Magicians of Gor (44 page)

The girl had then, aided by a hand from the ponderous fellow, risen from the

palanquin and looked about herself, rather as though bored. She then regarded

the audience, and at some length, disdainfully. There had been some hooting at

this.

“Surely this cannot be my slave, Litsia?” wailed the fellow.

She tossed her head, in the hood and veil.

“If you are free, dear lady,” said the fellow, “report me to guardsmen for my

affrontery, that I may be flogged for daring to address you, but if you be my

Litsia, remove your hood and veil.”

As though with an almost imperial resignation she put back her hood and lowered

her veil.

“She is pretty!” had exclaimed Marcus.

Others, too, expressed their inadvertent admiration of the woman.

“It is my Litsia!” cried the ponderous fellow, as though relieved.

The woman drew down her robes a bit, that her shoulders were bared. She held the

robes together before her.

“She is not collared!” cried a fellow.

“Lash her!” cried another.

For an instant the girl blanched and trembled, clutching the robes together

before her in her small fists, but then, in a moment, had recovered herself, and

was back in character. It was easy to tell that she had, at some time or

another, felt the lash, and knew what it was like.

“But surely we are to respect slaves in the new Ar?” inquired the ponderous

fellow, anxiously, of the audience.

This question, of course, was greeted with guffaws, and a slapping of the left

shoulders.

“But my Litsia must have some token of her bondage upon her,” said the fellow.

“Please, Litsia, show us.”

Quickly the girl thrust the lower portion of her left leg, lovely and curved,

from the robe. On her left ankle was a narrow, locked slave anklet. Then,

quickly, she concealed her leg and ankle again within the robe. The slave

collar, of one form or another, band or bar, or chain or lock, is almost

universal on Gor for slaves. On the other hand, some masters use a bracelet or

anklet. Too, the slaves of others may wear as little to denote their condition

as a ring, the significance of which may be known to few. The bracelet, the

anklet and ring are often worn (pg. 257) by women whose slavery is secret,

largely hidden from the world, though not, of course, from themselves and their

masters. And even such women, when in private with their masters, will usually

be collared, as is suitable for slaves. Indeed, they will often strip themselves

and kneel, or drop to all fours, to be collared, as soon as they enter their

master’s domicile. There are many points in favor of the collar, besides those

of history and tradition. The throat is not only an ideal aesthetic showplace

for the symbol of bondage, displaying it beautifully and prominently, but one

which, because of the location, at the throat, and the widths involved, is

excellently secure. It also makes it easier to leash the female. Also, of

course, by means of it and a rope or chain one may attach her to various rings

and holding devices. Some fellows even bracelet or tie her hands to it. The

collar, too, of course, helps to make clear to the slave, and others, her status

as a domestic animal.

“Show us a little more, Litsia,” begged the ponderous fellow.

Litsia then, rather quickly, but holding the pose for a moment, open the silken

robes, and her knees slightly flexed, and her head turned demurely to the left,

held them out to the sides.

“She is lovely!” said Marcus.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Surely she is a bred slave, with lines like that,” he said.

“No,” I said. “She was a free woman, from Asperiche.”

Marcus looked at me, puzzled.

“Yes,” I said.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said.

“In a sense, of course,” I said, “she is a bred slave.”

“True,” he said.

It is a common Gorean belief that all females are bred slaves. It is only that

some have their collars and some, as yet, do not.

The girl wore a modest slave tunic, which muchly covered her.

She now drew closed again the sides of the shimmering robe and, once more,

tossed her head, and glanced disdainfully at the audience. Against there was

hooting.

“Some folks,” said the ponderous fellow, “think that I have spoiled her.”

The girl then put out her small hand and was assisted by the ponderous fellow to

the palanquin again. When she took her place in it, it was lifted.

(pg. 258) It was clearly off the floor. One could see the drapery at the back of

the stage.

“I do trust you will be nice to me this evening?” said the ponderous fellow to

the slim beauty on the palanquin.

She tossed her head and did not deign to respond to him.

He then drew shut the curtains of the palanquin. It was still off the floor.

“Do you think I am too easy with her?” the ponderous fellow inquired of the

audience.

“Yes! Yes!” shouted several of the men.

“Oh, oh!” cried the ponderous fellow looking upward miserably and shaking his

fists, helplessly, angrily, in the air. “If only I were not a devoted adherent

of the new and wonderful Ar!”

There was much laughter.

I gathered that much of the resentment toward the current governance of Ar

tended to be expressed in such places, in shows, in farces, in bawdy travesties

and such. Certain theaters had been closed down because of the articulateness

and precision, and abusiveness, of such satire or criticism. Two had been

burned. To be sure this fellow seemed technically within the bounds of

acceptability, if only just so. Too, it was doubtless a great deal safer now

than it had been a few weeks ago to indulge in such humor. Wisely I thought had

the government withdrawn from its projected policies of devirilization, which,

indeed, had never been advanced beyond the stage of proposals. It had

discovered, simply, clearly, and immediately that most males of the city would

not give up their manhood, even if they were praised for doing so. Indeed, even

the Ubara herself, it seemed, had reaffirmed that slave girls should be obedient

and try to please their masters. So narrowly, I suspected, had riots and

revolutions been averted. Still, I supposed, there might be spies in the

audience. I doubted if the ponderous fellow would be poplar with the

authorities.

“If only some magician would aid me in my dilemma!” wept the ponderous fellow.

“Beware!” cried a fellow in the audience, alarmed.

“Yes, beware!” laughed another fellow.

“If only some magician would waft away my Litsia, if only for a moment, and

teach her just a little of what is it to be a slave girl!” he said.

