Rogue of Gor coc-15 Read online

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “All you wanted from me was information,” she said.

  I shrugged. “I now have that information,” I said.

  “Dally but a bit, Master,” she whispered.

  I turned to regard her. “I do not understand,” I said.

  She was looking at me over her shoulder. “Please,” she said.

  “I do not understand,” I said, irritably.

  “I danced before you,” she said, “and in the fullness of the slave I am.”

  “It is true,” I said. “You danced as a slave.”

  “I am a slave,” she said.

  “But you are of Earth,” I said. For some reason I was angry with her.

  “The women of Earth,” she said, “are natural slaves.”

  “No!” I cried.

  “Do not disparage and condemn us,” she said. “Understand us!”

  “No!” I said, angrily.

  “Fulfill us!” she begged.

  “No!” I said. “No!”

  “Is a natural slave not to be granted her fulfillment?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “No!”

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “I do not know,” I said. “I do not know!”

  “Perhaps because we are slaves,” she said. “It is a cruelty you practice upon us.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, angrily.

  “What greater cruelty can a man inflict upon a slave than to deny her the collar?” she asked.

  I said nothing.

  “Did you not see how I danced before you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You excite me, Master,” she said. “Does that horrify you? Does that scandalize you? Does it startle and discomfort you, does it so dismay you, does it seem so hard to comprehend, that a woman from Earth could be sexually excited, that she could have sexual desires, that she could feel helpless and frustrating passion, that she could beg even to be sexually satisfied?”

  “It is not typical,” I said. “And it is not permitted.”

  “It is typical!” she said. “How little you know of women! And on Gor it is permitted—to slaves.”

  I did not speak.

  “On Gor,” she said, “I have experienced feelings and sensation, I never knew could exist. Inhibitions have been shattered, some of them commanded from me by strong men and the blows of the whip. I have learned to live and to feel. My emotions have been freed. My deepest sexuality and nature have on this world at last been fully liberated. I have found myself. I love and I serve. I now know at last what and who I am, a love slave for uncompromising masters.”

  “No,” I said. “No!”

  I turned away from her, again to open the curtains.

  “Did my dance interest Master?” she asked.

  I turned again to look upon her. She knelt close to the wall, fastened by the neck and wrists tightly to the ring. I heard the small movement of the bells upon her, I saw the barbaric armlets, and the tiny chain that held the small pearl drop at her forehead.

  “Yes,” I said. My fists were clenched.

  “I beg to be fulfilled,” she said, “and as the slave I am. I know I have no right to beg this, for a slave is without rights. I do, however, beg it, placing myself vulnerably and fully at your mercy. You may, of course, deny me this fulfillment, for I am a slave. I hope, however, that you will not do so. I hope, rather, that you will see fit to show kindness to a miserable girl in bondage.”

  I said nothing.

  “I will strive to be worthy of my fulfillment,” she said.

  I crouched down behind her, and put my hands on her waist. She shuddered, pressing herself against the wall.

  “In what way?” I asked.

  “By serving you completely and intimately, and as an abject and total slave,” she said.

  I did not speak.

  “You will not regret it, Master,” she said.

  I freed her wrists and neck of the rope, leaving it fallen by the ring. I then had her in my arms, she on her knees, by the ring. “Alison will strive to please Master well,” she whispered. She then kissed me, softly. Then, softly, she whispered in my ear, “The women of Earth are natural slaves.”

  “No!” I said.

  “Judge by me,” she said.

  I lowered her to the furs. I began to kiss at her body. “No,” I said. Soon she began to gasp and sob in my arms. Then she began to writhe. Then she screamed in the alcove and then, shuddering, shaking, was held in my arms. “Am I not a natural slave?” she asked. “Yes,” I said, “you are.” There had been no mistaking the nature of her movements, her reflexes. They were clearly those of a natural slave. These things troubled me. She lay back. “And I am a woman of Earth,” she said. “You are not typical,” I told her. “I am typical,” she said. I looked down at her. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “I was thinking,” I said, regarding the girl, “that the men of Earth, if they could but see an Earth woman as you are now, would scream with pleasure.”

  “We are waiting for our masters,” she smiled.

  I listened to the musicians outside of the alcove, the sounds of the tavern. When one brings a girl to an alcove one may keep her there for most practical purposes as long as one wishes. She is yours, for most practical purposes, until one chooses to re-open the curtains. After the tavern is closed an attendant will let you out and, taking charge of the girl, see that she is properly chained at her ring by the girl-wall or kenneled.

  “Do you now think it is so terrible a thing to fulfill the needs of a slave?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “And if one is a natural slave,” she said, “surely it is acceptable for her to seek, even desperately, the fulfillment of her deepest needs.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And surely,” she said, “it is permissible for the master, though he is under no obligation, to do so, for she is only a slave, to deign, in his kindness, if it be his whim or pleasure, to fulfill the needs of the slave.”

  “It is totally up to him,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. “She is only a slave.”

  “That you are a natural slave, Alison,” I said, “does not prove that the women of Earth are natural slaves.”

