Conspirators of Gor Read online

  “Perhaps few would have such courage,” I said.

  “Let us hope so,” she said.

  “I think that mark was a brand,” she said, “by which the hunters recognized you as a slave.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “It would not have been visible. It would have been concealed by the clothing I wore.”

  “How then did they recognize you as a slave?” she asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said, though, in truth, I had an idea of such matters. Who could not have seen the slave beneath my clothing? Could not a practiced eye have discerned saleable lineaments beneath that cloth? Who could not have looked upon my throat and not speculated on how fittingly it would have been encircled by a metal collar? Who could not have looked into my eyes, severely, and not seen the trembling, waiting slave?

  “You must have been assessed,” she said.

  “Doubtless,” I said.

  “Where, when, how?” she asked.

  “I do not know,” I said. I did not know. It might have been anywhere, at any time, perhaps when I least suspected it, on a bus, in a subway, on the street, shopping, waiting for a light to change, stepping in or out of a taxi, in a corridor, in the aisle of a market, in a classroom, on the campus, anywhere, anytime.

  But then I was sure I knew.

  It had been at a party, in the house, if nowhere else.

  “It is unusual that you would not have been assessed naked,” she said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  I did not tell her of a troubling dream I had had, weeks ago, after the party. I had dreamed I had been sedated, and stripped in my own bed, in the house, in my room, and, in the light of a flashlight, a sort of torch without fire, held by one man, had been turned about, and, roughly, in one way and another, handled as expertly and casually as might have been a slave, by two others, even measured. The men had then tied me, supine, my hands and ankles fastened well apart, to the posts at the head and foot of the bed. It seemed I was struggling, futilely, trying to regain consciousness, trying to awaken, unsuccessfully, while the men conversed nearby, with low voices. I sensed they had come to some sort of agreement. Notations were made, on some sort of device. I twisted, and squirmed, and bucked and thrashed, wildly, jerking against the cords, fastened several times about my wrists and ankles. Then I lay back, knowing that I could not free myself. I was helpless, absolutely helpless. The flashlight was turned on me. Two of the men laughed. I then fully lost consciousness. I awakened in the early morning, in the house, in what, in your reckoning, would have been something like the Fifth Ahn, whimpering, and then suddenly I screamed, before I realized, with unbounded relief, that I was safe, so safe, in my own room. But somehow, inexplicably, I was naked. Somehow, in the night, I had slipped from my night gown. I did not see how that could be. I shuddered. I felt small, and helpless, and frightened, and quietly, not moving, lay in the bed, my legs drawn up. It had been a most unusual, and frightening, dream. I was still uneasy. I still felt its terror. But in a few moments I had recovered myself sufficiently to regard the dream with amusement, but then, suddenly, a moment later, cried out with horror. Two of the other girls entered the room, Eve and Jane, and the house mother, Mrs. Rawlinson. I drew the covers about me. “A dream,” I explained. “A dream!” My two friends, Eve and Jane, looked to one another, and then left. The house mother, Mrs. Rawlinson, however, dallied a bit, and regarded me, the covers drawn up about my neck, and smiled, and, as it seems to me now, knowingly. I and two others of my sisters in the house, my sorority sisters, for a sorority is a sort of club, my friends, Eve and Jane, had had, some days ago, a fearful contretemps with the house mother. Examining our rooms in our absence, while we were in class, certain books had been discovered, literature certainly inappropriate for our prestigious house, one of the most exclusive and inaccessible on campus, and inappropriate, as well, for our small, expensive, illustrious, private institution, one of the most selective in the northern hemisphere of my former world, save for certain reluctant concessions to political pressures, abetted by special grants and fellowships, and inappropriate, as well, for members of our class, that of my sisters and myself, our social station. I think there was no girl in our house who did not derive from a background of refinement and great wealth. Too, I think I should mention that our sorority was generally recognized as the richest and most desirable sorority on campus, amongst several others, of similar repute. We lived arrogant, tasteful, condescending lives, in keeping with our superiority. On the other hand, we underwent much supervision by our peers, and house mother, Mrs. Rawlinson, and much attention was devoted to our activities. Though we were undeniably privileged and special, we were not as much at liberty as might be supposed, for our freedoms were limited in certain ways, that as a natural function of our station and the reputation of the house. For example, our classes, interests, books, majors, and such, were to be such as were suitable for us; our charity work, if done, was to be restricted to suitable charities; our acquaintances were to be proper, of a suitable class, position, background, appearance, and such; and, in particular, one must be judicious in dating. We were not to date beneath our station, for, just as you have castes, we have social divisions which, in their way, are also strict. Certainly we were expected to behave in such a manner as to, at all times, maintain the dignity, prestige, and reputation of the house. Accordingly, our social activities, where the men, or boys, were concerned, were to be limited to a small set of men’s clubs or fraternities, in their ranking comparable to ours. The girls of our sorority, or club, I might add, were not only rich, but, too, tended to be aloof, refined, aristocratic, spoiled, and vain. That is clearer to me now than it was at that time. Also, there seemed to be another criterion imposed on membership in our house, but, as obvious and generally recognized as it was, it was never mentioned explicitly. Each of our girls was extremely beautiful. We were the Ubaras of the campus, so to speak. To date one of us was a coup for the lucky fellow, and one of our common pleasures was to disdainfully refuse such dates, unless, of course, requested by young men whose wealth and social position was superior to ours. What is the point of beauty, if not to open doors, to bargain, and to enhance one’s prospects? Were we not prostitutes, in a way, ready to sell ourselves, high-priced merchandise, for power, position, station, and wealth?

