Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Twenty-Fifth: THE STRAY

"Hold!” commanded Cabot, and the two smaller Kurii, lesser Kurii, scavenger Kurii, not even worthy of the ships, stopped.

These were such as roamed about, patrolling areas for strayed, or flighted, animals, tarsks, humans, and such.

Cabot had returned to the villa which had been earlier assigned to him, from which he had fetched a tunic, some supplies, and a pouch, into which he had thrust the strings of rubies given to him earlier, before the trial of Lord Pyrrhus, in which his testimony had been so ineffective.

If these two Kurii had been apprised of his escape, they did not register that the human before them was he of whose escape they had heard. He did not seem a fugitive, and he was not collared, and so not a pet, and he was clothed, thus, presumably, a human ally, perhaps one of the men of Peisistratus, of whom they had heard. Too, humans look much alike to most Kurii. Too, he spoke to them with abruptness, and authority, seemingly unquestioned, and this startled them, for his authority might have been genuine. Certainly, if they had been informed of the escape of some human from, say, the breeding shackles, it did not seem likely this could be he, for would such a human not conceal himself from them? Would such a human not avoid them at all costs? Would such a human not have been in hiding, naked, and terrified?

But it is probable these Kurii, of the sort assigned minor duties of sanitation, the collection of stray animals, and such, did not even know of the escape of a human from the breeding shackles, two days ago.

Too, many of the guards of the cylinder, and most of its military personnel, had departed with the fleet, on whatever dark mission it had embarked.

Had this not been the case Cabot might well have remained at large less than an Ahn or so.

The two Kurii had in their custody a human female.

No longer were there strings of coins about her neck.

As she was uncollared and naked it was only to be expected that she, upon being detected, would be promptly taken in charge.

Kurii are tidy in their closed, orbiting environments, as they must be, and are not patient with stray animals.

"Release her,” ordered Cabot, and the two small Kurii, each of which had held an arm of their prisoner, loosened their grasp.

She looked at Cabot, wildly, half dazed. She was unsteady. Her knees nearly buckled beneath her.

"On your belly, slut!” Cabot snapped.

Swiftly the girl, terrified, went to her belly.

Did she not know she was in the presence of a free man?

"Excellent work!” Cabot commended the two Kurii, and they glanced at one another, seemingly pleased.

"We have been looking for this bitch,” said Cabot. “She is to be returned to the Pleasure Cylinder immediately. You may go your way. I will take her in charge."

The larger of the two Kurii growled.

"I will commend you, of course, to Peisistratus, high human of the world, favored of the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World,” said Cabot. “What are your names?"

"Your translator will not carry our designations,” said the larger of the two Kurii. “We are the Second Patrol."

"Patrol Two,” said Cabot. “Well done!"

The two Kurii looked at one another, shrugged, and turned about, and left. There seemed to them little point in contesting the custody of a stray, particularly if there might be some risk in doing so.

Cabot looked down at the girl, and she inched forward, and put her lips down, humbly, on his left foot.

Her lips were soft.

It is apparently pleasant to feel the soft lips of a slave on one's feet.

It is, too, of course, a common act of deference on the part of a female slave, to kiss the feet of a master, or, indeed, of a free person. Too, we may suppose the slave was timid, frightened, and grateful.

Doubtless, too, she was concerned to acknowledge her bondage, and please the male.

In such ways, and many others, a woman's submission may be betokened.

"On your knees,” he said.

She rose to her knees.

"You may speak,” he said.

"You called me ‘slut’ and ‘bitch',” she protested, tears in her eyes.

"You are less,” said Cabot. “You are a slave."

He looked fixedly, critically, at her knees, and she widened them.

"Better,” he said. “What are you doing here?"

"I was turned out,” she said. “They would not keep me."

"They have their quotas,” said Cabot. “How have you lived?"

"I hid by day,” she said. “I stole food, from garbage, at night. But I was seen. Swiftly they took me. What would they do with me?"

"You are a stray,” said Cabot. “Presumably they would remand you to the cattle pens, in order that some good might be gotten out of you, as food."

She shuddered.

"You rescued me,” she said.

"I fear it may do you little good, in the long run,” said Cabot.

"What are you going to do?” she asked.

"We are going back to the Pleasure Cylinder,” said Cabot. “I have some business with Peisistratus."

"I cannot go back!” she said.

"Stand,” he said. “Face away from me. Put your head down. Cross your wrists behind your back."

"You cannot bind me,” she protested. “You are from Earth!"

"Do you dally in obedience?” he inquired.