  “My entire chain, in training,” she said, “learned that we were.”

  “It proves nothing,” I said.

  “Do you think we were all so rare and different?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I do not know,” I said.

  “We were not,” she said.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not,” I said.

  She smiled.

  “How long have you known you were a slave?” I asked.

  “Since I was a young girl,” she said. “I first discovered it in my thoughts and dreams, and feelings, and fantasies. But I thought I could never be more than a secret slave at the mercy of a secret master. Then I was brought to Gor. Here I wear my collar openly and kneel before my masters for all the world to see.”

  “It is true,” I said.

  “Do you object that I have slave needs, Master?” she asked.

  “I do not object that you, personally, have slave needs,” I said. “Indeed, I rejoice that you have slave needs for they make you a perfection and a dream of pleasure.”

  “But you would not want all women to be like me?” she asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “But what if they were?” she asked.

  I looked at her, angrily.

  “Or is it only one woman you would not want to be like me?” she asked.

  “No!” I said.

  “But what if she is?” asked the girl.

  I closed my eyes. The thought of Miss Beverly Henderson as a female slave was almost overpoweringly erotic. With difficulty I controlled myself. I thrust the thought from my mind. I must not even permit myself to think such things.

  I opened my eyes.

  “Do not deny her nature to her,” said the girl.

  “
Kneel to the whip!” I cried. Terrified the girl scrambled to her knees and knelt down, making herself small, her head to the furs. Her wrists were crossed under her, as though bound. She trembled. I now stood over her, the slave whip in my hand. I drew it back, then I threw it aside, angrily. I crouched down. Then I jerked her head up, by the hair. “Permission to placate,” she begged, reaching for me with her lips and mouth. But I held her, by the hair, from me. She whimpered, denied. Then I released her hair and permitted her to touch me.

  “Thank you, Master,” she whispered.

  She was a slave. I would permit her to attempt to placate me, in one of the ancient fashions of the female slave.

  “I must soon be on my way,” I said.

  “Master searches for a slave, does he not?” she asked.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Do not ever let her forget that she is a slave,” said the girl.

  “I must be on my way,” I said.

  “Have me, but once again,” she begged.

  I did so, and then, later, I rose to my feet. I unbuckled the leather curtains and threw them back. The tavern was now empty and closed. I turned about and again regarded the girl.

  She had replaced the loops of her jewelry and knelt before me, in the position of the pleasure slave.

  “It is hard for me to think of you as a girl from Earth,” I said.

  “I am now only a Gorean slave girl,” she said.

  “You danced well,” I said.

  An attendant approached from a side door. “I will put her in her kennel,” he said. He snapped his fingers at her. “Come, Girl,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said. She rose quickly to her feet and ran softly to him. He took her by the arm.

  “She whom you seek is a slave, is she not?” she asked me.

  “She is a legal slave,” I said. “She is not a true slave.”

  She was then conducted to the small side door, through which the attendant had emerged. Beyond it, I gathered, would lie such things as the kitchens, the offices, the cellars and pantries, the storage rooms, the dressing rooms, the discipline chamber and the kennels. At the door the attendant let her pause and she turned to me. “Good hunting, Master!” she called to me. “Show her no mercy,” she said. Then she brushed a kiss to me with the tips of her fingers in the Gorean fashion. I returned this gesture. She was then conducted through the door. In a short time I heard the sliding downward and locking in place of a kennel gate.

  Shortly afterward the attendant returned to the floor and let me out, through the main entrance. I heard it being bolted shut behind me. I stood then in the streets of Ar. I looked up at the moons and stars, beyond the cylinders and bridges. I then turned my steps toward the Street of Tarns, that somewhere among its many shops and cots I might arrange transportation northward, toward the Salerian city of Lara.

  Chapter 2 - THE VICTORY CAMP

  “Greetings, Lady Tima,” I said.

  “Jason!” she said, struggling in the straps. “Do not hurt me!”

  The night sky was red with the glare of the burning city.

  “It will be a tarsk bit,” said the fellow walking down the long line of pleasure racks.

  I placed a tarsk bit in the small leather sack nailed to the frame of the rack.

  She pulled back in the straps.

  ***

  “I will take you no closer to Lara than this,” had said the fellow who had flown the tarn which had brought me to this place. “Tarnsmen of Ar,” had said he, “patrol the corridor between Vonda and Ar, but are insufficient in numbers to guard the sky beyond the corridor. Too, tomorrow, as the cavalries mass for attack, the guard on the corridor itself will be abandoned.” I had nodded and paid him, crawling from the heavy basket. On his return trip he would doubtless take refugees, or perhaps bound girls from Vonda, back to Ar.

  “What news of the war is there?” I asked the fellow who was guarding the long line of pleasure racks. “I have just come from Ar.”

  “We have been successful here,” he said, “defeating in battle both the forces of Vonda and those of the tarnsmen of Artemidorus of Cos. Vonda is being sacked. The city burns. This is a victory camp, one for loot and pleasure.”

