Captive of Gor (10 page)

yellow loaf of bread, which we ate with our hands; then, before each of us, on

the grass, he guards threw a large piece of cooked meat. I was famished and,

burning my fingers, I (pg. 66) clutched at it, and, half-choking, thrust it half

into my mouth, tearing at it with my teeth and hands, the juices running at the

sides of my mouth. I think few of my friends would have recognized the

sophisticated, tasteful Elinor Brinton in the naked Gorean slave girl, chained,

kneeling on the grass, thrusting meat into her mouth, tearing at it, her head

back in ecstasy, feeding the juices of the men running on her body. It was only

roast bosk, and half raw, but I devoured it. No delicate, sauced portion of

filet mignon which I had savored in any Parisian restaurant compared to the hot,

steaming chunk of bosk, half raw, running with juices, that I had seized from

the grass of a Gorean field, beside the wagon of a slaver.

Following our meal we were taken to a nearby stream where we washed ourselves. I

was reluctant to enter the water but, at a word from Targo, I immersed myself,

shuddering, teeth chattering, in the swift, chill stream. In a few moments I

became accustomed to the water, and soon was reluctant to leave it. I, following

the other girls, washed my hair, as well as my body. Some of the girls, to my

amazement, began to play, splashing water on one another. They were laughing. No

one paid me attention, save that I, like the others, was always under the eye of

a guard. I was lonely. I approached Ute, but she turned away. She had not

forgotten that I had tried to shirk in the harness. When I was permitted I left

the water and sat on the grass, my chin on my knees, alone.

On the bank Targo beamed. He liked to see his girls happy. I supposed, idly,

that a happy girl was easier to sell. The guards, too, seemed in a good humor.

They called out things to the girls which made them squeak and fume, and the

girls, laughing, called back things to them, uncomplimentary I gathered, which

made them laugh, and slap their knees in amusement. One girl splashed water on

the one-eyed, grizzled guard and he plunged into the water and, to the laughter

of all, gave her a good ducking. When she came up sputtering and he, shivering,

soaking wet in his clothes, emerged from the stream, even I laughed. Then the

girls (pg. 67) were called from the water, to dry their hair. They knelt in a

circle, laughing and talking.

They did not notice me. I had been forgotten.

When the grizzled, one-eyed guard returned to the bank, now clad in dry clothes,

the girls cried out to him, pleading with him, and he leapt into the center of

the circle and began, wildly, to regale them with some narrative, which seemed

to require much gesticulation. It must have been hilarious, for they squealed in

amusement. Even I smiled, to see him leaping about, his arms waving, his face

first transformed with mock horror and then, at last, after a wild stroke, as

though with a spear, transfigured with a mock triumphal ecstasy.

The girls howled with laughter, and slapped their left shoulders with the palms

of their right hands. He bowed to them and, gravely, left the circle. They

continued to slap their shoulders with pleasure. He shook his head regally,

however, and would not re-enter the circle. I say Lana glance in my direction.

Then, she leapt to her feet, to the center of the circle, and she cried out to

Targo, oh so prettily, and held out her hands to him. He smiled, and said

something to one of his ginning men. To my anger, the clothes that had been

taken from me was brought to the circle.

Lana, not without some difficulty, drew them on.

How beautiful she was in my clothing! She wore them better than I!

Then Targo, protesting, was pulled by two squealing girls to the center of the

circle. Then, Lana, imperiously, began to upbraid him. I did not care for her

performance. The girls, however, seemed to relish it with uncontrolled glee.

Lana walked about Targo, crying out at him and gesturing. And she addressed

herself, too, to the other girls, as though laughing at them and mocking them.

Her voice was as haughty and supercilious, as cold, as amused, as commanding, as

that of an empress. She treated them all as though they might be less than the

dirt beneath her feet. She had a way of lifting her head, putting her nose in

the air, turning her face to one side, as though bored, and making a slight (pg.

68) movement of her entire body and especially the right hand, as though she

were irritated beyond all patience, but would try to control herself. The girls

shrieked with laughter. Lana was an excellent mimic. I was furious.

Then the two girls who had pulled Targo to the circle leaped on Lana and

stripped her, throwing her to the grass before Targo. Another girl leaped up and

pretended to beat her while Lana wiggled and squirmed and howled, in mock pain.

Then, when she was released she crawled rapidly to Targo, shuddering, thrust her

head to his feet, seized his foot and began to cover his sandal with kisses.

The girls howled in amusement.

Several of them looked at me, to see my reaction. I looked away.

Targo clapped his hands twice and, once again, there were masters and slave

girls.

A box of combs and brushes were brought. Then the girls, in pairs, began to comb

and brush one another’s hair. Several vied to comb and brush Lana’s hair. I was

given a comb.

Timidly I went to Ute. There were tears in my eyes. I could not even speak her

language. I could not tell her I was sorry that I had shirked in the harness,

trying to let others work for me. I could not even tell her I was desperately

unhappy, that I was lonely. I could not tell her that I wanted her, more than

anything, to be my friend.

In the stream she had rejected me, turning away from me.

I went to Ute, and she turned and looked at me. Timidly, fearing that she might

turn away again, I indicated that I wished to be allowed to comb her hair, if I

might, if it might please her for me to do so.

She looked at me, coldly.

Sobbing, I fell to my knees before her, unable to speak to her, and put my head

to her feet.

They she was kneeling before me, and lifted my head. There were tears, too, in

her eyes.

“El-in-or,” she said, and kissed me.

I wept, and kissed her.

Then she turned, still kneeling, and permitted me to comb (pg. 69) her hair.

When I had finished, she took the comb, and combed mine.

My two favorites among the girls were Ute and Inge, who was of the scribes.

