Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Twenty-Third: WHAT OCCURRED IN A GLADE

The grass was long and soft in the area, abundant, and green and flowing, in the soft wind.

Cabot stirred.

He was no longer in the Pleasure Cylinder.

He did not open his eyes. He felt the weight of the iron on his limbs, on his wrists and ankles.

He heard a sound of chain. Something was bending over him. He felt soft lips press against his lips. She remembered that, he thought—from near the shuttle lock.

He opened his eyes, and looked into blue eyes. She drew back a little, some inches from him.

She had been brushed and combed, washed and perfumed. She was worthy of a Ubar's pleasure garden, but he was not a Ubar.

He thrust her to the side, as he could, and she whimpered, puzzled, irritably.

He then sat up, and regarded her, his fellow prisoner, his right wrist shackled to her left, his left to her right, and so, too, with their ankles.

He shook the chains, angrily, and she cried out, in pain, for this had hurt her.

Breeding shackles, he thought. Breeding shackles!

She tried to approach him, again, and he thrust her back.

"You are a slave,” he said.

"Certainly not!” she exclaimed.

"Then you are a pet, that of Grendel."

"No,” she said, “I have been taken from him."

"Whose pet, then, are you?” he asked.

"I am not a pet,” she said.

"Where is your collar?” he asked.

"I have no collar,” she said, angrily. “I am not a pet."

"What then are you?” he asked.

"I am a free woman,” she said.

"A free woman, shackled,” he said.

"Yes!” she said.

"Have you been named?” he asked.

"I have chosen my name,” she said. “I call myself ‘Ubara'."

"That is not a name,” he said. “It is a title."

"Does it not mean Great Woman, Magnificent Woman, Most Important of Women, such things?"

"Your Gorean is still lacking,” he said.

"It suggests such things, does it not?” she inquired.

"Perhaps,” he said.

"Then I am ‘Ubara,'” she said.

"Many a Ubara,” said he, “conquered, stripped, learns to belly, and lick and kiss, as the most abject of slaves."

"Then what should my name be?” she asked.

"You wish a noble, refined, dignified, exalted, priceless name, do you not?"

"Surely,” she said.

"Then,” said he, “what of ‘Bina'?"

"Good,” she said. “I am Bina!"

He thought that would be a good name for taking her off an auction block. ‘Bina', in Gorean, is a common word for slave beads, usually of colored wood, with which a low slave might be permitted to bedeck herself. It is also a not uncommon name for a low slave.

She smiled, satisfied, arrogantly.

He, too, smiled, though, one supposes, at her arrogance.

"We have been chained together,” he observed, “in this soft, pleasant place. And to the side I see some wine, it seems, some larmas, some grapes, some wedges of soft bread."

"We are to breed,” she said.

"Why?” he asked.

"It is the will of our superiors,” she said.

"They are not my superiors,” he said.

"You need not fear for your honor,” she said, “for I am acquiescent, and will authorize your touch."

"You are generous,” he said. “But why would you do this?"

"It is the will of the superiors,” she said.

"I see,” he said.

"I know little of these things,” she said, “of breeding, and such, but even were I not acquiescent, I gather, you might, eventually, do your will upon me, in some fashion or another."

"Quite possibly,” he said. “Eventually. I am only human."

"I see,” she said.

"Come to my arms,” he said.

She approached him, and he enfolded her in his arms. He held her so, for a few moments. Then suddenly, surprised, she said, “Oh,” and trembled.

"Is anything wrong?” he inquired.

"No,” she said. “It is pleasant,” she said.

Then she rubbed against him.

He touched her.

"Oh!” she said, startled.

"You are a hot little animal,” he said, pleased.

"I do not understand these feelings,” she said.

He then pressed her back.

She tried to approach him, again, but, again, he pressed her back.

"I do not understand,” she said.

"Grendel,” he said, “loves you, but you probably do not even understand that. He risked his life in the arena, for you, against great odds."

"It was his will to do so,” she said. “He is a monster. Hold me, again!"

But he thrust her back, angrily.

"Often you have made him suffer,” said Cabot.

"Certainly!"

"I gather you never were acquiescent with him, so to speak, nor did you, so to speak, authorize his touch."

How tragically are men at the mercy of free women, he thought, at the mercy of their vanity, their whims, their petty tempers, their cruelty, and petulance. How understandable that they make them slaves, and then do with them as they please. And how interesting that the women, brought then to their place in nature, at the feet of men, fulfilled and happy, thrive in their collars. Unlike most free women they are, in their way, muchly honored, for they have been found worthy of mastering, worthy of being owned. And they will strive to be good slaves, and, indeed, what choice have they, and this, too, pleases them, to have no choice.

"Certainly not,” she said. “He is not Kur, he is not human. He is a malformed beast."