  “Surely the Salerian Confederation is now committed to war,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Forces from Lara march north,” said he. “Forces from Port Olni are within a hundred pasangs, marching south. They are delaying now only to match their strike with that of the men of Lara.”

  I nodded. It would be a pincers move, to take the men of Ar, far from their supply lines, on two fronts.

  “We must now retreat,” I said.

  He laughed. “No,” said he. “While those of Port Olni dally in camp we are marching upon them. We will take them separately. Defeating them we will return south to meet the forces of Lara, perhaps even here, in the sight of the ashes of Vonda.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “We fear only that the forces of Ti will be committed,” he said.

  Ti was the largest and most populous city of the Salerian Confederation. It had, to date, refused to involve itself in the machinations of Vonda and Cos.

  “Surely it will be only a matter of time,” I said.

  “I suspect so,” said the man. “Even now Ebullius Gaius Cassius, of the Warriors, Administrator of Ti, meets with the high council of Ti.”

  “Their delay seems inexplicable,” I said.

  “Those of Cos, enemies to Ar, and merchants of Vonda,” said the man, “have precipitated the war, hoping to engage the entire confederation.”

  “A minority party then,” I said, “is maneuvering the situation.”

  “I think so,” said the man. “I doubt frankly that either Ti or Ar wishes a full-scale conflict.”

  “How much is this one?” called a man, a few racks from us. It was a blonde, strapped on her rack.

  “Excuse me,” said the man, turning away from me. “A tarsk bit,” he said to the fellow.

  “Surely,” I said.

  It was evening. Fires, on high poles, illuminated the area. Many men were about, moving here and there. From where I stood I could see many tents, long tents, and holding areas, where there were temporary stockades or circular embankments. Within these enclosures there were, for the most part, goods and prisoners. Two drunken soldiers staggered past.

  “How were you taken?” I asked the Lady Tima.

  “By soldiers, in the city,” she said, “with others.” She looked at me. “Be kind to me, Jason,” she begged. “I am absolutely helpless.”

  “How were you brought here?” I asked.

  “On a rope,” she said. “I was brought here, stripped, and fastened on the rack.”

  I looked down the long rows of pleasure racks, aligned under the high torches.

  The blonde, a few racks away, in the same line, was crying out for mercy.

  “Your market and goods?” I asked.

  “The market was burned,” she said, “and the goods and slaves taken.”

  “Did many of those of Vonda escape the city?” I asked.

  “Many,” she said.

  “In flying over this area,” I said, “I saw several stockades, mostly filled with women.”

  “We were hunted more relentlessly,” she said, bitterly.

  “Yet some women must have escaped the city,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, “particularly those who fled early. Many have gone as refugees to Lara.”

  The blonde a few racks away began to squirm and sob in her straps. “No, no,” she begged. But she was not being shown the mercy for which she pleaded.

  “What of the House of Andronicus?” I asked.

  “Gone,” she said, “burned, its slaves and personnel fled or taken.”

  “What of the Lady Gina?” I asked. I remembered her with some fondness.

  “Shackled,” she said, “in the food tent, where she waits upon men.”

  “Do you think she enjoys serving them?” I asked.


  “They enjoy having her serve them,” she said, angrily.

  “Doubtless,” I said. “Do you recall the slave, Lola, of the House of Andronicus?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I do not know her fate.” Lola and Tela had been the girls who had first taught me Gorean. They had been the first Gorean slave girls I had ever seen. I had never forgotten my first sight of them. That such women could exist and be slaves had been a stunning and welcome revelation to me of certain of the realities of Gor.

  “You had an assistant,” I said, “a superb actress, who, pretending to be a mere Earth-girl slave, even to the collar and Ta-Teera, well prepared me for my sale in your market.”

  “The Lady Tendite,” she said. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Yes, she,” I said. “She well made a fool of me.”

  “Please, don’t, Jason!”

  “I believed her,” I said.

  “Jason,” she begged. “No!”

  “I believed her,” I said, “completely.”

  “I am completely helpless, Jason,” she said. “Please have mercy on me!”

  “The sale must have been amusing,” I said.

  “Your hands!” she wept.

  “Did you plan it together?” I asked. “Your body seems smaller and more helpless than I remembered it,” I observed.

  “Yes, yes,” she sobbed, “but it was her original plan, her ideas. She thought it would be amusing to do it to you.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “Please stop touching me,” she begged.

  Suddenly, a few racks away, the blonde, throwing her head back, and rearing helplessly in her straps, screamed her submission.

  The Lady Tima shuddered, and then, suddenly, lifted herself to me. But my hand did not quite touch her.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “She fled early from Vonda,” she said. “She went to Lara. Please do not stop touching me.”

  “Are you prepared to beg to be touched?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “I beg it!”

  “How do these things work?” I asked, looking at the rack.

  “Jason, please!” she whispered.

  “I note that you are not yet branded,” I said, “nor, I suppose, are these others.”

  “Jason!” she pleaded.

  “Speak,” I said.