Kajira of Gor (8 page)
Authors: John Norman
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy, #Adventure, #Erotica
In such a garment, lovely, clinging, short, closely belted, there was no doubt
that I was a woman.
“Mistress is beautiful!” said the girl.
“Thank you,” I said. I turned, back and forth, looking at myself in the mirror.
I adjusted the belt, making it a little tighter. The girl smiled.
“Are such garments typical of this place?” I asked.
“Does Mistress mean,” asked the girl, “that here sexual differences are clearly
marked by clothing, that here sexual differences are important and not blurred,
that men and women dress differently here?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “The answer is ‘Yes,’ Mistress.”
“Sexuality is important here, then?” I said.
“Yes, Mistress,” she said. “Here sexuality is deeply and fundamentally
important, and here women are not men, and men are not women. The sexes are
quite different, and here each is true to itself.”
“Oh,” I said.
“By means of different garbs, then,” she said, “it is natural that these
important and fundamental differences be marked, the garbs of men being
appropriate to their nature, for example, to their size and strength, and those
of women to their nature, for example, to their softness and beauty.”
“I see,” I said. I was a bit frightened. In this place, I gathered, the fact
that I was a woman was not irrelevant to what I was. That I was a woman was, I
gathered, at least in this place, something fundamentally important about me.
This fact would be made clear about me even by the clothing which I wore. I
glanced at the wardrobe. Deceit and subterfuge, I suspected, were not in those
fabrics. They were such, I suspected, as would mark me as a woman and even
proclaimed me as such. How would I f are in such a place, I wondered, where it
might be difficult to conceal or deny my sex. How terrified I was at the thought
that I might have to be true to my sex, that I might have little choice here but
to be what I was, a woman, and wholly. I looked in the mirror.
That is what I am here, I thought, a woman.
There was a sudden, loud knock at the door.
I cried out, startled. The girl turned white, and then, facing the door,
immediately dropped to her knees. She cried out something, frightened. The door
opened.
A large man stood framed in the doorway. He seemed agile and strong. He glanced
about. His eyes seemed piercing.’
He had broad shoulders and long arms. His hair was cut rather short, and was
brown, flecked with gray. He wore a white tunic, trimmed in red. He looked at me
and I almost fainted. It was something in his eyes. I knew I had never seen a
man like this before. There was something different about him, from all other
men I had seen. It was almost as though a lion had taken human form.
“It is Ligurious, my Master,” said the girl, her head now down to the floor, the
palms of her hands on the tiles.
I swallowed hard, and then tried, desperately, to meet the man’s gaze. I must
show him that I was a true person.
“Get on the bed,” he said. His voice had an accent. I could not place it.
I fled to the bed and crept obediently upon it.
He came to the edge of the bed and looked down at me. I half Jay, half crouched
on the bed. I was very conscious of the shortness of the robe I wore.
He said something to Susan and she sprang up and came to the edge of the bed. He
said something else to her. I did not understand the language, or even recognize
it.
“He says he thinks you will prove quite suitable,” she said to me, in English.
“For what?” I begged.
“I do not know, Mistress,” she said.
“Get on your back,” he said.
Immediately, obediently, I lay supine before him.
“Raise your right knee, and extend your left leg,” he said, palms of your hands
at your sides, facing upward.”
I immediately assumed this position. I felt very vulnerable, particularly,
interestingly, as the palms of my hands were exposed. I began to breathe deeply.
I was terrified. I also realized, suddenly, that I was very aroused, sexually,
obeying him.
The man glanced to the side. He said something to the girl.
“He notes that you have not touched your breakfast,” she said.
I moaned. I hoped that he was not displeased. It had been safe to displease the
men I had hitherto known, or most of them. They might be displeased with
impunity. I was afraid, however, to displease this man. I did not think he would
accept being displeased. He, I was sure, would simply punish me, and well. He
might even kill me.
He looked down at me.
I was much aroused. I whimpered. I expected him to rape me. I was even eager to
be raped, anything to please him.
I felt his hand take my ankle. I was so charged with sensation that I almost
fainted at the touch. Then I became aware that his grip was like steel. Then I
saw him take a string from about his neck. On this string there was a tiny key.
Startled, I felt the key inserted in the lock on my anklet. Then the anklet was
removed. I lay trembling on the bed.
He stood there then, looking down at me, the anklet, string and key in his hand.
I then realized, partly in relief, and, in a part of me, with disappointment,
that I was not then, or at least not then, to be raped. I was not then to feel
his strong hands on me, forcing me, as a woman, imperiously to his win.
“May I speak?” I whispered.
‘Yes,” he said.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Who is she? Where am I? What am I doing here? What do
you want of me?”
“I am Ligurious, first minister of Corcyrus,” be said. “She is unimportant. Her
name is Susan. She is a slave.”
“No,” I said. “I mean, who is Ligurious? Who are you? I have never beard of
you.”
“You need know little more of me than that I am the first minister of Corcyrus,”
he said.
I looked at him. He must have some connection, of course, with the men who had
come to my apartment. He had a key for the anklet.
“Where am V’ I asked.
“In Corcyrus,” he said.
“But where is Corcyrus?” I begged. “I do not even know in what part of the world
I aml”
He looked at me, puzzled.
The girl said something to him. He smiled.
“Am I in Africa?” I asked. “Am I in Asia?”
“Have you not noticed subtle differences in the gravity here,” he asked, “from
what you have been accustomed to? Have you not noticed that the air here seems
somewhat different from that with which you have hitherto been familiar?”
