Vagabonds of Gor (53 page)

Read Vagabonds of Gor Online

Authors: John Norman

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Fantasy, #Action & Adventure, #Adventure

BOOK: Vagabonds of Gor
9.93Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

She looked up at me. "Please continue," she said.

 

"You are bound," I said.

 

"Please, more," she said.

 

I regarded her.

 

"Please," she said.

 

"Perhaps you can free your hands," I said.

 

"No," she said, "I cannot."

 

"Try," I said.

 

She fought to free her hands. She was unsuccessful.

 

"I am at your mercy," she said, lifting her body. "Please, more."

 

"Very well," I said.

 

"Yes!" she wept, joyously.

 

I then began to stoke and build, so to speak, and then, gently, to fan the fires in her belly.

 

"Where are you taking me?" she begged.

 

"Somewhere, I suspect," I said, "where you have not been before."

 

"Take me there, my captor," she wept. "Force me there! If I dally, whip me!"

 

Moment by moment, touch by touch, she ascended higher and higher. I myself marveled, for my own contribution to this, at least to my own mind, was negligible. To be sure, I had put her in bonds and was forcing her through her paces. But even so, to my mind, I was doing very little. All, or almost all, of this glorious responsiveness was somehow within her. Women as a whole, given a little patience, are marvelously sexually responsive. It is well worth waiting for them. One will not be disappointed. But this one seemed unusually so. Her reflexes were almost as instantly activatable as those of a female slave, most of whom, in virtue of their condition and training, juice readily, often at so little as a glance or a snapping of fingers. If she was this responsive as a free woman it was interesting to consider what she might be like if she were a slave. She would be, at the very least, particularly at the mercy of men.

 

"You are a feast, Ina," I said.

 

Her eyes were closed. She was utterly beautiful, being ravished in the thralldom of her needs.

 

"And that is why it is," I said, "that I will put you in two slave strips."

 

She opened her eyes.

 

"It will be little enough to conceal you," I said, "but it may be enough."

 

"I do not understand," she gasped.

 

"Otherwise it would be much like carrying a tray of steaming, roasted viands into a yard of trained, but starved sleen."

 

"What are you saying?" she asked, twisting in the sand.

 

"One could scarcely blame them if they leaped forward with ravenous ferocity and devoured them on the spot."

 

"I do not understand," she said.

 

"I am speaking of the difficulty of practicing restraint in the presence of objects of incredible desirability," I said, "even on the part of trained beasts, particularly under certain conditions."

 

She looked at me, frightened.

 

"To be sure," I said, "one might always fling the viands to the beasts, that they might feed. That, undoubtedly, sooner or later, is best."

 

"An object of incredible desirability?" she said, falteringly.

 

"You, my dear Ina," I said, "as lately you have become."

 

"No," she said. "No!"

 

"But, yes," I said. "Observe." I then touched her a little, making her squirm and leap.

 

"See?" I said.

 

She thrashed in the sand, wild protest in her eyes, but unable to help herself.

 

"And you are beautiful, too," I said.

 

"Oh!" she wept, touched.

 

"Wait until they see how you respond," I said.

 

"No, no!" she said.

 

"To be sure," I said, "you are not a female slave."

 

"No, no!" she said.

 

"But there do not seem to be any of them about," I said. "So you will have to do."

 

"Please, no, my captor!" she begged.

 

"The fellows from Ar need help," I said. "I am not keen on this, you understand, but I really think they will be in a rather bad way if someone doesn't lend them a hand."

 

"You cannot be serious," she said. "Oh!"

 

"I am very serious," I said, "though I am somewhat reluctant to admit it."

 

"What of me?" she asked.

 

"You, my dear," I said, "will be a mute rence girl."

 

"A rence girl!" she said, half rearing up.

 

"Yes," I said. "It will make sense to the fellows of Ar that I may have picked up a rence girl in the delta, particularly one as pretty as you are. That will be understandable. What fellow, the opportunity conveniently affording itself, would not do the same? Too, you are not branded, so that will fit in with such a story. As you are not marked, it would be highly unlikely I could palm you off as a slave. Who would believe it? On the other hand, who would expect a rencer captive to be branded, at least until one got as far as an iron. Too, given what I told our friend, Plenius, the fellow I saved from the sand, my former keeper, they will be unlikely to associate you with the Lady Ina. They will believe that she was taken by rencers and presumably done away with, or possibly enslaved. You should not be in much danger, really. At least I hope not. Remember that they have never seen the face of the Lady Ina, not fully, for she was always veiled when in their vicinity. Too, as you have been under discipline, and will continue to be kept under discipline, I do not think you are likely to be betrayed by the arrogance or mannerisms of a free woman. For example, you may not be aware of this but you now carry yourself, and move, differently from what you did before. Everything about you now is much softer and more beautiful than it was. Indeed, frankly, I do not know if you could go back to being a free woman, at least of the sort you were. That I fear, for better or for worse, is now behind you."

