Swordsmen of Gor (22 page)

“There are no larls this far north,” said Pertinax.

“Yesterday, on the beach,” I said, “I heard one.”

Pertinax paled.

“We are probably too far north for panthers,” I said. “One is more likely to encounter them in the forests to the south.”

“Good,” said Pertinax.

“Unless, of course, some range this far north, but that is unusual. There should, however, be sleen about.”

I recalled one had been in the vicinity of Pertinax’s hut, when Constantina, who had annoyed me, had been put outside, gagged and bound, hands tied behind her, feet crossed, pulled up, and fastened closely to her hands, on the leaves.

It is an unpleasant tie.

I hoped she had found it instructive.

The common sleen burrows, and would have its den below the frost line. To be sure it is an adaptive, successful life form. In the vicinity of the Red Hunters, there are snow sleen. In certain waters, there are sea sleen, and so on.

“I wish I had a rifle,” said Pertinax.

“It is better that you do not,” I said. “If you possessed such a weapon, you would be in violation of the weapon laws of Priest-Kings, and liable to the flame death.”

“Surely there would be an inquiry, a trial, or such,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“At least you have a sword, a knife,” he said.

“Such tools would be of little help against large predators,” I said. “A spear would be better, or, if one had time, time for several arrows, the great bow.”

“I do not like this,” said Pertinax.

“Nor I,” I said. “Let us unhood the slaves. They know they are in the reserve. Thus, no security will be compromised.”

Both girls were then freed of their hoods.

I then sat them down, facing one another. We left the leashes on their necks.

“What are you doing?” asked Pertinax.

“I am tying their ankles together,” I said. “Now let us eat. We can feed them later.”

After Pertinax and I had fed, I went to Cecily, and knelt down, and she leaned forward, her hands tied behind her. I had some bread for her. She looked at me. I extended my hand. She kissed it, and licked it, the hand of her master. I then, bit by bit, fed her by hand, and then, when I thought she had had enough, I gave her of the bota. I then stood up, my shapely beast having been fed and watered.

“What of me?” demanded Constantina.

“What is done with you is up to your master,” I said. “Surely you know that,
slave
.”

“Untie me,” she said to Pertinax.

“Do not,” I said.

“I am hungry!” she said.

“Then you will take food from your master’s hand,” I said.

“Never!” she said.

“Then you will go hungry,” I said.

She tried to rise, but, as her feet, crossed, were bound to those of Cecily, crossed, she fell, and heavily, to her side. She struggled again, then, to her seated position. She realized then she could not rise.

Constantina cast me a look of fury, but, I fear, it was a mild thing compared to that with which she regaled Pertinax, who looked hastily away.

It was then an Ahn later.

Night, by then, was well fallen.

“I am hungry,” said Constantina. “Please feed me.”

“Are you ready to take food from your master’s hand?” I asked.

“Yes!” she said, angrily.

Pertinax, obligingly, approached her, and knelt down beside her.

“Not yet,” I told him. “You may beg to be fed,” I informed Constantina.

“I beg to be fed,” she said.

“Have you not forgotten something?” I asked.

“—
Master
,” she said.

Pertinax leaned forward.

“Not yet,” I told him. Then I addressed myself to the Lady Constantina. “You should be grateful that your master consents to feed you,” I told her.

She looked at me, angrily.

“Extend your hand to your slave,” I said to Pertinax. “Good,” I said, as he had done so. “Now,” I said to the Lady Constantina, “lick, and kiss, his hand, softly, tenderly, gratefully.”

“Ai!” said Pertinax.

I gathered that the Lady Constantina must, indeed, be very hungry.

“You may now feed the slave,” I informed Pertinax.

I thought this little exercise would do the proud Lady Constantina a world of good.

Certainly, now, she would better understand, even as a free woman, how she was in the power of men, should men choose to exercise their power.

Later, we separated the slaves, and tied the leash of each about a tree. We left their hands bound, but we untied their ankles.

I looked down at the Lady Constantina.

She lay on her side, looking up at me.

I glanced at her legs, and then I asked her, “Have you had slave wine?”

“What is slave wine?” she asked.

