Kajira of Gor (54 page)

With a whimper Sheila was dragged to her feet, pulled forward and, with’ a

rattle of chain, thrown to her knees before Claudius.

“This woman,” said Claudius, pointing to Sheila, “has been proved by evidence

and testimony, both written and oral, to be the former Tatrix of Corcyrus.

Indeed, this fact has been acknowledged, ultimately, even in her own admission.”

He looked down at Sheila. “Who captured you and brought you here, Slave?” he

asked.

“Hassan, of Kasra, Master,” she said.

“The reward, then,” said Claudius, “clearly belongs to Hassan, of Kasra. let it

be brought!”

An officer left the room. Hassan came’ forward, about the tables, to stand near

the kneeling slave. In a few moments the officer had returned. He carried a

heavy, bulging sack over his shoulder which he lowered gently, heavily, to the

floor before the table. It must have weighed between ninety and one hundred

pounds.

“In this sack,” said Claudius, “carefully counted, but assure yourself of the

matter, are fifteen hundred pieces of gold, stamped staters of Argentum,

certified by the mint of the Ubar.”

Hassan looked down at Sheila.

“Shall scales be brought?” asked Claudius. “We will take no offense. If any

discrepancy be found, perhaps the result of some inadvertence, we shall see that

it is made good.”

“No,” said Hassan. “Weights and balances, the chains and pans, need not be

fetched forth.”

“Accept then the reward,” said Claudius. “You have well earned it.”

“What fate do you intend for this woman?” asked Hassan.

‘Claudius shrugged. “The mounting for the impaling spear has already been

prepared,” he said.

“The spear itself has been sharpened and polished.”

“Fifteen hundred gold pieces,” said Hassan, “seems a great deal of’ money for a

mere slave.”

“It was you yourself, as I understand it,” smiled Claudius, “who ‘neck-ringed

her and, shortly thereafter, with a blazing iron, marked her slave.”

Hassan smiled. “I seem to recall something to that effect,” he said, He looked

down at Sheila.

“Are you a slave?” he asked.

“Yes, my master,” she said, “and only you know how much a slave.”

I was thrilled to hear her say this. Every woman, in her deepest heart, wants to

find a man whom she must serve perfectly, a man who will bring out the

fundamental and profound slave in her, a man who will bend her uncompromisingly

and helplessly to his will. In Hassan Sheila, obviously, had found such a man.

“Are you prepared, now,” asked Hassan, “to be turned over to Claudius and the

high council?”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “I ask only, first, to be permitted one last time to

kiss your feet in respect and reverence, and, in doing so, to express, too, my

gratitude for the joy you have given me in these few days you have owned me.

They have been the most precious of my life.” She then, tenderly, kissed his

feet, extending obeisance and love to the man who had made her a slave. There

were tears in my eyes.

Hassan laughed, a roar of a laugh. She looked up, startled.

“Do you truly think I brought you here,” he laughed, “to turn you over to

Claudius and the high council?”

“Of course, Master,” she said. “No!” he laughed.

There were cries of astonishment from those about.

“Kiss my feet fifteen hundred times, you luscious baggage,” he laughed, “at

least once for every gold piece you are costing me!”’

“Yes, Master,” she cried, startled, putting down her head.

“This woman was the Tatrix of Corcyrus, was she not?” laughed Hassan.

“Yes,” said Claudius, startled. “That has been established, even by her own

admissions.”

“And I have, thus, earned the reward, fully and clearly, if I should wish it?”

asked Hassan.

“Certainly,” said Claudius, puzzled.

“That is all I wanted,” said Hassan. “Indeed, it is all I ever wanted.”

“I do not understand,” said Claudius.

“For years,” said Hassan, “I have heard of the Tatrix of Corcyrus, of her

tyranny, of her fabled pride and beauty. I found such a woman intriguing. Then,

wonder of wonders, she fell. None could find her. I was curious to know what it

would be like to have such a woman in my collar, a fair skinned, golden-haired

Tatrix of the north, to make her crawl, and cry and serve, to make her a man’s

woman.”

I looked at Sheila. She was weeping with joy at his feet, kissing them, and his

ankles and legs. “I love you, Master,” she wept.

“So I captured her and made her a slave, mine,” said Hassan.

“It was never your intention, then, to deliver her to us?” asked a member of the

high council.

“No,” said Hassan. “Had that been my intention I would not have removed her

virginity from her and enslaved her.”

“Had you never any doubts on this matter?” asked a man.

“Had I any,” smiled Hassan, “they disappeared the instant I saw her. I knew then

I would keep her for my own slave.”

“But why did you bring her here?” asked a man.

“That you might see her humbled and helpless, and for my own glory,” said

Hassan.

“It is pleasing to see the former Tatrix of Corcyrus as a humbled slave,” said a

man.

“Yes” said Hassan.

“What if we take her from you?” asked a man.

“You will not do so,” said Hassan. “That would be theft”

“But what of her crimes?” asked a man.

“Those were the crimes of a free woman,” said Hassan. “She is no longer a free

woman. She is now only a slave.”

“I love you, my master,” whispered the slave, her head at his feet.

“Sheila,” said Hassan.

“Yes, Master,” she said, lifting her bead.

“You may continue your obeisances and services in the privacy of my chambers,”

he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She rose to her feet, her head humbly lowered.

“Conduct her to my quarters,” said Hassan to a soldier, he who held the key to

her chains, “and chain her to the slave ring at the foot of my couch.”

The soldier glanced to Claudius, and then nodded. “Come, Slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, and was conducted from the room.

It has been an interesting evening,” said Hassan, lifting his hand to the

assemblage. “I wish you all well!”

We, too, wish you well, Hunter,” said Claudius.

“Hail, Hassan!” called a man.

“Hail, Hassan!” called others.

