Witness of Gor (18 page)

I could not put my head between them. They were too closely set. I pressed the side of my face against them, first to the left, and then to the right, trying to see to the left and right. I could see, through them, only a bit of the ledge, narrow, extending to each side. I pressed my body against the bars. I felt their hardness against my softness. This disquieted me. It made me uneasy. But I then pressed myself even more closely against the bars.

Their hardness, suddenly, seemed powerful, and delicious. It made me feel weak. I felt so helpless behind them.

They were so stern and hard, so uncompromising, so unyielding. And I was within them.

Herein I think I found figures, or images, or symbols, of what I was not certain. There was the hardness of the bars, and my softness, things so utterly different, and yet somehow, subtly, meaningfully complementary. And then, too, there were the bars and, within them, utterly helpless, was my softness. How mighty were the bars! How strong they were, and perfect! I pressed my cheek and body against them, happily, joyfully, gratefully, knowing that I could never break them.

I then drew back a little, but kept my grasp on the bars. This room, or cave, I conjectured.

had not really been designed for such as I. It was so large, and strong. But it would hold one such as I quite as effectively as one such as they. I, though much smaller than they, no more than they, could even dream of slipping between the bars. They were too closely set.

I could see little from where I was, other than the ledge, and the mountains across the way. I thought it quite possible, however, that my cell was not the only one in this mountain, along that narrow path. That did not seem likely. It was, presumably, one of several along the path.

Indeed, there might be other such paths cut in the mountain, above this one, with other cells, and perhaps, to be sure. below me, as well, where I could not see. I considered calling out. But I did not call out. It is perhaps just as well. Women such as I, you see, are subject to discipline. I did not know if I might call out or not. I had not received any explicit permission to speak. In my training I had twice, for days at a time, been refused permission to speak. One must then do as best one can, with gestures, with whimpers, and such, to make one's needs known, that one desires food, that one begs permission to relieve oneself, and so on.

Yes, this cell would hold men, as well as such as I. Too, I thought, it would hold animals, even large animals. I wondered if animals were ever kept in it. Animals other than, of course, the sort that I was. I looked back to the porcelaintype container, near the back wall, to the right. I was glad it was there. I would be expected to use it. One is taught, I, and animals, too, of other sorts, to use such things, corners of cells, boxes, drains, and such. I, of course, was "cell broken." If no receptacle were there, and I need not "wait," sometimes in misery, until conducted by keepers to a suitable place for the discharge of such homely functions, I knew enough to use the back, right-hand corner of the area. It is not pleasant to have one' s face nearly thrust into one's wastes and then, on all fours, be dragged by the hair to the back, righthand corner of an area, where the keeper points meaningfully to the appropriate place of deposition. One learns quickly, of course. One trains well.

I looked out toward the mountains.

I grasped the bars.

Here, on this world, I was an animal. I must obey. I was branded. I could be collared. I could be bought and sold. It could be done with me as others pleased.

I had been brought here, to this world, to this fate.

The mountains across the way were very beautiful.

I wondered where I was.

I was not unhappy.

I put one hand through the bars, reaching out, idly, toward the mountains. How beautiful they were. I drew my hand back, and held to the bars. I had not seen a guard, or keeper. I drew back a little and pulled down on the short skirt of the tunic. This made it tighter for a moment on my body. This movement, drawing the skirt down as I had, conjoined with a shy expression, and an attitude of timidity, can be quite provocative. One does this as an act of seeming modesty but, of course, it accentuates one's figure. In such a way may the secret riches of a country be hinted at and an invitation issued to its conquest. I had thought of this, incidentally, even on my old world, but I had never done it there. I did not have the appropriate garmenture there, except, in effect, in my dreams. Too, there I had been a person, and not an animal. Too, to whom there might such an invitation be meaningfully offered? Doubtless there must have been some there who could have taken me in hand, but I had not met them. I had not been touched, as far as I knew, since I had left the house in which I had been trained. The drug, or drugs, had muchly suppressed my needs. Now, however, the effects of the drug, or drugs,, had worn off. I was awake, and fully conscious. Indeed, I was even hungry.

I was prepared to kneel behind the bars and put my hands through, begging. I did not think I would have to beg too hard. I had been popular with the guards at the house. They had, at least, made frequent use of me. Such as I, incidentally, often compete for the touch of men.

Perhaps we should share, but each of us wants what she can get, and so we behave in such a manner as to obtain all we can.

Our bitterest rivalries then are commonly with our "sisters." In these competitions, as they had occurred in the house, in training, I had enjoyed what was apparently an unusual success.

Aside from my possible independent interest to men, I do not doubt but what this success was largely due to my swift progress in readiness, need and heat, which progress was sure, profound and irreversible. Indeed, toward the end, primarily, I think, because of my ignited appetition and heat, my inability to control my responsiveness, my inability to help myself in the arms of men, I was getting what was regarded as far more than my fair share of attention.

This compromised to some extent, it seems. the training of others. It did not endear me, of course, either, to my fellow trainees. Sometimes I was struck. Twice I was beaten. At any rate, to my dismay shortly before I was removed from the house, the guards had actually been warned away from me. No longer, it seems, was I to be permitted, with my smells and heat, the promise of my responsiveness, my possible beauty, my anxious petitions, to seduce them from their duties. Too, I was ready, it seemed, to leave the house. And there were, after all, fires to be stoked in other bellies. Others, too, must be readied for departure.

It is not that I was totally neglected, of course, which neglect would have produced utter anguish, but rather that my use was then restricted, or rationed. But, to be honest, not all the guards observed the schedules, the warnings, the cautions. More than once, late at night, while others slept, I was awakened by a soft tapping on the bars and summoned forth from the kennel, to serve there before it, in the light of a dark lantern, thence to be returned to the kennel.