Swiftly she rose, turned about, lowered her head, and put her hands behind her, wrists crossed.

"You are going to bind me?"

"Yes."

"But I am from Earth!"

"No longer,” he said.

She must stand so, for a time, waiting, for he removed the strings of rubies from his pouch, and freed the rubies from their cords, and deposited them in his pouch, and then, with one of the cords, not returned to the pouch, he fastened her wrists behind her.

"Where are the coins won from Peisistratus?” he asked.

"He took them,” she said.

"Turn about,” he said, “and precede me."

He then gave her a thrust, to hurry her before him. She stumbled, and then caught her balance. “Har-ta!” he said. “Har-ta!"

She hurried forward.

He gave her another thrust.

"This is for show, is it not?” she asked.

"No,” he said.

"You think I am a slave?"

"I know you are a slave,” he said.

She gasped.

He then took her by the hair, and turned her about, to face him. He looked into her eyes, fiercely.

She was clearly frightened.

"You are hurting me,” she said. “Oh!"

"Shall I call you Miss Pym?” he asked.

"You may call me whatever you wish,” she said, frightened.

"Why?” he demanded.

"Because I am a slave,” she whispered.

"Do not forget it."

"No,” she said, frightened.

He wished that the boys and young men she had known on Earth could see her now. They would derive much pleasure at seeing her as she was now, and should be, as a slave.

"You have,” said he, “as of now, a general permission to speak, rescindable at my pleasure, but I suggest you use that permission with discretion."

She was silent.

"Do you understand?” he asked.

His grip tightened.

"Yes!” she said. “Yes!"

"Is that how you address a free man?” he inquired.

"No!” she said. “No—Master! Master!"

She shuddered, and then he released her hair, and turned her about, again. Unbidden, she put her head down.

"What?” he asked.

"Nothing,” she said. “Nothing!” She seemed piteous, shaken, open, emotionally revealed.

Cabot steeled himself against pity.

Cabot recognized the moment as important to her, a door opened, a barrier crossed, a secret confessed.

"You said something,” he said. “What was it?"

"It is not important,” she said. “It was nothing, nothing!"

"Perhaps it was an utterance of defiance, of rebellion, or protest?"

"No, Master!” she said.

"Or perhaps the merest breath of a possible reluctance, the smallest suggestion of a mere hesitation in your desperate concern to be prompt and pleasing in all ways?"

"No, no,” she said. “No, Master!"

"Speak!” he snapped.

"Please, no!” she begged.

"Speak!"

"No, please no! Have mercy!"

"Do you wish to be lashed?"

"No, no!” she said.

"Speak,” he said.

"I said,” she whispered, softly, frightened, “I—I love calling men ‘Master'."

"That is because you are a slave,” said Cabot.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"Too, it is fitting,” said Cabot, “that you call them Master, for they are your masters."

"Yes, Master,” she said.

He saw that she inadvertently trembled with emotion, with pleasure.

Interesting, he thought, how women can find themselves only in bondage.

"Say now,” said Cabot, “'I am a slave.’”

He was merciless, you see. But then such are masters.

"I am a slave,” she said.

"Louder,” he said, “more clearly."

"I am a slave!” she cried.

Again he noted her reaction, one which shook her body, suffusing it with significance and heat, with sudden emotion and pleasure.

"Say now,” he said, “'I am a natural slave, and should be a slave, and am a slave.’”

"I am a natural slave,” she said, “ and should be a slave, and am a slave."

"It is true,” he said.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"Again,” he snapped—"'I am a slave.’”

"I am a slave,” she said.

"It is true."

"Yes, Master."

"You are charged and pleased, and suffused with desire,” said Cabot.

"Yes, Master!” she breathed, pulling a little at her bound wrists.

"In such simple ways,” said Cabot, “is your womanhood spoken."

"Yes, Master,” she whispered.

"Forward!” he said, pushing her ahead of him.

"Yes, Master!” she cried.

"Hurry!” said Cabot. “To the shuttle lock, that appertaining to the Pleasure Cylinder.

"We do not know the codes!"

"Some will know them,” said Cabot. “There must be frequent comings and goings."

"I dare not go there, Master!” she wept. “I was cast out. They may kill me!"

Cabot thrust her rudely forward, again, roughly, without consideration. She was a slave. One may handle a slave so. They expect it. And it is appropriate for them. They are not free women.

"Hurry!” he said, angrily.

"Yes, Master!” she wept.

"Har-ta!” said he. “Har-ta!"

"Yes, Master,” she wept. “Yes, Master!"