Captive of Gor (48 page)

recalled that I had sung much during the day, and had been happy in my work. I

had laughed much, too, and for the first time in weeks had eagerly conversed and

sported, insisting that I be permitted to do so, with my sisters in bondage.

Elinor Brinton, the Gorean slave girl, was now different than she had been. The

other girls sensed this and, pleased, accepted me among them, as another mere

slave, neither better nor worse than they themselves. When Ute and I had been

alone I had fallen before her, begging her forgiveness with tears for how I had

treated her so long before. She had smiled, and lifted me to my feet. There (pg.

337) had been tears in her eyes. “Hurry to your work, Slave,” she had said. She

had then kissed me. I sprang to my feet and ran to my work, overcome with

affection for her. She had forgiven me! I loved her! Ute, only of the leather

workers, was the kindest, most generous, most loving girl I had ever known. How

I hated myself for having once hurt her. Inge and Rena, I sensed, regarded me in

a new fashion. “Slave!” they had said to me. And I had said to them,

“Yes—Slave!” and kissed them. I had then sped away. They envied me. I pitied

them in my way, for they were mere ignorant girls, white-silk girls. I was red

silk! I jerked at my chained ankle, furious.

Why had I been put here?

“Let her be chained under the moons of Gor,” had said Vern, and Rask of Treve,

laughing, had had it done.

The chain was heavy on my left ankle.

The moons had not yet risen. The night was hot.

As I could, during the day, I had made it my business to pass near the tent of

Rask of Treve, that he might see me.

But he had scarcely seemed to notice me.

Last night it had been different!

He had noticed me then!

I lay on my back, chained on the grass of the knoll, and laughed deliciously. I

recalled each instant of the hours in his tent, and later, when I had lain at

his side, holding him, my cheek pressed against his thigh, my hair about his

body. He had slept, but I had not slept, not until morning, for I had wanted to

continue to hold him.

At dawn he had sent me from his tent, to the shed for female work slaves.

I had gone.

This evening Rask of Treve had supped with Verna, and I it was who had served

them, only as before, their menial slave. Rask of Treve did not look upon me

differently than he had before. It might have been as though the preceding night

had not existed. I served well, and deferentially.

Would I be again summoned to his tent?

But he had called a guard.

(pg. 338)“Yes, Captain,” has said the guard.

“Tonight,” has said Rask of Treve, casually, “send the girl, Talena, to my

tent.”

“Yes, Captain,” said the guard, and left.

My fingers went white on the plate that I had been holding. For a moment I could

not see. I could not breathe. And then my face went white, with suppressed fury,

concealing the scarlet rage that burned in my body.

“Wine,” had said Rask of Treve.

I had poured him wine.

“Wine,” had said Verna.

I served her.

I went to the side of the low table, and knelt there. I hated Talena! I wanted

to throw myself upon her and scratch out her eyes, and tear her hair and bite

and kick her until she screamed and screamed, and fled away! The daughter of a

Ubar! She was only a slave! I was as good as she! I hated her! I hated her!

“Your slave seems disturbed,” said Verna, smiling.

I put my head down.

“Slave,” said Verna.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“It is said, among the other girls, that you have told them that you are not as

other women, that you do not have their weaknesses.”

I recalled that one, in anger, I had told them this. I looked at Verna. I hated

her. I knew, and she knew, that I had once seen her in the forest, helpless in

her need. She was not likely to forget that, now was I eager that she do so. I

smiled. Rask of Treve had given me some pleasure, of course. But, still, I was,

I knew, not as other women. I was not as they. I did not have their weaknesses.

“I cannot help the way I am,” I told Verna, looking down, deferentially.

Rask of Treve smiled.

“Let her be chained under the moons of Gor,” had said Verna.

I looked at her, in anger.

Rask of Treve laughed. “Guard!” he called

A guard entered the tent.

(pg. 339) Rask of Treve indicated me. “Chain her,” he said, “under the moon of

Gor.”

“Come, Girl,” said the guard.

