Smugglers of Gor (61 page)

“It is hard to believe,” she said.

“There are different roads, different paths,” I said. “Much depends on which one takes.”

“My former world,” she said, “is filled with unhappiness, misery, and hatred.”

“Much depends on the road one takes,” I said.

“Few find their own way,” she said. “Most take the road they are told to take.”

“And few will try another,” I said.

“Herds,” she said, “ask no more than to be driven.”

“It seems so,” I said.

“Even if to the slaughter bench,” she said.

“There is profit in this, of course,” I said, “for those who drive the herds.”

“I do not think the men of Gor herd,” she said.

“No,” I said, “it is not in their culture.”

“The men of Earth herd,” she said.

“Not all of them,” I said.

“Where are the masters?” she asked, bitterly.

“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.

“Where are the slaves?”

“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.

“I knew none,” she said.

“You may have,” I said. “You may have known women who, unbeknownst to yourself, and concealed from the world, were their master’s slave, even to nudity, the whip, and collar.”

She lay back, her shoulder against my thigh.

“Master has a slave, Asperiche,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I hate her,” she said.

“It is not your concern,” I said.

“Is she better than Laura?” she asked.

“A thousand times,” I said.

“I find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Oh?” I said.

“You did not follow her from Brundisium, into the labors and dangers of the northern woods,” she said. “You did not risk your life to pursue her in the forest!”

“It is growing late,” I said.

“What is Laura to you?” she asked.

“No more than a foolish slave, a capture, to be returned to the Pani,” I said.

“After what you have done to me?” she said. “After what you have made me feel?”

“You are a slave,” I observed.

“I hate you,” she wept.

“You are, of course,” I said, “a nicely curved piece of collar meat.”

“Can she lick the whip as well as Laura?” she asked. “Can she belly and crawl as well as Laura? Are her lips as warm, and begging, on your thigh as those of Laura?”

I was silent.

“I am sure she is very nice,” she said.

“She is hot, and lovely,” I said.

“But perhaps not the slave for you,” she said.

“A slave is a slave,” I said. “They are interchangeable.”

“Master has the advantage over me,” she said.

“How is that?” I asked.

“A slave,” she said, “must tell the truth.”

“I see,” I said.

“Is that why one slave sells for more than another, why one slave’s price might purchase a ship, and another a wooden bowl and spoons, why one slave is bartered for a city, and another for a she-tarsk, why one girl is purchased to be chained at the foot of a Ubar’s throne and another to carry water in the fields or quarries?”

“Kneel, turn about, put your head to the leaves,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She did not sound displeased.

“You obey promptly and well, Earth woman,” I said.

“I am no longer an Earth woman,” she said. “I am now a Gorean slave.”

“You are far from the aisle of that great emporium where I first saw you,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Did you expect to find yourself one day as you are now?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“But you are now here, as you are,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I then put her to my pleasure.

He took no chances with me.

On the return to Shipcamp I was stripped, which is a common way to return an escaped slave to masters. This not only designates the slave as having been errant or displeasing, but marks her out, as well, for attention. A tunicked slave amongst tunicked slaves might attract little attention; she might even slip away again; a naked slave amongst tunicked slaves, on the other hand, is quickly noticed. Nudity, in its way, makes escape less likely. Further, in the trek to Shipcamp, my hands were braceleted behind me, and I was kept on the leash, usually, in more dangerous areas, following him, led, but in more open areas often forced to precede him, almost like a slave on promenade. At night my wrists would be braceleted about a small tree, I placed either on my belly, my arms forward about this living stanchion, or on my back, my arms back, above and behind me.

I was muchly used, for slave purposes, on the trek back to Shipcamp, especially in the evening and night, but, sometimes, during the day, as well, when, his need upon him, as it seemed so frequently to be, he would throw me to the leaves.

Often enough, as well, I would creep to him, whimpering.

Never as a free woman had I suspected how grievous, irresistible, and even painful might be a slave’s needs, how helpless she would be in their grip. I supposed even on Earth I would have been ready to yield to a master, hoping to be found pleasing. But on Gor, once I was in a collar, half naked, with a slave brand seared into my flesh, and knew myself an object, a domestic animal, only goods, these feelings and needs became far more acute. Then I had been, at Shipcamp, chained in the slave house. There I had begun to sense the ecstasy, and the terror, and the helplessness, of one in whom slave fires had been ignited. Then, after my recapture, in the arms of my captor, for whose touch I had longed even as long ago as my former world, when I had seen him but once before my acquisition, these fires had begun, perhaps to his amusement, to blaze in such a way that I found myself their prisoner and victim. Doubtless this was due in part to his ruthless skill in setting such fires in the belly of a slave, but, too, I would have been almost helpless before him, even had I been a free woman, on my former world, for he, so severe, virile, confident, and strong, was the most exciting and attractive man I had ever seen, and here I was before him not as a free woman, but, on this rich, green, savage, perilous, exotic world, his world, Gor, a slave.