  You have probably guessed the nature of the “inappropriate literature” discovered by the house mother. But perhaps not.

  Just as many of you doubt the existence of a world called Terra, or Earth, so, too, many on my world doubt the existence of your world. Indeed, I did so, as well, until I found myself here, naked in a slave pen, chains on my limbs. In any event, though the evidence for your world doubtless exists, in many ways, on my world, what evidence is recognized is, as far as I know, subjected to alternative explanations, ignored, or explained away, in one way or another. This is not to say, of course, that Goreans are not here and there on Earth. My presence here, for example, makes that clear, or, at least, that there are those on Earth who know of Gor, and are familiar with her. This is not to deny, of course, that better information might be housed in various intelligence communities on Earth, evidence which it would be wise to treat with circumspection. In any event, various manuscripts pertaining to your world have appeared, in a variety of languages, on my former world, despite efforts to suppress them, to deny them to the reading public. And even if such efforts should prove overtly successful it is not unlikely that some copies will elude the insecure and bigoted, and will continue to circulate, as an underground literature, if nothing else, hidden here and there, and passed secretly from hand to hand, a badge of understanding and brotherhood, in defiance of haters and tyrants concerned to engineer a pathology congenial to their political ambitions.

  In any event, in my room, and apparently in those of Eve and Jane, Mrs. Rawlinson had discovered certain of these books, apparently, as I then thought, to her astonishment, embarrassment, dismay, and indignation. Certainly I had hidden the books, I had
thought well, in a trunk, covered with clothing, had confessed to no one that I had read such things, and was terribly self-conscious at having done so. I was miserably embarrassed that this secret was discovered. What would Mrs. Rawlinson, my sisters, others, think of me?

  Worse, I could be publicly humiliated, disdained, ostracized, and summarily expelled from the sorority, with all the devastating social consequences which that might entail.

  A delicate and fragile world, carefully constructed and maintained with an eye to the future, might tumble about me.

  I was frightened.

  I was suddenly, for the first time in my life, vulnerable, at risk.

  I would be on the outside, alone, ignored and despised, the gates shut against me.

  How delighted would be Nora, and certain others of my sisters, at my downfall, my discomfiture!

  How rapidly and eagerly would this welcome news of my exposure be broadcast about the campus!