These two names are, in sound at least, German names. Neither of the girls,

however, spoke German, of which I had learned a few words, or French, which I

can speak with some fluency. Both were Gorean girls totally. Neither, of course,

knew English. Many Gorean names are apparently of Earth origin.

Almost immediately Ute, and Inge, as well, began to teach me Gorean.

It took many days to reach the banks of the Laurius.

We encountered four more caravans, and, at each, Targo put forth his display

chain. I was fourth on the chain. I wished Lana would be sold. I hoped that Ute

and Inge would not be.

With these caravans there were slave girls, who would sometimes come to look at

us, with their masters. How I envied them their freedom, unchained, to run and

laugh and walk as they pleased. How beautifully they were in their brief slave

tunics, with the loop on the left shoulder. How smug they were, in their lock

collars, on the arms of their masters, regarding us. How they looked down on us,

kneeling on the grass, fastened in the display chain, naked, unbought girls.

Strangely I gave little thought to the possibility that I might be sold. Once,

however, after I had lifted my head, smiled prettily, and uttered the ritual

phrase of the inspected slave girl, “But me, Master,” my heart nearly stopped.

The man had not continued on. He was still regarding me. Further, with horror, I

realized that he was regarding me with some interest. I could tell by his eyes.

I had a terrible, sinking feeling. I turned white. I wanted to get up and cry

out, and run, dragging wildly at the chain. Then, to my unspeakable relief, he

was no longer in front of me, but was inspecting the next girl. I hear her “Buy

me, Master.” I began to shudder. He also stopped before another girl, the ninth

on the chain. When he had traversed the chain, he returned to stand before me.

It was as though I was made (pg. 70) of wood. I could not meet his eyes. I was

terrified. I could not even repeat, “But me, Master.” He was then further down

the chain again, before the ninth girl. He purchased her. Targo sold two girls

that afternoon. I saw moneys exchange hands. I saw the ninth girl released from

the chain. I saw her kneeling before her buyer, back on her heels, head down,

arms extended, wrists crossed, as though for binding. It was the submission of

the girl to her new master. He put slave bracelets on her, fastening her wrists

together, and put a leash on her throat. I saw him lock the leash to a ring on

the side of his wagon. She wanted to touch him, but he cuffed her away. She

seemed timid, but happy. It had been a long time since she had been owned by a

master. I wondered what it would be like to belong to a man. I shuddered. The

girl knelt in the shade of the wagon until the caravan moved, and then, getting

up, leashed, walked beside the wagon. She turned once, lifting her braceleted

wrists. We waved to her. She seemed happy.

Twice we stopped at palisaded villages, those of simple bosk herders. I liked

these stops, for there we would have fresh bosk milk, still hot, and would have

a roof over our heads for a night, be it only of grass. These villagers would

always spread fresh straw in the hut in which we would be chained for the night.

It smelled clean and dry. I loved to lie on it, after the canvas spread over the

hard boards of the wagons.

Ute and Inge, and Ute in particular, were patient, indefatigable teachers. They

taught me Gorean for hours a day and, of course, I heard nothing but this

language. I soon found myself saying things in Gorean without thinking about it.

I was taught the language as a child is taught, who has no language at his

disposal. Accordingly I learned the language directly and immediately, fluidly,

not as an architecture of grammatical cases and a series of vocabulary lists in

which foreign terms stood matched with English terms. Ute and Inge, not knowing

English, could not have presented me with an abstract structure of

transformations and linguistic equations if they had wished. Knowing no English

themselves, they had no choice but to teach me a (pg. 71) living language, in

life, as practical and concrete as a tool, as expressive and beautiful as

flowers and clouds. It was not long before I caught myself, upon occasion,

thinking in Gorean. And, only some ten days after my lessons had begun, I had my

first dream in which intelligible Gorean was spoken to me and I responded,

spontaneously, without thinking, in the same tongue. Interestingly, it was a

dream in which I had managed to steal a candy and blame Lana, and she was beaten

for it. I enjoyed the dream, but then it seemed Targo was coming for me, with

the straps swinging in his hand. I awakened in a cold sweat, but safely chained

in the wagon, on the canvas. It was raining outside, and I could hear the rain

beat on the squarish roof of red rain canvas stretched over our heads. I could

hear the breathing of the other girls in the wagon. I snuggled down again on the

folded canvas beneath my body and, with a rustle of chain, listening to the

rain, soon feel asleep again. In the beginning my grammer was not particularly

good, but Inge helped me improve it. After a time, I could even detect certain

regional differences in the dialects of the girls and the guards. My vocabulary

would gradually become far more extensive, but I was pleased with myself. In

only a few days, under the intensive tutelage of Ute and Inge, I had, to my

delight and surprise, learned to speak passable Gorean. There was a special

reason, of course, why I was so eager to learn the language. I wished to make

contact with men who could return me to Earth. I was certain that I could, with

my resources on Earth, purchase swift passage back to my home planet.

Once I noted, speaking to Inge, that Ute, regularly, made certain grammatical

errors.

“Yes,” said Inge, matter-of-factly,” she is of the leather workers.”

I then felt superior to Ute. I myself would not make those mistakes. I was

Elinor Brinton.

“I will speak high-caste Gorean,” I told Inge.

“But you are a barbarian,” said Inge.

Briefly I hated her.

I told myself that Inge, with all her pretensions, she (pg. 72) of the scribes,

would still be a chained slave girl, at the beck and call of a master, when I,

Elinor Brinton, was safe on Earth, once again, in my smug penthouse. And Ute,

too! Foolish, stupid little Ute, who could not even speak her own language

correctly! What could that meaningless little thing, pretty as she was, ever be

but a man’s toy? She was a natural slave girl! She belonged in chains. And Inge,