John Norman - Conspirators of Gor

Desmond of Harfax had wanted to kill Agamemnon. Grendel had been unwilling to do so.

In any event, it was now clear to many, if not enough, that Kurii were active on Gor, and had designs on the world. If nothing else, perhaps one might now look more carefully at the civil conflicts that so often erupt in Gorean cities.

“Are you ready, Allison?” inquired the Lady Bina.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

We had arrived in Ar some weeks ago. The Lady Bina had given Jane to Astrinax, and Eve to Lykos. They were not even sold. They were given outright. I rejoiced for them. I, however, to my dismay, had been retained. “Am I not, too, to be given to someone?” I had asked, looking up, excited, hopeful, trembling, to see what would be done with me, appropriately kneeling. Then she looked at me. I did not understand her expression. Then she said, “A lady needs a slave. You may now kiss my sandals, and thank me for deigning to keep you, despite your many faults.” As I kissed her sandals, tears ran from my eyes. I could hardly speak. “Thank you, Mistress,” I whispered, “for deigning to keep me.” “Despite your many faults,” she reminded me. “Despite my many faults,” I said, and collapsed, weeping.

“Prepare supper,” she had then said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I had said.

I did not know where Kleomenes had gone, as he left us in Venna. The last I had seen of him he had purchased a saddle tharlarion, a hunter, and was departing, westward, Nora on foot, chained by the neck to his stirrup. The fellow who had decided to sell Chloe in Venna had apparently changed his mind. I last saw him on foot, Chloe behind him, heeling him, carrying his pack. She was humming, and he did not turn and cuff her. They were bound somewhere north, perhaps Torcadino or even Brundisium, on the coast. Trachinos, who had originally claimed to be from Turia, was apparently curious to see what Turia might be like. In any event, he had purchased a wagon and tharlarion, and was allegedly returning to Turia. The last I had seen of him was his wagon, disappearing down the road. His slave Mina followed on foot, chained by her wrists to the back of the wagon. I thought that, soon enough, she would be beside him on the wagon box, though perhaps braceleted or shackled. Astrinax had returned to Ar, to his jobbing, and Lykos, too, was now in Ar. He had opened a day stall on the Street of Coins. It was not easy to think of him with scales and an abacus. It was easier to remember him on his rope, ahead of the wagons, plunging his great staff through the snow, wary of concealed crevices. Grendel had followed him, with his hands on the rope, the other end about his own waist, to draw him to safety if the snow gave way. It had, several times. Akesinos had remained in Venna, to hire himself out as a wagon guard, an honest guard, I hoped. He had also invested some of his resources to obtain a share in a small tavern in Venna. He had offered half a silver tarsk to the Lady Bina for me, but his offer had been declined. Thus I escaped becoming a paga girl. I did not know the whereabouts of Desmond of Harfax. Nor was I now interested in knowing his whereabouts. He had not approached the Lady Bina on my behalf, he had made no offer to buy me. I now realized how little I meant to him. How right I was to have hated him. And how right I was to hate him now.

“Turn about, Allison,” said the Lady Bina, “and place your hands behind your back.”

“Mistress?” I said.

“Now,” she said.

To my surprise, and lack of ease, I felt slave bracelets snapped on my wrists.

I pulled a bit, at the pinioning.

“There is no point in struggling, Allison,” said the Lady Bina. “You are secured, perfectly.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “May I ask why?”

“There are several reasons for back-braceleting a slave girl,” said the Lady Bina. “It makes her helpless, it increases her sense of vulnerability, it is sexually stimulating, it reminds her that she is a slave, it considerably reduces her juicing time, it nicely accentuates her figure, and such.”

“Surely,” I said, “there is little doubt about a girl’s figure if she is in a slave tunic.”

“And doubtless less, if she is camisked,” she said.

“Doubtless,” I said.

“You were camisked in the Cave,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Would you prefer a camisk?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “Not in the public streets.”

“Perhaps you would prefer such in the privacy of a domicile,” she said, “that you might thereby excite yourself and a master.”

“Perhaps,” I said. To be sure, slave girls were not unoften kept naked indoors, save for their collar.

“It is not wise to excite strangers,” she said. “Some are brutes and ruffians.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“To be sure,” she said, “slave tunics are not much better.”

“They are designed to be provocative, and revealing,” I said.

“They are designed to divert attention from free women,” she said, “and thus they increase the security of the free woman.”

“I do not think that is the main reason,” I said.

“Oh?” she said.

“Men like to see slaves thusly,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said.

I jerked a little at the bracelets.

“Usually you do not bracelet me so,” I said.

“No,” she said. “But on this errand I do not want your little hands to be busy.”

“My hands,” I said, “are no larger or smaller than those of Mistress.”

“But,” she said, “they are the hands of a slave.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“I have here,” she said, “a small sack, on its cord, which I will hang about your neck. I have tied it shut, with my signature knot. It contains a message which you, as you are illiterate, cannot read, even if you could reach the sack. You will seek the shop of Amyntas, the wine merchant. It is on Teiban, near Clive. Present yourself, on behalf of your Mistress, Bina of Ar. The message will be read, and a small package will be placed in the sack, which will be knotted closed. Presumably that will be done with the signature knot of Amyntas. You will have been expected. This has been arranged. Return then.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said. “Must I truly go braceleted?”

“Surely you have seen braceleted slaves in the streets,” she said, “front-braceleted, and back-braceleted.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“Would you prefer to go back-braceleted, and nude?” she asked.

“No, Mistress,” I said

“Be careful on the stairs,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“And do not dally,” she said.

“No, Mistress,” I said.

I then exited the domicile. I wondered how many kisses, and embraces, I might be forced to endure, back-braceleted. That might have much to do with whether or not free women were in the vicinity. Once, though I had not been back-braceleted, I had been seized and lip raped by a strong, handsome Tarnster. A frowning free woman had rushed over and berated the fellow, roundly. Even though I was frightened, and squirmed, he had not discontinued his attentions. I was helpless in his arms. I could not help myself. I must have moved as a slave. How can one help being a slave, if one is a slave? When satisfied, he laughed, and thrust me down, to my belly, a well-kissed slave, and faced the free woman. “Perhaps you would like to be in a collar,” he snarled. The free woman had then turned about, and fled. I had thought the matter done, but the free woman had turned about afterwards, and followed me. She accosted me, and, when I knelt before her, as I must, she struck me and kicked me, several times. “Slut,” she cried. “Slut! Seductive slut!” “I was seized, Mistress!” I protested. “I saw you!” she cried. “They like your sort in the paga taverns! Run to a paga tavern, grovel, and beg to be caressed!” “Please do not hurt me!” I begged. “Would that I owned you!” she said. “If you so much as raised your head in the streets, you would be lashed!” I recoiled under her blows. “Slave,” she said. “Slave, slave, slave!” “Yes, Mistress,” I said. “I am a slave.” She struck me twice more. She then turned about, and left. “Yes,” I thought, “she would like to be in a collar.”