Mercenaries of Gor coc-21 Read online

  Mercenaries of Gor

  ( Chronicles of Counter-Earth - 21 )

  John Norman

  War on Gor is a rousing and fearful affair — and when the armada of Cos landed and began its sweeping arch against the mighty city of Ar, Tarl Cabot was swept up in their drive. Outcast from Port Kar, rejected by the Priest Kings, Tarl fought now for his own redemption.

  With comrades at his side, barbarian warriors and daring women, free and slave, his plans went forward — until the mercenaries of Dietrich of Tarnburg disrupted the struggle as a mysterious third force.

  MERCENARIES OF GOR brings into action all the magic and conflict of that counter-Earth, as Tarl became the center of intrigue and treachery in the city of his greatest enemies.

  MERCENARIES OF GOR

  (Volume twenty-one in the Chronicles of Counter-Earth)

  by John Norman

  1 What Occurred Outside Samnium

  "I do not know about other women," she said, "but I am one who wishes to belong to a man, wholly,"

  "Beware your words," I cautioned her.

  "I am a free woman," she said. "I can speak as I please."

  I could not gainsay her in this. She was free. She could, accordingly, say what she wished, and without requiring permission. She stood before me. She had dared to brush back her hood. She had unpinned her shimmering veils, permitting them to fall about her throat and shoulders. A soft movement of hands and a shake of her head had thrown her long, dark hair behind her back. She had dark eyes. Her face was softly rounded. It was delicate and beautiful.

  "You have unpinned your veil," I observed.

  "Yes," she said.

  "You are brazen," I said.

  "Yes," she said, insolently.

  I mused, considering this. It is not difficult, of course, to take insolence from a woman.

  "Why have you unpinned your veil before me?" I asked.

  "Perhaps you will like what you see," she said.

  "Bold female," I observed.

  She tossed her head, impatiently.

  "Do you have the least inkling as to what it might be, to belong to a man, wholly?"

  "Do you find me pleasing?" she asked.

  "Answer my question," I said.

  "Yes," she said.

  I wondered if this is true. It might be. She was Gorean. "Now, she said. "Answer mine!"

  "Do not court an altercation in your condition, unless you are prepared to accept it, in its full consequences," I said.

  She shuddered. She lowered her eyes. "It is said that there is in every woman that which I sense so fearfully, yet longingly, in myself."

  "I wonder if that is true," I said.

  "I do not know," she said, "but I know that it is in me, passionately, strongly, irresistibly."

  "You are bold," I said.

  "A free woman may be bold," she said.

  "True," I granted her.

  "I need this for my fulfillment, to be one with myself," she said.

  "Speak clearly," I said. She was free. I saw no point in making it easy for her. "I want to be a total woman, in the order of nature," she said.

  I shrugged.

  "My heart cries out," she wept, "with the need to be accepted, to be acquired, to be owned, to be mastered, to be forced to submit, to be forced to will-lessly and selflessly serve and love!"

  I did not respond to her.

  "I beg this of you, for you are a man," she said.

  "Speak with greater precision," I said.

  She shook her head. "Please, no," she said.

  I shrugged.

  "Mine is the slave sex!" she said, angrily, defiantly.

  "The slave sex?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said.

  "And you are a member of that sex?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said, angrily.

  "I see," I said.

  "I am tired of trying to be like a man!" she said. "It is a lie which robs me of myself!"

  I said nothing. "I want to be true to myself," she said. "I want to be fulfilled!" "Such a thing is not reversible by your will," I said.

  "I am well aware of that," she said.

  "There are many sorts of masters," I said, "and you would be at the disposal of any of them, and totally,"

  "I know," she whispered.

  I said nothing.

  "You have still not answered my question," she said. "Do you find me pleasing?" "It is difficult to say," I said, "bundled and covered as you are." "She looked at me, frightened.

  "Strip," I said. She would be assessed.

