Nomads of Gor (79 page)

 
"Do not be frightened," I told her.

 
"I feel owned," she whispered.
                

 
"You are," I said.
                             

 
"No," she said. "No."
                         

 
"Do not be frightened," I told her.
          

 
"You must let me go," she said.
               

 
"It soon begins," I told her.
                 

 
"Please let me go," she whispered. "Please"
 

 
"On Gor," I said, "it is said that a woman who wears a
    

 
collar can be only a woman."
               
   

 
She looked at me angrily.
                      

 
"And you, lovely Elizabeth," said I, "wear a collar."

 
She turned her head to one side, helpless, angry, tears in

 
her eyes.
                                      
~

 
She did not move, and then suddenly I felt the cut of her
 
A

 
nails deep in my arms, and though her lips were open, her
 
r!

 
teeth were clenched, her head was back, the eyes closed, her
   

 
hair tangled under her and over her body, and then her eyes

 
seemed surprised, startled, and her shoulders lifted a bit from r

 
the rug, and she looked at me, and I could feel the beginning
  

 
n her, the breathing of it and the blood of it, hers, in my
    

 
own flesh swift and like fire in her beauty, mine, and knowing

 
it was then the time, meeting her eyes fiercely, I said to her,

 
with sudden contempt and savagery, following the common

 
Gorean Rites of Submission, "Slave!" and she looked at me

 
with horror and cried out "Nor" and half reared from the

 
rug, wild, helpless, fierce as I intended, wanting to fight me,

 
as I knew she would, wanting to slay me if it lay within her

 
power, as I knew she would, and I permitted her to struggle

 
and to bite and scratch and cry out and then I silenced her

 
with the kiss of the master, and accepted the exquisite sur

 
render which she had no choice but to give. "Slave," she

wept, "slave, slave, slave I am a slave"

  
It was more than an Ahn later that she lay in my arms on

  
the rug and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I know
   

 
now," she said, "what it is to be the slave girl of a Master."

  
I said nothing.

  
"Though I am slave," she said, "yet for the first tinge in my

  
life I am free."

         
"For the first time in your life," I said, "you are a woman."

       
"I love being a woman," she said. "I am happy I am a

       
woman, Tarl Cabot, I am happy."

         
"Do not forget," I said, "you are only a slave."

       
She smiled and fingered her collar. "I am Tarl Cabot's

       
girl," she said. j

         
"My slave," I said.

         
"Yes," she said, "your slave."

         
I smiled.

       
"You will not beat me too often will you, Master?" she

       
asked.

         
"We will see," I said.

         
"I will strive to please you," she said.

         
"I am pleased to hear it," I said.

         
She lay on her back, her eyes open, looking at the top of,

        
the wagon, at the hangings, the shadows thrown on the

        
scarlet hides by the light of the fire bowl.

        
"I am free," she said.

        
I looked at her.

        
She rolled over on her elbows. "It is strange," she said. "I

        
am a slave girl. But I am free. I am free."

        
"I must sleep," I said, rolling over.

        
She kissed me on the shoulder. "Thank you," she said,

        
"Tarl Cabot, for freeing me."

        
I rolled over and seized her by the shoulders and pressed

        
her back to the rug and she looked up laughing.

        
"Enough of this nonsense about freedom," I said. "Do not

        
forget that you are a slave." I took her nose ring between my

        
thumb and forefinger.

        
"Oh" she said.

        
I lifted her head from the rug by the ring and her eyes

        
smarted.
           
                       

        
"This is scarcely the way to show respect for a lady," said

        
the girl.

        
I tweaked the nose ring, and tears sprang into her eyes.

        
"But then," she said, "I am only a slave girl."

        
"And do not forget it," I admonished her.

        
"No, no, Master," she said, smiling.
      

        
"You do not sound to me sufficiently sincere," I said.
    

        
"But I arm" she laughed.
                  

         
"I think in the morning," I said, "I will throw you to

       
kaiila." ''

       
"But where then will you find another slave as delectable

       
as I?" she laughed.

  
"Insolent wench!" I cried.

  
"Oh!" she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. "Please!"

 
With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of

 
her neck.

 
"Do not forget," I said, "that on your throat you wear a

 
collar of steel."

  
"Your collar!" she said promptly.

 
I slapped her thigh. "And," I said, "on your thigh you wear

 
the brand of the four bask horns"

  
"I'm yours," she said, "like a bosk!"

  
"Oh," she cried, as I dropped her back to the rug.

 
She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. "I'm free," she

 
said.

 
"Apparently," I said, "you have not learned the lesson of

 
the collar."

 
She laughed merrily. Then she lifted her arms and put

 
them about my neck, and lifted her lips to mine, tenderly,

 
delicately. "This slave girl," she said, "has well learned the

 
lesson of her collar."

  
I laughed.

 
She kissed me again. "Vella of Gor," said she, "loves

 
master."

  
"And what of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell?" I inquired.

  
"That pretty little slave" said Elizabeth, scornfully.

  
"Yes," I said, "the secretary."

 
"She is not a secretary," said Elizabeth, "she is only a little

 
Gorean slave."

  
"Well," said I, "what of her?"

 
"As you may have heard," whispered the girl, "Miss Eliza-

 
beth Cardwell, the nasty little wench, was forced to yield

 
herself as a slave girl to a master."

  
"I had heard as much," I said.

  
"What a cruel beast he was," said the girl.

  
"What of her now?" I asked.

 
"The little slave girl," said the girl scornfully, "is now

 
madly in love with the beast."

  
"What is his name?" I asked.

 
"The same who won the surrender of proud Vella of

 
Gor," said she.

  
"And his name?" I asked.

  
"Tart Cabot," she said.

 
"He is a fortunate fellow," I remarked, "to have two such-

 
women."

   
"They are jealous of one another," confided the girl.

   
"Insolent wench!" I cried.
                   

  
"Oh" she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. "Please"

 
With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of

 
her neck.

 
"Do not forget," I said, "that on your throat you wear a

 
collar of steel."

  
"Your collar!" she said promptly.

 
I slapped her thigh. "And," I said, "on your thigh you wear

 
the brand of the four bask hornet"

  
"I'm yours," she said, "like a bosk."

  
"Oh," she cried, as I dropped her back to the rug.

 
She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. "I'm free," she

 
said.

 
"Apparently," I said, "you have not learned the lesson of

 
the collar."

 
She laughed merrily. Then she lifted her arms and put

 
them about my neck, and lifted her lips to mine, tenderly,

 
delicately. "This slave girl," she said, "has well learned the

 
lesson of her collar."

  
I laughed.

 
She kissed me again. "Vella of Gor," said she, 'doves

 
master."

  
"And what of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell?" I inquired.

  
"That pretty little slaves" said Elizabeth, scornfully.

  
"Yes," I said, "the secretary."

 
"She is not a secretary," said Elizabeth, "she is only a little

 
Gorean slave."

  
"Well," said I, "what of her?"

 
"As you may have heard," whispered the girl, "Miss Eliza-

 
beth Cardwell, the nasty little wench, was forced to yield

 
herself as a slave girl to a master."

  
"I had heard as much," I said.

  
"What a cruel beast he was," said the girl.

  
"What of her now?" I asked.

 
"The little slave girl," said the girl scornfully, "is now

 
madly in love with the beast."

  
"What is his name?" I asked.

 
"The same who won the surrender of proud Vella of