Authors: John Norman
She strove, biting her lip, not to whimper, for her master might not care for it. Had he not put her outside the circle of his purview? Too, she did not wish to be cuffed. Yet she was sure she would soon be able to resist no longer, and would inevitably utter the soft, pleading need noise of a stressed slave, even though it might bring not the master's mercy, but the lashing of his belt.
Cabot, of course, had not been, nor it is likely any man would have been, unaware of her restlessness, her scarcely controlled agitation, her attempts, those of a slave, to call herself to his attention.
Masters, you see, do not necessarily object to such discomfitures in their slaves. Muchly thereby are their lovely bellies well heated.
He turned to regard her.
She looked at him, wildly, piteously.
She struggled to keep the palms of her hands down on her thighs. Clearly she would have preferred to turn them, so that her small, soft palms would be exposed to her master, in a slave's mute appeal.
"Perhaps I shall bracelet you for the night,” said Cabot.
"Master?” she said.
"With your hands before you, so you will be comfortable,” he said, “lying down, with your hands fastened about a small tree."
Tears streaked her cheeks.
"What is wrong?” he asked.
She put herself to her belly, before him, sobbing.
"Did you enjoy being braceleted to the tree,” he asked, “neck leashed to it, unable to speak, gagged?"
"You touched me,” she said, “when I was helpless, and could not resist! Then you left me to writhe in need!"
"It is a common way to heat a slave,” said Cabot, “to make her helpless, and then touch her, and then leave her, indefinitely, if need be, until her needs master her, until she is the piteous victim of her own nature."
She placed her cheek against his right foot.
"Then,” he said, “they pull against their bonds, but, of course, are helpless to free themselves, and, if ungagged, they commonly call out, piteously, begging for usage, and even for so small a kindness as a caress."
"I beg usage,” she said.
"Even for the least of caresses?"
"Yes, Master!"
"Strange,” said he, “for a woman of Earth."
"I am no longer a woman of Earth,” she said. “Surely you know what has been done to me! Despise me, if you must, but is it not you who has made me like this?"
"If I have done anything here,” he said, “it is no more than to release what was already within you, waiting, longing, begging to be freed. Have you not consulted your dreams, your fantasies? And I do not despise a woman for her vitality and health, nor for her awakened sensitivities and needs. Only a lunatic or fool would do that. One might as well despise her for the circulation of her blood, the beating of her heart. No, I do not despise you. Rather, I rejoice, as would any true man, to see you so alive, and needful."
"I need a man,” she said. “A master!"
"A master?"
"Yes, a master!"
"Why?"
"Because I am a woman, a slave!"
"I see,” he said.
"A slave begs use,” she said.
"Earth seems now far behind you,” he said.
"Yes, Master!"
"You sound like a mere slave girl,” he said.
"It is what I now am!” she said.
"And anything in addition?"
"No, Master,” she said, “only that!"
"I like you like this,” he said.
She whimpered, piteously.
"I wonder if you know how beautiful you are in your need, how helpless and beautiful."
"Please content me, Master,” she said.
"Perhaps,” he said.
She moaned.
"Please,” she said, “please!"
"It seems the slave fires rage in your belly,” he said.
"Please, Master,” she protested.
"Do they?” he asked.
"Yes!” she said.
"What?” he asked.
"The slave fires rage in my belly!” she wept.
"You admit it?"
"Yes, yes!"
"Interesting,” he said.
"Please, Master!” she said.
"You are collared, are you not?” he asked.
"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” she wept.
"And whose collar do you wear?"
"Yours, yours, Master!” she cried.
"It is on you well, is it not?” he asked.
"Yes, Master!” she said.
"It is close-fitting, is it not?"
"Yes, Master!"
"It is locked on you, is it not?"
"Yes, Master!"
"Can you slip it?” he asked.
"No, Master!” she said.
She, bellied, began to kiss his feet, piteously.
"I need your touch, Master,” she said. “I need you, my master! I need you with all the desperation with which a slave needs her master!"
"It is interesting what slavery can do to a woman,” said Cabot.
"I beg to be touched,” she said. “Please have me!"
"As what?” he asked.
"As what I am,” she said, “as a slave."
