Swordsmen of Gor

“The slave of a slave?” smiled Lord Nishida.

“Yes,” I said.

“Surely, Pertinax,” said Lord Nishida, “you know her neck is in a collar.”

Pertinax nodded.

“Even so,” I said, “the beauty of a woman, a tear in her eye, the trembling of a lip, such things, are formidable weapons.”

“Until she is suitably mastered,” said Lord Nishida.

“True,” I said.

“Perhaps she should be whipped,” said Lord Nishida. “The whip is useful in convincing a woman she is a slave. Perhaps if she were weeping, and squirming, and begging for mercy, under a whip, she would no longer be in doubt as to what she was.”

“I think she is in no doubt as to her bondage,” I said. “I am sure the grooms in the stable have seen to that. The fear is that she might not know herself a slave before Pertinax, that she might attempt to use the subtle wiles of Earth, guilt, and such, to work her will in a hundred ways upon him.”

“And perhaps the honorable Pertinax fears she might prove successful in such endeavors?”

“I think so,” I said.

“Then he is weak,” said Lord Nishida.

“He fought well today,” I said.

“One who is strong in one way may be weak in another,” said Lord Nishida.

“True,” I said.

How many men are conquered by a look cast over a shoulder, by a smile! Some men are drunk on kaissa, others on power, others on kanda, others on paga. I recalled a warrior, on a Steel World, who, in misery and futility, once risked ruin, harkening to the siren lure of a swirling, golden beverage.

“Be a master,” I said to Pertinax.

He looked down.

“No woman can find herself,” I said, “until she finds herself at the feet of a master.”

Pertinax regarded me.

“And the slave, Saru,” I said, “is no different.”

“By now, the hair of the slave should be grown out a bit,” said Lord Nishida. “Had I realized that our plans must be advanced, I would have had it cropped, and not shaved.”

I knew nothing of his plans.

I did know he had anticipated giving Saru to an important individual, a shogun. I had no doubt that cleaned up, and trained, whip trained, and otherwise, that she would be likely to make a lovely gift. Her coloring and such would be, I gathered, unusual amongst the Pani, and her slave fires, as I had determined, had already been nicely ignited.

She was now a slave.

She needed men.

Without them she would be in torment.

I hoped that Pertinax, from his absurd conditioning on Earth, would not scorn her for her vitality, and needs. Her belly was now hot, and alive, even piteously so. Rather, let him accept her now as what she was, and now only was, a slave. A Gorean male, of course, is not surprised by female needs. He may not expect such things in a free woman, but he does expect such things in a slave. The repressed free woman, struggling against her own sexual nature, often in misery, may scorn the slave, whom she envies, for her needs, but the master, naturally, does not. He accepts them. They are exactly what he expects in a given form of merchandise, a property girl, a collar slut, a luscious, needful, obedient, owned female, a slave.

“Do you think,” asked Lord Nishida, “that the slave, Saru, is ready to leave the stable?”

“I am sure of it,” I said. “I am confident she will be eager to leave the stable, and will strive desperately, in all ways, to avoid being returned to it.”

“Good,” said Lord Nishida. “I will have her prepared. Perhaps she may serve at the feast, scrubbed clean and naked.” He turned to Pertinax. “Would you like that?” he asked.

Pertinax looked down, reddening.

“How of Earth he is,” commented Lord Nishida.

I shrugged.

“You will be present, of course,” he said.

“I would be honored,” I said.

“Your colleagues may accompany you,” said Lord Nishida.

“We are honored,” I assured him.

“There will be many tables,” said Lord Nishida.

“The men will be pleased,” I said.

“Guards must be posted,” he said.

“Of course,” I said.

“Unfortunately,” said Lord Nishida, “our friends did not bring free women with them.”

“No,” I said.

Sometimes overconfident forces do bring free women with them, camp followers, courtesans, and such, and, even, not unoften, highly placed free women, to companion high officers, preside over victory feasts, have the first chance to bid amongst the women of the enemy for serving slaves, and such. Indeed, some accompany such campaigns as an escape from boredom, if nothing else, apparently in search of thrills and adventures. If unable to observe actions from remote, secure, and convenient heights, by means of the glasses of the Builders, they remain behind, in their silken tents, awaiting the announcements of victory, in the keeping of camp guards. Sometimes, of course, things do not go well, and they must forsake their heights, now being swept by the enemy, and flee downward, in terror, scattering to the grassy valleys, running before mounted foes intent on collecting them. About them they hear the squeals of kaiila, the shouting of men, the shrieks of their sisters, the sudden pounding of paws in the grass behind them, and then the bright sound of a flighted, swirling, belled capture net. And later those in the camp rejoice, seeing the dust approaching, which they take for the rapid, joyful return of their forces, triumphant. But the camp guards have reconnoitered, and have hurriedly departed, that their swords may be saved for the defense of their Home Stone. And then the women discover the camp is surrounded, and invaded, and then tents are afire, and then men are about, rude strangers, laughing and shouting. Coffers are being forced open, and precious vessels, and handfuls of coins and jewelry, are being seized; silken hangings are draped on brawny arms; amphorae are unearthed; the odor of paga pervades the camp, and common warriors, perhaps for the first time, taste rare ka-la-na, guzzling it like kal-da. The women, then, of whatever station, whether low-born or high, whether of high caste or low, together with camp slaves, are herded to the center of the blackened, smoldering camp, where all must, at a word, disrobe themselves, both bond and free, to be assessed, as though in a field market. One woman speaks imperiously to a slave, as is her wont, and, to her astonishment, and pain, is slapped. And then, later, the free women, who thought to feast this night in a conquered city, are led in coffle, naked, hastened by whips, through alien gates.

“How then will the feast be served?” inquired Tajima.

“By women,” said Lord Nishida. “What else are they good for?”

“Pleasure,” I suggested.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida, “that, too, is a purpose of women.”

“By slaves, of course,” I said.

“Alas, yes,” said Lord Nishida. “We must make do with slaves. To be sure, we might free them all, have them serve, as free women, and then recollar them.”

“I think slaves will do,” I said.

“Yes,” said Lord Nishida. “Why should a slave be granted even a moment of freedom?”

I include, in passing, for those who might find it of interest, the following brief, ritual dialogue, in the form of a simple question and answer, which, in certain cities, is not unusual between a master and his slave.

“What are you for?”

“To serve you, and give you pleasure, Master.”

This exchange usually takes place in the morning, when the girl first kneels before the master.