Prize of Gor

Chapter 23 WHAT OCCURRED WITHIN THE TENT AND LATER OUTSIDE OF IT

Ellen was thrown to the rug within the tent, and she raised herself to her hands and knees, blinking, illuminated in the light of the lantern, it too close to her, the only light within the tent, and found herself in the midst of six men, and, with them, crouching back on their haunches, four of the darkly furred, massive, monstrous beasts. The beast who had captured her stood near her, as it seemed, half bent over. Two of the men rose, Mirus one of them.

Ellen swiftly went to the first obeisance position before Mirus, and then crawled forward a foot, her head still down, and pressed her lips fearfully to his sandals, then backed away a few inches, and kept her head down.

The monster who had seized her and brought her to the tent made some noise. It almost seemed as though Ellen could understand it. It was much as though a bear or tiger might have spoken. There seemed to be, to Ellen’s alarm, a similarity to Gorean phonemes.

“A spying slave,” said one of the men, as though translating what the beast had said.

“No, Masters!” cried Ellen. How could it be, she asked herself, that a beast might speak? She was sure the utterance of the beast had been intelligible in some sense. There had been an articulation within those noises, a subtlety and clarity which was quite unlike, though reminding one of, the snarling, the growling, of an animal.

“Let us see her,” said one of the men.

Ellen felt the gigantic, clawed paw of the beast grasp her hair and her head was pulled up and back violently, painfully.

“A pretty one,” said one of the men.

“Rather plain,” said Mirus, dryly.

Tears sprang to Ellen’s eyes.

“Position,” said another of the men.

Ellen, the beast having released her hair, went to position, kneeling, knees wide, back straight, head up, hands on thighs.

“A pleasure slave,” said one of the men.

“Obviously,” said another.

Ellen wondered if she should have kept her knees closely together, before Mirus, but she had naturally, instantaneously, not even thinking about it, assumed the wide-kneed position.

She saw Mirus smile, and flushed.

She closed her knees.

“Knees wide, slut,” said a man.

Again she opened her knees.

“Wider!” he snapped.

She complied.

“More widely!”

Again she complied.

How vulnerable, how helpless, physically and psychologically, is a woman in such a position, that of the Gorean pleasure slave!

“What is your name?” asked a man.

“Ellen, Master.”

“Who owns you?”

“The state of Cos, Master.”

“You are a serving slave in the camp?” asked a man.

“Yes, Master.”

“Mark?” said a man.

Swiftly she rose up on her knees and turned her left thigh to the interrogator, at the same time putting her hands behind the small of her back, as though they might be braceleted there. It is one of the positions of brand display.

Mirus smiled.

Ellen flushed.

I hate him, she thought.

But she remained in the position, a common one for brand display. Her wrists, behind her back, were nearly touching. The position accentuates the breasts and, given the position of the hands, is provocatively emblematic; I think that even a male of Earth, one who, if there are any such, had never given a thought to the possibility of female slavery, or even of a particular woman, stripped, and bound hand and foot, lying on the rug at the foot of his bed, helpless, fearful and squirming, wholly at his mercy, might have some sense, seeing it, of the meaning of that position; it would certainly suggest to him, or anyone, I would suppose, female obedience, submission, servitude and bondage. Might not that sight, or vision, then, as though accompanied with a clap of thunder, change him forever, showing him a possibility which might transform him from an indoctrinated, manipulated, obsequious political puppet striving to please those who secretly hate and despise him into a male, one suddenly awakened, one attentive to distant cries, one who now hears drums long silent, one now apprised of tides, of seasons and the motion of planets, of the rights of nature?

Too, of course, obviously, the position makes it easy to bracelet the slave.

“Common kajira mark,” said a man.

“A low slave,” said a man.

“Yes,” said another.

The fellow who had asked for the brand display then made a tiny gesture and Ellen, instantly, returned to first position.

“Does she have a lot number?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said a fellow, leaning forward, “— 117.”

“A low number for such as she,” observed Mirus.

