John Norman - Captive of Gor

I lay back in the grass. I felt it with my hands. I closed my eyes. I smiled.

I was furious, of course, with what he had done to me, but also, I could not have helped responding to him as I had. He had, cruelly, mercilessly, unfairly, giving me no option, elicited from me fantastic depths of sensation of which I had not even realized my body was capable. His touch, as that of a master, had commanded my body, totally, and I had swum in sensation, clutching him, fearing I might drown with pleasure in his arms. Laugh if you will, but I could call him nothing but "Master." Do not scorn me, nor mock me, until you yourself, perhaps, on a distant world, someday wear a collar, until you, yourself, as a slave, have know the touch of such a man as Rask of Treve.

I opened my eyes. The moons now reared over the palisade, low in the night sky, looming.

My throat had been encircled with slave steel, and I had been taught its meaning. I recalled, long ago, how, in a motel on Earth, I had regarded myself naked, branded, collared, in a mirror, and had wondered, frightened, what it would be like to lie in the arms of a barbarian, helpless, so stripped, so marked. I now knew! I cried out, and tore a handful of grass from the knoll. Why did he not send for me?

Had I not pleased him? I could do more for him, more!

The moons were now high in the night sky, the looming three, dominating, fierce moons of Gor I felt my nudity beneath them, and the grass.

I cried out with misery.

"Send for me, Rask of Treve!" I whimpered. "Send for me!" I rolled on my stomach in the grass. "I want to serve you," I wept. I bit at the grass.

I looked up at the moons, tears in my eyes.

The lights of the camp were now, for the most part, extinguished. I could see, here and there, in the distance, the embers of cooking fires. In some few tents there glowed a dim redness, through the canvas sides of the tent, the light of the tiny fire bowls within. The night was hot. I heard night insects. I was alone. Far off, in the tarn compound, a tarn screamed, and then there was only the silence, except for the sounds of the insects.

On the grassy knoll I was chained, alone.

If I could free myself I would run to Rask of Treve! I would beg him for his touch! I pulled at the chain, so heavy on my ankle. It was some eight feet long. I could not slip the manacle from my ankle; I could not free the chain from its ring.

I wept.

I threw myself against the chain, running toward his tent, and fell in the grass, my ankle burning, scraped from the steel that obdurately clasped it. On my hands and knees I tried to crawl to the tent. My left leg stretched taut behind me, held. I cried out with frustration, and pounded the grassy earth, weeping, with my fists.

I rolled on my back and looked up at the moons.

I lay there, my fists clenched.

Then I closed my eyes. I could not dare to look upon them again, the great, white, looming moons of Gor, dominating the sky.

I pounded the grass with the sides of my fists, in misery.

Then I dared to look again upon the vast, looming moons of Gor. What choice did I have? I was only a girl who had been chained naked beneath them. I screamed and leaped to my feet, my hands extended to the moons. I stood helplessly beneath them, chained, naked, reaching for them.

Then I began to dance the madness of my need, writhing, tearing at it, whimpering.

And as I gasped, and wept, I saw, suddenly, in the shadows, watching me, Verna, the panther girl.

"It seems your body moves as might that of a Kajira," said Verna.

"I am a Kajira," I whispered, "Mistress."

"You are not as other women," said Verna. "You are strong. You do not have their weaknesses."

I knelt before Verna. I extended my hands to her. "Have pity on me, Mistress." I wept.

Her eyes were hard.

I put down my head. "I am as other women," I said. "I am not strong." I swallowed. "I have the weaknesses of my sex," I said. "Indeed, I am perhaps more weak than any."

"Now you speak truly, El-in-or," said Verna. Her voice was not unkind. "Sometimes," said Verna, "it requires a man such as Rask of Treve to teach a women this weakness."

"I have been well taught," I whispered.

"I have fought this weakness in myself," said Verna.

"I will not fight it," I said. "I will yield to it."

"Rask of Treve," said Verna, smiling, "has given you no choice."

"That is true," I said. It was true. Rask of Treve, my Gorean master, had not seen fit to permit me choice in the matter of my helpless surrender. I put my head down.

"You have been conquered," said Verna.

"Yes," I said, "I have been conquered."

"I am leaving camp tonight," said Verna. I looked at her, startled.

She indicated a kneeling figure several yards away, bent over, facing the other direction. She wore crosses ankle rings, not permitting her to rise. Here wrists were braceleted behind her back. About her throat was a light, chain slave leash. Across the back of her dark hair I could see leather gag straps. "I am taking Talena with me," said Verna. "Rask of Treve has given her to me. I am taking her to the northern forests, as a slave."

"But she is the favorite of Rask of Treve," I whispered.

"No," said Verna.

"Will you not stay in the camp," I asked, "as the comrade of Rask of Treve?" She looked at me, and smiled. "No," she said. "My place is in the northern forests."

I did not speak.

"Is it pleasant," she asked, "to surrender to a man?"

I put my head down, shamed by joy.

"Ah," said Verna. Then she spoke to me softly. "Once," she said, "long ago, in the city of Ar, I saw a man, and in seeing him, for the only time in my life, I was afraid, for I feared he might do to me, if he wished, what Rask of Treve had done to you. I have never feared this of another man."

I looked at her.

"And so I hated him," she said, "and I resolved, someday, to see who would conquer."

"What is his name? I asked.

"Marlenus of Ar," she said.

I could not speak, so astonished I was.

She casually indicated the wretched girl bound to one side, beyond the bottom of the hillock. "This wench is bait," she said.

Verna turned away, and then she turned to face me. "Farewell, Slave," said she. I extended my hands to her, piteously.

"Should I see Rask of Treve," said Verna, "I will tell him that there is a chained girl, who, beneath the moons of Gor, begs him for his touch." "I wish you well, Mistress," I called. "I wish you well!"

Verna did not turn again, but went to the kneeling girl and unsnapped the crossed ankle rings, and put them in her pouch. She dragged the girl, wrists braceleted behind her back, to her feet, and led her away, between the tents. I could see the gag straps tight over the back of her hair as she was led away. I had little doubt that the magnificent Verna, leader of the panther girls, would bring her prize successfully to the northern forests.

I knelt alone then, chained, on the summit of the grassy hillock, beneath the vast, looming moons.

I became aware of a figure standing near me. I cried out, and reached for him. Rask of Treve did not bother to unchain me, but used me as I was, eager and moaning, beneath the moons of Gor.

Rask of Treve held my head in his two hands.

It was near dawn.

We lay on the summit of the grassy knoll, wrapped in his cloak. Sensing his permission, I again touched my lips, timidly to his. I was turned suddenly, helplessly, on my back, and again, clutching him, tears of pleasure in my eyes, yielded to the joy of him.

We were silent together.

There was a dew on the grass, and the cloak in which we lay wrapped was wet on the outside. The light of the beginning of the morning was tender, sparkling on the stalks of the grass, giving the hill of my domination a sweet, soft sheen. I still wore on my left ankle the heavy chain. Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue, once of Earth, once rich, once spoiled, and cruel and selfish, now only a conquered Gorean slave girl, lay intimately, lovingly, in the arms of her absolute master.