Fighting Slave of Gor (13 page)

When Lola looked up, the Lady Gina directed her to the woman who had examined me. Lola swiftly went and knelt before her.

"What are you called?" asked the woman.

"Lola," said the girl, looking up, fearfully.

"Stand up, Lola," said the woman, "and take off your clothes."

"Yes, Mistress," said Lola. She stood up and slipped from the tunic, which she dropped to the tiles behind her.

"You are a very pretty slave, Lola," said the woman.

"Thank you, Mistress," said Lola.

"Let her begin," said the woman to the Lady Gina.

"Lola," said the Lady Gina, "begin at the far end of the line of male slaves. Tell each that you are his slave. Kiss them. Tell them that you love them. Address them as Master. Then, kiss them again"

"Yes, Mistress," said Lola, miserably. She ran lightly to the end of the line.

The Lady Gina followed her to the end of the line. She removed the whip from its hook on her belt. This action did not pass unnoticed by Lola.

"Be sensuous, Lola," said the Lady Gina. "I think you can manage that," she added, acidly.

"Yes, Mistress," said Lola, casting a frightened glance at the Lady Gina, and, too, at the female slavers.

Lola then took the first male slave in her arms. She looked up at him. "I am your slave, Master," she said. She then kissed him. "I love you, Master," she said. Then she kissed him again.

"Excellent, Lola," said the Lady Gina. Two of the woman slavers laughed. One of them, with a marking stick, made a notation on a paper she carried. It was clipped on a board.

"Proceed to the next," said the Lady Gina.

Lola, obedient, frightened, proceeded to the next slave. It was a great shame, I knew, for a female slave to even have to touch a male slave, let alone to perform such an act as to address him as master. Female slaves despise male slaves. They regard themselves, and correctly, I suppose, as the rightful property only of free men and women, masters and mistresses.

At last Lola stood before me. Her eyes were filled with tears. She almost choked. "Not him, please, Mistress!" she begged.

"You have hesitated in the performance of your duties, Lola," said the Lady Gina.

Swiftly Lola put her arms about me. Then, suddenly, for an instant, she held me tightly. I had then felt her body, for the instant, spasmodically move against mine. Her cheek was against my chest. "Interesting," said one of the woman slavers. "I think the little slut should be whipped," said another. "Have no fear," said the Lady Gina. "She will be punished." Lola drew back a little. She trembled. I could still feel her body, sweet in its trembling, against mine. She looked up at me. There were tears in her eyes.

"Proceed, Lola," said the Lady Gina.

"With so despicable a slave, Mistress?" asked Lola.

"Proceed, Lola," said the Lady Gina.

"Yes, Mistress," said the girl. She then, again, held me more closely. Again she lifted her eyes to mine. "Look at the little slut," said one of the women. "She is excited." "Filthy little slave slut," said another. Lola was stark naked, save for her collar. She was barefoot on the tiles. "I am your slave, Master," she whispered to me. I felt her belly against me, and her breasts. She was the sort of woman a man of Earth would scarcely have dared to let enter his dreams. I recalled that she had once been forced to lie naked before me as a slave girl. I must resist her! Then the hot, sensual, naked, collared she of her pressed to me. I felt her lips on mine, and she kissed me, with the liquid, melting, indescribable kiss of the slave girl, the owned woman. "I love you, Master," she whispered. "Aiii!" cried one of the women. I cried out with misery. The women laughed. "That one is alive!" laughed one of them. "Are you sure he is from Earth, the slave world?" asked another. "It will be a lucky mistress who gets him," said another. I looked at the women, wretchedly, shamed. I looked at the woman with the marking stick and the paper, clipped to its board. She looked at me and laughed. I saw the marking stick move, as she made a notation on her record.

"Do not put your clothing on, Lola," said the Lady Gina. "Go directly to your kennel. You will hear from me later."

"Yes, Mistress," said Lola. Then she looked at me. "I hate you, Slave!" she cried. "Slave!"