I followed him.

I could now see the moons beginning to rise over the points of the palisade.

What did I care that the girl, Talena, was tonight sent to the tent of Rask of

Treve?

I hated him!

I hated her, even more than him!

I wished the guard had not taken my clothes.

But when a girl is chained under the moons of Gor, she is chained naked.

I did not understand their intention.

I lay back in the grass. I felt it with my hands. I closed my eyes.

I smiled.

I was furious, of course, with what he had done to me, but also, I could not

have helped responding to him as I had. He had, cruelly, mercilessly, unfairly,

giving me no option, elicited from me fantastic depths of sensation of which I

had not even realized my body was capable. His touch, as that of a master, had

commanded my body, totally, and I had swum in sensation, clutching him, fearing

I might drown with pleasure in his arms. Laugh if you will, but I could call him

nothing but “Master.” Do not scorn me, nor mock me, until you yourself, perhaps,

on a distant world, someday wear a collar, until you, yourself, as a slave, have

know the touch of such a man as Rask of Treve.

I opened my eyes. The moons now reared over the palisade, low in the night sky,

looming.

My throat had been encircled with slave steel, and I had been taught its

meaning. I recalled, long ago, how, in a motel on Earth, I had regarded myself

naked, branded, collared, in a mirror, and had wondered, frightened, what it

would be like to lie in the arms of a barbarian, helpless, so stripped, so

marked. I now knew! I cried out, and tore a handful of grass from the knoll.

(pg. 340) Why did he not send for me?

Had I not pleased him? I could do more for him, more!

The moons were now high in the night sky, the looming three, dominating, fierce

moons of Gor

I felt my nudity beneath them, and the grass.

I cried out with misery.

“Send for me, Rask of Treve!” I whimpered. “Send for me!” I rolled on my stomach

in the grass. “I want to serve you,” I wept. I bit at the grass.

I looked up at the moons, tears in my eyes.

The lights of the camp were now, for the most part, extinguished. I could see,

here and there, in the distance, the embers of cooking fires. In some few tents

there glowed a dim redness, through the canvas sides of the tent, the light of

the tiny fire bowls within. The night was hot. I heard night insects. I was

alone. Far off, in the tarn compound, a tarn screamed, and then there was only

the silence, except for the sounds of the insects.

On the grassy knoll I was chained, alone.

If I could free myself I would run to Rask of Treve! I would beg him for his

touch! I pulled at the chain, so heavy on my ankle. It was some eight feet long.

I could not slip the manacle from my ankle; I could not free the chain from its

ring.

I wept.

I threw myself against the chain, running toward his tent, and fell in the

grass, my ankle burning, scraped from the steel that obdurately clasped it. On

my hands and knees I tried to crawl to the tent. My left leg stretched taut

behind me, held. I cried out with frustration, and pounded the grassy earth,

weeping, with my fists.

I rolled on my back and looked up at the moons.

I lay there, my fists clenched.

Then I closed my eyes. I could not dare to look upon them again, the great,

white, looming moons of Gor, dominating the sky.

I pounded the grass with the sides of my fists, in misery.

Then I dared to look again upon the vast, looming moons (pg. 341) of Gor. What

choice did I have? I was only a girl who had been chained naked beneath them.

I screamed and leaped to my feet, my hands extended to the moons. I stood

helplessly beneath them, chained, naked, reaching for them.

Then I began to dance the madness of my need, writhing, tearing at it,

whimpering.

And as I gasped, and wept, I saw, suddenly, in the shadows, watching me, Verna,

the panther girl.

“It seems your body moves as might that of a Kajira,” said Verna.

“I am a Kajira,” I whispered, “Mistress.”

“You are not as other women,” said Verna. “You are strong. You do not have their

weaknesses.”

I knelt before Verna. I extended my hands to her. “Have pity on me, Mistress.” I

wept.

Her eyes were hard.

