Swordsmen of Gor

I could already see smoke to the east.

“They have begun to burn the camp,” I said.

“I must return to the cavalry,” said Tajima.

“I wish you well,” I said.

“I, too, wish you well, Tarl Cabot, tarnsman,” he said. He then turned about, and withdrew.

I watched men ascending the ramp, boarding.

“Pertinax,” I said, for he had approached. With him were Cecily and his Jane, both protected against the cold. Both were fetching, even jacketed and cloaked as they were. It is interesting how attractive slaves are, even when bundled. Perhaps that is because one knows they are slaves, and not free women. One can then, so to speak, unbundle them. One is well aware of what lies beneath that bundling, a slave, in her collar.

“Tal,” said he.

“Tal,” said I.

To be sure, not even free women are immune from the speculations of virile males. Do they not sometimes understand the eyes of men are upon them, speculatively. One would suppose so. One wonders if they suspect, within all those layerings, scarves, hoods, and veils, what the men are thinking. Would they be uneasy if they knew how they were viewed by strong men, would they tremble, would they be afraid, or would they redden and glow, as though helpless at a master’s feet? Surely they must understand those looks. They must be aware that men are conjecturing their lineaments, curiously, even idly, appraisingly, wondering if, under all that paraphernalia, all those wrappings, there might be something worth putting to its knees, worth collaring, and owning. Are the men conjecturing what they might look like, on a chain, being exhibited to buyers, naked, as women are sold, and such, perhaps groveling on the furs in an alcove, hoping to be found pleasing, perhaps even tunicked, barefoot, being sent to a market, running along, lightly, collared, on their errands.

The great majority of women on Gor are, of course, free women, of many diverse castes. On the other hand, female slavery is common. One sees them in the streets, in the markets, in the fields, and so on. Few slaves, statistically, are obtained from the slave farms. Most were originally free women, obtained by capture, in raids, by abduction, in war, and such.

As noted earlier the women of the enemy become the property of the victor. They are booty, as much as vessels, cloths, metals, kaiila, and such. To be sure, they are a particularly desirable form of booty, and men enjoy having it about, as slaves. Most slaves are purchased, of course, in the markets, where their captors put them up for sale. The sales-platform girls are supplemented, to some extent, by captures brought from Earth, but those captures, though quite numerous, abstractly considered, constitute only a small fraction of Gorean female slaves, perhaps one in two or three hundred. They do tend to be popular in the markets, however, perhaps in part due to their charms as barbarians but, too, I suspect, due to their responsiveness to Gorean males, men of a sort for whom their former civilizations and cultures have but ill prepared them. Never had they thought to be at the feet of such men, slaves, to what are to them uncompromising and magnificent beasts. They are, of course, merely the natural male, who is a master by nature.

It seemed clear, from materials brought on board, shackles, collars, and such, that Lords Nishida and Okimoto might have in mind, were their projects successful, the acquisition of large numbers of women, who might then be distributed, or sold. This is a way, of course, familiar on Gor, of financing further campaigns, further actions, and such.

Consider such women, now the property of victors.

Their rich raiment and status will be exchanged for the tunic of a slave, if that, and a collar. No longer do they possess goods but are now themselves goods. And let these goods then kneel and press their soft lips to the boots of conquerors, gratefully, thankful for their lives, spared now, at least for a time. And let them tremble, as well, realizing they are now no longer their own, but belong to masters, in whose grasp they will discover what it is to be a slave. The tiring, complex games of the free woman are now behind them. It is now theirs to serve and please, or die. Surely in their dreams they have considered this sort of thing, and now they discover, on their knees, it has become their reality. And what might it be, they might wonder, which has won them this incredible, welcome reprieve, temporary as it might be, from the ax or torch? Could it be that it is their sex and beauty, their exquisite features and lovely slave curves, to which they may have hitherto given little thought, save for occasionally regarding them in the mirror, perhaps wondering what they might be worth on a sales platform, those and, of course, the lust of men, to which they owe their lives? Perhaps. Had they been hitherto curious, perhaps idly so, as to what they might sell for in an open market, what price they might bring an owner who vends them, with others? They may now learn. Had they considered, hitherto, what it might be to be in the arms of a master? They will now learn.

“Thank you for bringing her,” I said to Pertinax, indicating Cecily.

He nodded. We had arranged it so, for I had come early to the wharf, to observe more of the lading.

I spoke of Cecily as having been brought, for she was a slave. In this sense, she had not accompanied Pertinax, but had been brought by him, as might have been, say, a dog. The same held for his Jane, of course.

Last night, leaving the slaves chained in the shed, we had boarded our gear.

Pertinax, no more than I, by the instructions of Lord Nishida, was to be with the cavalry. In its way, this was flattering. It indicated that Lord Nishida now regarded Pertinax as someone with whom to reckon. Too, of course, Pertinax and I shared quarters, could speak a language unfamiliar to most of the Pani, and so on. Pertinax, then, probably primarily because of his relationship with me, was now conceived of as deserving suspicion.

I supposed this was a compliment, in its way.

On the other hand, it was one which I, at least, would have been just as pleased to be without.

I wondered if he realized that his life must now be in greater danger.

If Lord Nishida decided to do away with me, I would suppose that Pertinax would be included in the instructions.

On the wharf, their progress arrested, Cecily and Jane knelt, as was appropriate for slaves in the presence of free persons. It would have been the same had a free woman been present.

Such things might seem unimportant or inconsequential to those unfamiliar with cultural protocol, but they are not. They are quite important and quite consequential. Such things, perhaps seemingly small to an outsider, are rich with significance. They, in their beauty and appropriateness, make perfectly clear relationships and conditions which are momentous. The kajira realizes very clearly why she is on her knees. She is a slave. Such a posture and attitude is quite meaningful to the collar-wearer. What may be more difficult for the outsider to grasp is that she regards this posture and attitude as appropriate for her. She feels comfortable and secure on her knees. As a slave, she knows she belongs on her knees. But, too, mastered, she wants to kneel, and loves doing so.

“When do we board?” inquired Pertinax.

“Soon,” I said.

I was waiting for Lord Nishida. Lord Okimoto had already boarded.

“Have the slaves been boarded yet?” he asked.

“Saru was put on board last night,” I said.

“Oh?” he said.

“About the twentieth Ahn,” I said. “She is doubtless within somewhere, nicely chained, probably by the neck.”

“My question was general,” he said. “I have no interest in the slut, Saru.”

“That is surprising,” I said. “Most men would find her of interest.”

“She is a slut,” he snarled.

“Yes,” I said, “and the best sort, a helpless, needful slut, who is a collared slave.”

“I despise her,” he said.

“She wants to be at your feet,” I said.

“I would kick her away,” he said.

“And she would crawl back, to kiss the boot which kicked her,” I said.

“She is contemptible,” he said.

“Not at all,” I said. “She is a needful slave.”

“Contemptible!” he said.

“Not at all,” I said. “There is nothing contemptible in a slave’s plaintive, desperate need. Most men find such