  She reached to the veils about her throat and shoulders and, taking them, dropped them softly to the grass. She stood not more than a hundred yards from the gate of Tesius, in the city of Samnium, some two hundred pasangs east and a bit south of Brundisium, both cities continental allies of the island ubarate of Cos. She slipped softly from her slippers. She must then have felt the touch of the grass blades on her ankles. She looked at me. Her hands went to the stiff, high brocaded collar of her robes, the robes of concealment, to the numerous eyes and hooks there, holding it tightly, protectively, about her throat, up high under her chin.

  "Do not dally," I told her.

  In a few moments she had parted her robes, and slipped them, first the street robe, that stiff, ornate fabric, and then the house robe, scarcely less inflexible and forbidding, from her small, soft shoulders. Clad now only in a silken sliplike undergarment, she then looked at me.

  "Completely," I said, "absolutely."

  She then stood before me, even more naked than many a girl up for vending, waiting to be thrust to the surface of the block, for she wore no collar, no chains, no brand. A merchant on his way to the gate of Tesius paused, to gaze upon her. So, too, did two soldiers, guardsmen of Samnium. She stood very straight, inspected. None of these wrinkled their noses nor spat upon the ground. "What is your name?" I asked.

  "Charlotte, Lady of Samnium," she said.

  "Turn slowly before me, Lady Charlotte," I said. "Now place your hands, clasped behind the back of your head, and arch your back. Good. You may now kneel. Do you know the position of the pleasure slave? Good."

  "How does it feel to be kneeling before a man?" I asked.

  "I have never been like this before a man," she said.

  "How does it feel?" I asked.

  "I do not know," she said. "I am so confused. It is so overwhelming. I am uncertain. I do not know what I feel like. I am almost giddy."

  "Lift your chin," I said.

  She complied immediately, unhesitantly.

  "Spread your knees more widely," I said. Again, unhesitantly, immediately, she complied.

  I regarded Lady Charlotte. I saw that she might be suitable. She was beautiful, and extremely feminine. I saw one of the soldiers licking his lips.

  "These are difficult and dark times," I told her. "I tell you nothing you do not know when I tell you that. Too, I now inform you that where I go, it will be dangerous."

  She looked up at me.

  "Remain in the city," I said. "There you will be safe, there you will be secure."

  "No," she said.

  "No?" I asked.

  "No," she said, firmly. "I am not yours. I do not need to obey you." "Assume a position on your hands and knees," I told her.

  "Yes," I said. I removed a slave whip from my pack.

  "I am free!" she said.

  "I think it will do you good to feel this," I said, shaking out the five, soft, broad blades. I then went behind her.

  "Ai!" she cried, struck. "It hurts, so!" she wept, now, a moment later, beginning to feel the pain in its fullness, now on her stomach, disbelief in her eyes. "I did not know it was like that."

  "I struck you but once, and not hard," I tol
d her.

  "That was not hard?" she gasped, striped, stung, sobbing, terrified.

  "No," I told her. "Go back now to the city, and be safe."

  "No," she sobbed. "No!"

  I crouched near her, looking at her closely.

  "No," she said. "No, no!"

  I regarded her.

  "Please," she said.

  "Very well," I said.

  She looked at me, wildly, elated. I thrust her face down to the grass. She sobbed with relief, with pleasure. I drew forth a slave collar from my pack. Roughly, unceremoniously, I placed it on her neck, snapping it shut, locking it. "Good," said the merchant, turning away. "Good," said the two soldiers, too, turning away.

  I regarded her.

  She was now collared. She was now a slave. She was now mine.

  She looked up at me, frightened. "I am yours," she whispered.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Please strike me once more," she said, "that I may this time feel the blow as a slave."

  I said nothing.

  "I want to feel your whip, as your slave," she said.

