John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“But she is from Earth,” I said.

“Master is quaint,” she laughed. “Forgive me, Master,” she smiled.

“Very well,” I said.

“What did she do?” asked Peggy.

I then grew again bitter. “She sold a slave of mine,” I said, “unknown to me, and without right.”

“For a man,” said Peggy, “such an offense is punishable by exile. For a woman, remanded to a praetor, the penalty is commonly that she herself will then wear the collar.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Enslave her.”

“I cannot,” I said. “She is from Earth.”

“The women of Earth,” she smiled, “are never to be punished, no matter what they do?”

“No,” I said.

“Gorean men,” she laughed, “are not so tolerant of our flaws. We may be severely punished even for displeasing them in the slightest.”

“You may be severely punished even at their whim,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“But you are slaves,” I reminded her.

“That is true,” she said. “We were brought to Gor to be collared, and made slaves.”

“She is free,” I reminded her.

“Enslave her,” said Peggy.

“But then she would be only another Gorean slave girl,” I said, “no different from others.”

“True,” said Peggy.

“And she would be mine, to do with exactly as I pleased,” I said, “totally.”

“Precisely,” said Peggy. “Oh,” she said, suddenly, “you are so strong.”

“I must put such thoughts from my head,” I said.

“Why?” she asked, clutching me, pressing closely against me.

“Men must not think such thoughts,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. “Because they so considerably increase their virility?”

She held to me, tightly. “I would rather they put thoughts from their heads,” she said, “which made them miserable and weak. How can thoughts be good which make men miserable and weak? How can thoughts be wrong which make men great and strong? I am a slave in your arms. Does your blood not call you to your destiny, my Master? My blood, racing in my weakened body, opened like a flower to you, yielding, calls me to mine. I submit to you, my Master. I beg you to be strong with me, to own me. Peggy begs Master to take her!”

I then took her, and she screamed with pleasure, a taken slave.

Later I held her closely. “Are you a contented slave?” I asked her.

“I am a slave,” she whispered, “whether I am contented or not.”

“Speak,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered, softly, “I am a contented slave.”

I hung in the ropes. My back was still sore from the whipping.

“As far as we can determine,” said the guardsman from Port Cos, “he is ignorant as to the whereabouts of the topaz.”

“I vouch for him,” said Tasdron. “He is an honest worker, well known on the wharves. He has been in Victoria for weeks.”

When I had emerged from the tavern of Tasdron I had been suddenly surrounded by guardsmen in the livery of Port Cos. Several crossbows were trained on me.

“Do not draw your weapon,” I had been told. “Do not resist.”

“Is this he?” had asked the leader of the guardsmen.

“It is he,” had said Miss Henderson.

“You are under arrest,” had said the leader of the guardsmen.

“On what charge?” I asked.

“Vagrancy,” said the leader of the guardsmen.

“That is absurd,” I said.

“Your innocence, if you are innocent, may always be established later,” said the man.

“This is Victoria,” I said.

“The power of Port Cos marches with the men of Port Cos,” said the man. “Bind him.”

My hands had been tied behind my back.

“I am finished with you, Jason,” said Miss Henderson, facing me. Then she had turned to the leader of the guardsmen of Port Cos. “Pay me,” she said.

“Bind her, as well,” he had said. To her consternation her small wrists were tied behind her back. “Bring them both to our headquarters,” had said the leader of the guardsmen.

“I vouch for him,” said Tasdron. “He is an honest worker, well known on the wharves. He has been in Victoria for weeks.”

“Did he come from east on the river, or west?” asked the guardsman.

“From the east, from Lara as I understand it,” said Tasdron.

“That is much what he, too, claims,” said the guardsman.

“In my own tavern,” said Tasdron, “he had difficulty with Kliomenes, the pirate. He could have been killed. That scarcely seems what one would expect from the courier of Ragnar Voskjard. Too, he does not seem skilled with the sword.”

“It is not claimed he is the courier,” said the guardsman. “It is claimed only that he knows the whereabouts of the topaz.”

“Is there any reason to suppose that that is true?” inquired Tasdron.

“Only the word and story of a free woman, whom he keeps,” said the guardsman.

“I see,” said Tasdron. “And have you had similar situations before?”

“Four times,” said the guardsman, disgustedly.

“Doubtless you have searched his compartments,” said Tasdron.

“He has a small house,” said the guardsman. “We have searched the house and the garden.”

“What did you find?” asked Tasdron.

“Nothing,” said the guardsman.

“Does the woman seem well disposed towards him?” asked Tasdron.

“She hates him,” said the guardsman.

“And does she seem interested in the reward for information leading to the acquisition of the topaz?” asked Tasdron.

“Yes,” said the guardsman. “The money seems quite important to her.”

“Ten silver tarsks is a considerable sum,” said Tasdron. “The guardsmen from Ar’s Station, also in Victoria searching for the topaz, are offering only six silver tarsks.”

“Cut him down,” said the leader of the guardsmen to one of his men.

When the ropes were cut from my wrists I fell to the floor but did not lose my footing.

“He is strong,” said the leader of the guardsmen.

My tunic was torn down about my waist. “My thanks, Tasdron,” I said to him, “for your helpful words.”

“It is nothing,” he said, and left.

“You may go,” said the leader of the guardsmen to me. “You may pick up your things at the door.”

“Had you found the topaz,” I asked, “what would have been done with me?”

“You might have looked forward,” said he, “if fortunate, to a lifetime chained at the bench of a state galley.”

“I see,” I said.

“Do not forget your things at the door,” he said.

“Very well,” I said.

At the door, I drew the shreds of my tunic about me. I picked up my pouch and the sword belt, with its scabbard and sheathed steel. Among these things, in the robes of the free woman, her hands tied behind her, and her ankles tied, knelt Miss Henderson.

“Do not leave her behind,” said the leader of the guardsmen. “She is yours.”

I looked down at her. She did not meet my eyes.

“Those in your situation before,” said the leader of the guardsmen, “stripped such women and took them, bound, to the market, where they sold them.”

I crouched beside Miss Henderson and freed her ankles. I then helped her to her feet, and untied her wrists. I then left the small headquarters of the guardsmen of Port Cos, in Victoria. She followed me outside. Once outside, and a few yards from the headquarters, I turned about, and faced her.

“If you needed money, or wanted it,” I said, “I would have given you money.”

“Stay with me tonight,” she said.