Prize of Gor (75 page)

Again the beast behind her spoke, or growled.

“You were following us,” said one of the men. “You were lurking outside, hiding.”

“Who sent you?” again pressed a man.

“No one, Masters,” said Ellen.

“Let us cut her throat,” said another.

One of the beasts in the circle seemed to growl for a moment.

“You can eat later,” said a man to the beast. “Kardok is hungry,” he said to the group.

“She must be the tool of someone,” said one of the men. “Torture will make her speak.”

“She will not know whose tool she is,” said one of the men, angrily. “Our foes are astute. They will have dealt with her cunningly, she hooded, or they masked.”

One of the beasts regarding Ellen moved its long tongue about its mouth, and about its fangs. Its lower jaw seemed moist.

“Let us kill her,” said another of the men, uneasily.

“It would be difficult to dispose of the body in the camp,” said another.

“Bind her, gag her, take her afield,” said another.

One of the beasts, that which had been regarding Ellen, said something.

“She could be eaten,” said the man whose office it seemed was to interpret the guttural noises of the monsters.

“The bones, snapped apart, splintered, crushed, could be buried,” said one of the men.

“Here within the concealment of the tent,” said another.

“Please, no, Masters!” wept Ellen.

“Do you think your life has value?” asked one of the men.

“It has value to me, Masters,” wept Ellen.

“Yes,” said a man. “Even the life of an urt is precious enough to itself.”

“Surely the life of a slave,” said Mirus, dryly, “may be of some value, however negligible, to masters.”

Ellen cast a wild glance of gratitude at Mirus.

“Do you wish to speak to that point?” Mirus asked her.

“Yes, yes!” cried Ellen.

“Do you beg your life?” asked Mirus.

“Yes, Masters!”

“And do you beg to be permitted to be pleasing, and to serve, in any way, and in all ways?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!”

“In whatever degree of intimacy?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!”

“And as the most meaningless and abject of slaves?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!” cried Ellen.

Then she saw that Mirus was smiling down upon her, contemptuously. How humiliated she felt for a moment, and she put down her head, tears running from her eyes, cruelly shamed. Yes, she had begged as a slave, and had meant every word she had said! What of it? She was a slave!

“Slaves are cheap,” said a man. “We may have such from any slave.”

“Please, Masters,” begged Ellen.

“What have you seen?” asked Mirus.

“Nothing, nothing, Masters!” said Ellen.

Mirus reached down and struck her with the back of his hand, striking her to the rug. Quickly, blood at her lip, tears in her eyes, her face stinging, she scurried to return to position before him. A slave does not dally in such matters. She looked up at him, a cuffed slave.

“I have seen beasts, Masters,” she said. “But I understand nothing of what I have seen!”

“Who sent you?” asked a man, again.

“No one, Master,” Ellen reassured him, once more.

“Many have seen such as our friends here,” said a man, “outside of cages, performing, say, in fairs and circuses.”

One of the beasts growled menacingly.

“Their appearance in such places,” the man continued, “being a useful, and common, disguise, permitting them to travel anywhere, to make suitable contacts, to avoid suspicion, and such.”

The beast crouched back, its anger subsiding.

“Why did you follow us?” asked Mirus.

“I am on an errand, Master, which leads me in this direction.” She put down her head. “Then I saw you, Master.”

“You saw me earlier, in the camp,” said Mirus.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Then you saw me again, and followed me here?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Why?” he asked.

Ellen put down her head, shamed.

“Do you know this slave,” a man asked Mirus.

“Yes,” said Mirus. “It was in my house that she was first marked and collared.”

“You once owned her?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

Ellen kept her head down.

It was true, Mirus had been her first master.

“She is a barbarian, is she not?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

“She has never forgotten you,” laughed a man.

“Did you whip her?” asked another.

“Of course,” said Mirus.

“Did you give her first whipping?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

“They never forget their first whipping,” said one of the men.

“She is an enamored, lovesick slave!” laughed a man, suddenly.

Ellen choked back a sob.

“What a presumptuous slut!” laughed a fellow.

“They will die for their masters,” laughed another.

“Let us kill her,” said one of the men, uneasily.

One of the beasts growled.

“Kardok is hungry,” said the man who seemed to understand the sounds of the beasts.

“Then let us give her to our friends,” said a man.

“They will eat her alive,” said a fellow.

“They are fond of living food, hot and bloody,” said another.

“She would scream,” said another.

“We can bind her pretty mouth shut,” said a man, “so tightly that not a squeak shall pass the binding.”

“Were you truly on an errand?” asked Mirus of the kneeling slave.

“Yes, Master!” said Ellen, fervently.

“Soon, then,” said Mirus, “she will be missed. A search will be made. Tents and belongings will be ransacked.”

“They will not find her,” said a man, quietly.

“But the search will be made, in any event,” said Mirus. “And I, for one, am not eager to find our business, and our friends, the objects of official scrutiny.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the man with the lantern.

“What do you understand of what you have seen?” Mirus asked the kneeling slave.

“I understand nothing of what I have seen, Master,” she said. “I am only an animal, a meaningless, inconsequential beast, a slave, Master!”

“Will you speak of what you have seen?” asked Mirus.

“No, Master! No, Master!” said Ellen.

“Even were you to speak,” said Mirus, “there is nothing here of interest, and it would be pointless to speak of it. We are merely handlers of beasts, as you can see. Such things are familiar enough. Our papers are in order. The beasts are under perfect control, and such.”

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“You understand that?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“I know this slave,” said Mirus. “She is a stupid, plain girl. I brought her here. Personal reasons were involved, no, not what you think, for she is meaningless.”

Ellen regarded him with agony.