"Run, Lola," said the Lady Gina.

"Yes, Mistress," said Lola, and fled from the room.

"What a slut she is," said one of them, "to be excited by a mere male slave."

"Yes," said another.

"Let us retire to a more comfortable room," said the Lady Gina, "and discuss the slaves."

The Lady Gina then left the room, followed by most of the women slavers. One of them remained for a moment, looking at me. It was she who had most closely examined me, she who had worn, beneath her silken sleeve, the metal-studded, black-leather wristlet.

"Are you coming, Lady Tuna?" asked one of the women, pausing at the door.

"Yes," said the woman regarding me. Then she turned and, with the other woman, who waited for her, left the room.

7
I
AM
THROWN
A
WOMAN

I sat alone in my cell. I now sat on a heavy bench, some five feet in length, before a stout, rectangular table. These things had been put in the cell for me. I wore a light, repcloth slave tunic. On the floor, on straw, was a blanket which I had been given. Though the cell door was locked, I was not chained. On the table was a bowl of cheap wine, some wedges of yellow bread and a wooden bowl containing vegetables and chunks of meat.

Today I had been appraised.

I was still furious with the shame of it. I was not a woman! Then I smiled to myself. The thought had been almost Gorean. I reminded myself I was a man of Earth. How shameful, too, must be such an ordeal for a woman. How piteous it was that such fair beauties should be enslaved for the pleasures of masters.

I wished I owned one. Then, of course, I thrust the thought from my mind.

I chewed on a piece of meat and drank from the shallow, chipped bowl of clay which contained the wine.

My thoughts were mixed and troubled. Today I had been appraised. I was confident, now, that I would not be kept much longer in the pens. But I did not even know the location of the pens. I did not even know the city in which I was kept. Curiosity, I had been told, was not becoming in a slave. I smiled to myself. How faraway seemed Earth now with its pettiness and vanity. I was not even, for some reason, miserable that I had been brought to Gor. I did not understand, clearly, why this should be. Surely my condition was shameful, and I had much to fear. Surely, in many ways, it was a horrifying world to which I had been brought. I remembered the sleen. I had felt the whip. Yet I was not, truly, unhappy. Earth had been a country of pollutions and poisons. The very air men breathed there, the very food they ate, contained recognized, but, incredibly, not removed, toxic elements. It was impossible, really, to do anything about such things, I had gathered. What an incredible world Earth was. Could it not understand that the environmental criminal was far more dangerous than .the lonely madman or assassin, that his crime affected not isolated, tragic victims but communities, a planet, unborn generations. Was his profit so sacred, truly? Was it truly more precious than lives, and the future? The men of Earth congratulated themselves smugly on the power of their democracies, in which the people, purportedly, ruled. But if the people, truly, ruled, why and how could their planet's processes proceed in such obvious ways inimical to their welfare? How could their world be so miserable for the people if they were truly kings within it? But perhaps they were not kings within it. Perhaps they have only been told they are kings, and .that satisfies them. Who, I wondered, were the true kings? Or, perhaps there were no kings, truly, only the madness of the untended machine.

I rose from the bench and walked about the cell. I felt one of the damp walls. I was grateful for the blanket I now had. I went and felt the heavy bars, with the lateral crosspieces, which formed one side of the cell. I gripped them. I was well confined within. I went back to the table. I was a prisoner and a slave. I even wore a steel collar. Yet I was not overly discontent. I was eager to sae this world to which I, a man of Earth, had been brought as a mere slave. It was my hope that if I obeyed my masters or mistresses, and well pleased them; I might be permitted to live.

Why was I not more miserable than I was that I had been brought to Gor? I pondered this. Because of the diet and exercise, enforced on me in the pens, I was now healthier and stronger than I had ever been. Perhaps this had something to do with my feelings. Such homely simplicities as diet, rest and exercise can often work wonders for one's outlook. Too, I was looking forward to the adventures of a new world, even though it might be one in which I was only a slave. I laughed. Perhaps the matter was so simple as even the water and air of Gor, so fresh and pure, so stimulating, compared to that of Earth, even in the depths of the pens.