“It prevents conception,” I said. “Slaves are not to breed randomly. Their crossings are to be decided by masters.”

“I have not had slave wine!” she said.

“A pity,” I said.

“But I have had what I was told,” she said, “was the wine of ‘the noble free woman’.”

“Strange,” I said, “as you are a slave.”

“You know I am not a slave!” she whispered.

“Ah, yes,” I said, “sometimes, when I look at your legs, I forget.”

“Beast!” she hissed.

“As you have had ‘the wine of the noble free woman,’” I said, “it does not much matter. The substances, save in the pleasantness of their imbibings, are equivalent. Indeed, both have as their active ingredient sip root.”

“Do not touch me!” she said.

“I have no intention of doing so,” I said.

“I am a virgin!” she said.

“That surprises me,” I said.

“Why do you smile?” she asked.

“It is nothing,” I said. In some markets virgins sold well. That always seemed to me a bit strange. In any event, virgin slaves were rare.

“You think I am not attractive?” she asked.

“As a free woman of Earth,” I said, “I would think you are quite attractive.”

“I am!” she said.

“You are vain?” I asked.

“Perhaps,” she said, “but legitimately so. My beauty is obvious. It is a matter of fact.”

“I see,” I said.

“I am beautiful,” she said. “I am extremely beautiful!”

“For a free woman of Earth,” I said. “But you have not yet even been opened.”

“‘Opened’?” she said.

“For the pleasures of men,” I said.

“I see,” she said, icily.

“But more importantly,” I said, “you have not yet been awakened, softened, and sensitized. Your body is not yet a sheet of awareness. Are you even aware of the feel, the exact feel, consider it now, of the straps on your wrists?”

She shuddered.

“There are horizons, and vistas, of your sex,” I said, “sensations, feelings, hopes, apprehensions, awarenesses, fears, anticipations, yearnings, longings, of which you are totally unaware. You have not yet begun to learn yourself. You are still a stranger to nature, to yourself, and the world. You do not yet know who you are, or what you are.”

“I know very well who I am, and what I am,” she said.

“No,” I said. “It is only in the collar that women learn themselves. It is only in the collar that the flower of their sex opens, one by one, its vulnerable petals. It is only in the collar that a woman comes to her true happiness, and true beauty.”

“Kneeling before a man,” she said, angrily, “her lips pressed to his feet!”

“Certainly,” I said. “Can you not conceive of yourself so?”

“Yes,” she said, “in terror of my life.”

“Yes,” I said, “it often begins so.”

“Leave me,” she said.

“What do you think of Pertinax?” I asked.

“He is a despicable weakling,” she said.

I then left her, as she had requested. A Gorean male, commonly, complies with the wishes of a free woman.

They are, after all, free.

I turned about, and went to Pertinax. “Take the first watch,” I said.

I then went and lay down near Cecily.

“Master,” she whispered.

“Yes?” I said.

“My needs are much on me,” she said. “Caress me, please.”

“No,” I said.

The satisfaction of the slave’s needs is up to the master. Occasionally one frustrates them. It helps them to keep in mind that they are slaves. On the other hand, the sex lives of slaves are a thousand times richer and deeper than those of a free woman, if the free woman, with her hauteur and grandeur, has anything worth considering a sex life. There is no comparison with that of a free woman. The sexual experiences of slaves, as opposed to those of free women, are lavish, vital, frequent, and prolonged. The sexual experiences of the free woman are usually brief and disappointing. The life of the slave, on the other hand, is essentially a sexual life; sexuality irradiates her entire existence; it does not begin and end with a caress; in the collar she knows she is essentially a sexual creature, a slave, at the master’s bidding, and this knowledge imbues her entire life with an erotic glow, a permeating ambience. For the slave, polishing a master’s boots, tying his sandals, presenting him with food, greeting him at the door, kneeling, and such, are sexual experiences. Normally, of course, the slave’s petitions for attention will be entertained, and usually acceded to, and readily. This should be easy to understand. It is, naturally, usually quite pleasant to assuage the slave’s needs, as anyone who has done so knows. Having a slave at one’s mercy and forcing her through the throes, she perhaps jerking at her chains, of a succession of belly-wrenching, belly-rocking orgasms, is gratifying. Who does not want a naked slave, in her collar, sobbing, and bucking and squirming, and begging for more? Also, one usually has, if not a duty to content the slave, for nothing is owed to the slave, an inclination to do so. Surely this is easy to understand. She is so needful, and beautiful! Too, have not men been responsible for the tormenting acuity of those very needs which so distress her? Has it not been men who have seen to it, with an almost cruel intent, that slave fires will rage in her lovely belly? Should not those who have set such tinder alight satisfy the very needs they have done so much to ignite and intensify?