  "Very well," I said. I then, by the hair and an arm, drew her again to her hands and knees. I again then stood behind her but this time I did not strike her immediately, but let her wait, as a slave, that she might anticipate the blow, and grow apprehensive of it, and not know precisely when it would fall. Then the blades hissed suddenly down upon her and again she cried out, sobbing, flung to the grass, which she clutched with her fingers. "You punish me," she said. "You can do with me as you please. I am your slave! I am yours!"

  I looked down upon her. She was not unattractive. I had not planned to take a slave with me from Samnium, but I did not truly object to doing so. She could cook for me, and serve me, and keep me warm in the furs. It was late in Se'Kara. I would find her a useful convenience, a lovely one. Every man needs such a convenience. Then, when I wished, I could give her away, or dispose of her in some market.

  "Do you think you were struck hard?" I asked.

  "I do not know, Master," she said.

  "You were not," I informed her.

  "Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened, sensing what might have been done to her but had not been. To be sure, I had struck her harder than the first time, for she was now a slave, and slaves, of course, are whipped differently from free women, but I had not, truly, struck her with great force.

  "Can men strike harder than that?" she asked.

  "Do not be absurd," I said. "I struck you with only a tiny fraction of the force that an average fellow, if he wished, might bring to such a task. Too, I struck you only once, and in only one area, one less sensitive to pain than many others."

  "I see, Master," she said, shuddering. She had then sensed what it might be to be a whipped slave girl. And whipping, of course, is only one of the punishments to which such a girl might be subjected. "I will try to be a good slave, Master," she whispered, frightened, understanding now perhaps some what better than before something of the categorical and absolute nature of her new condition.

  "Who were you?" I asked.

  "Lady Charlotte, of Samnium," she said.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "A slave, only a slave, yours," she said.

  "What is your name?" I asked.

  "I have no name," she said. "I have not yet been given one. My master has not yet given me a name."

  "Your responses are correct," I said.

  She sobbed with relief.

  "Do you wish a name?" I asked.

  "It is all within the will of the Master," she said. "I want only only what Master wants. I desire only to please."

  "It will be a convenience for me to have a name for you," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "You are, «Feiqa' I said, naming her. "Thank you, Master," she breathed, elated, "Feiqa' is a lovely name. It is not unknown among dancers in the Tahari.

  Other such names are "Aytul' "Benek', "Emine', "Faize', "Mine', "Yasemine' and " Yasine'. The "qa' in the name "Feiqa', incidentally, is pronounced rather like "kah' in English. I have not spelled it "Feikah' in English because the letter in question, in the Gorean spelling, is a "kwah' and not a 'kef'. The "kwah' in Gorean, which I think is possibly related, directly or indirectly, to the English "q', does not always have a "kwah' sound. Sometimes it does, sometimes it does not; in the name "Feiqa' it does not. Although this may seem strange to native English speakers, it is certainly not linguistically unprecedented. For example, in Spanish, certainly one of the major languages spoken on Earth, the letter "q' seldom, if ever, has the "kwah' sound. Even in English, of course, the letter "q' itself is not pronounced with a "kwah' sound, but rather with a "k' or "c' sound as in "kue' or "cue'.

  I gathered my shield and weapons from the grass near us, where they lay with my pack. I slung my helmet over my left shoulder. I set my eyes to the southeast, away from the high gray walls of Samnium.

  "Fetch my pack, Feiqa," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said. She would serve as my beast of burden.

  I watched her as she, unaided, struggled with the pack. Then she had it on her back. Her back was bent. "It is heavy, Master," she said. I did not respond to her. She lowered her head, bearing the pack. The wind moved through the trampled grass. She shivered. It was now late in Se'Kara. Already on Thassa the winds would be chill and the cold waves would be dashing and plunging to the bulwarks and washing the decks with their cold floods. I regarded the girl. In warmer seasons, or warmer areas, one may take one's time in making the decision as to whether or not a female is to be permitted clothing. Some masters keep their slaves naked for a year or more. The girl is then grateful when, and if, she is permitted clothing, be it only a bit of cloth or some rag or other. In this latitude, however, and in this season, I would have to see to the slave's garmenture. I looked back at the discarded clothing on the grass. She could take none of that, of course It was no longer proper for her. It was the clothing of a free woman. That sort of thing was now behind her. I could have her fashion something from a rough blanket perhaps, and find her something to wrap her feet in. Too, I might be able to find her something, which might function as a cloak. That she could clutch about her head and shoulders.

