Kajira of Gor (58 page)

madness! But I could not drive you from my mind! Ever more hotly burned the

flames of my passion! And you are not even free!”

“No,” I said, suddenly, angrily. “I am not even free!”

“A slave!” he said.

“Yes!” I said. “A slave!”

“Gloat, Slave,” said he, “for you, with your wiles, and your insidious beauty,

have brought a soldier, and a free man, low.”

“Punish me,” I said. “You own me.”

“Do not fear,” he said. “You will be punished, for CorCyrus, and for your

insolence.”

“Even now,” he said, “still, when you are helpless, in my ropes, I find you

exquisitely desirable, exquisitely beautiful.”

“Thank you, Master,” I whispered.

“You ruin me,” he said. “You tear me apart!” I put down my head, frightened.

“You make me a slave!” he cried. “It is I who am the slave,” I said. “I hate’

you!” he cried.

“I do not think so,” I said.

“As Sheila, who was the true Tatrix of Corcyrus, was to Ligurious, so, too, are

you to me!” he said.

“No!” I said. “There is a great difference!”

“What?” he demanded.

“I love you I” I said.

“Sly, clever slave!” he sneered.

“I do love you!” I cried.

“Cunning, insidious slut,” he said. “You fear for your own hide! You know that

you are now, at least, within my power. You fear that it will be done to you as

you deserve, that you A ~ill be thrown to sleen!”

“No!” I wept.

“Sweat and squirm now, luscious slut,” he said. “Cry out your love for me.

Perhaps I will be moved to be merciful, and keep you as the lowest and most

worthless slave on Gor!”

“I do love you!” I wept.

“Lying slave!” he cried. He leapt across the room, and, with the flat of his

hand, savagely, struck me from my knees. My right shoulder struck the tiles. I

tasted blood in my mouth. I lay there, bound, frightened. It had been only a

slap, but I felt as though my head might have been almost taken from me. I was

awe-stricken. I had not realized how strong he’ was. What if he had truly struck

me? I knew I must obey him with perfection.

“On your back,” he said, “knees raised, heels on the floor.” I then lay before

him, in a standard, supine capture position.

“You look well at my feet, Slut,” he said.

“Thank you, Master,” I said.

“Have you reconsidered the telling of truth?” he asked.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Lying slut!” he hissed. He then, with the side of his foot, kicked me. I

recoiled, crying out. I would doubtless, for several days, bear a fine bruise

there, evidence of his displeasure.

I turned to my side. I put down my head. I kissed the foot that had kicked me.

Then I returned to my former position.

He turned away from me and went to the other chair in the room, a curule chair,

with ornate, curved arms. I, my head turned to the side, watched him. He sat

down in the chair, his hands on the arms, and regarded me.

“Should you not be on your knees, Slut?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said. I struggled to my knees and knelt, facing him.

He regarded me. He seemed weary.

“And thus it is,” he said, “that slaves conquer warriors.”

“It is I who am conquered, Master,” I told him, “not you.”

“You make me weak,” he said, wearily.

“Unbind me,” I suggested, smiling, “and I will make you strong.”

“She-sleen,” he smiled.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He looked to one side of the room, moodily, lost in thought. “How strange has

been the course of events,” he said. “I took you for a Tatrix, and my enemy.

Then, as it pleased you, in the fullness of feminine cruelty, when I could not

have you, when you thought me a mere guard, you amused yourself with me,

taunting me with your beauty, torturing me with desire. Now, months later, you

have come into my power, as my naked slave.”

He turned his head slowly towards me. Then he regarded me, slowly, fully, every

bit of me.

“Are you well roped?” be asked.

“I am roped perfectly, and am absolutely helpless,” I said. “It was done to me

by Drusus Rencius, of Ar, my master.”

“It is a suitable answer,” he said.

I was silent.

“Perhaps I will keep you,” he said.

“Do, please;” I said. I loved him.

“If I keep you,” he said, “you will be kept as a slave. Do you understand what

that means, my dear?”

“Yes, Master,” I said. I would be kept in the absolute perfections of Gorean

slave discipline. I would have to be perfect for him, in all ways. I shuddered.

“Do you believe it?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“That is well,” he said, “for it is true.” “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“You seem to be afraid,” he said. “I am,” I said.

“But you were not before,” he said. “No,” I said.

“But you are now?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Now I sense, as I did not before, that you are strong enough to control me, and

to punish me, terribly, if I do wrong, or am not fully pleasing.”

“Believe it,” he said, quietly.

“I do!” I said.

“I wonder if you will make a good slave,” he-said. “I will try my best, Master,”

I said.

Then he continued to look at me, appraising me. I straightened my body.

How marvelous it must be for a man, I thought, to have such absolute power over

a woman, to have her so subjected to him, even to having her in the perfection

of his bonds. And how marvelous it was for me, too, to know myself so much his,

to know myself, willlessly, eagerly, at his pleasure. And what woman does not

want a man a thousand times more than she, one to whom she must submit, one whom

she must fear, one whom she must love?

I looked at him.

“It is different from Corcyrus, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

He looked away, again, again seemingly lost in thought.

“May I speak?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Is it truly so tragic, to care for a slave, just a little?” I asked.

“You have done enough,” he said. “Do not seek further to make a fool of me.”

I was silent.

He put his head down, in his hands.

How painful, complex and subtle can be the relationships between human beings. I

tried to understand how he must view me. He saw me, it seemed, as one who, if

she were free, and immune from punishment, and held power, would torment and

scorn him, exploiting him, despising him, amusing herself with him. As far as I

knew I had done little to provoke these feelings, at least until he had refused

my advances. I had given him reason, to be sure, in Corcyrus, to believe me

contemptible and petty. I had made certain Earth values, to his irritation,

clear to him, such as an amoral expediency and a mockery of honor. My smallness,

my contemptibility, I had unwittingly flaunted before him, regarding such

things, at that time as signs of my depth and cleverness. Too, he seemed to find

me, in some way, and I did not fully understand it, maddeningly desirable. This

had to do, it seemed, with some unusual and subtle relationship between us.

