John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“It is true,” I said.

“Do you object that I have slave needs, Master?” she asked.

“I do not object that you, personally, have slave needs,” I said. “Indeed, I rejoice that you have slave needs for they make you a perfection and a dream of pleasure.”

“But you would not want all women to be like me?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“But what if they were?” she asked.

I looked at her, angrily.

“Or is it only one woman you would not want to be like me?” she asked.

“No!” I said.

“But what if she is?” asked the girl.

I closed my eyes. The thought of Miss Beverly Henderson as a female slave was almost overpoweringly erotic. With difficulty I controlled myself. I thrust the thought from my mind. I must not even permit myself to think such things.

I opened my eyes.

“Do not deny her nature to her,” said the girl.

“Kneel to the whip!” I cried. Terrified the girl scrambled to her knees and knelt down, making herself small, her head to the furs. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound. She trembled. I now stood over her, the slave whip in my hand. I drew it back, then I threw it aside, angrily. I crouched down. Then I jerked her head up, by the hair. “Permission to placate,” she begged, reaching for me with her lips and mouth. But I held her, by the hair, from me. She whimpered, denied. Then I released her hair and permitted her to touch me.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

She was a slave. I would permit her to attempt to placate me, in one of the ancient fashions of the female slave.

“I must soon be on my way,” I said.

“Master searches for a slave, does he not?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Do not ever let her forget that she is a slave,” said the girl.

“I must be on my way,” I said.

“Have me, but once again,” she begged.

I did so, and then, later, I rose to my feet. I unbuckled the leather curtains and threw them back. The tavern was now empty and closed. I turned about and again regarded the girl.

She had replaced the loops of her jewelry and knelt before me, in the position of the pleasure slave.

“It is hard for me to think of you as a girl from Earth,” I said.

“I am now only a Gorean slave girl,” she said.

“You danced well,” I said.

An attendant approached from a side door. “I will put her in her kennel,” he said. He snapped his fingers at her. “Come, Girl,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She rose quickly to her feet and ran softly to him. He took her by the arm.

“She whom you seek is a slave, is she not?” she asked me.

“She is a legal slave,” I said. “She is not a true slave.”

She was then conducted to the small side door, through which the attendant had emerged. Beyond it, I gathered, would lie such things as the kitchens, the offices, the cellars and pantries, the storage rooms, the dressing rooms, the discipline chamber and the kennels. At the door the attendant let her pause and she turned to me. “Good hunting, Master!” she called to me. “Show her no mercy,” she said. Then she brushed a kiss to me with the tips of her fingers in the Gorean fashion. I returned this gesture. She was then conducted through the door. In a short time I heard the sliding downward and locking in place of a kennel gate.

Shortly afterward the attendant returned to the floor and let me out, through the main entrance. I heard it being bolted shut behind me. I stood then in the streets of Ar. I looked up at the moons and stars, beyond the cylinders and bridges. I then turned my steps toward the Street of Tarns, that somewhere among its many shops and cots I might arrange transportation northward, toward the Salerian city of Lara.

“Greetings, Lady Tima,” I said.

“Jason!” she said, struggling in the straps. “Do not hurt me!”

The night sky was red with the glare of the burning city.

“It will be a tarsk bit,” said the fellow walking down the long line of pleasure racks.

I placed a tarsk bit in the small leather sack nailed to the frame of the rack.

She pulled back in the straps.

“I will take you no closer to Lara than this,” had said the fellow who had flown the tarn which had brought me to this place. “Tarnsmen of Ar,” had said he, “patrol the corridor between Vonda and Ar, but are insufficient in numbers to guard the sky beyond the corridor. Too, tomorrow, as the cavalries mass for attack, the guard on the corridor itself will be abandoned.” I had nodded and paid him, crawling from the heavy basket. On his return trip he would doubtless take refugees, or perhaps bound girls from Vonda, back to Ar.

“What news of the war is there?” I asked the fellow who was guarding the long line of pleasure racks. “I have just come from Ar.”

“We have been successful here,” he said, “defeating in battle both the forces of Vonda and those of the tarnsmen of Artemidorus of Cos. Vonda is being sacked. The city burns. This is a victory camp, one for loot and pleasure.”

“Surely the Salerian Confederation is now committed to war,” I said.

He shrugged. “Forces from Lara march north,” said he. “Forces from Port Olni are within a hundred pasangs, marching south. They are delaying now only to match their strike with that of the men of Lara.”

I nodded. It would be a pincers move, to take the men of Ar, far from their supply lines, on two fronts.

“We must now retreat,” I said.

He laughed. “No,” said he. “While those of Port Olni dally in camp we are marching upon them. We will take them separately. Defeating them we will return south to meet the forces of Lara, perhaps even here, in the sight of the ashes of Vonda.”

“I see,” I said.

“We fear only that the forces of Ti will be committed,” he said.

Ti was the largest and most populous city of the Salerian Confederation. It had, to date, refused to involve itself in the machinations of Vonda and Cos.

“Surely it will be only a matter of time,” I said.

“I suspect so,” said the man. “Even now Ebullius Gaius Cassius, of the Warriors, Administrator of Ti, meets with the high council of Ti.”

“Their delay seems inexplicable,” I said.

“Those of Cos, enemies to Ar, and merchants of Vonda,” said the man, “have precipitated the war, hoping to engage the entire confederation.”

“A minority party then,” I said, “is maneuvering the situation.”

“I think so,” said the man. “I doubt frankly that either Ti or Ar wishes a full-scale conflict.”

“How much is this one?” called a man, a few racks from us. It was a blonde, strapped on her rack.

“Excuse me,” said the man, turning away from me. “A tarsk bit,” he said to the fellow.

“Surely,” I said.

It was evening. Fires, on high poles, illuminated the area. Many men were about, moving here and there. From where I stood I could see many tents, long tents, and holding areas, where there were temporary stockades or circular embankments. Within these enclosures there were, for the most part, goods and prisoners. Two drunken soldiers staggered past.

“How were you taken?” I asked the Lady Tima.

“By soldiers, in the city,” she said, “with others.” She looked at me. “Be kind to me, Jason,” she begged. “I am absolutely helpless.”

“How were you brought here?” I asked.

“On a rope,” she said. “I was brought here, stripped, and fastened on the rack.”

I looked down the long rows of pleasure racks, aligned under the high torches.

The blonde, a few racks away, in the same line, was crying out for mercy.