John Norman - Dancer of Gor

"What is wrong with you?" he asked.

"Nothing, Master," I said.

I looked at him. I was sure he loved me!

"Are you sure there is nothing wrong?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said. "Master," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"You own me," I said. "I am your slave."

"Yes?" he said.

"But I am curious to know what my status is, Master," I said. I would try, slyly, to determine his feelings for me.

"Your status?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "What sort of slave am I?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Am I a high slave?" I asked.

"Do you wish to be whipped?" he asked.

?No, Master!" I said.

"Turn about," he said. "Kneel down. Put your head to the ground, clasp your hands together, behind the back of your neck."

"Yes, Master!" I wept. I hastened to obey. This is a common position for slave rape.

"Oh! I cried. Then I shuddered and gasped, and cried out. Then I gasped, again and again. Then he spurned me to the dirt, by the fire, with his foot. I turned about, from my belly, shuddering, to look at him.

"That is your status, the sort of slave you are," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Speak your status, the sort of slave you are," he said.

"I am a low slave!" I said.

"And you are the lowest of the lowest!" he said.

"Yes, Master!" I said. There were tears in my eyes. Obviously I was a full slave to this man. No intention in the least had he of weakening or compromising my bondage. He had not picked me out on Earth to be a half slave. My feelings were very mixed. I was wildly grateful to have been taken, but yet he had given me little time or pleasure. His attentions, and his domination and disciplinary taking, but still I had wept and reveled in it. It was the first such touch, even so arrogant and contemptuous, which my master had granted me. Too, I knew that even though I might be a low slave, as I had little doubt that I was now, and even among the lowest of the low slaves, I was not disheartened, or indeed, even disappointed. First, I knew that women who are kept as low slaves, and even strictly so, are often among the most loved. Many love masters keep their love slaves, for example, as low slaves. I had little doubt that Mirus would keep Tupita as such. She was even braceleted when she left the camp. I knew, too, that even high slaves are occasionally subjected to such imperious uses, which in their way are delicious, just at they might, to their shame, frustration and pleasure, find themselves, occasionally clad in rags and put to disagreeable tasks. Such things remind them that they are slaves, and must obey their masters. Such enforcements, too, tend to be reassuring, and arousing, to a woman. Even if I were not loved, I now had no doubt that I was keenly desired, and that I need not fear that I might not be put to my master" s pleasure and as a slave. The ruthlessness of his use only doubled my desire, that of a slave, to serve and love him. it was clear he had known what he was doing when he had picked me out on Earth.

"You may resume your position," he said.

"Thank you, Master," I said, returning to my place, kneeling across the fire from him. I was still shaken and heated from my rape. To some extent I was ashamed and chagrined, for had I not once been a free woman of Earth, but mostly I was very pleased, and grateful, and loving. Too, I was in awe of him. he had wanted me, he had taken me. He would do what he wanted with me. I would be treated as he pleased. There would be no compromising with me. I was his slave. "May I speak?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"How did you know that you might trust Callisthenes and Sempronius?" I asked. "I think I have some skill in reading men," he said.

"Can you read women, as well?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"And what do you read in me?" I asked.

"Straighten your body, and spread your knees more widely," he said. I complied.

"I read that you are an exquisite female slave," he said, "who needs only a strong master to achieve the total perfections of her femininity.

"It is true, Master," I said, reddening, putting down my head. I was sorry I had asked. I was so embarrassed! It was as though he could read my innermost thoughts and needs. Was I truly so open to him? It seemed that my thoughts and needs were as naked to him as now, by his will, was my body.

He then fetched a bit of oil and a sharpening stone from his things and, returning to his place, removed his sword from its scabbard. He then, slowly, patiently, with great care, addressed himself to the blade. Gorean men usually sharpen their own swords. They tend to trust the edge on the weapon to no one but themselves. I regarded the blade with uneasiness, but fascination. I had seen such things at work.

"Be certain that we speak in English," he said, not looking up.

"Very well, Master," I said. We had been speaking in English. I did not understand why he should say that now.

"We must made do, as we can," he said.

"Master?" I asked.

"Had you oil to pour upon the fire, causing it to blaze up suddenly, from the darkness of embers, that might make it difficult to see, for a moment, the light."

"Yes, Master?" I said.

"But it is too early for the fire to have died down as yet," he said. "Yes, Master," I said, puzzled.

I watched the sharpening stone move to the blade, so slowly, so smoothly, so evenly.

"If someone were to approach," he said, "from behind me, you would undoubtedly see him almost immediately."

"Yes, Master," I said. "There is a clearing behind you, for perhaps fifty feet or more."

His head was down. He worked with the stone.

"Accordingly," he said, "if someone did not wish to be observed in approaching the camp, he might come from that direction which lies more behind you, where there are trees and brush."

"I suppose so, Master," I said.

"Do not look around," he said.

"Very well, Master," I said.

"Such an individual," he said, "might await his opportunity, for example, for a time when he might approach, unobserved."

"Master?" I said, frightened.

"For example," he said, "when someone might be intent upon some other task, not paying attention to that avenue of approach."

"Master?" I asked.

"Do you recall this afternoon," he said, "when we went for our walk?" "Of course," I said.

"Do you recall the bodies of the two beasts in the meadow," he asked. "Yes," I said. I had not cared to much look at them, but he had drawn me to them, by the leash, and had had me do so. They had lain contorted in death. The sight was not pretty. He had then, mercifully, had us return to the camp. "Do you recall anything unusual about them?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Do you not recall," he asked, "that on each there was a sprinkling of dust?" "Yes," I said, puzzled.

"How do you suppose it got there?" he said.

"Blown by the wind," I said.

"No," he said, "not in the meadow."

"I do not understand," I said.

"You do not understand the significance of that dust?" he said.

"No," I said.

"They, too, have their ceremonies, and rites," he said.

"They?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "The dust is ceremonial."

I said nothing.

The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.

"It would seem," he said, "I am now nearly finished with sharpening the sword. Shortly, then, I might be expected to look up."

"Oh, Master," I said, terrified.

"Do you detect anything?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"He will approach from downwind," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"If you have time," he said, "you are not to rise to your feet, but to throw yourself to the side. You may then rise up and flee." He spoke with an unnatural calmness. His movements with the stone of the blade were smooth and unhurried, but I sensed that every nerve and cell in his body was tense and alive. "I will have the opportunity for only one thrust," he said. The blade was now oriented toward me. Almost directly toward me. "Do you remember the direction in which I sent Tela, and Mina and Cara, from the camp?"