John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“You stink of the paga taverns,” she said.

I turned away from her and put my pouch to the side. I did not, normally, carry it to the wharves.

“Were the girls pretty?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“As pretty as I?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” I said. “Some of them.”

“Did you have a good time?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. I went to a bucket of water in the corner of the room and, uncovering it, and using a bowl, dipped out water which I then used for washing my hands and face.

“Did anything unusual happen at the tavern?” she asked.

“There are some guardsmen from Ar’s Station in Victoria,” I said.

“What are they doing here?” she asked.

“Have you heard of the topaz?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I heard people in the market speaking of it.”

“It is a pledge symbol,” I said, “apparently used among pirates on the river, when combining, for massive assaults.”

“The men of Ar’s Station are searching for the topaz?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“They fear that their post will be subjected to attack.”

“Yes,” I said, drying my face with a towel. “And if Ar’s Station should be destroyed, the eastern river, between Tafa and Lara, would lie much at the mercy of the raiders.”

“Then Port Cos would be next?” she asked.

“That is the speculation,” I said, putting aside the towel.

“Did the guardsmen of Ax’s Station find the topaz?” she asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” I said. “They stopped me, and others, outside the tavern of Cleanthes. Later they searched all in the tavern, save those whom they remembered from outside, as having been previously examined.”

“You were not searched a second time then?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “It was the same men who were conducting the search.”

“If the topaz should reach the stronghold of Policrates,” she said, “the way would be clear for the uniting of the raider forces of both the east and west.”

“It has perhaps already reached the stronghold of Policrates,” I said.

“Surely routes to such a citadel have been invested,” she said.

“They cannot be adequately invested,” I said, “without considerable forces. I do not think a careful courier would have difficulty reaching the citadel.”

“What hope, then, have those who would wish to keep the topaz from reaching Policrates?”

“The hope is to apprehend the courier before he can reach the citadel,” I said.

“A slim hope,” she said.

“I agree,” I said.

“I would not wish to be who carries the topaz,” she said.

“Nor I,” I said, smiling.

“You kenneled me last night,” she said.

“That is not unknown to me,” I said.

“I will no longer try to keep a door locked between us,” she said.

“That is advisable,” I said.

She came then and stood near me. I restrained myself from seizing her in my arms and throwing her to the floor of the hall.

“Jason,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She drew her robe down, slightly, from her shoulders.

“Yes?” I said.

“I am ready to earn my keep,” she said.

“You speak like a slave girl,” I scorned her.

“Slave girls do not earn their keep,” she said. “They do what they are told.”

“If you were a slave girl, would you do what you were told?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “I would have to.”

“That is true,” I said. She looked into my eyes and saw that it was indeed true, absolutely.

“I wonder if you would make a good slave,” I said.

“Enslave me,” she said, “and see.”

“You are a woman of Earth,” I said.

“On this world,” she said, “many women of Earth are kept as the total slaves of their masters.”

I looked at her.

Suddenly she knelt before me. “Enslave me,” she begged. “I will make you a good slave.”

“Get on your feet,” I said, confused. “You are a woman of Earth. Must I teach you, of all people, a little feminist, how to be a true person?”

“This is Gor,” she said, “not Earth. Such things are behind me now. I have learned too much.”

“Get up,” I said.

“On Gor,” she said, “I do not need to pretend any longer. Here I do not need to be a political puppet. Here I am free at last to be a woman.”

“Get up!” I cried.

“Fulfill my needs, please!” she begged.

“No!” I cried. Then I said, again, “Get up, quickly. You shame me.”

She rose to her feet, tears in her eyes. She drew her robe tightly about her. “It is I who have been shamed,” she said.

“You have shamed yourself,” I said, angrily.

“No,” she said, “that is not true, Jason. I have been honest to myself. It is you who have shamed me, punishing me for permitting myself this careless honesty. It is my fault, in a sense. You are a man of Earth, still. I should have known better.”

“You should not have such needs,” I told her.

“I have them,” she said.

“Change them,” I said.

“I cannot,” she said.

“Surely you desire to do so,” I said.

“No,” she said, “no longer, I love them. They are the deepest part of me.”

“You must then, at the least,” I said, “pretend that you do not have them.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said, “perhaps because they do not conform to the values of the glandularly deficient and sexually inert.”

“This is not Earth,” she said. “Why should I conform to such values?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I do not know!”

“Such men and women,” she said, “must make virtues of their deficiencies. Otherwise, to their humiliation, they would confess themselves less than others.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “I do not know.”

“Why do you let others, the petty and resentful, the fearful and inadequate, legislate for you in this sphere?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“What are their credentials?” she asked. “Where are their proofs?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Heeding their advice produces misery and frustration, impairments, physical and mental, anxiety, pain, sickness and self-torture. It can even shorten lives. Do these sorts of things seem to you the manifestations of a correct moral position?”

“I do not know,” I said.

“Is it only the stupid, and the mutilated and crippled, who are to be accounted healthy?”

“I do not know,” I said. “I do not know!”

“I am sorry if I have embarrassed you,” she said.

“Go to your room,” I said.

“You have refused me as a woman,” she said.

“Go to your room, Miss Henderson,” I said.

“Of course, Keeper,” she said. She turned away from me. She went toward the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, she turned, again, to face me. “I am still prepared to earn my keep,” she said.

“You are a woman of Earth,” I said. “It is not necessary for a woman of Earth to earn her keep.”

“Take me to the market, and sell me,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Perhaps a man will buy me,” she said.

“I do not deny you your freedom,” I said.

“You are refusing me my slavery,” she said.

“You are displeasing me,” I said.

“Then beat me and rape me,” she said, “and put me under discipline.”

“Go to your room, Miss Henderson,” I warned her.

“And shall I strip and await your pleasure?” she asked.

“No,” I told her.

“Clearly,” she said, “a girl is safe with you.”

I said nothing.

“Do you behave in this fashion with the sluts in the paga taverns?” she asked.

“They are different,” I said. “They are slaves.” And I added, not pleasantly, “And only slaves.”