The men rose from about the tables, saluting and applauding Hassan. He, lifting

his hands, and turning, waving to them, took his leave from the hall. I think he

was eager to begin the instructions of a slave.

Men, then, in twos and threes, began to take their leave. Menicius stood before

me. He put out his hands and I lifted my chained wrists to him. He took my hands

and turned them over, looking at the snug wrist rings locked on them.

“If I had my tools,” he said, “I could have these off of you in a matter of

Ehn.”

I looked up at him, startled. I knew, of course, that he was of the metal

workers.

“But without a key, or such help, you are absolutely helpless in them, aren’t

you?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He smiled.

“You!” I said. “It was you who freed me in the camp of Miles of Argentum!”

“Once,” he said, “you spared my life, in Corcyrus. It seemed only fitting, then,

that I might, if it were within my power, grant you some small favor In return.”

“But how could you have gained entrance into the camp,” I said. “And there were

two of you.”

There was another, as well, one who must have had influence, one who must have

been trusted, one who must have been more highly placed.

I saw Drusus Rencius looking at me.

“You,” I whispered. “It was you!”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“But you are an officer of Ar,” I said. “How could you do such a thing?”

He looked at me, angrily. “I know you,” he said. “Whatever might be your

frailties, your weaknesses, your pettinesses, your cruelties, I could not

believe you were guilty of the crimes of the Tatrix of Corcyrus. Such things I

could not believe were In you. Thus, I did not free the Tatrix of Corcyrus.

Rather, to prevent a miscarriage of justice, I assisted in the escape of an

innocent woman. In this sense I could even regard my act as having been

performed in the line of duty.”

“You did not know, truly,” I said, “that I was not the Tatrix, nor that I could

not be guilty of such crimes. Indeed, in Corcyrus, you even identified me,

explicitly, as the Tatrix!”

His face clouded with anger.

“Your motivations were more complex,” I said, “and deeper, and more painful and

more cruel. I was not within your province to determine my innocence or guilt.

That responsibility was that of Claudius, the Ubar of Argentum, and the high

council. In no way was it incumbent on you to risk your commission, your future,

your honor, your life, on what must at best have been little more than a remote

possibility.”

He regarded me with fury.

My heart leapt with joy. “You love me!” I whispered. “You love me!”

I feared for a moment he might strike me. But he did not do so. I was another

man’s slave.

“I love you, Master!” I wept. “I have loved you from the beginning, when I first

met you!”

He regarded me, wildly. Then be sneered, “Lying slave!”

“No, Master!” I protested. “I love you! I do love you! I love you with my whole

heart!”

“What is going on here?” asked Miles of Argentum, coming over.

“Nothing,” said Drusus Rencius

Menicius was smiling.

Miles of Argentum took the key to my chains from the soldier who had held it. He

freed me of those stern impediments, so suitable for the confinement of women

such as I slaves.

“Slave,” said he.

“Yes, my master,” I said.

“Go to the quarters of my women,” he said.

“Yes, my master,” I said and, tears in my eyes, fled to the quarters of his

women.

34
  
 
Ligurious Is Served By Two Slaves

I lay naked on the couch of Ligurious, in the palace in Argentum. His touch had

already reduced me, more than once, to a quivering slave.

“Wine,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said, and struggled up, turning. fetched him the goblet from a

small, low table near the couch and, in a moment, after kissing the goblet, head

down, kneeling, arms extended, proffered it to him. He sipped a bit of the wine,

a Ka-la-na of Ar, and then returned the goblet to me. I kissed it again, and

then replaced it on the table. With a gesture he indicated that I might once

again crawl onto the couch. This was the last evening Ligurious was to spend In

Argentum.

In the morning he was to receive safe conduct from’ the city. I had been

assigned to serve him tonight, in accord with the generosity of Gorean masters.

Another girl, too, was to serve him, but I did not know who she was.

There was a knock at the door.

“Kneel, and grasp your ankles,” he said.

I did so. I was then helpless, bound by his will.

He went to the door and opened it

A slave was there. She was. naked., her hands were behind her back. About her

neck, tied, was a key, doubtless to her bracelets, and a whip. There’ were’ two

guards at the portal, but they were those who had been guarding it. The girl had

apparently come alone through the hails to the portal, obediently, as I had.

Ligurious indicated that she should enter. She did, and he closed, and locked,

the door behind her.

He freed her of the bracelets and tossed them, and the key, to the side. He then

removed the whip from about her neck. He regarded her. Their eyes met.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Kneel, Slave,” said Ligurious, defining the relationship between them.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Is that the fashion in which I have my women kneel before me?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Master,” she said, and put her head down to the tiles before him,

the palms of her hands flat on the floor.

“Lift your head,” he said. She did so.

“Kiss the whip,” he said. “Again, lingeringly!”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Now lick and kiss it,” he said. “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

He then hurled the whip from him. It slid back across the tiles, until it

stopped, at the door.

“Fetch,” he said.

The girl, on her hands and knees, went to the whip. She put down her head at the

heavy, locked door and picked up the whip, delicately, in her teeth. She then,

the whip in her teeth, turned from the door and, head down, on her hands and

knees, returned to the center of the room.

“Kneel,” he said, “in the position of the pleasure slave.” She knelt, then, back

on her heels, her knees spread widely, her back straight, her shoulders back,

her belly sucked in, her head up, her hands on her thighs. Between her teeth was

the staff of the whip.

“Whip,” said Ligurious.

She gave him the whip, extending her head towards him, opening her mouth,

letting him take it from between, her teeth. She then, unbidden, resumed the

erect, graceful, beautiful position of the Gorean pleasure slave.

He shook out the blades of the whip and dangled them before her eyes.

She swallowed, hard.

“Face that direction,” said Ligurious, pointing.