  I had come upon such books by accident, in a store dealing with old books. I was curious. I looked into one or more. I was startled. I could not believe, even from the first pages, the nature of what I read. I did not understand how the authors, Tarl Cabot, and others, might have dared to write what they did. Did they not know the formulas? Were they unaware of the political requirements imposed on contemporary literature? Were such so obscure, or difficult to discern? What an unexpected paradox, to put aside the rules, to deny orthodoxy, to speak so plainly, so simply and quietly, and naturally, of a culture so different from ours, and to speak of it not to denounce it, but to understand it, to speak of it from the inside, instead of disparaging it from the outside, from the alleged vantage point of some arrogant, unargued, unquestioned position or posture whose credentials were not only dubious but nonexistent. What of the simple test of life consequences? Is it obvious that an unnatural culture which produces vehemence, confusion, hysteria, sickness, treachery, hypocrisy, mass murder, and hatred is obviously superior to a culture compatible with nature, and her kinds and differences, a culture in which nature is recognized and celebrated, and enhanced by all the ennobling sophistications of civilization, rather than denied?

  In any event, if only to my dismay, and fear, the books spoke to me.

  Too, they spoke to me of secrets I had long concealed from myself. My life was boring and empty, and largely mapped out for me. I was on a road, cold, glittering, metallic, and arid, which I did not much care to follow. I did not know myself. Perhaps I was afraid to discover myself. What might I learn, what might I find? I did know that I was a scion of a series of species bred for thousands of generations for a world quite different from the one in which I found myself, a world less populated, greener, more open, more perilous perhaps, and certainly more beautiful. And I knew, too, that there were men and women, and that each had been bred beside the other, for countless generations, each in the light of the other, and I suspected, from my thoughts, my needs, and dreams, that they were not identical, but that each sex, so radically dimorphic, had its own wonderful nature, each nature complementary to the other. What of relationships, so pervasive amongst mammals? Had such things not been selected for? Was nature so hard to read? Did the consequences of denying her lead to happiness, or fulfillment? It did not seem so.

  But, still, I had been caught.

  Books had been found in my room.

  Mrs. Rawlinson had sternly summoned me, and Eve and Jane, before her. We were then alone, frightened, in the room with her. The room was not well lit. Her straight, menacing figure was outlined against the wide window behind her. I soon realized, from the books on her desk, that Eve and Jane, too, were familiar with such books. I wondered how many other women, and men, knew of such things.

  Could it be that I was not alone, that I was not an isolated, shameful exception to the pompous glories of political orthodoxy?

  How rare is courage!

  How mighty is the shuffling, drifting, dull, pressing herd!

  Eve, Jane, and I exchanged frightened glances.

  Oddly, I wondered which of us might be found most beautiful on a Gorean slave block. Do not women wonder about such things?

  And what of Nora, and my enemies in the house?

  Would they be so different, barefoot in the sawdust, turned, exhibited, in the torchlight, being bid upon?

  “Shame! Shame!” said Mrs. Rawlinson, pointing to the books on the desk before her, the window behind her.

  “What have you to say for yourselves?” she asked.

  There seemed little for us to say. I felt tears of shame course my cheeks. Eve and Jane, too, sobbed.

  “I thought so,” she said. “Know that there is no place for such as you in this house. This is terrible, terrible! You are an insult to the house, to your sisters, to the national organization. You are finished here, disgraced. You will go to your rooms, pack your belongings, and leave the premises before nightfall.”

  “No,” we wept. “Please, no!”

  “Tomorrow morning I shall bring the matter to the attention of the house board, and your sisters, following which the evidence will be presented, and the vote taken, the outcome of which I do not doubt will be to publicly and officially expel you from the house, and, concomitantly, the national organization.”

  “Forgive us!” begged Eve.

  “We are sorry!” said Jane.

  “For offenses less meaningful, less heinous, expulsion is in order,” she said.

