Swordsmen of Gor

guards who flanked her. “I was warned to silence, but would not be denied. I was struck! Struck!”

I now understood the bruise on her left cheek. I supposed she had been cuffed, struck with the open hand. One does not strike a woman as one might a man.

“I could not believe that one had dared to lay a hand on me,” she said. “When I expressed my indignation, and warned him that I would see to his punishment, the hideous, degrading device you saw but moments ago was forced into my mouth and fastened in place, and then I was put to my knees, to my knees, though a free woman, and must then wait outside, unable to speak, and kneeling, until brought within.”

“Most regrettable,” said Lord Nishida.

That she had been knelt would account for the soiling of the sheet, in the vicinity of her knees.

Given the personality, antecedents, and presuppositions of Miss Wentworth I could understand something of her frustration and outrage.

She had brought much of this, if not all of it, on herself, of course.

An obedient slave, of course, would almost never be struck. There would be no point to it. Similarly, if she were knelt, and, say, hooded, she would think little of it, for she is slave, and knows it will be done with her as the master pleases.

“Then,” she said, “when put to my feet and ready to be brought within, my head was covered in the sheet, completely, so I could not see my way!”

“That is common,” said Lord Nishida, “when one such as you is to be presented before a daimyo.”

“What?” said Miss Wentworth.

“A lord,” said Tajima.

“One such as I?” she said.

“Yes,” said Tajima.

This was not unlike a practice in the court of some Ubars, when a certain form of gift, or tribute, is being presented.

I would later learn that daimyo, or “great names,” were vassals to a shogun, a high lord, usually a military governor, with an army at his disposal. A shogun was nominally subject to an emperor, but the emperor’s role was largely ceremonial, and the true power, as is commonly the case, lies with those who are the masters of men and weapons.

“I denounce this brute to my right,” said Miss Wentworth. “He struck me, he denied me speech, by means of the humiliating object fastened in my mouth, and he put me to my knees before him. I, on my knees, before a male! I demand his punishment. He is to be slain, or flogged to the bone!”

“What is your business, that of which you spoke?” asked Lord Nishida.

“Is it not obvious?” inquired Miss Wentworth.

“Please speak,” said Lord Nishida.

“You have heard of the world, Earth, I presume,” said Miss Wentworth.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida.

“I was approached by an agent on Earth, one doubtless in your employ,” she said, “and engaged, for a stipulated compensation, to pursue certain projects on this world on your behalf, in particular making contact with a Tarl Cabot and seeing to it that he was delivered to an agent of yours in a timber reserve of a city called Port Kar. To abet this project it was meet that I disguise myself, which I did, adopting the guise of a Gorean slave girl, even to allowing myself to be seen in the insulting, disgusting garmenture of such sleek, meaningless, lascivious, groveling little beasts. To complete the disguise I would require a subordinate to play the role of a master, and for that purpose I had no difficulty in recruiting a suitable male weakling, a minor employee in the very firm in which I worked, a fool, one of several, hopelessly besotted with my beauty from afar, who would take orders from me, docilely and unquestioningly.”

“Mr. White?” said Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” said Miss Wentworth. “And now I come to my demands.”

“But, please,” said Lord Nishida. “You were approached by no agent of mine.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Can you make tea?” he inquired. “Properly?”

“No,” she said, puzzled.

“Can you arrange flowers,” he asked. “Properly?”

“No,” she said.

“Can you play a stringed musical instrument, a lyre, a lute, a samisen?”

“No,” she said.

I saw the two contract women exchange amused glances. One giggled, slightly, she on the right, as one faced them. This displeased Tajima, but the girl did not seem disconcerted by his disapproval.

Lord Nishida did not see fit to acknowledge the contract woman’s indiscretion.

The woman’s name was Sumomo, and Tajima, I would later learn, was interested in her contract, which he could not afford.

“Perhaps you can dance,” said Lord Nishida.

“No,” she said.

Lord Nishida would surely not have in mind dances which might be indigenous to his own culture. Miss Wentworth could not be expected to have such skills. They would be quite foreign to her.

He must have in mind then, I supposed, Gorean slave dance.

To be sure, she would doubtless know nothing of that, as well.

The forms of dance of the women of the “strange men” would, I supposed, be lovely and would be backgrounded by a rich cultural tradition, but I also supposed they would be quite different from Gorean slave dance.

Whereas Gorean slave dance can be as subtle as the opening of the petals of a flower it is commonly richly, luxuriantly, unmistakably, outspokenly, unapologetically, brazenly erotic. It is hard for a woman to be more beautiful than in slave dance, where the slave, barefoot in sand, in a swirl of diaphanous silk, bangled, belled, and collared, dances before masters.

A skilled dancer brings high prices. I had once owned one, Sandra, whom I had sold long ago to a dealer in such wares, for a golden tarn disk.

Many masters require that their slaves learn at least the rudiments of such dance.

One supposes that the motivation of this is clear.

“Are you skilled,” asked Lord Nishida, “in the art of conversation?”

“No,” said Miss Wentworth, “and I do not understand the purport of these bizarre questions.”

“What then are you good for?” asked Lord Nishida.

“I do not understand,” she said. “I have fulfilled my part of the bargain, and I now demand my compensation, and to be conducted to some point, from which I may be promptly returned to Earth, to New York City. Please secure the moneys as soon as possible, or arrange for their delivery on Earth, as I intend to waste no more time here.”

“It will be seen to,” said Lord Nishida, “that your time is not wasted.”

“Good!” she said.

“But I fear it is not within my power,” he said, “to see to it that you are returned to your world.”

“I was promised!” she said. “Your agent, or some agent, arranged this whole matter! I do not understand what is going on.”

It was not difficult to tell that Miss Wentworth was now not only puzzled, but frightened. She had, as she had pointed out, fulfilled her part of a bargain, be it one of unscrupulous betrayal, and now she found herself in an alien environment, in which little or nothing of the arrangements into which she had entered seemed to be known.

She turned about. “White, White,” she exclaimed, “what is going on?”

“There is no ship,” said Pertinax.

“No, no!” she cried. “There is a ship!”

“No,” said Pertinax.

“Perhaps I can explain,” said a voice.