I put down my head. “I am as other women,” I said. “I am not strong.” I

swallowed. “I have the weaknesses of my sex,” I said. “Indeed, I am perhaps more

weak than any.”

“Now you speak truly, El-in-or,” said Verna. Her voice was not unkind.

“Sometimes,” said Verna, “it requires a man such as Rask of Treve to teach a

women this weakness.”

“I have been well taught,” I whispered.

“I have fought this weakness in myself,” said Verna.

“I will not fight it,” I said. “I will yield to it.”

“Rask of Treve,” said Verna, smiling, “has given you no choice.”

“That is true,” I said. It was true. Rask of Treve, my Gorean master, had not

seen fit to permit me choice in the matter of my helpless surrender.

I put my head down.

“You have been conquered,” said Verna.

“Yes,” I said, “I have been conquered.”

“I am leaving camp tonight,” said Verna.

(pg. 342) I looked at her, startled.

She indicated a kneeling figure several yards away, bent over, facing the other

direction. She wore crosses ankle rings, not permitting her to rise. Here wrists

were braceleted behind her back. About her throat was a light, chain slave

leash. Across the back of her dark hair I could see leather gag straps.

“I am taking Talena with me,” said Verna. “Rask of Treve has given her to me. I

am taking her to the northern forests, as a slave.”

“But she is the favorite of Rask of Treve,” I whispered.

“No,” said Verna.

“Will you not stay in the camp,” I asked, “as the comrade of Rask of Treve?”

She looked at me, and smiled. “No,” she said. “My place is in the northern

forests.”

I did not speak.

“Is it pleasant,” she asked, “to surrender to a man?”

I put my head down, shamed by joy.

“Ah,” said Verna. Then she spoke to me softly. “Once,” she said, “long ago, in

the city of Ar, I saw a man, and in seeing him, for the only time in my life, I

was afraid, for I feared he might do to me, if he wished, what Rask of Treve had

done to you. I have never feared this of another man.”

I looked at her.

“And so I hated him,” she said, “and I resolved, someday, to see who would

conquer.”

“What is his name?’ I asked.

“Marlenus of Ar,” she said.

I could not speak, so astonished I was.

She casually indicated the wretched girl bound to one side, beyond the bottom of

the hillock. “This wench is bait,” she said.

Verna turned away, and then she turned to face me. “Farewell, Slave,” said she.

I extended my hands to her, piteously.

“Should I see Rask of Treve,” said Verna, “I will tell him (pg. 343) that there

is a chained girl, who, beneath the moons of Gor, begs him for his touch.”

“I wish you well, Mistress,” I called. “I wish you well!”

Verna did not turn again, but went to the kneeling girl and unsnapped the

crossed ankle rings, and put them in her pouch. She dragged the girl, wrists

braceleted behind her back, to her feet, and led her away, between the tents. I

could see the gag straps tight over the back of her hair as she was led away. I

had little doubt that the magnificent Verna, leader of the panther girls, would

bring her prize successfully to the northern forests.

I knelt alone then, chained, on the summit of the grassy hillock, beneath the

vast, looming moons.

I became aware of a figure standing near me. I cried out, and reached for him.

Rask of Treve did not bother to unchain me, but used me as I was, eager and

moaning, beneath the moons of Gor.

* * *

Rask of Treve held my head in his two hands.

It was near dawn.

We lay on the summit of the grassy knoll, wrapped in his cloak. Sensing his

permission, I again touched my lips, timidly to his. I was turned suddenly,

helplessly, on my back, and again, clutching him, tears of pleasure in my eyes,

yielded to the joy of him.

We were silent together.

There was a dew on the grass, and the cloak in which we lay wrapped was wet on

the outside. The light of the beginning of the morning was tender, sparkling on

the stalks of the grass, giving the hill of my domination a sweet, soft sheen. I

still wore on my left ankle the heavy chain. Elinor Brinton, of Park Avenue,

once of Earth, once rich, once spoiled, and cruel and selfish, now only a

conquered Gorean slave girl, lay intimately, lovingly, in the arms of her