"Only that?” he said.
"Yes, Master,” she said. “Please, Master!"
"Would you not prefer to be treated with the dignity and respect due to a free woman?” he asked.
"No longer,” said she. “How could I, knowing what I now know, be content with something so shallow, something so meaningless, with something so tepid and absurd?"
"Would you not prefer to be pridefully resistant, inert, and cool?"
"It would cheat me of myself,” she said.
"Surely you desire to be touched, if at all, only with tentative circumspection, with solicitous temerity, with hesitant, even apologetic, reluctance?"
"No,” she said. “I want to be handled, and mastered, and treated, and commanded, as what I am, a slave! Rope me, if you wish! Put me under your whip, if you wish!"
"Surely you crave distance, delicacy, courtesy, and reserve."
"No!"
"You are obviously desperately needful,” he observed.
"Yes, Master!"
"Perhaps I shall take pity on you,” he said.
"Yes, Master!"
"Perhaps then I shall treat you—as a free woman."
"No, no!” she wept. “Do not be cruel! Do not deprive me! My needs are a thousand times beyond those of a free woman! My needs are not those of free woman, but of a slave!"
"An aroused slave?"
"Yes!"
"The needs are different?” he asked.
"Yes!” she cried. “Yes! And I am at your feet, shameless, prostrate, begging!"
"As a slave?"
"Yes, yes,” she wept. “For I am a slave! She who is at your feet is not a free woman, but a slave, an abject, pleading slave!"
"And how should I treat you?” he asked.
"As what I am,” she said. “As a slave, an abject, pleading slave!"
"Do you beg it?” asked Cabot.
"Yes, my Master! I beg it, I beg it, my Master!"
"Very well,” said Cabot, and took her into his arms.
"Yes,” said Cabot, later, “it is interesting, indeed, the effect of slavery on a woman."
"Please, Master,” she begged. “More! More!"
"Very well,” said Cabot.
* * * *
It was some Ahn later, in the night, when the great voice was heard.
Cabot sat up, and Lord Grendel, whose watch it again was, rose to his feet, half crouched, ears lifted. Cabot's girl was at his thigh, unbound. She stirred, uneasily, and pressed her lips against his thigh, softly, gratefully, recalling perhaps the lengthy Ahn before, at the end of which her master, whose watch it then was, had thrust her from him.
"What is it?” asked Cabot.
"Turn on the translator,” said Grendel.
"Can you not tell me?” asked Cabot.
"Turn on the translator,” said Grendel, grimly.
The simple message was repeated, several times.
Cabot had now stood, and shaken the sleep from him. The slave was half kneeling, half sitting, beside him, on the grass, which still bore the signs of their tumult, and, later, rest.
The message, as stated, was a simple one.
It boomed within the cylinder, and must have carried even to the camps of the fleet survivors, to the remoter villages, and perhaps even to the shores of Lake Fear. If this were so, and if Lord Arcesilaus still somehow lived, he, in the cave, would have doubtless heard it, as well.
Cabot found and switched on his small translator, which he had set to a low volume, to reduce the likelihood of Gorean being detected by unwelcome ears.
"What is it, Master?” asked the slave.
Cabot cautioned her to silence, and held the device to his right ear.
"Intelligence has been brought to Agamemnon,” said Lord Grendel. “And it has been sifted."
Cabot nodded.
The Theocrat of the world had obviously been apprised of yesterday's dark work.
"I fear power weapons will now be used unrestrictedly within the world,” said Grendel.
"The world may be destroyed,” said Cabot.
"The world is not fragile,” said Grendel. “But it may be destroyed from within."
"So, too, may any world,” said Cabot.
"Gor, and her sister, Earth,” said Grendel, “lie within their atmospheres, but here the atmosphere lies within the world. With power weapons, Gor, and Earth, might be broken into fragments, each too small to hold an atmosphere, but here an atmosphere may be the more easily lost, escaping through vast ruptures, ruptures easily consequent upon the charges of the larger power weapons."
"It would destroy the world,” said Cabot.
"Agamemnon, I am sure,” said Lord Grendel, “if perceiving himself adequately threatened, would not hesitate to destroy this world."
