John Norman - Rogue of Gor

Outside the tavern I paused, fists clenched. I heard Kliomenes, within, call out. “More wine for the Lady Beverly, the free woman!” There was laughter. “Yes, Master,” I heard the slave with the wine vessel say, and heard the sensuous ring of the bells locked on her ankle as she hastened to comply.

I then returned home. I waited late for the return of Beverly. In the morning I went as usual to the hiring yard. When I returned home that night she had still not arrived, nor, again, by the next morning.

“Forget her, Master,” whispered Peggy. She lifted her head from the furs, and kissed me. There was a tiny rustle of chain and collar. She was fastened by the neck to a ring at the back of the alcove. It had pleased me to so secure her this evening.

“I have,” I said.

Peggy laughed. “I am a slave,” she said, “but I am not stupid.”

“It is hard to forget the little slut,” I said.

“It is well known in Victoria, how she betrayed you,” said Peggy.

“Where did you hear that?” I asked. “And am I, only a dock worker, known in Victoria?” I looked at her.

“Tasdron spoke of it in the tavern to free men,” she said, “and I, and other slaves, overheard him speak.”

I supposed there was little in Victoria that was not known to its nude or half-clad tavern slaves. Such girls, in spite of their collars, often know more of what transpires in a town or city than many free folk.

“Doubtless I am a laughing stock in Victoria,” I said, bitterly.

“No, Master,” she said. “But it is true that many are puzzled as to why you did not, at that time, make her your total slave.”

I said nothing.

“You are known and respected in Victoria,” she said. “You are known for your ability with your fists, a thing which Gorean men can understand, and for your work on the docks, and for your strength.”

“Is it also known how I withdrew from the tavern of Hibron, the Pirate’s Chain, when I sought there the Lady Beverly?” I asked.

“You call the little slut a Lady?” she asked.

I looked at her, sternly.

“Forgive me, Master,” she smiled, “but I saw her in the restaurant, on Earth. I assure you that she is as much, or more, a slut than I, and as fully worthy, or more worthy, than I for the degrading circlet of bondage.”

I looked up, lying on my back, at the low ceiling of the alcove.

“Yes,” she smiled, “it is well-known in Victoria what occurred in the tavern of Hibron, but none blame you. You are not the master of the sword and even had you been, you were grievously outnumbered. None blame you, I assure you. Indeed, many feel you were courageous to have even entered the tavern under the circumstances, to attempt to extract the unwitting little fool from the situation in which she had placed herself.”

“I did not fight,” I said.

“You had no choice,” she said.

“I withdrew,” I said.

“You had no choice,” she said.

“I am a coward,” I said.

“That is not true,” she said. “In such a situation only a master swordsman, or a fool or a madman, would have fought.”

“I see,” I said.

“A wise man would have withdrawn, as you did,” she said.

“Or a coward,” I said.

“You are not a coward,” she said. “Glyco, the merchant of Port Cos, has spoken freely of your bravery on the wharves, in your recovery of his purse.”

“Oh,” I said.

“And the thief, Grat, the Swift, who has long been a nuisance in Victoria, has fled the town, obedient to your command.”

“That is interesting,” I said. I had not even known his name.

“There are even those who say there should be guardsmen in Victoria, and that you should be chief among them,” she said.

I laughed. The thought of a guardsman who did not even know the sword was an amusing one.

We were silent for a time.

“The stronghold of Policrates is impregnable,” she said.

“You are an intelligent woman,” I said.

“Do not attempt it,” she said.

I was silent. I had, I knew, the means whereby I might, if I wished, gain admission to that dark, rearing fortress, the walled river cove at its base.

“Forget her, Master,” advised Peggy.

“I have seen Glyco, of Port Cos, in the tavern,” I said. “He had wished to see Callimachus, once of Port Cos. I have seen them more than once, on various nights, engaged in converse, Glyco earnest, and Callimachus sullen and noncommittal.”

“It is true,” said Peggy.

“Of what do they speak?” I asked.

“I do not know, Master,” said Peggy. “We girls are warned away from their table, save when we are called forth to serve, and then they remain silent, except to give us our commands.”

“How long is Glyco to remain in Victoria?” I asked.

“I do not know, Master,” she said. “Perhaps he is gone now, for he has not been tonight, to my knowledge, in the tavern.” Peggy fingered the chain dangling from her collar. “Master seems curious,” she said.

“I would like to know the business of Glyco with Callimachus,” I said.

“I will tell you one thing I know,” she said. “Glyco stays with the guardsmen of Port Cos, near the wharves.”

“Not in an inn?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Interesting,” I said.

“And it is said, too,” she whispered, coming close to me, the chain on her neck touching my chest, as she put her head over me, “that Glyco is not only a merchant but stands high in the merchant council of Port Cos.”

“I wonder what such a man is doing in Victoria, speaking with Callimachus,” I said.

“I do not know, Master,” she said. Then, suddenly, she pressed her softness against me, in a slave girl’s piteous need. “I am only a slave, permitted to live on the sufferance of men, that she may please them,” she said.

I then took her in my arms.

Later we lay quietly, softly, together. Her head was at my waist.

I again looked at the ceiling of the alcove, at the roughened texture, and the tiny cracks, of its plaster and wood, reddish in the flickering light of the tiny lamp.

“Is Master distracted?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“You still remember her, do you not?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said. I put my hand, with rough gentleness, in her hair, holding it.

“You have well ravished me, Master,” she whispered.

“You are a responsive wench,” I said.

“I cannot help but be responsive in your arms,” she said.

“You merely fear the whip,” I smiled.

“I do fear the whip,” she said, “and I know that it will be well laid upon me at the merest suspicion on the part of Tasdron, my Master, that a customer may not have been fully pleased, but even if it were not for the whip, I know I could not help but respond to you as a vulnerable and spasmodic slave.”

I released her hair and took her again in my arms, throwing the chain back over her shoulder.

“What woman would not be a slave in your arms?” she asked. “I beg to be had again.”

“Very well,” I said, and then, lengthily, contented her.

It is pleasing to have a female slave.

“The stronghold of Policrates is impregnable,” she said. “Forget her.”

“How, is it that you know what I am thinking?” I asked, smiling.

“Slave girls must pay close attention to men,” she smiled, “for they are her masters.”

I smiled. It was true. Slave girls are extremely sensitive to the moods, the feelings and thoughts of men. They must be, for they are their masters.

“By now she doubtless wears the steel loops of a pirate’s pleasure girl,” she said.