“For these personal reasons, reasons of a rather particular nature, it amused me to bring her here, and have her enslaved.”

“Was she troublesome on Earth?” asked one of the men.

Mirus smiled.

“Perhaps she once entered a line, or a door, before you, not invited to do so, but as though it were her right?”

“Perhaps she cast you a haughty glance, or once spoke shortly to you?” suggested another.

Ellen then began to grasp how easily a woman of Earth, and with so little awareness, thinking herself superior and safe, might court the collar of a slave. A movement, a glance, a word, a gesture which might cause no more than a moment’s irritation or disgruntlement to a typical male of Earth, used to such abuse, might have different consequences altogether with another sort of man, a man less tolerant and less accommodating than those on whom she was accustomed to inflict her pettiness and disdain with impunity. “We will come back for her,” might say a Gorean slaver. “That one does not know it but she has just made herself an appointment with the slaving iron.” How differently would a woman of Earth behave before a man, thought Ellen, if she realized that one day she might find herself at his feet, on her belly, stripped and chained, his slave.

“It does not matter,” said Mirus. “The details are unimportant. Let us merely say that, in virtue of these personal reasons, I found it gratifying to have her enslaved, to get her neck in the collar, where it belongs.”

One of the men laughed.

Ellen reddened.

“In any event, I did not keep her,” said Mirus. “I found her boring. One tires of her easily.”

“I do not know if I would have tired of her so easily,” said a man.

“She is young,” said another.

“But she is pretty,” said another.

Ellen put her head down.

“Her thighs steam for you,” said a man.

“The mere sight of you lubricates her for the mastery,” said another.

“Long ago, weary of her ugliness, her simplicity and limitations, I ridded myself of her, discarding her for a pittance.”

“And so all in all we are to understand that you brought her from her own world to the markets merely for your amusement?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

Ellen kept her head down, tears running from her eyes.

“She followed you like a she-sleen in heat,” laughed a man.

“And that,” smiled Mirus, “is the sum of the matter.” Then he said, sharply, “Slave!”

“Yes, Master!” said Ellen, frightened.

“I believe you have an errand to run,” he said.

Ellen looked at him, wildly.

“You may leave the tent,” said Mirus.

Scarcely able to stand Ellen rose, unsteadily, looked about herself and moved, step by uncertain step, toward the entrance of the tent.

“What was her lot number?” asked one of the men.

“117,” said another.

Ellen was then outside the tent. She could see the illumination of the lantern through the canvas. Mirus had followed her outside the tent.

The men within seemed to be in converse. Their tones seemed low, and earnest. Sometimes, there was a noise from one of the beasts.

Mirus and she faced one another.

She went to the first obeisance position before him, crept forward, and covered his sandals with kisses.

Then, when she sensed she might do so, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes, clasping his knees.

“So we meet again,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“You have changed much since last I saw you,” said he.

“It is my hope that that is true, Master,” she said. She recalled his glance of appraisal in the camp. She had no doubt but what it was of the sort often bestowed by strong, virile masters on one of those exquisite, little she-beasts known as kajirae. It was the first time that she recalled that he had looked upon her in exactly that way.

“You knelt well in the tent,” said he.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You no longer kneel as an Earth woman embonded,” he said, “but kneel now as a self-understanding, complete and total slave.”

“It is what I now am, Master,” she whispered.

“And I noted that you knelt instantly, naturally, perfectly, in the position of the pleasure slave.”

“It is what I now am, Master,” she said.

“You displayed your brand excellently,” he observed, “rising up, turning, your wrists lifted behind you in the bracelets position.”

“I was taught that in your house, Master,” she said.

“You did it well,” he said.

“Thank you, Master.”

“The word ‘Master’ comes easily to you,” he said. “It is fitting for you. It belongs on your lips and tongue.”

“As it should, for I am a slave, Master,” she said.

“You are a servile slut,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I see now what has changed muchly about you,” he said.

Ellen dared not speak, but her heart raced.

“It is that you are now a slave, a full slave.”

“That is true, Master,” she said, “for on this world I have found myself, I have learned that I want to be, and am, a slave.”

“Yes,” said he, contemptuously, “
slave
.”

“Do you object that I have become a slave, a true slave?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you would prefer that I continue to object to my inner truth, that I continue to deny it, and continue to suffer all the torments of denying my innermost being, the very meaning of my sex, my nature?”

“I despise you,” he said.

“For accepting the truth, for being myself?” she asked.

She sensed that he raised his hand, but he did not strike her.

“Is there not something else in this, Master?” she asked, emboldened.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Surely there is more in your concern than the obvious fact that I have become a true slave.”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Your anger with me, your impatience, might have another motivation, might it not, Master?” she inquired.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Have I not become more beautiful, more attractive, more desirable? Might I not have become even
slave desirable
?”

“You insolent slut,” he said.

“Does this not disturb you?” she asked. “I think that you want to hate me, but that you find me attractive. I think that this makes you furious. You brought me here in hatred, and for your amusement, but now, to your fury, you learn that I have become a true slave, and, I think, an attractive one! You are furious that I have found myself on this world, that I am young, beautiful, healthy, eager, ready, passionate, that I desire to love and serve men, that I want to be owned, that I want to live for a master! You had not wanted that! And you are furious that I will bring a high price on the block! That is not what you had anticipated, not what you wanted. Now you are angry with yourself! You are angry that I have become a true slave! And I think you are angry that I have become beautiful, and desirable! Yes, I am that, Master, and I will go for silver, I assure you, not copper! There have been twenty-one bids on me already, twenty-one! And there is something else, Master, which I think is the most maddening of all for you!”

“What is that, slave?” he asked, skeptically.

“Nothing,” she said, suddenly, putting down her head.