"But he, too, would die,” said Cabot.
"No,” said Grendel. “There are other worlds."
"If Agamemnon wins, then,” said Cabot, “he wins, and if he loses, too, he wins."
"Yes,” said Lord Grendel.
"So what do we do?” asked Cabot. “Do we surrender?"
"No,” said Grendel. “We fight."
"Good,” said Cabot.
The simple message continued to resound throughout the cylinder.
"It seems we have made an impression,” said Lord Grendel.
"True,” said Cabot, tight-lipped.
"What is the message, Master?” asked the slave.
"You are short of arrows,” said Cabot to Lord Grendel. “You must take half of what is here."
Grendel nodded.
"Master?” asked the slave.
"Today,” said Cabot, “you will not be braceleted, or tethered."
"As Master wishes,” she said, uncertainly.
"I fear there are twenty with purple scarves for one without,” said Grendel.
Cabot nodded.
"And power weapons may now be utilized within the cylinder,” said Lord Grendel.
"But not the larger power weapons, presumably,” said Cabot.
"Not at first, surely,” said Grendel.
"They are at the flat ends of the cylinder?” asked Cabot.
"In vaults, locked within,” said Grendel, “with many additional weapons, smaller, manageable by a single Kur, or human."
"How can one reach them?"
"By flight,” said Grendel. “By the canvas and leather wings, beating against the atmosphere."
"Flight in the absence of gravity,” said Cabot.
"Much as in the shuttles,” said Grendel.
"Agamemnon must be prevented from reaching the vaults,” said Cabot.
"I doubt he is even thinking of that now,” said Grendel. “Recourse to such things would be a last resort. Better, now, merely to keep them secure."
Again and again, in a metallic, droning, reverberating Kur, the message of Agamemnon resounded, again and again in the cylinder.
Then, suddenly, it was silent.
Cabot switched off the translator.
"Why am I not to be braceleted and tethered, Master?” inquired the slave.
Cabot shook his head.
"But such was to protect me, was it not, that I not be understood as in violation of the injunction against slaves touching weapons, and that I might be clearly understood as only goods, merely as something to be disposed of according to the fortunes of war."
"Surely,” said Cabot. “But even were it not for such considerations you would have been treated identically."
"Led shamefully on a tether,” she asked, “sorely burdened, helplessly braceleted?"
"Yes,” said Cabot, “once I decided to take you with me."
"But, why, Master?"
"For your instruction,” he said, “and my pleasure."
"You wanted me so,” she said.
"Yes,” he said, “it would help you understand the better your bondage, and, for my part, I find it gives me great pleasure to have a beautiful woman in my bonds, helpless, and at my mercy."
Swiftly, startled, gasping, she flung herself to her knees before her master, and, head down, kissed him, again and again, about the knees and thighs.
"Was it instructive?” he asked.
"Well was I taught my servitude,” she said.
"Good,” he said.
"But, too, Master,” she whispered, “I felt so slave!"
"Good,” he said.
"And I knew myself so yours,” she said. “My belly was stirred. My thighs were hot. I was enflamed!"
"I know,” he said.
"But now I am to follow you freely?” she asked.
"Yes,” he said. “At least for now."
Grendel was dividing the arrows.
"But, why, Master?” she asked.
"Because, Lita,” he said, “though you are collared, you are obviously human."
"Of course, Master,” she said, puzzled.
"It has to do with the message,” said Lord Grendel.
"Your bonds, and such, even your collar,” said Cabot, “no longer afford you protection."
"The message,” said Lord Grendel, “was clear."
"What was it?” asked Lita.
"'Kill all humans',” said Lord Grendel.
"We may not live out the day,” said Cabot.
"Humans are safe with the revolutionaries,” said Lord Grendel, “as they are regarded either as allies or neutral, but those with the purple scarves will destroy all humans on sight."
"Why?” asked the slave.
"They are suspect,” said Lord Grendel, “and if one kills them all, one will surely kill those who might favor the revolution."
"And perhaps, in particular, one or two,” said Cabot, bitterly.
"Precisely,” said Grendel, thrusting several arrows into his quiver, and bundling others, to be carried by hand.
"What of the cattle?” said Cabot.