John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“I see that you are scarcely likely to prove to be an economic asset,” I said.

“You could always, I suppose, put a bell and coin box about my neck and send me into the streets,” she said.

“It is a thought,” I admitted.

She made an angry noise, and we continued on, toward the river front.

“Have you a job?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“You must get one,” she said.

“I expect that would be advisable,” I said. I supposed I might work as an oarsman or a dock worker. I was strong. It no longer seemed a good way to make money by challenging fellows in the taverns. One might respond with a knife or sword. Tonight my life had been saved by a dissolute fellow, a man called Callimachus, perhaps from Port Cos, farther west on the river, a derelict. Had it not been for him I would doubtless have been slain by the pirate, Kliomenes.

“We will need the money,” she said.

I said nothing.

“You may call me ‘Beverly’,” she said.

“What about ‘Veminia’?” I asked. The veminium is a small, lovely Gorean flower, softly petaled and blue.

“That is a slave name,” she said. “That is what I was called in the house of Oneander of Ar.”

“Most Goreans,” I said, “would regard ‘Beverly’ as a slave name.”

“What of ‘Jason’?” she asked, angry.

“I am sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but that is a not uncommon name on Gor, particularly, as I understand it, west on the river, and on the islands of Cos and Tyros.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Too,” I said, “it is commonly regarded as the name of a free man.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Unlike ‘Beverly’,” I said.

“I see,” she said, acidly.

“Beverly,” I added.

“The name ‘Beverly’ may be worn as a free name, as well as a slave name,” she said. “I shall wear it as a free name.”

“Very well,” I said.

“We shall have to make careful arrangements to govern our sharing common lodgings,” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“I shall bathe first,” she said.

“There is a small copper tub,” I said.

“And each of us shall do his own share of the cooking, the cleaning, and the housework,” she said. “Each will have full responsibility for his own portions of these labors.”

“I am to work the day,” I said, “and then, do half the work of the room or lodgings?”

“Do not expect me to perform menial labors for you,” she said. “I am a free woman. I shall take care of my things. And you shall take care of yours.”

“I see,” I said.

“I trust your room is not in this dismal structure,” she said, looking up at a swinging lantern hanging over an inn’s threshold.

“Yes,” I said.

“We shall have to do better than this,” she said. I looked down at her. I considered tearing the sheet from her. I wondered what she would look like with a bell and coin box on her neck. Then I reminded myself that she was a free woman, and that she was from the planet Earth, my old planet. She was not a Gorean girl, but something nobler and finer, an Earth woman.

“You did not even pay a full silver tarsk for me,” she said, looking up at me, angrily. “There were girls who were sold for as much as two or three silver tarsks.”

“They were very beautiful women,” I said, “and some were of high caste, two were exquisitely trained pleasure slaves.”

“Surely I was worth more than any of them,” she said, petulantly.

“Are you angry?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I am worth much more than ninety-eight copper tarsks.”

“I am not sure you are worth ninety-eight copper tarsks,” I said.

She cried out with anger.

“If you had been worth a silver tarsk in a Gorean market,” I told her, “you would have brought a silver tarsk in a Gorean market.”

“You are hateful!” she said.

“You are not a silver-tarsk girl,” I told her.

“Hateful!” she said.

“I do not think you are worth two copper tarsks,” I said.

“Beast!” she said. “Beast!”

“Remember,” I told her, “you have no Home Stone.”

“What are you telling me,” she asked, “that I keep a civil tongue in my head?”

“It would not hurt,” I told her.

“Oh, yes!” she said. “I know! I have no Home Stone! You might just tear the sheet from me. You might just throw me down in the threshold, on the stones, under the lantern, and rape me, and re-enslave me!”

“I could!” I said, angrily.

“You would not dare,” she said.

“Do not tempt me,” I said, in fury.

“You are too weak to treat me as a woman, and a slave!” she said.

I seized her by the upper arms, under the sheet, and shook her, violently. “Oh,” she cried, “please, Master, be gentle!” Then she looked at me, frightened.

“The word ‘Master’ came easily from your lips,” I said.

Quickly she pulled the sheet back about her. She looked down.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I’m sorry. I behaved like a cad.”

“Am I in danger, Jason?” she asked.

“No,” I said, “of course not.”

She looked up. “I am a woman of Earth,” she said, “not a Gorean girl.”

“I am well aware of that,” I said. “I am really very sorry.”

“I know that you will not treat me with power, and strength,” she said.

“Forgive me,” I said. “I had become angry.”

“You are a man of Earth,” she said, “and are decent and kind. You are tender and gentle. You are accommodating and wish to be pleasing. Remember that women have nothing to fear from men such as you. Keep that clearly in mind.”

“Forgive me,” I said. “I am very sorry.”

“In the future,” she said, “keep your hands off of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I am a person,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“I am not a pleasure toy,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry.” How grievously had insulted Miss Henderson!

“Tonight,” she said, “when I was being displayed before Gorean buyers, did you see me move in certain ways and cry out in certain ways?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Put such things from your mind,” she said. “The auctioneer, the beast, caught me off guard. His action took me by surprise. He did not permit me to be myself. I am stronger than that, as you will learn. It was like another girl, a slave girl, who moved like that, and cried out like that. Have no fear. The delicious pleasures which may have been suggested by her movements or cries will not be yours.”

“I see,” I said.

“I am not a licking and kissing pleasure girl, one who can scarcely control herself and fears the whip.”

“I see,” I said.

“I shall endeavor to see that I am fully worthy of your respect and of my own respect, as a free woman.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Let us go inside now,” she said. “The room must be properly partitioned.”

“Are you not grateful that I rescued you from bondage?” I asked.

“I am extremely grateful,” she said. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to be free. It is just what every woman wants.”

“You have not much expressed your gratitude,” I said.

“And how do you, a man, suggest that I express it?” she asked, acidly.

I looked down, reddening.

“I am not a slave, Jason,” she said. “I am a free woman.”

“I understand,” I said.

“Is that why, you bought me,” she asked, “that I, a weak, silly woman, overwhelmed with gratitude, would grant you my favors?”

I did not raise my head.

“Favors which you were too weak to obtain in any other way?” she asked.