John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“The city has been evacuated,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“It was feared there would be an attack of tarnsmen from Ar,” I said.

I then jerked tight the rope pulling her right wrist over her head and behind her. I secured it in place.

I thrust up the Ta-Teera, that I might spread her legs.

“Did you truly throw away the key to the collar?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then you must help me to get out of it soon,” she said, “perhaps with tools.”

“Why?” I asked. I fastened down her left leg.

“Surely you have read it?” she asked. Such collars usually bear a legend. Usually the legend identifies the master, that the slave, if fled, or lost or strayed, may be promptly returned.

“No,” I said. “I cannot read Gorean.”

“Does it tell who your master is?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Oh!” she cried, as I pulled her right ankle to the right corner of the table and there, with two loops of the slim, coarse rope, tied it down.

I then jerked apart the Ta-Teera, that she be well revealed to me. She gasped. She squirmed, and trembled. I then stood up and looked down upon her, observing my handiwork.

She pulled at the ropes, and knew herself helpless. She looked up at me. “You have taken me boldly,” she said.

I said nothing.

She pulled again at the ropes. Then she lay back, helpless. “You have tied me well,” she said.

I shrugged.

“I suppose now,” she said, “you will wish me to address you as ‘Master’.”

“As you wish,” I said. “It does not matter.”

“Tied as I am,” she said, “it seems to me not unfitting that I should call you ‘Master’.”

I said nothing.

“I request your permission to do so,” she said.

“It is granted,” I said. “What does your collar say?” I asked.

Suddenly she reared in the ropes. “You must help me to remove it!” she said.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“It says, ‘I am the slave, Darlene,’” she said.

“It is an Earth-girl name,” I said.

“Precisely,” she said. “You can well imagine what might be done with me if I were caught in such a collar. Men might think that I was an Earth girl, or one of those girls like an Earth girl, and was thus given such a name!”

I smiled.

“Surely you understand my fears,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I used to train Earth girls,” she said. “I know how men look upon them.”

I nodded. Gorean men were not gentle with Earth girls. They regarded them as natural slaves, and treated them accordingly, fully. Some of the most abject slaveries on Gor were assigned to Earth girls.

“So you will help me out of this collar as soon as possible, will you not?” she asked.

“I will if it pleases me,” I said.

She lay back. “I am in your ropes,” she shrugged.

I crouched then beside her.

“You know me, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You heard my name about the inn,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “but even aside from that I would have known you.”

“Even veiled?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

She pulled at the ropes. “You have then,” she said, “a shrewd eye for the flesh of women.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Do you truly know me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“What is my name?” she asked.

“You are the Lady Tendite of Vonda,” I said, “who was assistant to the Lady Tima of Vonda, a slaver of that city, of the house of Tima.”

“Who are you?” she asked, frightened.

I drew away the mask.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Do you not recall me?” I asked. “I was once a silk slave. My name is Jason.”

Slowly recognition crept into her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “No!” Then, struggling wildly, she tore at the ropes. “No,” she screamed. “No!” Then again she lay before me, tied as helplessly and perfectly as before. “No,” she whispered. “No, no.”

“Yes,” I whispered to her. “Yes.”

The Lady Tendite now lay on the slave mat, where I had put her later in the morning.

“You will help me get this hated collar off, won’t you?” she purred lifting her arms and putting them about my neck, lifting her lips to mine.

“Does Darlene beg it?” I asked.

“Darlene!” she said, lying back, angrily.

“Is that not the name on the collar?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “it is.”

“Does Darlene beg it?” I asked.

“Yes,” she purred, again lifting her arms and putting them about my neck. “Yes,” she whispered. “Darlene begs it.” Then we kissed.

“The request of Darlene is refused,” I told her.

Angrily she scrambled to her knees and pulled at the collar. She looked at me in fury. “You sleen!” she said.

I smiled.

“Sleen! Sleen!” she said.

The Ta-Teera had been half torn from her. She had squirmed well.

“Sleen! Sleen!” she wept.

She was soft, and luscious and curved. It was easy to see why men make women slaves.

“Be silent!” I said to her, suddenly.

She looked at me, frightened.

“Do not leave the mat,” I told her, getting up. I went to one of the narrow, barred windows in the inn. I saw five armed men running down the street.

“River pirates,” I said. “I think they must be.”

She moaned, and foolishly tried to cover her beauty. I looked back at her. “Do you think they would permit you modesty in their shackles?” I asked. Then I returned to her side. “They are not coming here,” I said. “I think they have decided it is time to leave Lara.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Yet I do not smell smoke,” I said. “It is interesting.”

“What is going on?” she asked.

“Can you not guess?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “No!”

I then took her by the arms and threw her to her back on the slave mat beneath me.

“My dear Lady Tendite, or ‘Darlene,’ as I may choose to call you,” I said, “I do not think we have a great deal more time to tarry in this place.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“And you must leave it somewhat earlier than I,” I said.

“I do not understand,” she said. “Oh,” she said, entered and held. She tried to press me away, but could not do so. Then she clutched at me.

“Excellent, Darlene,” I said.

“What are you making me do?” she whispered.

“Can you not guess?” I asked her.

“You have won, Jason,” she whispered to me, lying on her side beside me, her head on her arm. “You have made me yield to you, irreservedly, helplessly, and as a slave.”

“As a free woman,” I said, “you cannot yet begin to understand the fullness, the helplessness, of true slave yieldings.”

“I sense what they might be,” she whispered, “being fully owned, being fully and legally at the mercy of a master.”

“Do the thoughts intrigue you?” I asked.

“I must put them from my mind,” she said. “I must not even dare to think them.”

“Why?” I asked.

“They are too profoundly feminine,” she said.

“And thus not fit for a proud free woman?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“But suitable perhaps for a collared slave?” I said.

“Yes,” she smiled. “Such a woman is permitted to be true to herself.”

“I suspect,” I said, “she is given no choice but to be true to herself.”

“Yes,” said the girl. “She is given no choice. She must be true to herself. If she should be reluctant the master and the whip will see to it.”

“You seem to speak enviously of the miserable women in bondage.”