Ellen bit her tongue.

“Who sent you?” asked one of the men.

“No one, Masters,” said Ellen, frightened. “I am on an errand, to the sutlers, that more wine may be brought to my serving station.”

Again the beast behind her spoke, or growled.

“You were following us,” said one of the men. “You were lurking outside, hiding.”

“Who sent you?” again pressed a man.

“No one, Masters,” said Ellen.

“Let us cut her throat,” said another.

One of the beasts in the circle seemed to growl for a moment.

“You can eat later,” said a man to the beast. “Kardok is hungry,” he said to the group.

“She must be the tool of someone,” said one of the men. “Torture will make her speak.”

“She will not know whose tool she is,” said one of the men, angrily. “Our foes are astute. They will have dealt with her cunningly, she hooded, or they masked.”

One of the beasts regarding Ellen moved its long tongue about its mouth, and about its fangs. Its lower jaw seemed moist.

“Let us kill her,” said another of the men, uneasily.

“It would be difficult to dispose of the body in the camp,” said another.

“Bind her, gag her, take her afield,” said another.

One of the beasts, that which had been regarding Ellen, said something.

“She could be eaten,” said the man whose office it seemed was to interpret the guttural noises of the monsters.

“The bones, snapped apart, splintered, crushed, could be buried,” said one of the men.

“Here within the concealment of the tent,” said another.

“Please, no, Masters!” wept Ellen.

“Do you think your life has value?” asked one of the men.

“It has value to me, Masters,” wept Ellen.

“Yes,” said a man. “Even the life of an urt is precious enough to itself.”

“Surely the life of a slave,” said Mirus, dryly, “may be of some value, however negligible, to masters.”

Ellen cast a wild glance of gratitude at Mirus.

“Do you wish to speak to that point?” Mirus asked her.

“Yes, yes!” cried Ellen.

“Do you beg your life?” asked Mirus.

“Yes, Masters!”

“And do you beg to be permitted to be pleasing, and to serve, in any way, and in all ways?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!”

“In whatever degree of intimacy?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!”

“And as the most meaningless and abject of slaves?” he asked.

“Yes, Masters!” cried Ellen.

Then she saw that Mirus was smiling down upon her, contemptuously. How humiliated she felt for a moment, and she put down her head, tears running from her eyes, cruelly shamed. Yes, she had begged as a slave, and had meant every word she had said! What of it? She was a slave!

“Slaves are cheap,” said a man. “We may have such from any slave.”

“Please, Masters,” begged Ellen.

“What have you seen?” asked Mirus.

“Nothing, nothing, Masters!” said Ellen.

Mirus reached down and struck her with the back of his hand, striking her to the rug. Quickly, blood at her lip, tears in her eyes, her face stinging, she scurried to return to position before him. A slave does not dally in such matters. She looked up at him, a cuffed slave.

“I have seen beasts, Masters,” she said. “But I understand nothing of what I have seen!”

“Who sent you?” asked a man, again.

“No one, Master,” Ellen reassured him, once more.

“Many have seen such as our friends here,” said a man, “outside of cages, performing, say, in fairs and circuses.”

One of the beasts growled menacingly.

“Their appearance in such places,” the man continued, “being a useful, and common, disguise, permitting them to travel anywhere, to make suitable contacts, to avoid suspicion, and such.”

The beast crouched back, its anger subsiding.

“Why did you follow us?” asked Mirus.

“I am on an errand, Master, which leads me in this direction.” She put down her head. “Then I saw you, Master.”

“You saw me earlier, in the camp,” said Mirus.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Then you saw me again, and followed me here?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Why?” he asked.

Ellen put down her head, shamed.

“Do you know this slave,” a man asked Mirus.

“Yes,” said Mirus. “It was in my house that she was first marked and collared.”

“You once owned her?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

Ellen kept her head down.

It was true, Mirus had been her first master.

“She is a barbarian, is she not?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

“She has never forgotten you,” laughed a man.

“Did you whip her?” asked another.