“I have seemed to notice such things,” I said, “but I was drugged in my
apartment, Obviously such sensations are delusory, merely the effects of that
drug.”
“The drug,” be said, “does not produce such effects.”
“What are you telling me?” I asked, frightened.
“After a short while,” he said, “you will no longer think of these things. You
will not even notice them, or, at least, not consciously. You will have made
your adjustments and accommodations. You will have become acclimated, so to
speak. At most you may occasionally become aware that you are now experiencing a
condition of splendid vitality and health.”
“What are you telling me?” I asked, frightened.
“This is not Earth,” be said. “This is another planet.”
I regarded him, disbelievingly.
“Does this seem to be Earth to you?” he asked.
“No,” I whispered.
“Does this seem to be a room of Earth to you?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
“You have been brought here by spaceship,” he said.
I could not speak.
“The technology involved is more sophisticated, more advanced, than that with
which you are familiar,” be said.
“But you speak English,” I -said. “She speaks Englishl”
“I have learned some English,” he said. “She, however, speaks it natively.” He
turned to the girl. He said something to her.
“I have been given permission to speak,” she said. “I am from Cincinnati, Ohio,
Mistress,” she said.
“She was brought to this world more than two years ago,” he said.
“My original name was Susan,” she said. “My last name does not matter. When I
became a slave, of course, my name was gone. Animals do not have names, except
as their masters might choose to name them. The name ‘Susan’ was again put upon
me, but now, of course, I have it only as a slave name.”
“Why was she brought here?” I asked.
“For the usual reason for which an Earth female is brought here,” he said.
“What is that?” I asked.
“To be a slave,” he said.
He then turned to the girl and said something. She nodded.
He then turned again to me. “You may break position,” he said.
I rolled to my stomach on the couch, clutching at it. I shuddered.
I was not on Earth.
“Why” have I been brought here?” I asked. “To be a slave, to be branded, to wear
a collar, to serve some man as though he might be my master.”
“He would be your master,” said the man, very evenly, very quietly, very
menacingly.
I nodded, frightened. It was true, of course. If I were a slave then he who was
my master would indeed be my master, and totally. I could be owned as
completely, and easily, as Susan, or any other woman.
“But I think you will be pleased to learn what we have in store for you,” he
said.
“What?” I asked, turning to my side, pulling the robe down on my thighs.
“In time,” he said, “I think things will become clearer to you.”
“I see,” I said.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asked.
I half rose up on the couch, my left leg under me, my palms on the surface of
the couch. “Am I still a virgin?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
This pleased me. I would not have wished to have lost my virginity while
unconscious. A girl would at least like to be aware of it when it happens. Too,
I was pleased because I thought that the possession of my virginity might make
me somehow more valuable. Perhaps I could use it somehow to improve my position
in this world. Perhaps I could somehow use it as a prize which I might award for
gain, or as a bargaining device in some negotiation in which I might be
involved. Then I looked into the eyes of Ligurious, fix minister of Corcyrus. I
shuddered. I realized then that my virginity, on this world, was nothing, and
that it might simply be taken from me, rudely and peremptorily, whenever men
might please.
Ligurious then turned and left the room. As he had left the room, though be had
scarcely noticed her, Susan had knelt, with her head to the tiles. She now rose
to her feet.
“Earlier,” I said, “your master, when beside the couch, said something to you.
What was it?”
“it is his desire,” she said, “that you eat.”
I quickly left the couch and went to the small table, on which the tray reposed.
I did not wish to displease Ligurious.
He was the sort of man who was to be obeyed, immediately and perfectly.
I loosened my robe and sat down, cross-legged, on the cushion before the table.
I picked up a piece of the yellow bread.
“Oh, no, Mistress,” said the girl, putting out her hand.
“That is how men sit. We are women. We kneel.”
“I will sit,” I told her.
“Mistress understands, surely,” said the girl, in misery, “that I must make
reports to Ligurious, my master.”
“I will kneel,” I said.
“That is much more lovely,” said the girl, approvingly.
I then began to eat, kneeling. This posture, to be sure, though I do not think I
would have admitted it to the girl, did strike me as being much more feminine
than that which I had earlier adopted. Certainly, at least, it made me feel much
more feminine. I wondered if there was a certain rightness to women kneeling.
Certainly we look beautiful, kneeling. ‘Me posture, too, at least if we are
permitted to keep our knees closed, permits us a certain modest reserve with
respect to our intimacies. Too, it is a position which one may assume easily and
beautifully, and from which it is possible to rise with both beauty and grace.
To be sure, the position does suggest not only beauty and grace but also
submissiveness.
This thought troubled me. But then I thought that if women should be submissive,
then, whatever might be the truth in these matters, such postures would be
appropriate and natural for them. In any event, the posture did make me feel
delicately and exquisitely feminine. I was somewhat embarrassed, to be sure, by
these feelings. Then it suddenly seemed absurd to me that I should be
embarrassed, or should feel guilty or ashamed, about these feelings. I think I
then realized, perhaps for the first time, fully, the power of the conditioning
devices to which I had been subjected. How strange, and pernicious, I thought,
that a woman should be made to feel guilty about being feminine, truly feminine,
radically feminine! What a tribute this was to the effectiveness of contemporary
conditioning techniques! In the world from which I came sexuality was not an
ingredient but an accessory. Here, on the other hand, I suspected, men and women
were not the same.
Indeed, it seemed that here I would be expected to assume certain postures and
attitudes, and genuinely feminine ones, perhaps merely because I was a woman. In
this world it seemed that sexuality, and perhaps a deeply natural sexuality, was