  "Do you know how to heel, Feiqa?" I asked.

  "Yes, Master," she said. She was a Gorean woman, familiar at least superficially with the duties and obligations of slaves. To be sure, as a recently free woman, she might perhaps find herself astounded and horrified at some of the things that would now, even routinely, be required of her. I did not know. Certain things which are not only common knowledge to slaves but, even a normal, familiar part of their lives seem to be scarcely suspected by free women. These are the sorts of things about which free women, horrified and scandalized, scarcely believing them, sometimes whisper, fearfully, delightedly, among themselves. Some Earth-girl slaves brought to Gor, incidentally, do not even know how to heel. Incredibly, they must be taught. They learn quickly, of course, in the collar, and subject to the whip.

  I looked back, again, to the walls of Samnium. It had been spared the savageries of the war, doubtless because of its relationship with Cos. I then set out to the southeast. I did not look back. I was followed by Feiqa.

  2 There Are Hardships in These Times

  I looked up from Feiqa, moaning in my arms, clutching at me. I had heard a tiny noise. I thrust her back, and away, she whimpering. I reached to my knife, and stood up, in the darkness. I stood on the lowered circular floor, dug out of the earth, packed down and tiled with stone, behind a part of a wall. It was the remains of a calked, woven-stick wall. It was now broken and charred. I could see the dark sky, with the moons, over its jagged, serrated edge. I could hear the whisper of other leaves outside. They were blown to and fro, like dry, brittle, fugitives, on the small, central commons between the huts.

  We had made our camp here, in the burnt, roofless, half-fallen ruins of one of the huts. It had given us shelter from the wind. The village had bee
n deserted, perhaps, judging from the absence of crockery, household effects and furnishings, even before it had been burned. It stood like most Gorean villages at the hub of its wheel of fields, the fields, striplike, spanning out from it like spokes. Most Gorean peasants live in such villages, many of them palisaded, which they leave in the morning to tend their fields, to which they return at night after their day's labors. The fields about this village, however, and near other villages, too, in this part of the country, were now untended. They were untilled and desolate. Armies had passed here.

  "Is there someone there?" asked a voice, a woman's voice.

  I did not respond. I listened. "Who is there?" she asked. The voice sounded hollow and weak. I heard the whimpering of a child.

  I did not respond.

  "Who is there?" she begged.

  I moved a little in the shadows, slowly, and back and toward the center of the hut. In moving slowly, one tends to convey, on a very basic level, that one is not intending harm; to be sure, even predators like the larl occasionally abuse this form of signaling, for example, in hunting tabuk, using it for purposes of deception; more rapid movement, of course, tends to precipitate defensive reactions. In moving back I had also tended to reassure the figure in the doorway that I meant no harm, this movement, too, of course, had the advantage of ensuring me reaction space; in moving toward the center of the hut I made it possible for her to see me better, this tending too, one supposes, to allay suspicions; in this way, too, of course, I secured myself weapon space. These things seemed to be instinctual, or, at least, to be done with very little conscious thought. They seem very natural. We tend to take them for granted. It is interesting, however, upon occasion, to speculate upon the possible origins of just such familiar and taken-for-granted accommodations and adjustments. It seems possible they have been selected for. At any rate, they, or their analogues, are found throughout the animal kingdom.

  The small figure stood just outside what had once been the threshold of the hut. It had come there naturally, it seemed, as if perhaps by force of habit, or conviction, although the door was no longer there. It seemed forlorn, and weary. It clutched something in its arms.