned, subdued, forced to serve and love.”

She was silent.

“Someone is coming,” I said. “Do you hear him, on the stairs?”

“No,” she said.

“He is on the first landing now,” I said. I sat up. “It is a male,” I said.

“I hear him now,” she said, after a moment or two. “Oh!”

I had turned her to her belly, on the blanket, spread over the boards.

“My wrists!” she protested.

They were then thonged. I had drawn them behind her, and held them together

there, crossed, with my left hand. With my right I had removed the restraint

from her left wrist. A moment later she was bound. Originally, I had assumed it

was the keeper’s man, but the tread, now, seemed heavier. Lady Temione rose to

her right elbow, her hands tied behind her. I thought I must know who it was. I

glanced at the space next to me. He had arrived at the inn later than I, I

supposed, as he had eaten later. If that was the case it was not at all unlikely

that he might have been rented the space after mine. If so, that might make

things a great deal easier. I would not even have to search him out, in the

darkness. There was a fellow slumbering in space 99, in the corner. He must have

come to the inn rather early, I supposed, to obtain one of the four coveted

corner spaces. If the fellow coming up the steps was indeed who I expected it

was, and had rented the space near me, and if things proceeded as I expected, I

thought I might be able to enlist the support of the fellow in the corner. The

second portion of my plan required a confederate.

“Ai!” I heard someone cry, a few yards away, near the entrance. The newcomer, it

seemed, had had some paga, perhaps a second or third kantharos. I wondered if he

had paid for them. I heard another cry of rage. There was then a blow. The

newcomer continued on, somewhat unsteadily. (pg.105) Another guest cried out,

angrily, and rose up. He backed away a step, however, when he saw that he did

not come up to the newcomer’s shoulder. Then the newcomer beckoned he should

come forward. Frightened, he did so. Then the newcomer suddenly, without

warning, doubled him with a blow to the gut, and he sank, groaning to his place.

Another fellow half rose up, and another blow was struck, and the fellow fell

back, to the side. Another fellow said something to the newcomer and the

newcomer’s sword half emerged from its sheath, and the other fellow rolled back,

away, quickly, feigning sleep. The sword slammed back into the sheath. Two men

moved at the noise. I saw the free woman, whom I had gagged and trussed, to

whose clothing I had addressed the attentions of her own knife, which I had

taken from her, and later destroyed and thrown away, lying very still. She was

absolutely helpless, and her clothing, so cut and divided, could be lifted aside

to anyone’s convenience. It was no wonder she did not dare to move. I wondered

what her thoughts might be, so helpless and vulnerable in her femaleness.

Doubtless, disarmed and helpless, her beauty at anyone’s convenience, her

weakness manifested, she now knew herself much better than she had before.

Sometimes such experiences help women understand that they are women. In a

moment or two the newcomer was at the space, 98, next to mine. He looked down,

angrily. I was pleased to see that he still carried the pouch.

He put it down, by the wall, with his helmet.

“Oh!” cried the Lady Temione, pulled half to her feet.

I noted the pouch had a lock. It would not, thus, be easy to open it and

examine, or remove, the contents. To be sure, I was less interested in its

contents than in something else. It would, of course, as he seemed to be some

sort of courier, be a useful adjunct to a disguise.

He held the Lady Temione before him, her head back, his beard but inches from

her throat.

“That is a free woman,” I said, dryly.

With a noise of disgust he turned and cast her from him, to her side, to the

foot of my space, on my blanket.

I did not know if her recognized her from before, from the paga room, or not. He