"And did he not, with the whip, see to it that you groomed him, carefully and assiduously?"

"Certainly not,” she said.

"He never touched you, never disciplined you?"

"Certainly not,” she said.

"But in the arena, the leash, your posture."

"Show,” she said, “for the crowds, otherwise they might have swarmed onto the sand and torn us both to pieces."

"He loves you,” said Cabot.

"That is his foolishness,” she said.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “that is his foolishness."

"I despise him,” she said. “I defied his will. I belittled him, in public. I made him suffer, each day and night."

"And yet,” said Cabot, “he loves you."

"He is a fool,” she said.

"I think so,” said Cabot, “a champion in the arena, mighty and dangerous, but a fool elsewhere, in the small, soft hands of a woman."

"I made him suffer,” she said.

"Why?” asked Cabot.

"It pleased me,” she said. “He is a beast. Now touch me, again, as you did!"

"You demand it?” he asked.

"Yes!” she said.

"No,” said Cabot.

She tried, again, to approach, to thrust her body against him, but he, again, thrust her back, to the ends of the chains.

He must resist the beauty of her, the softness of her, the perfume of her, so heady, so like strong drink, the warmth of her eager, excited body.

"You must complete your touching of me,” she said. “You have begun strange things in me. I do not understand them. Continue! Continue!"

"You are a hot little beast,” he said.

It occurred to him that it was doubtless not an accident that she had been enclosed in the container with him, as well as the brunette.

Doubtless the Priest-Kings had addressed themselves to these matters with almost mathematical precision.

"Continue!” she demanded.

"Perhaps, now, you may suffer, a little."

"We must breed!” she cried.

"Why?” he asked.

"It is the will of our superiors!"

"They are not my superiors,” he said.

"We must breed!” she cried. “If we do not breed,” she said, “they will send me to the cattle pens!"

"At least you will go as a free woman,” he said.

"Fool!” she cried.

"Why do they wish us to breed?” inquired Cabot.

"They want a killer human for the arena,” she said, “another killer human."

"I see,” said Cabot

"Have me!” she cried.

"I breed as I wish,” said Cabot, “not as others wish."

"You have displeased Agamemnon,” she cried. “You will be done with in horror, put to death in unspeakable ways."

"Not permitted to die in the arena?"

"Certainly not, not with honor, but in some lengthy, degraded fashion, one fit to satisfy the affronted pride of Agamemnon."

"I could not in honor do his will,” said Cabot.

"Fool, fool, fool!” she wept.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “but a fool for honor is a fool with honor, and better such a fool than Agamemnon in all his shrewdness and cunning, in all his wisdom and astuteness."

"I do not understand you!” she screamed. “You are mad!” she wept. “Mad! Mad! Were I a collared slave, beaten and cast to your feet, you would use me!"

"Doubtless,” said Cabot, “if she had imbibed her slave wine. It is what they are for."

"I do not want to go to the cattle pens!” she cried.

"I do not think that would happen,” said Cabot. “They would be fools to send you to the pens. Rather they would chain you in the barracks, where you might be paired, under Kur supervision, with a succession of killer humans. They do not need me."

"You have done something to me,” she wept. “You have begun something in me! I do not understand it! I have never had feelings like this! I am in misery!"

"You are aroused,” said Cabot. “You do not know what is going on in your body, but there is a simple explanation. You are in heat, and apparently considerably so. It is all very natural. And it is a tribute to your health, to your vitality."

"I cannot stand it!” she said.

"Such heat, and even greater heat, is quite common amongst slaves,” he said.

"I am not a slave!” she said.

"But then, of course, slave fires have been set in their bellies."

"I am not a slave!"

"Certainly not,” he said.

"I cannot stand it!” she said.

"Doubtless it is unpleasant,” said Cabot. “Sometimes slaves whine, and shriek, and scream in need, in their cages, before their sales."

It is common to deprive red-silk slaves of the touch of men before their sales, sometimes for days. How eager are they then to ascend the block in their chains. How they extend their small, chained wrists piteously to the crowd, begging to be purchased, to be granted a male caress. In this way, their frustrated appetition exhibited as clearly and obviously as their bared beauty, for who would buy a woman clothed, is their price often improved.

"I am not a slave!” she cried.

"Of course not,” he said. “Men, too, of course, untamed men, virile men, can know such deprivation and need, as well. To be sure, they have a considerable advantage, as they may simply make use of slaves, in the taverns, and such."

"I am not a slave!"

"Of course not,” said Cabot.

"I am chained to you, closely, inseparably, helplessly, in breeding shackles, in breeding shackles!” she wept. “Take me! Use me!"

Cabot regarded her.

"Take me!” she screamed. “Use me!"

"Do not,” said a voice.

Cabot turned, and found himself facing Grendel.

"Why have you come?” asked Cabot.

"To kill you,” said Grendel.