 

"It seems you have thought these matters through in some detail," she said.

 

"Too," I said, "I shall call you 'Ina'."

 

"Is that wise?" she asked.

 

"I think so," I said. "I think the men of Ar, remembering that the Lady Ina was somewhat rude to me in one of their camps, will see this as a rich joke, giving her name to a lowly rence girl. But also, if they grow suspicious of you, I want it to be very natural that you would promptly, and without thought, answer to the name of 'Ina'. It might surely provoke suspicion if you were supposedly, say, Feize or Yasmine, or Nancy or Jane, and you answered to the name of 'Ina'."

 

"You speak of me as though I might be a sleen," she said, " 'answering to a name'."

 

"You are a captive," I reminded her.

 

"True," she said.

 

"Also," I said, "I like the name 'Ina' for you. 'Ina' is an excellent name for you!"

 

"Is that supposed to be flattering?" she asked.

 

I looked at her. I considered what she might look like in a collar, and chains. "Yes," I said. I wondered if she knew that 'Ina' was a common slave name.

 

"And I am to be mute?" she said.

 

"I think that is in our best interests," I said. "If you are a simple rence girl, we cannot very well have you speaking with the accents of a cultured lady of Ar."

 

"I suppose not," she said, grudgingly.

 

"There is nothing personal in this," I said. "You have a lovely accent. I am fond of hearing it. Indeed, I am particularly fond of hearing it in female slaves."

 

"Slaves!"

 

"But you, of course, are a free woman."

 

"Yes!" she said.

 

"There are many lovely accents, of course," I said, "for example, those of Turia and Cos."

 

"Particularly in female slaves," she said.

 

"Yes," I said.

 

She pulled a little at her wrists, futilely.

 

"Have you heard of the planet, Earth?" I asked.

 

"Yes," she said.

 

"And of women brought here from that planet?"

 

"Slaves," she said.

 

"Of course," I said.

 

"Yes," she said.

 

"Many speak their Gorean with a piquant flavor," I said.

 

"Undoubtedly," she said.

 

"And many find those accents interesting, even exotic and charming, as I find yours."

 

"Do not confuse me with the women of Earth," she said.

 

"Why?" I asked.

 

"They are slave stock," she said.

 

"All women are slave stock," I said.

 

She looked up at me, angrily, but then, as I touched her lightly, she moaned, and squirmed helplessly.

 

"You squirm rather like a slave," I said.

 

"Oh!" she gasped.

 

"Yes," I said. "To be sure, many of the girls brought here from Earth learn their Gorean so well that they become indistinguishable from native born slaves. Perhaps they have best been brought under the whip. Even so they will often, in the pronunciation of a word or two, betray their Earth origin. Sometimes masters enjoy tricking such a mistake out of them. The girls must then be anxious whether they are to be mocked, savored or beaten."

 

"Please touch me again," she whispered. "Yes!"

 

Many women, of course, have high linguistic aptitudes. These may have been selected for, considering the high mobility of women, in virtue of practices in exogamous mating, enslavements, sales, captures, and such, assisting them to placate, and accommodate themselves to, foreign masters.

 

"And so," I said, "in spite of the pleasure which listening to your accent affords me I would rather forgo that pleasure temporarily, enjoyable though it may be, than risk impalement on its account."

 

"Of course," she said, tensely.

 

"You are then to be as a mute rence girl."

 

"Perhaps I can write in the sand," she said.

 

"No," I said. "Most rence girls are illiterate."

 

"How, then, am I to communicate?" she asked.

 

"By whimpers, moans, and such," I said.

 

"Then I shall be, in effect, only a pet animal!"

 

"Yes," I said. "And with respect to moans and whimpers, considering what is likely to be done to you, you will probably find such sounds appropriate enough."

 

"I see," she said.

 

"I trust you will play your role well," I said.

 

"I will try," she said.

 

"Your life may depend on it," I said.

 

"You are then truly going to the aid of the men of Ar?" she said.

 

"Yes," I said.

 

"Your decision is made," she said.

 

"Yes," I said. "I made it earlier."

 

"When I was kneeling, with my head down to the sand?"

 

"Yes," I said.

 

"I yielded to you!" she said. "And yet you were paying me no attention!"

 

"I was thinking," I said. She made an angry noise.

Other books

Catherine's Cross by Millie West
Namaste by Sean Platt, Johnny B. Truant, Realm, Sands
Deadfall by Patricia H. Rushford
Dead Silence by Brenda Novak
Pies & Peril by Janel Gradowski