These things, doubtless in part because of his pride and self-image’, his

reluctance to accept tenderness, his fear of feeling and sentiment, his lofty

conceptions of the attitudes and behaviors proper to his caste, had driven him

half mad with frustration. Yet, too, he had, with Menicius, risked his life in

the camp of Miles to free me, and he had sought desperately to protect and

defend me in the inquiry with Claudius and the high council. It was clear, I

think, he cared for me deeply.’ In all this, of course, he regarded me as little

more than a curvaceous, scheming slave, one who did ‘not care for him, but one

who, to protect herself, would do anything, even pretend falsely to love. He did

not know I truly loved him.

I resolved upon a bold plan. I would attempt to get him to cure himself of the

false Sheila, that the way might then be open for a poor, nameless slave who so

much loved him.

“Free me,” I said, angrily, pulling at the ropes. A He looked at me.

“Free yourself,” he said.

“I cannot!” I said.

“Why do you wish to be freed?” he asked. A “I do not love you!” l said.

“Now, at last, you speak the truth,” he said.

“Not only do I not love you,” I cried, “but I hate you! I despise you! I hold

you in contempt as a ~iteous weakling! I always have!”

He smiled.

“I am tired of trying to fool you,” I said. “Now, free me!”

“Why should I free you?” he asked.

“Because I am a free woman!” I said.

“That is ~not true,” he said. “I saw you’ jerk in the’ hands of ú the ‘soldier.”

“I could not help myself,” I said.

“Only a natural slave could not have helped herself,” he said.

“I do not want to belong to, you,” I said.

“I have an alternative in mind,” he said. “I think I shall ú give you to the

department of the mines. There, naked and yoked, you shall carry water.”

“No!” I cried.

“Do you beg to be kept in my collar?” he asked. “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“Then we shall let it stand at that, shan’t we?” he asked. “Yes, Master,” I

said. I had not counted on the possibility of being sent to the mines.

I knelt back in the ropes. I looked at Dri~su’s Rencius. He was quite capable, I

realized, suddenly, of sending me to the mines. I did not want that to happen.

Too, ‘looking at him then, I saw him suddenly not only as a man I loved but,

also, independently, as a strong and powerful master. I found, then, that I had

squirmed in the ropes, inadvertently, reflexively, my thighs moving. I hoped

that he had not noticed.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing!” I said. I felt the heat of the slave in me. I hoped he could not

detect the signs in my body~ I hoped he could not smell me.

He was silent.

“May I speak?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“I gather,” I said, “that, you intend to keep me.”

“At least for a time,” he said.

“I presume,” I said, “that at least one of the purposes for Which you purchased

me was to make use of me.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“I am ready,” I said. “Begin my slavery.”

He regarded me, not speaking.

“You see me in a collar,” I said, angrily. “You know what a collar does to a

woman!”

He smiled.

“I have been owned,” I said. “I have had masters. They have made me this way!”

“So men do have their vengeance,” he said. “The scheming beauty is needful.”

“Yes!” I said. “Speak clearly,” he said. “I am needful,” I said.

“You are more than needful,” he said.

“You may or may not believe I love you,” I said, “but about my arousal, my need,

there is no disputing.”

“That is true,” he said. “You are obviously, now, a needful slave.”

“Please,” I begged.

He left the chair and, crouching beside me, not hurrying, freed me of the ropes.

“Touch neither me nor yourself,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I moaned. My body was flaming with

He regarded me for a few moments. I moaned.

Then, for a brief moment, he took me in his arms. His hand was upon me,

intimately. “I love you! I love you! I love youl” I cried, jerking in his hands,

pressing against him, trying ~o cover him with kisses.

“Stop,” he said. “To your belly.”

Then I was on my belly, on the tiles, my hands at the sides of my head, prone,

before his curule chair. He resumed his seat.

I lifted my head and upper body, wildly, agonized, to regard him.

“You are a hot slave,” he said.

I regarded him wildly, pathetically, unbelievingly, speechlessly.

“Do you beg a man’s touch?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “yes!”

“Then beg,” he said.

“I beg your touch,” I wept. “I beg your touch! Please touch me, Master! I beg

it!”

“Truly?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I beg your touch, truly, Master! I beg it, truly! Please, touch

me, Master! Please! Please!”

“No,” he said.

I collapsed then to the tiles, sobbing, helpless, quivering with need.

“And thus,” said he, “may a hated slave be denied.”

I then became aware that he had left his chair, that he was standing near me. to

do go, do little to assuage the almost intolerable ‘passions he had aroused in

me. I looked at him, piteously. He laughed, and left. Then I was kneeling there,

bewildered, alone, chained. I was a slave I must await his return. He did not,

of course, tell me where he was going or when he would be back.

“You understand, do you not,” he asked, “that this is a symbolic re-enactment

and that it in no way compromises your slavery?”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“For example,” he said, “for your treatment of me in CorCyrus, and for various

insolences, and lapses, you must still answer to me, and to my whip.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“You are now dressed, are you not,” he asked, “fully in the garments of the

Tatrix, even to the nature, the subtlety and delicacy of the undergarments?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And beneath those,” he said, “in the eccentric undergarments of Earth, in

garments similar to those which you, a barbarian, doubtless once wore there?” ú

“Yes,” I said. These undergarments had once’ belonged to Sheila. They had been,

brought to Argentum by Menicius, for the inquiry. I supposed that now,