I rose from the bench again and gripped one of its legs in my fist. I lifted it from the floor by one of the legs, lifting it slowly, directly upward, until I held it at an arm's length. I could never have done this on Earth. This was not merely a function of the reduced gravity of the planet but of newly acquired strength. "A Mistress may wish to know that she is in your arms," the Lady Gina had told me. I laughed, and lowered the bench slowly to the stones.

I sat down again on the bench and fed myself another piece of meat.

I looked about the cell. The greatest reason I was not more discontent than I was, I think, was simply that I had come to a world such as Gor. I remembered Earth, with its pettiness, its greed and vanity, its smugness, its pretensions, its pollutions and poisons, its teeming, crowded, miserable populations, and its endemic fears, fears such as that of not having enough energy to spin the wheels of an exorbitant and largely unnecessary technology, and the fear, fully warranted, of the falling of the sword of a nuclear Damocles. Earth seemed a world of sicknesses and traps, a world which seemed contrived as an offense against nature, a world in which the very sir itself, by the works of men, was laden with deleterious gases. How little surprising, then, that I should not have found myself overly discontent with the felicitous discovery that I had now been introduced into a quite different milieu. I sensed that in Gor there was a youth and an openness which had long been missing from my old world. In Gor I sensed an ambition, a freshness and hope, a sparkle, that had perhaps not been felt on Earth since the Parthenon was new. Doubtless there is much on Gor to be deplored, but I cannot bring myself to deplore it. Doubtless Gor is impatient, cruel and heartless, but yet, I think, too, it is innocent. It is like the lion, impatient, cruel, heartless, and innocent. It is its nature. Gor was a strong-thewed world, a new world, a world in which men might again lift their heads to the sun and laugh, a world in which they might again, sensibly, begin long journeys. It was a world of which Homer might have sung, singing of the clashing of the metals of men and the sweetness of the wine-dark sea.

I thought of the gray, blackened landscapes of Earth. How sad it is when a world grows old, resigned and vile.

Doubtless there is much on Gor to be deplored, but I cannot bring myself to deplore it. I cannot bring myself, truly, to deplore the exuberance, the joy, the vigor and freedom that is Gor. Others may do that, if they wish. I cannot do so. I have been there.

Let men again put their hands to the oars; let the low, swift ships be launched once more.

I took another piece of meat from the wooden bowl. I looked down at the straw, and my blanket, heavy and dark, upon it. I did not really wish to retire so soon.

I then heard her weeping, being dragged down the corridor. I sprang up. I then saw, the guard, Prodicus, on the other side of the bars. He was a huge man. I had already had experience of his strength when he, with his fellow guard, Gron, the Oriental, had handled me with such ease. I knew he could break my arms and legs with ease, if he chose. "Stand back in the cell, Slave," he said. I stood back. At his left hip, cruelly bent over, his hand knotted tightly in her hair, he held a girl. She was naked and crying. Her small hands were fastened behind her back with slave bracelets. A key on a wire dangled downward from her collar. It was the key, I supposed, to the bracelets she wore. Also, tied about her neck, fastened there by its blades, dangling downwards, was a slave whip. Prodicus, with a jangle of keys on his ring, thrust a key into the lock on my cell door and freed the bolt. He then returned the key, on its ring, to the hook on his belt. He swung open the cell door. He entered the cell, dragging the girl. He threw her cruelly to her knees before me. "She is yours for the night," he said. "Do not kill her. Do not break her bones."

"I understand," I said.

He then, not turning his back on me, left the cell. In a moment meat he had locked it and, replacing the ring of keys on his belt, had disappeared down the corridor.

Lola, the slave whip tied about her neck, terrified, looked up at me.

"Please do not hurt me, Master," she said.

It startled me that she had called me `Master,' but then I recalled that she had been given to me for the night. For the night I owned her.