Magicians of Gor (76 page)

She regarded herself in the mirror. It was all I could do not to rush forth into

the other room and seize her. About her neck, on a leather thong, there was a

small, capped leather cylinder. I was confident I knew what it contained. Milo,

on the other hand, would not. Milo had not had with him, I had determined, the

note which had putatively come to him from the Ubara, that which had been

written by Lavinia. I supposed he had destroyed it, as it might prove

dangerously compromising. Neither the Ubara nor Milo, of course, knew of the

notes which they themselves had supposedly written. All communications between

then other than these had been effected by Lavinia, to the Ubara in the guise of

a slave of the house of Appanius, to Milo in the guise of a state slave, with

the exception of their rendezvous this morning. With Lavinia as go-between,

under my instructions, matters had proceeded expeditiously, culminating apace,

save for some delays on the part of the Ubara, presumably, to increase the

anxieties of, and torment, the poor slave, in the arrangements for this

assignation.

“I wonder if I am truly the most beautiful woman on all Gor,” said the Ubara,

looking into the mirror.

“Certainly,” said Milo.

Near me, Lavinia had her head down, and in her hands.

“How could one doubt it?” asked Milo.

Near me Lavinia wept, silently. Tears had trickled down her wrists, and to the

floor. I noted that her knees were in proper position, spread, given the sort of

slave she was.

“And you, Milo,” said the Ubara, “are a handsome brute.”

“I am pleased if Mistress should find me not displeasing,” he said.

“And surely,” she said, “you are the most handsome man in all Ar.”

“Mistress,” he said, softly, coming close to her.

(pg. 447) “Serve me wine!” she snapped.

“Mistress?” he asked.

“It that not wine, and assorted dainties,” she asked, “on the table by the

couch, that which I see behind me, in the mirror?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“And certainly female slaves humbly and beautifully serve their masters in such

a way,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“Must a command be repeated?” she inquired.

“I am a male slave,” he said. “I am not a female slave.”

Surely you are aware that male silk slaves are trained in such things as the

serving of wine to their mistresses,” she said.

“I am not a silk slave,” he said.

“I see that a command must be repeated,” she said.

“No, Mistress!” he said. He hurried to the small table and put a tiny bit of

wine into one of the small glasses. He then returned, and knelt before her. He

then, holding the tiny glass in both hands, his head down between his extended

arms, proffered her the beverage. But she did not receive it as yet at his

hands. “Look up,” she said. He did so. She fingered the small, capped cylinder

at her neck. “Surely you know what is contained in this capsule,” she said.

He did not respond.

She uncapped it, and moved the tiny rolled paper a hort from the capsule, that

he might see it. Then she thrust it back in, triumphantly, and recapped the

cylinder.

“You are a better actor than I gave you credit for,” she said.

He had remained impassive.

“You will obey me in all things, and not merely because you are a slave,” she

said, “but because of this.” She tapped the tiny cylinder twice. “I now hold all

power over you, my dear Milo, even though I do not own you. It is given to me by

this note. Should it come to the attention of Seremides, or Myron, or the high

council, or an archon of slaves, or perhaps even a guardsmen, you may well

conjecture what might be your fate.”

He looked up at her.

“How foolish you were, to write such a note,” she laughed. “But then you are a

man, and men are stupid.”

He put down his head, and again, lifted the wine to her.

He would not recognize the note, of course, but he could immediately realize it

must have had some role in my business, in which he was now so deeply involved.

Too, almost simultaneously, he would doubtless suspect that the note which he

himself had originally received might very well not have come from the Ubara

herself. Surely it would now seem to him (pg. 448) unlikely that she, so

obviously aware of the danger of such notes, would have sent one herself. Surely

it would have been at the least politically compromising, if it fell into the

wrong hands. He did not glance toward the back room. I myself, incidentally, did

not think it impossible that the Ubara herself, in certain circumstances, might

be so indiscreet as to write such notes. She was, after all, a woman with

feelings, desires and needs. She was quite capable, I was sure, in their cause,

of throwing caution to the winds. On the other hand, in this case there had been

no need for her to do so.

She let him hold the wine for a time, and then, reaching out, she took the

glass.

He kept his head down, and put his hands, palms down, on his thighs.

She lifted the glass to her lips. She took no more, it seemed, then the tiniest

of sips.

“Replace the glass,” she said. “Then return and kneel as you are now.

She was standing before the couch.

She watched him, in the mirror, replace the glass on the tiny table.

In a moment then he had returned to kneel before her.

”You are the idol of thousands of women of Ar,” she said, “but it is my beauty

which has conquered you.”

He was silent.

Lavinia looked up at me, red-eyed.

“It is my beauty to which you have succumbed,” she said.

He was silent.

“It is I before whom you kneel,” said the Ubara.

He did not respond.

“You look well there,” she said, “on your knees, before me.”

He was silent.

“That is where men belong,” she said, “on their knees, before women.”

He kept his head down, and did not respond.

“You may look up,” she said.

She turned about then and went to the couch. She stood there for a moment,

beside it, regarding him.

Then, with a graceful movement, she removed the white, silken, sliplike garment,

letting it fall about her ankles.

“Ai!” said the male slave, softly.

She then, swiftly, with a smooth, silken movement, ascended the couch and lay

curled upon it, near its foot, watching him.

“Mistress!” he said.

(pg. 449) “Do not dare to rise to your feet without permission, slave,” she

said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

She laughed, softly.

He looked away.