Several men laughed. I had to hand it to the ponderous fellow. He carried off

the thing well.

“But of course there are no magicians!” he said.

(pg. 259) “Beware,” cried one fellow, he who had been so alarmed, so drawn into

the drama, before. “Beware, lest one might be listening!”

“I think that I shall speak with her, and plead with her to be a better slave

girl,” said the fellow.

The palanquin was still of course where it had been last, near the center of the

stage, lifted off the floor, by its four bearers. To be sure, as the ponderous

fellow had drawn them, the curtains were now closed.

The audience was very still now.

The ponderous fellow then pulled back the curtains.

“Ai!” cried a fellow.

Several of the fellows, including Marcus, gasped.

“She is gone!” cried a fellow.

Once again, one could see through the open palanquin, to the draperies at the

back of the stage.

The four fellows in turbans, with plumes, then, in stately fashion, as though

nothing unusual had occurred, carried the palanquin offstage.

Men spoke excitedly about us.

I struck my left shoulder, commending the performer for the illusion.

Others, too, then applauded.

The ponderous fellow bowed to the crowd, and then resumed his character.

“I think there is but one chance to recover my slave,” he confided to the

audience, “but I fear to risk it.”

“Why?” asked a fellow.

“Because,” said the ponderous fellow, addressing his concerned interlocutor

confidentially, with a stage whisper, “it might require magic.”

“No matter!” said a fellow.

“There is a wicker trunk,” said the ponderous fellow. “It was left with me by a

fellow from Anango.”

Some of the fellows in the audience gasped. The magicians of Anango are famed on

Gor. If you wish to have someone turned into a turtle or something, those are

the fellows to see. To be sure, their work does not come cheap. The only folks

who are not familiar with them, as far as I know, are the chaps from far-off

Anango, who have never heard of them.

“Of course, he may not be a magician,” mused the ponderous fellow.

“But he might be!” pointed out an excited fellow in the audience.

“True,” mused the ponderous fellow.

(pg. 260) “It is worth a try,” said a fellow.

“Anything to get your rope back on her,” said another.

“Do you think he would mind?” asked the ponderous fellow.

“No!” said a fellow.

I wondered how he knew.

“He may be the very fellow who wafted her away!” said another.

“Yes,” suggested another fellow.

“Perhaps he wants you to use the trunk to recover her!” said another.

“Yes!” said a man, convinced.

“He did say he was my friend,” said the ponderous fellow.

“Fetch the trunk!” said a man.

“Fetch the trunk!” cried the ponderous fellow, decisively, to his fellows

offstage.

Two of the fellows who had borne out the palanquin, their turbans and plumes now

removed, appeared on stage, entering from stage right, the house left, each of

them carrying a trestle. These were placed rather toward the back of the stage,

at the center, about five feet apart. In a moment the other two fellows who had

helped to bear the palanquin, they, too, now without the turbans and plumes, as

there was now no point in such accouterments, their no longer being in

attendance on the insolent slave, also emerged from stage right, bearing a long

wicker trunk, some six feet in length, some two feet in height and two feet in

depth. This was placed on the two trestles. One could, accordingly, see under

the trunk, and about it. It was, thus, in full view, and spatially isolated from

the floor, the sides of the stage and the drapery in the back, several feet

behind it, supported on its two trestles.

“The trunk is not empty!” cried a fellow.

“The slave is within it!” called out another.

“That is no trick!” said another.

“I surely hope the slave is within it,” called the ponderous fellow to the

audience, “as I do wish to recover her!”

“She is there!” hooted a fellow.

“I hope so,” said the ponderous fellow. “Let us look!”

He hurried to the trunk and lifted away the wicker lid, which covered it. He set

the lid to one side, on the floor. He then unhinged the back of the trunk from

the trunk sides. It hen hung down in the back, being attached to the trunk

bottom. One could see it, through the trestle legs. He then opened the left side

of the trunk, letting it, too, hang free, except that it hung to the side. It,

too, of course, was attached to the trunk’s bottom. He treated the right side of

the trunk in the same (pg. 261) manner. It, too, naturally, was attached to the

trunk bottom, in the same manner as was the left side. The trunk, in effect, was

being disassembled before the audience. It was now completely open, the back

hanging down in back, and the sides to the sides, except for the front panel,

which the ponderous fellow held in place with one hand.

“Open the front panel!” cried a fellow.

“Show us the slave!” cried another.

“That is no trick!” said a fellow.

“Aii!” cried more than one fellow, as the ponderous fellow let the front panel

drop forward, to the front. The trunk was now completely open.

“The slave is not there!” cried a man.

“She is not there,” said another, startled.

“It would be a poor trick if she was there,” said another.

“Why do you show us an empty trunk?” asked a man.

We could see through to the drapery behind.

“Alas, woe!” cried the ponderous fellow, running his hands about the empty space

now exposed to view. “It is true! She is not here!” He got down on all fours,

and looked under the trunk, and then he lifted up the front panel, running his

hand about under the trunk bottom, which was, say, about an inch in thickness.

He then, seemingly distraught, let the front panel fall forward again. But even

then he went again to his knees and thrust his hand about, to the floor, then

between the trunk bottom and the floor. The front panel, even dropped forward,

was still about eighteen inches from the floor. The floor could be seen clearly

at all times beneath it.

“She is not here!” wailed the ponderous fellow.

“Where is the slave?” asked a man.

“Perhaps she has been kept by the magician,” proposed a fellow, seriously

enough.

“But he is my friend!” protested the ponderous fellow.

“Are you sure of it?” asked one of the more earnest fellows in the audience.