John Norman - Fighting Slave of Gor

"I can give a man much pleasure," said the dark-haired girl.

"I, too, can give a man much pleasure," said the Lady Florence.

"I do not doubt it," said the dark-haired girl. "You are very beautiful."

"You, too, are very beautiful," said the Lady Florence.

"You, there!" said a voice, that of a slaver's man, approaching me. Behind him I saw Tenalion, stripped to the waist, on the assessment platform, paused in his labors, looking at me.

"You are Jason, the fighting slave, are you not?" asked the man who had approached me. He, too, like Tenalion, was stripped to the waist. He wore a blue-and-yellow wristlet. He carried a whip, coiled, in his right hand. I recognized him. He was Ronald. He had been with Tenalion in the house of the Lady Florence, his man.

"I am Jason," I said, "the free man."

"Jason," called Tenalion, from the platform, "bring your capture forward."

I moved forward, drawing the Lady Florence to her feet behind me. Then, in a moment, trembling, she had stepped upon the assessment platform.

"You are free now, Jason?" asked Tenalion.

"Yes," I said, standing below the platform.

Tenalion then turned to a bound, dark-haired woman who had been standing on the platform, her head down, her hair over her eyes. He thrust her from the platform. "Ten copper tarsks," he said to a scribe at a small table nearby, with papers and a box of coins. The scribe counted out ten copper tarsks to a fellow at the table. "Brand her, common Kajira mark, strap-collar her and put her in Pen Six," said Tenalion to one of his men. "Yes, Tenalion," said he, and took the woman by the hair and, bending her over, led her away.

Tenalion then turned to the other woman on the platform, the auburn-haired beauty who was trembling.

"What have we here?" he asked me.

"A female, for your consideration," I said.

"Stand straight," he told her, and placed his hand under her chin, forcing it up.

"What is your name?" he asked her.

"I am the Lady Florence of Vonda," she said.

"Why have you been brought to my camp?" he asked.

"To be sold into slavery," she said.

"Are you hot, Lady Florence?" he asked.

"Please, Master," she said.

But his hands were upon her, holding her.

"I see you have already taught her a little about what it is to be a slave," he said.

"A little," I said.

Tears in her eyes, the Lady Florence regarded me.

"What do you want for her?" he asked.

I had nothing against Tenalion, but I needed money, so I decided to ask for an outrageous price, and then, as proved necessary, to bargain considerably downwards. "Five silver tarsks," I said, boldly.

"Give him ten," said Tenalion to the scribe. "Do you want your leash and binding fiber?" he asked.

"No," I said.

He then thrust the Lady Florence from the platform. One of his men took her into custody there. He turned her about, so that she might hear Tenalion's decisions regarding her. "Brand her," said he, "common Kajira mark, and strap-collar her."

"In what pen shall I place her?" he asked.

"Chain her in my tent," he said. "Tonight, Lady Florence," he said to her, "you will, then a slave girl, serve me wine."

"Yes, Master," she said. She looked wildly at me. Then she was turned about and pulled by the arm from the area of the platform.

"What will you do with so much money?" asked Tenalion.

"I seek a girl," I said, "one I knew on a far world, one called Earth."

"A slave?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "The poor girl has been enslaved."

"Your task is hopeless," he said. "Many girls wear their collars on Gor."

"Her name," I said, "is Beverly Henderson."

Tenalion smiled. Her name might now be anything. And she might be anywhere. Was I to seek for her in every city and village on Gor, in every building, in every tent, on every barge? In what stray corner might she be chained? On what obscure square of sand might she be squirming for masters?

"I do not anticipate difficulties," I said. "I know her owner, a merchant, one called Oneander, of your own city, Glorious Ar."

"Some of Oneander's girls are in this very camp," he said.

"Perhaps she whom I seek is among them!" I said.

"None is an Earth girl," he said.

"May I see them? May I question them?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. He went to the scribe and looked through his papers, noting numbers. "They are all in Pen Two," he said. "Pay him," he said, too, to the scribe. The scribe handed me ten silver tarsks. It was a considerable sum. "Give me your whip," said Tenalion to his assistant, who handed him the whip. "Continue the work," Tenalion told him. "Next!" called the man, and another girl stepped upon the platform.

I followed Tenalion to a stout pen. A guard opened it for him and Tenalion stepped inside, suddenly cracking the whip. The girls within, stripped, wearing strap-like collars of iron hammered about their necks, fled away from him, huddling together, against the palings. They were female slaves. They knew the feel of the whip.

"217, 218 and 219," said Tenalion, gesturing with the whip, "kneel by the back wall, facing me, backs straight, knees wide, hands clasped behind the back of your head."

Three girls, crying out with misery, rushed to obey him. Each had a number painted on the concave softness at her left shoulder. It was in red paint. The same number, in white paint, was on her collar.

"These were Oneander's girls," said Tenalion. "They were sold in the neighborhood of Vonda several days ago."

I did not recognize them, but a man such as Oneander would doubtless own many girls.

"Why were you sold?" I asked them.

"We do not know," said one of them, miserably, her eye on Tenalion's whip.

"Oneander," said Tenalion, "is a salt and leather merchant. He is known to me. He had many dealings with Vonda. His business, in recent months, as you might suspect, has been much disrupted."

"His contracts failing, he needed ready cash?" I asked.

"I would think so," said Tenalion.

"Where is Beverly Henderson?" I asked them.

"We do not know of her," said one of the girls, frightened.

"The woman Beverly!" I said.

"We know no woman, Beverly," said one.

"The slave girl, Beverly!" I said, angrily.

"We know no slave, Beverly," said one of them.

"She is small, and dark-haired, and exquisitely beautiful," I said.

"Veminia?" asked one of them, to another.

"She is from Earth," I said.

"Veminia!" said one.

"The barbarian!" said another.

"Yes," I said.

"She who came in chains from some market in Vonda?" asked another.

"That would doubtless be she," I said. "Where is she?"

"We do not know," said one.

I cried out in anger, and Tenalion lifted his whip.

"We do not know!" cried the first girl, shrinking back.

"Was she sold with you?" I asked.

"No, Master!" cried the first girl.

"Where is Oneander?" I demanded.

"We do not know!" wept the first girl. "Please do not whip us, our Masters!"

"Where do you think he is?" I asked.

"He was returning to Ar," said the first girl. "He is perhaps there."

I looked to Tenalion. "I would suppose he would be in Ar," said Tenalion, "but I would not know."

"I do not think I need to question these slaves further," I said.

Tenalion nodded, and he turned and went to the gate of the pen. When the door was opened he turned about and looked at the three girls kneeling by the palings. "You may break position," be told them.

"Thank you, Master," they said, lowering their arms, frightened.

"I must venture to Ar," I said to Tenalion, once outside the pen. "I think it likely that she whom I seek is in that city."

"Perhaps," said Tenalion.

I nodded. Miss Henderson was a slave. She could have been put on the block and sold, like any other girl, like the girls inside the pen. She might be anywhere.