“Do you have the needs of a male?” she asked.

“Yes!” he said.

“Sometimes female slaves,” she said, “after their slave fires have been ignited,

after hey have become sexually helpless, are deprived of sexual experience,” she

said. “Did you know that?”

“I have heard so,” he said. “Perhaps as a cruelty, to teach them the master’s

power or that they are slaves, or as a punishment, or to ready them for a

successful performance on the block, such things.”

“Are such things done with male slaves?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” he said.

She laughed.

He did not look at her.

“Look at me,” she commanded.

“At least upon occasion,” he said.

She laughed again, merrily.

This was true, incidentally. Tauntings, it might be mentioned, are usually

involved in such denials. On the other hand, male slaves have much the better of

it, in my opinion, in these matters. Sexual gratification is seldom denied to

them for long periods. They, like male sleen, tend to become not only restless

and aggressive, but dangerous. Accordingly, it is common to see that they are

permitted to periodically access a female, almost invariably a slave. No such

provision, on the other hand, is prescribed for the female slave. She, as her

needfulness increases within her, as she becomes more lonely and miserable, more

desperate, is left much on her own, to wheedle and beg, and such. To be sure,

most female slaves enjoy an enormous amount of sexual experience. This is

largely because they are beautiful and exciting, and slaves.

“You may rise, handsome slave,” said she, amused.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

She lay on her side, watching him. “You are indeed a handsome brute,” she said.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he said.

She then lay on her back, toward the foot of the couch, and stretched,

luxuriantly, indolently, before him, savoring the feeling (pg. 450) of the fur,

the delight of her own movement. She looked upward, lazily. She did not detect

the net, of course, as she was not looking for it, and it was recessed in the

structure of the ceiling, the ceiling having been designed for its concealment.

She had the palms of her hands facing upward, at her sides. Her left knee was

lifted.

I thought she would look well in a collar.

She moaned, softly.

She turned her head to the side, toward him. “Sometimes I feel,” she said, “as I

think a slave must feel.”

The net, concealed, was above her.

“Do not approach!” she warned him.

He stood still.

She laughed, and rose, facing him, to her hands and knees, on the couch. She

then backed away from him, toward the center of the couch. In this way,

unwittingly, she positioned herself under the center of the net. To be sure, it

had been designed to cover the entire couch.

“You may approach,” she said. “No nearer!” she said.

He then stood near the foot of the couch.

“It seems, Mistress, has come to this room to torture a poor slave,” he said.

She then slipped to her left side, propping herself up with her left elbow, and,

her knees drawn up, regarded him.

“Poor Milo,” she said, sympathetically.

He was silent.

“There are slave rings on the couch,” she said. “Perhaps I shall chain you to

one of them.”

“As Mistress pleases,” he said.

“What woman of Ar would not desire you as her conquest,” she mused.

He was silent.

“And you are mine,” she said. “Conquered by my beauty.”

He was silent.

“You have told me,” she said, “that you have the needs of a male.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“It is true?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“I am Ubara,” she said.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“But I am also a female,” she said, “and I have female’s needs.”

“Mistress?” he asked.

(pg. 451) “Yes, Milo,” she said. “It is true.”

He looked down.

“Happily, of course, they are not those of a female slave,” she said. “That,

fortunately, has never been done to me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

In her last words her voice had almost broken. In them was betrayed a seething

half-suspected emotional sea. In the Ubara, it seemed, might be latent depths on

the shores of which she stood frightened, and in awe. In her, it seemed, might

be revelations, discoveries, and enforcements that in her state of inert freedom

could scarcely be conjectured. And well might she have feared such things. How

helpless she might be, if she found herself in their chains. The slave girl is

the helpless prisoner of her sexuality.

“Surely you understand the purport of my words,” she said, angrily.

“Surely I dare not explicitly conjecture,” he said.

“Why do you think I have come here?” she asked.

“To torture a poor slave, it seems,” she said.

“That I could do in the Central Cylinder,” she said.

“What more could there be?” he asked.

“Can you not guess?” she said.

“Mistress is free, and Ubara,” he said.

“Look upon me,” she commanded. “What do you see?” she asked.

“The Ubara of Ar,” he said.

“And a female?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said.

“You are a man,” she said. “When you arranged this meeting, surely you must have

had hopes.”

He put his head down.

“And you, shameful, arrogant slave, have presumed far above your station. I

should have you boiled in oil!”

He kept his head down.

“But I am prepared to be merciful,” she said.

“Mistress?” he asked, looking up.

“I am prepared to extend to you the extraordinary and inestimable privilege,”

she said, “of entering upon the same couch with me.”

He looked at her.

“Yes,” she said.

“I am unworthy!” he said.

“Are the sluts, thrown by the hair of their masters’ couches any the more

worthy?” she asked.

“No, Mistress,” he said.

(pg. 452) “Do not concern yourself then with such matters,” she said.

“But so much honor!” he said.

“Do not consider it,” she said.

“But I am only a slave,” he said.

“That is know to me,” she said.

“I have a master!” he said.

“Of course,” she said.

“And mistress does this of her own free will?” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

He was silent.

She gestured to the furs beside her. “I invite you to share my couch,” she said.

He hesitated.

“I am lying here before you,” she said, “ ‘slave naked’, as you vulgar men might

say. Do you dally, handsome Milo?”

“Mistress invites me to share her couch?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Mistress is then preparing to couch with me?”

“I am not only preparing to couch with you,” she said. “I am prepared to couch