  “Is it truly so great a matter?” I wept.

  “Quite,” she said. “You may now leave the room,” she said.

  “Please, no!” we wept.

  She pointed to the door and, shuddering, stumbling, numb, we turned about, unable to speak, unable to comprehend the dissolution of our reality, the sudden and catastrophic loss of our position and status, taken as given and unassailable but moments ago.

  We had been everything, and now, in moments, we would be nothing, we would be despised and negligible, would be then no more than others, inferiors. The shame of this expulsion would be general knowledge, and certain of our sisters, I thought I knew which ones, Nora, and others, would see to it that the cause of our expulsion would be well publicized. Our continued presence at the school would be intolerable.

  “What do you think you are,” asked Mrs. Rawlinson, “reading such things?”

  We turned back to face her.

  Something had been different about her voice. She suddenly seemed other than she had been.

  “We are sorry, very sorry!” said Eve, hopefully.

  “You are silly little bitches,” said the house mother. “I wonder what you are good for?”

  This was not the tone of voice, nor the diction, to which we had become accustomed. Her carriage, oddly, now seemed slimily lithe, her voice younger.

  She was new to the house, as of the beginning of the semester. I was suddenly less clear as to her age.

  “Do you wish to be reported, and expelled?” she inquired.

  “No,” we said. “No!”

  “Remove your shoes,” she said.

  We looked to one another, in consternation.

  “I see you must vacate the premises,” she said.

  We removed our shoes.

  “Now,” she said, “kneel before me.”

  “It is acceptable,” she said. “I am a free woman.”

  I did not understand this, nor, I suspect, did Eve or Jane. Surely we were all free, all of us. Who was not free?

  She came about the desk, and pointed to the rug, at her feet.

  “Here,” she said.

  Scarcely understanding what we were doing, almost numbly, we knelt before her.

  It was the first time I had ever knelt before another person. I suddenly felt, overwhelmingly, the significance of this, placing oneself before another human being, in what was clearly a posture of submission. I was shaken. It was as though I had been struck a blow by nature. Was I in my place? Were Eve and Jane? I almost fainted, with understanding, and uncontrollable, suffus
ing emotion.

  “So,” she said, “you think you know of the Gorean world?”

  We looked up at her.

  “Get your heads down, to the carpet,” she said, “and place the palms of your hands beside your head.”

  We were thus kneeling before her in what I would later learn was the first position of obeisance.

  “Now you are as you should be,” she said.

  We trembled before her, but, too, it now seemed clear that we would not be required to leave the house, that no motion for expulsion would be brought to the floor in the morning, before the board, before our assembled sisters.

  “You think you know something of the Gorean world,” she said, “but you know nothing.”

  I suddenly realized that she before whom we knelt was not incognizant of the world of which she spoke.

  I suddenly suspected that she, too, was a reader of this unusual literature, in which one encountered a different world, a natural world, one so far removed from the negativities and artificialities of our own.

  I was very much aware of my forehead pressed to the carpet.

  “What little sluts you are,” she said. “It is clear what you are good for, and the only thing you are good for.”

  How dared she call us “sluts”?

  Then, to our astonishment, she laughed.

  “Girls will be girls,” she said.

  A laugh escaped me, one of relief. It was a merry jest. But, somehow, we did not raise our heads.

  “Look up,” she said.

  We did so, but did not rise to our feet. We had not received permission to do so.

  “What naughty young women you are,” she said, “to read such books,” indicating those on her desk.

  We struggled to smile.

  “Remain on your knees,” she snapped.

  We did so.

  “Surely you understand how inconsistent such things are with the certain dictates and dogmas of our culture,” she said, “with, say, certain principles and notions which are to be taken as beyond question or review, principles and notions which are to be accepted uncritically, mindlessly, without inquiry or investigation, because they have somehow come to exist, and understand, as well, how they might frighten some individuals, individuals of certain sorts. At the least they are not clearly in accord with various prescribed political proprieties.”