John Norman - Fighting Slave of Gor

The masters, and the servants, laughed. Even some of the draft slaves laughed. The girl was sobbing. Again I shook my head, to clear away the violent and exciting memory, that recollection of the instant in which I had seen the girl as what she now was, and only was, a slave. It struck me with incredible force that not only could she be owned, but that she was owned, literally. When I had looked at the girl several of the other girls had quickly sucked in their breath. The breasts of some were rising and falling with excitement. The bodies of others, in their brief tunics, had blushed crimson. I saw more than one girl looking at me. Doubtless they, too, from time to time, here and there, had been looked upon honestly, as slave females.

"Did you see that?" asked one of the men in the palanquins, he whom I took to be the girl's owner, to his friend.

"Yes," said the other.

I blushed in shame, that I had, though only for an instant, looked upon the girl as a slave. How shamed, and offended, she must have been! But, of course, she now was a slave, only a slave.

"Granus, Turus," said the man in the palanquin, that to which the girls' coffle was chained.

I looked to the girl, but she would not meet my gaze. How sorry I was then that I had looked upon her as might have a Gorean male. She was not a Gorean girl. She was of Earth. Did I not know that? Yet she was surely beautiful, and a legally imbonded slave.

I heard a grunt near me. I spun about. A fist struck me in the side of the head. Then I was kicked, and punched in the side. I gasped, stumbling back. Two of the draft slaves were upon me, pounding and kicking. I rolled under one of them, and leaped to my feet, bloody.

"Granus struck him a goodly blow," said someone.

"I saw," said another.

"And he is again on his feet," observed another.

"Interesting," said someone.

"He is a strong fellow," said another.

I wiped blood from the side of my head. I stood, unsteadily.

The man in the palanquin gestured toward me with his glass, that on the pearled wand.

The first of the two draft slaves again approached me, his great fists balled into hammer-like weapons. "When I strike you again," he said, "do not get up. It will be enough for the masters."

I gasped for breath.

Then he lunged toward me. I tried to defend myself. His left fist struck into my stomach, doubling me over, and then his right fist struck me against the left side of the face. I sprawled sideways, losing my footing, slipping to the stones. I was half kneeling, half lying, on the stones.

The draft slave turned away from me.

"Look," called someone. "He is on his feet again!"

I stood, unsteadily.

The draft slave, he whom I took to be Granus, turned again, surprised, to face me. He and his fellow looked at one another.

"Run," said the servant, the fellow with the whip, who stood near to me. "Run."

I saw that none blocked my alley of retreat. "No," I said.

"It is a fight!" called someone, excitedly.

Again the fellow in the palanquin indicated me, bemused, with the glass on the pearled wand.

Again the large draft slave lunged toward me. Twice more, brutally, he struck me, as I stumbled backward, and then I had seized him, holding him, trying to clear my head, trying not to let him gain again the leverage to strike such telling blows. I heard him grunt. My arms were tightening on him. I began to bend him backwards. There was blood on his body then, mine, and on my tunic. "No," he grunted. Suddenly I saw he was frightened. Further I pressed him backward. Then, suddenly, terrified, I realized what I might do to him.

"Stop!" called the man with the whip.

I let the draft slave fall. His back had not been broken. I knew nothing of fighting, but I had discovered, it frightening me, that there was in me, somehow, strength which I had not understood. I recalled lifting the bench in the cell in the House of Andronicus. The exercises and the physical trainings to which I had been subjected there I had, not really thinking about it, kept up.

"Are you a fighting slave?" asked someone.

"No," I said.

The man with the whip looked to the man in the palanquin. "Interesting," said the man in the palanquin.

"Is it enough?" asked the man with the whip.

"Yes," said the man in the palanquin. I suddenly realized that he did not wish to risk a slave.

The man in the palanquin lifted the glass on the pearled wand and, again, the draft slaves took their places. The man with the whip joined other servants beside the palanquin. In a moment the two palanquins, with their respective retinues, were taking their respective departures. I stood, bloody, unsteadily, in the street.

The crowd dissipated.

Suddenly, angrily, I ran after the departing palanquin, that behind which the exquisite, dark-haired girl, she to whom I had been earlier speaking, was one of the chained, displayed beauties. I slipped, unnoticed by the man in the palanquin and his servants, behind the blond-haired girl, she who had told me she had once been free, who was the last in the right-hand coffle, that lovely string of chained women.

My hand closed on the back of the blond girl's neck.

She gasped, startled.

"Who is your master?" I asked.

"We are not permitted to speak in coffle," she said. "Oh!" she said. My hand had tightened on her neck.

"Who is your master?" I asked, walking behind her.

"Oneander of Ar," she said, "of the merchants. He does business in Vonda."

I did not release her neck.

"You are not a silk slave," she said, in pain, held.

"Oneander of Ar?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Yes, what?" I asked. My grip tightened.

"Yes--Master!" she said. I released her, and she stumbled ahead, following in her place. She looked back, frightened. Then she again set her eyes ahead. She was not an Earth girl, of course. She was only a Gorean girl, and a slave, a woman fit to be done with as men please.

I walked to the side of the street, looking after the palanquin, with its attached coffles.

I knew I should return to the shop of Philebus. If my mistress emerged from the shop and I was not there, she would not be pleased. But, on an impulse. I followed, for a time, behind it and on its left, the double coffle.

Doubtless I attracted some attention, for I was bleeding and, as I discovered, the silk tunic I wore had been soiled from the street and torn at the left sleeve; too, it was stained with my blood; but no one said anything to me. Perhaps they were wary of one who looked as though he might be distraught, or dangerous.

I followed the double coffle on its left, for it was on the left side of her body that the exquisite, dark-haired girl's short, loose silk had been hitched up, baring her branded thigh to the hip. I observed her in the coffle, neck-chained, her small wrists, above the rounded flesh of her palms and below the sweet, rounded flesh of her small forearms, locked in the steel of slave bracelets. She was surely the most exciting, and desirable and beautiful woman I had ever seen. Earlier I had been almost stunned with the sight of her beauty.

I smiled to myself.

I now knew who owned her, Oneander of Ar, a merchant who apparently did business in Vonda. It would have been in Vonda, I supposed, that he had purchased her. It seemed a shame that he apparently kept her primarily as a display item. Perhaps, upon occasion, he used her, and the other girls, or had them thrown to his men. I wondered if she would make a good love slave. I supposed not, for she was of Earth. It was difficult to imagine her kneeling before a man, helplessly aroused, weeping, begging to be raped.

I drifted about, to the right side of the coffle lines, and stopped, watching the lines, chained behind the palanquin, making their way down the street.