John Norman - Rogue of Gor

The woman at the counter had been veiled, as is common with Gorean women, particularly those of high caste and of the high cities. Many Gorean women, in their haughtiness and pride, do not choose to have their features exposed to the common view. They are too fine and noble to be looked upon by the casual rabble. Similarly the robes of concealment worn by many Gorean women are doubtless dictated by similar sentiments.

On the other hand, veiling is a not impractical modesty in a culture in which capture, and the chain and the whip are not unknown. One justification for the veiling and for the robes of concealment, which is not regarded as inconsiderable, is that it is supposed to provide something of a protection against abduction and predation. Who would wish to risk his life, it is said, to carry off a woman who might, when roped to a tree and stripped, turn out to be as ugly as a tharlarion?

Slave girls, by contrast, are almost never permitted veils. Similarly they are usually clad in such a way that their charms are manifest and obvious to even the casual onlooker. This, aside from having such utilities as reminding the girls that they are total slaves and giving pleasure to the men who look upon them, is supposed to make them, rather than free women, the desiderated objects of capture and rapine. I think there is something to this theory for, statistically, it is almost always the female slave and not her free sister who finds herself abducted and struggling in the lashings of captors or slavers.

On the other hand, in spite of the theories pertaining to such matters, free women are certainly not immune to the fates of capture and enslavement. Many men, despite the theories pertaining to such matters, and accepting the risks involved, enjoy taking them. Some slavers specialize in the capture of free women. Indeed, it is thought by some, perhaps largely because of the additional risks involved, and the interest in seeing what one has caught, that there is a special spice and flavor about taking them. Similarly it is said to be pleasant, if one has the time and patience, first to their horror and then to their joy, training them to the collar.

“You cannot put me out into the street!” had cried the free woman.

“I can,” he informed her soberly.

“I am a free woman of Vonda,” she said, “a member of the Confederation.”

“I am an innkeeper,” said he. “My politics are those of the ledger and silver.”

I had sipped the sul porridge while listening to this conversation.

There are various reasons why Gorean men, upon occasion, resort to masks. Oneander had worn a mask, as had others in the loot camp, because of his fear of the anger of the men of Ar, concerning his trading venture with Lara, and, doubtless, because of his shame at his failure in that venture. Several men in the main room of the inn wore masks now presumably to conceal their identity for various reasons. Times were troubled. It might not well serve their purposes to be recognized, as perhaps men of wealth or position, now in difficult straits. Some might have been seized or held for ransom. Others, perhaps, shamed by the fall of Vonda, or the necessity for their flight from the city, did not wish to be recognized in Lara. Masks, too, are sometimes worn by men in disgrace, or who wish to travel incognito.

I recalled the Lady Florence. Doubtless the young men of Vonda, and the estates about Vonda, who would attend her secret auction might wear masks. She might not know who had purchased her until she knelt his slave, before him, at the foot of his couch. I wore a mask because I had not wished to be recognized in Lara. In Lara there were many refugees from Vonda and its vicinity. Some might have watched me in the stable bouts.

I did not think my tasks would be either expedited or facilitated by being recognized as a former fighting slave. Now, however, for an independent reason, I was pleased to have worn the mask. Sometimes, incidentally, free young men wear masks and capture a free woman, taking away her clothing and forcing her to perform as a slave for them. She is then commonly released. Afterwards, of course, in meeting young men she does not know for which of them, if any of them, she was forced to perform as a slave. Such a woman commonly begins to take risks inappropriate for a free woman. She is, sooner or later, caught and enslaved. She is then, as she has wished, sold, and will truly wear the collar. Perhaps one of the young men will buy her, and keep her as his own.

“I am a free woman!” the woman at the counter cried.

“That condition,” said the innkeeper, “could prove temporary.”

“I have nowhere to go,” she said. “I am safe here. River pirates may still be within the city. It is not safe for me to be put out.”

“You owe me a silver tarsk,” said he, “for your last night’s lodging. Too, if you would stay here this night, you must pay me another tarsk.”

“I do not have them,” she wept.

“Then you must be ejected,” said he.

“Take my baggage,” she said, “my trunks!”

“I do not want them,” he said.

It was my plan to arrange transportation downriver in the morning. My business lay not in Lara but further west on the river. Many refugees, incidentally, had not remained in Lara. It was too close, for them, to the war zone. It lay well within the striking distance of a tarn cavalry, such as that which had been employed so devastatingly on the fields and hills south of Vonda. Small ships, coming and going, made their trips between Lara and the nearer downriver towns, such as White Water and Tancred’s Landing.

“You cannot put me out into the street!” she cried.

Strobius, the innkeeper, then, in irritation, motioned to one of his assistants. The fellow came up behind the free woman and took her by the upper arms, holding her from behind. She was helpless.

“Eject her,” said Strobius.

“You cannot put me out into the street!” she cried.

“Rejoice,” said Strobius, “that I do not strip you and sell you into slavery.”

“What is going on here?” I had asked, rising to my feet and going to the counter.

“We are putting her out,” said Strobius. “She owes me money. She cannot pay.”

“But she is a free woman,” I said.

“She cannot pay,” he said.

“What does she owe?” I asked.

“A silver tarsk for last night,” he said, “and, if she would stay here this night, another tarsk, and in advance.”

“I believe this is the proper sum,” I said. I placed two silver tarsks on the counter.

“Indeed it is,” said Strobius. He swept the coins from the counter into his hand, and put them in his apron.

“There is your money, Fellow,” said the free woman to Strobius, haughtily, as haughtily as she could manage, still the helpless prisoner of his assistant’s grip.

“Yes, Lady,” said he, bowing deferentially to her.

“Perhaps, now,” she said, squirming in the assistant’s grip, “you will have this ruffian unhand me.”

He regarded her.

She shuddered. Her Home Stone was not that of Lara, times were troubled, and Strobius was master in his own inn. Too, she had, for a time, owed him money. Would he like to see her stripped, and collared?

“Please, Kind Sir,” she said. Gorean men are sometimes slow to release their grip on the bodies of females. They enjoy holding them. They are men.

“Of course, Lady,” said Strobius, smiling, again bowing. He then signaled the fellow to release the woman, which he did. She then drew back, angrily, and smoothed down her garments. Then, straightening herself, she came regally to where I stood.

“My thanks, Sir,” she said, looking up at me.

“It is nothing,” I said.

“I am grateful,” she said.

“Perhaps you would care to join me at my table,” I suggested. “There is little but sul porridge, but I could order you a bowl,” I said.