Slave Girl Of Gor

19
I Bead A Necklace, And Am Then Used For Wench Sport

I was kneeling.

I felt hands untying the binding fiber on my ankles, and at my wrists.

The slave hood was unbuckled and pulled up, over and off my head. I could see! Its leather lay against my breasts, held by its attachments to the gag. The gag straps were loosened. A hand extracted the heavy wadding, letting it fall open, to dry. I almost vomited, freed of the gag. