John Norman - Guardsman of Gor

Florence looked frightened, suddenly.

“No,” he said, “I will take her with me.”

She then looked relaxed, and happy.

I grinned.

Florence then looked at me, reproachfully, and then smiled. Then she put her head against her master’s shoulder.

“Was it your intention, earlier, to give Shirley to Aemilianus?” asked Callimachus.

“Yes,” I said.

“But you would have done it later in the evening?” he asked.

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Do not fear your sentiment,” he said. He had detected that I, embarrassed by the tears which had formed in my eyes, following our toast to Victoria, had sought to divert attention from this putative weakness by making that moment in which I would give a gift to my friend, Aemilianus.

“I have carried weapons,” I said. “I have fought.”

“Tears are not unbecoming to the soldier,” said Callimachus. “The soldier is a man of deep passions, and emotion. Many men cannot even understand his depths. Do not fear your currents and your powers. In the soldier are flowers and stories. Each is a part of him, and each is real. Accept both. Deny neither.”

“Thank you, Callimachus,” I said.

“Ah, chained slaves!” called Glyco, delightedly.

Two girls emerged from the kitchen, the girl in bluish gauze, whom I had not yet named, and the girl in yellow gauze, whom I had called Shirley, who was now owned by Aemilianus. I did not know what name he would choose to give her. Each girl carried a tray of desserts, and each wore two light, graceful, gleaming chains, one of which, some twenty inches in length, by means of ankle rings, joined her ankles, and the other of which, some eighteen inches in length, put confinement on her wrists, each fair wrist being clasped snugly in one of its locked wrist rings. They approached, beautiful and enslaved, carrying their trays, that they might serve us, their movements, graceful and feminine, measured to the permissions of their chains. There was a murmur of pleasure and appreciation about the table. Chained beauties were being looked upon by strong men.

The girls, carrying their trays, knelt before the table. “Desserts, Masters,” announced the girl in bluish gauze. Then, rising, they began to serve, one on each side. On one tray were assorted pastries; on the other was a variety of small, spiced custards.

“Pastries, Master?” asked the girl in bluish gauze.

I looked at her. Her small hands held the tray. On her tiny, lovely wrists, inflexible and close-fitting, were wrist rings, each securely locked. Chain, under the tray, dangled between the rings. Behind her, as she knelt on the tiles, there lay the chain which confined her ankles.

“You may now serve another,” I said. I had taken a small pastry from the tray.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Thank you, Master.”

She then rose, to serve Miles of Vonda.

Diagonally across the table and to my right the new voluptuous slave of Aemilianus knelt tremblingly before him, serving him. He was licking his lips. And I suspect it was not the custards on her tray which so moved his interest. Rather it was the first time that he had seen how beautiful she was in chains.

“Thank you for the pastry, Master,” said Florence to Miles of Vonda.

In their serving, the girls, of course, had ignored Peggy and Florence. It was as though they were not present. They were only slaves. But, of course, Miles of Vonda and Tasdron, of Victoria, their masters, had given them food from their plates. Florence had eaten well but Peggy had eaten hardly anything at all. She could hardly take her eyes from the mighty Callimachus. Sometimes her hand moved towards him but she, an Earth-girl slave, dared not touch him.

The pastry was quite good.

I was very pleased with the way Lola had handled the meal. All was simple, tasteful and unpretentious.

“Excellent,” said Tasdron, lifting a small pastry.

“Thank you,” I said.

I looked upwards, and about the room. The multicolored ribbons were festive; the lamps were lovely; and the flowers, abundant and colorful, mostly larma blossoms, veminia and teriotrope, were beautiful and fragrant. Lola had done well.

“The dancers were lovely,” said Glyco, pausing, a spoon lifted in the air over a small yellow, spiced custard. “Perhaps I can rent them for a supper of my own in Port Cos, before their cages are ticketed for Turmus, and thence to Cos.”

“It pleases me,” I said, “that you found them not displeasing.”

“It is an interesting mode of dance,” he said, plunging his spoon again into the custard, “one of which women are capable before men have taught them their collars.”

“Yes,” I said.

I then watched the two slaves, in their chains, continuing their serving. They, too, serving in their chains, were a part of the entertainment, as much as the music of Tasdron’s musicians in the background.

The Gorean’s concept of entertainment is perhaps simpler, or more subtle or broader than is that, doubtless, of many individuals in many other cultures. For example, he can enjoy watching a slave putting on her tunic or taking it off; he can enjoy seeing a woman chained, and rechained, many times, in many ways, each time being exhibited in her helplessness; and he can enjoy watching his slave working naked in the kitchen, or cleaning, or doing laundry or sewing; I think this is probably because he enjoys being with her, and finds her precious and beautiful.

I had informed Lola that the little slave, now clad in bluish gauze, was to be included in the entertainment. And how delightfully and subtly had Lola complied with my directive! Even she had had the little slave announce the desserts to the guests. I observed the chains on the little slave in bluish gauze. How beautiful they were on her! I wondered if she even realized that she, thus, was now not only serving but was also now a pleasant portion of our entertainment. But of course she must understand this. Surely she had heard the murmur of pleasure and appreciation which had coursed about the table, greeting the appearance of herself and her fellow slave.

In more sophisticated Gorean banquets, incidentally, the serving slaves often change costume and jewelry, and sometimes chains, with each course of the meal, their ensembles and accessories being matched to the various courses. I smiled to myself. Lola had put the two slaves in chains for the dessert course. That seemed a delightful and subtle touch. Slave girls know that to some men, and perhaps to any man some of the time, they are, in effect, and will be treated as, only meaningless, delicious desserts. They are, after all, slaves.

“Master?” asked the small, chained slave in bluish gauze.

I took another pastry, and, with a movement of my hand, dismissed her.

She went then, again, to Miles of Vonda.

“Please, Master, that one,” begged Florence.

He took the indicated pastry from the tray, gave it to the slave, and continued his conversation with Tasdron.

“Thank you, Master,” said Florence, and, kneeling behind her master, began to eat the pastry.

The chaining on the two slaves did not much restrict their movements, nor was it intended to. Like much chaining on Gor their chaining was primarily aesthetic and symbolic. On a world such as Gor chains are used far less for holding purposes than might be expected. For example, the girls are branded and collared, and their world is one in which the institution of slavery is accepted and respected; there is, in effect, no place for them to run, no place for them to go. On the other hand, chains do hold, and this is one of the major reasons for their symbolic effectiveness. The girl knows, for example, that her chains will keep her exactly where the master has chosen to place her; she is going to stay there; she has been chained there; it is his will which has determined this; she is only his slave.