“Of course,” said Mirus.

“Did you give her first whipping?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

“They never forget their first whipping,” said one of the men.

“She is an enamored, lovesick slave!” laughed a man, suddenly.

Ellen choked back a sob.

“What a presumptuous slut!” laughed a fellow.

“They will die for their masters,” laughed another.

“Let us kill her,” said one of the men, uneasily.

One of the beasts growled.

“Kardok is hungry,” said the man who seemed to understand the sounds of the beasts.

“Then let us give her to our friends,” said a man.

“They will eat her alive,” said a fellow.

“They are fond of living food, hot and bloody,” said another.

“She would scream,” said another.

“We can bind her pretty mouth shut,” said a man, “so tightly that not a squeak shall pass the binding.”

“Were you truly on an errand?” asked Mirus of the kneeling slave.

“Yes, Master!” said Ellen, fervently.

“Soon, then,” said Mirus, “she will be missed. A search will be made. Tents and belongings will be ransacked.”

“They will not find her,” said a man, quietly.

“But the search will be made, in any event,” said Mirus. “And I, for one, am not eager to find our business, and our friends, the objects of official scrutiny.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the man with the lantern.

“What do you understand of what you have seen?” Mirus asked the kneeling slave.

“I understand nothing of what I have seen, Master,” she said. “I am only an animal, a meaningless, inconsequential beast, a slave, Master!”

“Will you speak of what you have seen?” asked Mirus.

“No, Master! No, Master!” said Ellen.

“Even were you to speak,” said Mirus, “there is nothing here of interest, and it would be pointless to speak of it. We are merely handlers of beasts, as you can see. Such things are familiar enough. Our papers are in order. The beasts are under perfect control, and such.”

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“You understand that?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“I know this slave,” said Mirus. “She is a stupid, plain girl. I brought her here. Personal reasons were involved, no, not what you think, for she is meaningless.”

Ellen regarded him with agony.

“For these personal reasons, reasons of a rather particular nature, it amused me to bring her here, and have her enslaved.”

“Was she troublesome on Earth?” asked one of the men.

Mirus smiled.

“Perhaps she once entered a line, or a door, before you, not invited to do so, but as though it were her right?”

“Perhaps she cast you a haughty glance, or once spoke shortly to you?” suggested another.

Ellen then began to grasp how easily a woman of Earth, and with so little awareness, thinking herself superior and safe, might court the collar of a slave. A movement, a glance, a word, a gesture which might cause no more than a moment’s irritation or disgruntlement to a typical male of Earth, used to such abuse, might have different consequences altogether with another sort of man, a man less tolerant and less accommodating than those on whom she was accustomed to inflict her pettiness and disdain with impunity. “We will come back for her,” might say a Gorean slaver. “That one does not know it but she has just made herself an appointment with the slaving iron.” How differently would a woman of Earth behave before a man, thought Ellen, if she realized that one day she might find herself at his feet, on her belly, stripped and chained, his slave.

“It does not matter,” said Mirus. “The details are unimportant. Let us merely say that, in virtue of these personal reasons, I found it gratifying to have her enslaved, to get her neck in the collar, where it belongs.”

One of the men laughed.

Ellen reddened.

“In any event, I did not keep her,” said Mirus. “I found her boring. One tires of her easily.”

“I do not know if I would have tired of her so easily,” said a man.

“She is young,” said another.

“But she is pretty,” said another.

Ellen put her head down.

“Her thighs steam for you,” said a man.

“The mere sight of you lubricates her for the mastery,” said another.

“Long ago, weary of her ugliness, her simplicity and limitations, I ridded myself of her, discarding her for a pittance.”

“And so all in all we are to understand that you brought her from her own world to the markets merely for your amusement?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said Mirus.

Ellen kept her head down, tears running from her eyes.

“She followed you like a she-sleen in heat,” laughed a man.

“And that,” smiled Mirus, “is the sum of the matter.” Then he said, sharply, “Slave!”

“Yes, Master!” said Ellen, frightened.