And, to my fear, chagrin, and humiliation, given what had been done to me on this world, I found myself disturbed, considering what almost any man might now do to me, now that I was a slave, and not simply he for whose collar I longed with such excruciating desire. I did not doubt now but what I could not help responding, and as a slave, to the touch of almost any of these arrogant, conquering Gorean males. In setting slave fires in a woman’s belly they well know how to make her a slave.

“The wands, Master,” I said.

“The larls are in,” he said.

“Sometimes they are,” I said. I had depended on that, in my original flight.

“More likely our approach has been noted,” he said. “Surveillance may be intensified.”

“I am to be turned over to Pani?” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“What is to be done with me?” I asked.

“You will learn,” he said.

“I returned to the wands before,” I said, “inadvertently.”

“Perhaps not so inadvertently,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Look there,” he said, “through the trees.”

“The ship, the great ship!” I said.

“We are in time,” he said. “It has not yet left.”

It was hard to see through the leafage but, clearly, the great ship was still at its moorings.

“There is not much time,” he said.

“Master?” I said.

He pressed aside a branch, and pointed toward the dock. “See the high pole north of the dock, across from the stern of the ship.

“Yes, Master,” I said. I was sure that pole had not been there when I had been employed about the dock.

“At its height,” he said, “on its line, is the ready banner.”

He indicated a long, tapering, triangular swirl of bright scarlet silk. It could be seen from a great distance.

“Final preparations are being made,” he said. “When the banner is lowered, the moorings will be cast, and the voyage begun.”

“How long is it flown?” I asked.

“I had heard three days,” he said.

“But one or two days may have already passed,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “We will learn.”

“Perhaps it will leave today,” I said.

“No,” he said. “It will leave in the early morning, to make the most of a day’s light.”

“Perhaps then tomorrow?” I said.

“Perhaps,” he said, letting the branch fall back into place. “I do not know.”

“Tal!” called a cheery voice.

“Axel!” said my captor.

“I see you have her,” said Axel. “Good! Doubtless, a barbarian, she was an easy catch. Come within the wands. We wish to loose the larls again.”

I felt the tug on my leash ring, and I stumbled after my captor.

Shortly thereafter we were within the perimeter of Shipcamp. There, near the wands, doubtless waiting, was an unusually lovely slave. She, as I, was dark-haired and dark-eyed. “Master!” she said, delightedly, and knelt quickly before my captor, kissed his feet, and lifted her head happily to him. “We feared for you!”

“What are you doing here?” asked my captor.

“I brought her,” said Axel.

“So you came, perforce?” asked my captor.

“Of course, Master,” she said, smiling. “What could I do? He is a free man.”

“So this is Asperiche?” I said.

“Yes,” said my captor, indicating with a gesture that Asperiche might rise.

“She is very lovely,” I said.

“So this is Laura?” said Asperiche.

“Yes,” said my captor.

“And she is very lovely,” said Axel.

“Oh?” said Asperiche.

“Certainly,” said Axel.

“I had expected her to be different,” she said.

“How so?” asked Axel.

“More beautiful,” said Asperiche.

I knew I was not the sort of girl who went for a handful of silver, or even a piece of gold.

Still I thought I was beautiful enough. Some men had seemed to think so. Surely I was popular in the slave house.

Asperiche regarded me. I straightened my body. She walked about a bit, partly behind me, and then, again, was before me. “But, yes, you are pretty, Laura,” she said. “And you look well, on a leash, braceleted.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You are short of clothing,” she observed.

“Yes,” I said.

“I am tunicked,” she said.

“Rather briefly,” I said.

“My master enjoys exhibiting me,” she said. “I am the sort of slave masters enjoy showing off, the sort they relish displaying.”

“You have a beautiful figure and face,” I granted her.

“You must be very stupid,” she said, “to run away. You are kajira. Do you not know that there is no escape for a kajira? But then you are a barbarian, and all barbarians are stupid.”

“I am not stupid,” I said.