Gratefully had I crawled forth; reluctantly had I crawled back.

I clung to the bars.

I smiled.

There would be men here, doubtless, in this place, similar to those whom I had known in the house.

I recalled how the guards had been warned away from me, late in my training, in the house.

In its way that, at least in the memory, pleased me. They had not been subjected to such restrictions with respect to any of the others in my group. I was the only one! How special that made me feel! Oh, how I had wanted the guards! How prettily I had begged! And, if not soon satisfied, how rather desperate and plaintive had become my petitions.

I could recall having been on my belly more than once, kissing their feet, weeping, imploring their touch. But on the whole I had not had to beg very hard. "Temptress," had said more than one of me. I had in heat desired them, and they, in their power had put me often to their uses.

Oh, yes, I had been needful and beautiful! Too, I had been quick in learning. I had mastered my lessons well.

Certainly I was at least one of the best of the students. The guards had been warned away from me! Was it my fault if I might look well, kneeling at their feet? Was I to blame, if they found me of interest, perhaps even disquieting, or distracting They did not have to spend additional time with me! It had been their choice! I laughed. How popular I had been with them, with perhaps one exception, he whose whip I had first kissed, he who had treated me with such cruelty. But what did he matter? Who cared for him! How special I was! Toward the end they had even warned the guards away from me. They must not be distracted by my plaints and beauty. I was already ready, hot in my shackles. Were there not others to be trained, as well? I did not doubt but what I would be well able to please what men might be in this place.

Had I not been evaluated, and purchased for this place? Was I not trained? Often, on my old world, I had been unsure as to how to relate to men, how to behave with them, I mean, really. I was familiar, of course, with the protocols of neuterism, the silly, selfcontradictory tenets of unisex, invented by those apparently as innocent of logic as glands, and the pathetic absurdities of "personism," such things, the fictions, the lies, the pretenses, the many tiny, brittle crusts concealing the smoldering depths of difference, of reality, of sexuality within one. But how tiresome it had been, and how frustrating, pretending to be only a surface, with no interior, no inner reality. Were those who preached such stupidities, I wondered, only such a thing themselves, a one-dimensional surface, or were they simply lying. Could there be very different sorts of human beings? Were some, in effect, hollow? If so, perhaps it was natural for them to suppose that others must be as empty as they. But I did not think that human beings were one-dimensional or hollow, even those who spoke in such a fashion. I thought that we were all very real. Some of us, however, might fear to inquire into this reality. Some of us might feel it was safer to pretend it did not exist, to deny it.

It seemed now to be late afternoon.

I clasped the bars.

On my old world I had been unsure as to how to relate to men, how to behave with them.

Many had been the uncertainties, the confusions, in such matters. We had seemed, such as I, and men, on that world, to have no clear identities. We were strangers, and ambiguities, to one another. It was almost as though we had no reality of our own. It was almost as though we were only images, only projections, only shadows, only vapors. But here, on this world, such as I, at least, had an identity, an explicit, verifiable identity, an explicit, verifiable reality. I was here something, something very real, something as real as the living rock about me, as real as the bars of my cell. Here, on this world, there was no puzzle as to how such as I were to relate to men. Here there were no uncertainties. Here the doubts were dissipated. Here the confusions had vanished. On this world I would kneel before men. I would serve them. I would please them to the best of my ability, in any way they might desire.

I clung to the bars.

I pressed my left cheek against them. I thought of the men of this world. How else could a woman such as I relate to such men? I suspected they would find me pleasing. I was sure I could please them. I now knew how to relate to men. I now knew what to do. I had been trained.

The uncertainties, the ambiguities, were gone.

I did not think I would have difficulty pleasing the men here. Too, I had had no difficulty in pleasing the men in the house, with but one exception. Why had he hated me? Was he angry that I could not help but be what I was? The guards in the house, late in my training, had been warned away from me. That did not seem to me likely to happen here. Presumably that had been a special situation, where the resources of instruction must be rationally distributed, where there were others who must be trained, and such. But these were not, presumably, pens. If I were popular here I did not think it likely that men would be warned away from me. There would be no point to it. Rather, I would be merely the more frequently used. If any were to be upset about such a matter, it would presumably be others such as I, but, in that case, let them look out for themselves! I was quite ready to compete, you see, in any such contests!

How scandalous, I thought, that I should have such thoughts. What had I become? But I knew.

Yes, I was sure I could please men!

I leaned against the bars, dreamily. I would, at any rate, do my best.

I knew that I had always wanted to please men, and serve them. That had seemed to me in the order of nature, and to be fitting and right. But now, suddenly, remarkably, I had found myself on a world where, literally I must do so. On this world, I had no choice in the matter. I was subject to discipline. I did not wish to be punished. I did not wish to be killed.

I held to the bars.

I looked out, at the narrow ledge, the beautiful mountains, the vast, bright, late-afternoon cloudy sky over the mountains.

How beautiful was this world!

To be sure, I was not important. I was less than nothing within it.

I thought of my old world, and its buildings, its streets, its roads, its signs, its crowding, its people, so many of them so wonderful, so precious, so many of them so miserable and sad, their mode of dress, now seemingly so unnatural, or eccentric, the vanities, the hostilities, the offensive, disgusting mindlessness of its materialism, the abuse of serious intellect and genuine feeling, the sense of emptiness and alienation, the destructive, pathetic search of so many for toxic stimulants, the banal electronic gaudiness, the unwillingness to look within, or ahead, the culture of selfishness, comfort and distraction. I was not then so disappointed to be where I was. In my old world I had been told I was important, as one tells everyone in that world, but I had not been, of course. Here I knew I was not important but hoped that I might, sometime, mean at least a little to someone. One need not be important, you see, not at all, for that to be the case.