John Norman - Rogue of Gor

I took her body in my hands and turned her to her back. Her weight was light for my strength.

She looked up at me, breathlessly. She lifted her arms and put them about my neck. “I am yours, Master,” she whispered.

“That is known to me,” I said.

“Yes, yes, Master,” she whispered, lifting her lips to mine.

The door was ajar.

I had returned early from the wharves. There had been little work.

I was apprehensive that the door was ajar.

“Lola!” I called, stepping within the threshold. “Lola!”

I heard a tiny sound, a pathetic, tiny whimper, muffled, almost inaudible, from a few feet away.

I ran to the slave kennel on the left. Lola was within, naked, sitting, bound hand and foot. She was tightly gagged. Only the tiniest, muffled sounds could escape her.

The key was nearby. I opened the kennel. I pulled and lifted her out. I fumbled with the knots on the gag. I loosened them and pulled the binding down about her neck. I pulled the deep, heavy wadding from her mouth.

“The Mistress,” she said. “She is upstairs.”

I looked about. The house was a shambles. Goods were cast about. My pouch, left home, had been emptied out upon the floor.

“Who did this?” I asked.

“A man,” she said. “A large man. He wore a mask, purple.”

“Is he in the house?” I asked.

“No,” she gasped.

I untied her hands. I glanced at the knots on her ankles. I did not think that she, with her woman’s strength, could well undo them. I loosened them.

“What did he want?” I asked her.

“I do not know, Master,” she said.

I hurried upstairs. Miss Henderson was in the master bedroom. She was on the great couch. She looked at me, pathetically. There were bruises on her body. She was tied as a slave. She tried to speak. But she had been well gagged.

My things in the bedroom had been gone through, and thrown about.

I looked at Miss Henderson. Her small legs, by the ankles, had been tied cruelly apart. Her wrists, too, were tied widely apart. Small rings, on either side of the couch, at the head and foot, anchoring the binding fiber, permitted this tie. It is not an uncommon tie for slaves. There were tears in her eyes. She made tiny, muffled noises. I could scarcely hear them, though I stood at the foot of the couch.

Lola, her slave tunic now drawn on, stood in the threshold of the master bedroom. “The Mistress was not circumspect,” she said. “She opened the door. The man thrust in. He turned her about and held her, a knife at her throat. ‘Do not run or cry out,’ he said, ‘or your Mistress dies. Bring cloths and binding fiber.’ I obeyed. ‘Strip,’ he ordered me. I obeyed. ‘Lie on your stomachs, side by side,’ he told us. We obeyed. Then, while he knelt across the body of the Mistress, that she might not flee, he bound me, hand and foot, and gagged me. Then, at his leisure, garment by garment, with his knife, seeming to enjoy having her progressively revealed to him, he stripped the Mistress. He then, though she was free, trussed and gagged her identically as he had me. He then stood up and regarded us. We lay before him, though I was a slave and she free, side by side, identically helpless. I was put in the slave kennel, and the kennel was locked. She he carried upstairs.”

I looked at Miss Henderson with irritation. What a fool she was to have so thoughtlessly opened the door.

She struggled in the binding fiber. Her eyes begged me to release her. She made tiny noises, helpless, pathetic, almost inaudible.

“Shall I free her, Master?” asked Lola.

“No,” I said, angrily.

I then went to Miss Henderson’s bedroom. It, too, was a shambles.

“The kitchen, I assume, was searched,” I said to Lola, returning to the master bedroom.

“Yes,” she said.

“What did he take?” I asked.

“As far as I know,” she said, “he took nothing.”

“Go to the kitchen, Lola,” I said. “Set things in order.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I shut the door behind her. I had little doubt for what it was that the visitor had sought.

Miss Henderson whimpered.

“What a fool you are to have opened the door, not knowing the nature or identity of your guest,” I said.

Anger, as well as tears, welled up in her eyes.

“Yet,” I said, regarding her, “you are a pretty little fool.”

She twisted, angrily, in the binding fiber.

I knelt upon the couch and, turning her head to the side, untied the knots at the back of her neck. Then, turning her head to face me, I pulled the wet, heavy packing of the gag from her mouth.

“Your gag was quite effective,” I told her, “as was Lola’s. He who gagged you is apparently no stranger to the control of prisoners.”

“After he had brought me upstairs and tied me, as you find me,” she said, “he removed my gag, temporarily.”

“Yes?” I said.

“He struck me until I begged to be raped,” she said. “He made me beg to be raped!”

“And what happened,” I asked, smiling, “after you had begged to be raped?”

“He laughed, and then raped me,” she said, in fury.

“Of course,” I said. “Had you not asked him to do so?”

“He looked upon me as though I might be a slave,” she said, “and he treated me, thoughtlessly and casually, as though I might be a slave. He even called me ‘Slave’!”

“Gorean men are expert in such matters,” I said. “Perhaps he knows something about you that I do not know.”

“Look!” she said. “He tied me as a slave!”

“You look well,” I told her, “tied as a slave.”

She squirmed in the binding fiber angrily, helplessly. “Please, unbind me,” she said.

I looked at her.

“The topaz is gone,” she said.

“Speak softly,” I said. “Lola is a slave. She need know nothing of the topaz.”

“It is gone,” she said, softly.

“Oh?” I said.

“I was terrified,” she said, “and so I told him, immediately, where it was.” She looked at me, angrily. “And then, in spite of my cooperation, he called me ‘Slave’ and, in amusement, subjected me to his will.”

“Where did you tell him it was?” I asked.

“In your pouch, downstairs,” she said, “where you keep it.”

“It has not been in the pouch for days,” I said.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“Elsewhere,” I said.

She looked up at me.

“It is fortunate,” I said, “that he, rightly or wrongly, took you as a slave. Else he might have returned to cut your throat. Thinking you a slave he would presume you ignorant of the location of an item of such value.” I smiled. “You could then be left alive, perhaps to please him again as an interesting and compliant pleasure object, should you fall again into his clutches.”

“He then, finishing with me, regagged me,” she said.

“And effectively,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, angrily.

“If he had found the topaz immediately,” I said, “why did you think he would continue to search the house?”

“For valuables,” she said. “But I did not understand his anger, his frustration.”

“He had not, actually, found the topaz,” I said.

“I did not understand,” she said. “It had not occurred to me that you would have removed it from your pouch without telling me.”

I shrugged.

“In that,” she said, “not taking me into your confidence, you treated me as a slave, did you not, Jason?”

“I may have saved your life,” I said. “Slave girls have value as articles of property.”

“I see,” she said, angrily.

“Besides,” I said, “obviously you were willing to reveal the location of the topaz with alacrity, as I had feared. It is important that it not reach Policrates. If it does, the major forces of the pirates of the eastern Vosk would achieve unification, at least for a time, with those of the western Vosk. This is to be prevented, if at all possible. If you did not know the location of the topaz it seemed obvious to me that you could not reveal its location, unless by some chance inadvertence. Doubtless the fewer that know of its location, the better.”