“Surely you must feel stupid,” she said, “to be led back here on a leash for all to see, naked and braceleted, like a tethered verr.”

“I do feel stupid,” I said.

“You did a very stupid thing,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “I did a very stupid thing.”

“Perhaps you are not stupid,” she said. “Perhaps you were only a fool.”

“I was a fool,” I said.

“Perhaps you are no longer a fool,” she said. “Perhaps now you know you are a slave, and that there is no escape for you.”

“Yes,” I said, “I now know I am a slave, and that there is no escape for me —
Mistress
.”

“‘Mistress’?” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “for you are superior to me. You are a private slave, and I am only a camp slave.”

“We are both only slaves, Laura,” she said.

“I want to be a slave!” I said.

“We all want to be slaves,” she whispered.

“Enough of the meaningless chatter of bond sluts,” said Axel. Then he turned to my captor. “I will report the capture of the slave to the magistrates,” said Axel. “You will see to her keeping.”

“I will do so,” said my captor.

“May I accompany Master Axel?” inquired Asperiche.

“Yes,” said my captor, “heel him closely and well.”

“I shall,” she said, happily.

How willingly and light-heartedly, I thought, did the slave follow Master Axel. Surely my captor must have noticed this. Would he not be concerned? I was made uneasy. Aside from raids, warfare, and such, the exchange of kajirae normally takes place in a civilized manner, with negotiation, and buying and selling, and such. But, occasionally, I knew exchanges took place by means of the negotiation of blades, particularly on the open road or in the fields, outside walls, beyond the jurisdiction of
archons
and
praetors
. I supposed the weapon skills of my captor and Master Axel would be similar. Few men, I was sure, saving perhaps workmen, some mariners, and such, had been hired north without the assurance that they possessed one or another of the dark skills. Some here, I speculated, might even be of the caste of Warriors, though in such a case, perhaps renegades or exiles, possibly men who had fared badly in city revolutions, even men who may have forsworn Home Stones or betrayed codes, desperate men, dangerous men. And I did not see my captor as one with whom one might trifle with impunity. Was he not concerned with the behavior of his slave? What master would not be? Had Asperiche been sold? No, she had knelt before my captor, kissed his feet, and addressed him as ‘Master’. Might my captor be thinking of ridding himself of her? Might he be interested in some other slave? Might I be she? But Asperiche was beautiful! But Gorean males, depending on their means, may have more than one slave. The pleasure gardens of Ubars and high merchants might house innumerable slaves, even slaves purchased by agents, slaves of whom their masters might not even be aware. I had heard of a Mintar of Ar who owned more than a thousand slaves, though most were chained in his mills. There were city slaves, too, of course, in the high cities, in their brief gray tunics and gray metal collars. I hoped my captor wanted me. How I would strive to please him, in all the ways of the meaningless, abject slave! How I longed to be the single slave of a private master! I did not think it could be borne, that I might share my master with another. I trusted that lovely Asperiche would not be the cause of bloodshed between Master Axel and my captor. It is strange, I thought, how Gorean masters, before whom we are negligible, at whose feet we are nothing, who hold us in the lofty contempt of a free person, will kill for us. Are we then so meaningless, truly? But, I thought, Master Axel and my captor are friends. Surely they would not draw steel on one another. But Asperiche was very beautiful. Even on behalf of lesser women, I supposed, edged steel might suddenly divide friends. But perhaps my captor was not determined to retain Asperiche. Was she not a bauble, as any slave, which might be bestowed as a master might wish? But my captor, I was sure, would need a slave. He was such a man. I wondered if many of the males of my world could even understand such a thing, that there are men so powerful, so masculine, so virile, so lustful, so passionate, so dominant, so uncompromising, so demanding, that they will make women slaves, for they will choose to have them as such, as properties, as the goods and animals they will then be. They will choose to own their women, categorically and absolutely. We are their rightless belongings. I supposed few males of my former world, that tepid, gray world, could even understand such a thing. And few women of my former world, I supposed, had ever found themselves the object of a passion so intense, so fierce, and demanding, that it could be satisfied with nothing less than their absolute possession, their ownership, with nothing less than their being the belonging of their master. Presumably they could not even understand such passion, such desire, until, perhaps, they found themselves collared, and the object of it. Let them then understand that they are owned, as any object may be owned, wholly and without qualification; let them then strive to be a suitable belonging, an acceptable belonging; let them then strive to be pleasing, fully pleasing, and in all the ways of the slave, for the whip is not pleasant.