Cecily moaned, softly.

“Be silent,” I said to her, softly.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

In several Ahn I knew she would be even more needful and desperate. One of the controls a master has over a slave, as the control of her food, her clothing, and whether or not she is to be permitted clothing, and such, is the control he exercises over her in virtue of her sexual needs. Slave fires, even when extinguished by the mercy of the master, will soon rekindle.

Any woman in whose belly slave fires burn knows herself slave.

Such fires will put her at the mercy of even a hated master.

“Master,” said Cecily.

“Yes?” I said.

“The signs have vanished,” she said. “Why do we linger in the reserve?”

“Because the signs have vanished,” I said.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“We will be met,” I said. “We will have a guide.”

“And signs are not to be risked?” she said.

“Not beyond this point, I gather,” I said.

“I see,” she said.

Chapter Eight

TAJIMA;

A WOMAN OF EARTH IS TO BE PRESENTED TO LORD NISHIDA

It was now the next morning.

I had had the second watch.

“Do not disturb him,” I said.

“Does he know we are here?” asked Pertinax.

“Certainly,” I said. “Sit here, cross-legged, beside me.” I looked over my shoulder, to the girls. “Slaves, kneel,” I said.

Pertinax assumed the suggested position, and, behind us, Cecily and Constantina knelt down.

They were still bound.

The rope leashes dangled from their necks.

We spoke in whispers.

We were some twenty yards from the fellow, who was engaged, I supposed, in certain martial exercises, certainly of a rather stylized, formal nature. I had never seen anything exactly like this before. He was standing, and sometimes wheeled about, gracefully. He had two hands on an unusual sword, with which he described certain evolutions, thrusts, strokes, a return to guard, and so on. It seemed ritualistic, but he was certainly intent on what he was doing. I had the sense of a severe concentration.

I was reminded somewhat of the Pyrrhic dances of Gorean infantry, particularly of those infantries who specialized in the tactics of the phalanx, rather than the shifting, melting, forming, reforming tactics of the squares. Nothing stood against the phalanx on level ground. The squares, however, were more flexible, and better suited to an uneven terrain. The Pyrrhic dances were used primarily as training exercises, but also figured in parades and martial displays, men shouting, spears clashing rhythmically on shields, the spear hedge rising and falling, wheeling about, a thousand spears in unison, this all to music. It is very impressive. This fellow’s exercises, however, were done by a single man and, as nearly as I could determine, from the distance, in silence.

He wore a light, loose, white robe, which came about to his knees. It had wide, but short, sleeves.

“I have been told of such fellows,” said Pertinax. “He is Tuchuk.”

“I do not think so,” I said. He did not look Tuchuk to me. The Tuchuks are, on the whole, short and broad, strong fellows, agile riders. This fellow seemed a bit taller, and certainly thinner, more lithe, more pantherlike.

“Tuchuk,” said Pertinax.

“There is no facial scarring,” I said.

“Surely not all Tuchuks are disfigured,” said Pertinax.

“They do not think of it as disfigurement,” I said, “but, if anything, as enhancement.”

“Surely they are not all scarred,” said Pertinax.

“True,” I said. And, indeed, it was true that not all Tuchuks were scarred. The scars were not easily come by. They had to be earned, by success in war, and such.

As noted, I had had the second watch.

In the neighborhood of dawn I had seen him through the trees. He was bare-headed. He carried a single sword. I saw him, and he saw me. We did not exchange a greeting. He determined that most of our camp was asleep, and then withdrew, to wait. He sat cross-legged for a time, facing our camp. Then, after a time, he had risen, unsheathed his unusual sword, and commenced his exercises.