“I believe you have an errand to run,” he said.

Ellen looked at him, wildly.

“You may leave the tent,” said Mirus.

Scarcely able to stand Ellen rose, unsteadily, looked about herself and moved, step by uncertain step, toward the entrance of the tent.

“What was her lot number?” asked one of the men.

“117,” said another.

Ellen was then outside the tent. She could see the illumination of the lantern through the canvas. Mirus had followed her outside the tent.

The men within seemed to be in converse. Their tones seemed low, and earnest. Sometimes, there was a noise from one of the beasts.

Mirus and she faced one another.

She went to the first obeisance position before him, crept forward, and covered his sandals with kisses.

Then, when she sensed she might do so, she looked up at him, tears in her eyes, clasping his knees.

“So we meet again,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“You have changed much since last I saw you,” said he.

“It is my hope that that is true, Master,” she said. She recalled his glance of appraisal in the camp. She had no doubt but what it was of the sort often bestowed by strong, virile masters on one of those exquisite, little she-beasts known as kajirae. It was the first time that she recalled that he had looked upon her in exactly that way.

“You knelt well in the tent,” said he.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You no longer kneel as an Earth woman embonded,” he said, “but kneel now as a self-understanding, complete and total slave.”

“It is what I now am, Master,” she whispered.

“And I noted that you knelt instantly, naturally, perfectly, in the position of the pleasure slave.”

“It is what I now am, Master,” she said.

“You displayed your brand excellently,” he observed, “rising up, turning, your wrists lifted behind you in the bracelets position.”

“I was taught that in your house, Master,” she said.

“You did it well,” he said.

“Thank you, Master.”

“The word ‘Master’ comes easily to you,” he said. “It is fitting for you. It belongs on your lips and tongue.”

“As it should, for I am a slave, Master,” she said.

“You are a servile slut,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“I see now what has changed muchly about you,” he said.

Ellen dared not speak, but her heart raced.

“It is that you are now a slave, a full slave.”

“That is true, Master,” she said, “for on this world I have found myself, I have learned that I want to be, and am, a slave.”

“Yes,” said he, contemptuously, “slave.”

“Do you object that I have become a slave, a true slave?” she asked.

“No,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you would prefer that I continue to object to my inner truth, that I continue to deny it, and continue to suffer all the torments of denying my innermost being, the very meaning of my sex, my nature?”

“I despise you,” he said.

“For accepting the truth, for being myself?” she asked.

She sensed that he raised his hand, but he did not strike her.

“Is there not something else in this, Master?” she asked, emboldened.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Surely there is more in your concern than the obvious fact that I have become a true slave.”

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Your anger with me, your impatience, might have another motivation, might it not, Master?” she inquired.

“I do not understand,” he said.

“Have I not become more beautiful, more attractive, more desirable? Might I not have become even slave desirable?”

“You insolent slut,” he said.

“Does this not disturb you?” she asked. “I think that you want to hate me, but that you find me attractive. I think that this makes you furious. You brought me here in hatred, and for your amusement, but now, to your fury, you learn that I have become a true slave, and, I think, an attractive one! You are furious that I have found myself on this world, that I am young, beautiful, healthy, eager, ready, passionate, that I desire to love and serve men, that I want to be owned, that I want to live for a master! You had not wanted that! And you are furious that I will bring a high price on the block! That is not what you had anticipated, not what you wanted. Now you are angry with yourself! You are angry that I have become a true slave! And I think you are angry that I have become beautiful, and desirable! Yes, I am that, Master, and I will go for silver, I assure you, not copper! There have been twenty-one bids on me already, twenty-one! And there is something else, Master, which I think is the most maddening of all for you!”

“What is that, slave?” he asked, skeptically.

“Nothing,” she said, suddenly, putting down her head.

“Speak,” he said.

“It is that you find me of personal interest.”

“Absurd,” he said.

“I think that what is most maddening of all for you, Master, is that you want me, that you want this slave!”

Mirus threw back his head and laughed.

“Yes!” insisted Ellen.

“I wonder how you can be punished, you insolent little slut,” said Mirus, laughing.

“Master?” said Ellen, warily, suddenly sinking back on her knees before him.

“When a slave is displeasing in any way, let alone presuming beyond her station, it is customary for her to be punished.”

“I belong to Cos, Master,” said Ellen quickly.

“Can you dance?” asked Mirus.

“No,” said Ellen, frightened.

“But,” said he, “if you were called to a circle, you would have to perform.”

“I am not a dancer,” she said. “I will not be called to a circle.”

“But if perchance you were,” said he, “you would have to perform.”

“I suppose so, Master,” she said.

“Interesting,” said he.

“Do not have me called to a circle, Master!” Ellen begged, terrified.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I cannot dance,” she wept. “I would be clumsy! They would be angry! I would be beaten!”

“If a girl does not report to a circle,” said Mirus, “it is my understanding that that constitutes not only disobedience, but a presumption of flight.”

Ellen groaned.

“You are familiar with the penalties for a fugitive slave,” he remarked.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen, shuddering.

“You would not look well without your feet,” he said.

Ellen put down her head, in her hands, weeping.

“Your lot number is 117, as I recall,” said Mirus.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“You were serving at the station of Callimachus, as I recall,” said Mirus.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen, frightened.

When she looked up, he had turned away, presumably returning to the tent.

Only a little later, as she knelt before the tent, trembling, she saw a lantern approaching, and heard the trundling of a cart. It was a small, two-wheeled, high-wheeled cart, with two handles, by means of which it might be drawn. The lantern was fixed on a short pole, at the front, left side of the cart, as one would look forward from the cart. She welcomed the light. The cart was being drawn by a naked woman, struggling between the handles. On the cart, tied there, was a large, damp, cool barrel.

“Is that you, Ellen?” inquired the woman, from between the handles.

“Yes!” said Ellen.

It was Louise, one of her fellow serving slaves, who had earlier attended the vat of Callimachus with her, serving the men in its vicinity. Ellen recalled that Louise had been sent before her to the sutlers. Given the impatience of the vat master, Ellen had been, somewhat afterward, dispatched on the same errand.

“Get between the handles. Help me!” said Louise.

“Who are you?” asked a strapping, short-haired lad, following the wagon, bearing a switch.

“Ellen,” said Ellen.

“Do you know her?” the lad asked Louise.

“Yes,” said Louise.

“Are you with the vat of Callimachus?” asked the lad.

“Yes, Master,” said Ellen.

“Stand,” he said.

Ellen did so.

“What are your doing here?” he asked.

“I was on my way to the sutlers, Master,” said Ellen.

“Yes, on your knees,” he said, “outside a master’s tent.”

He then gave her a stinging stripe across the back of the thighs. “Get between the handles, pull,” he said.

Ellen, as Louise had gripped the handles rather near the front, bent down and then rose up between them, grasping them behind Louise. There were several welts on Louise’s back.

Then Ellen herself cried out, as she herself felt the switch, twice, of their youthful driver.

“Move,” he said. “Hurry! Harta!”

She then, with Louise, put her small weight against the resistance of the wagon.

“Will it be necessary to beat you further?” asked the lad.

“No, Master!” said Louise.

“No, Master!” said Ellen.

He then gave them each more stripes.

“Hurry,” he said. “Harta!”

“Yes, Master!” cried the straining, hurrying, switched slaves.

The high wheels of the wagon creaked. The ground was uneven. The small feet of the slaves dug into the dirt. They leaned forward, grasping the handles. One could hear the ka-la-na moving about in the barrel, like a surf within the wood, the barrel rocking in the small wagon bed, rolling within the restraining ropes. The lad directed them through the darkness.

Ellen was confident that Mirus would not have her called to a circle. To be sure, he had frightened her for a moment. How cruel of him to tease her so! But he would not do that to her, not to her. They were both from Earth.

She was uneasy, however, for she knew that she was a slave.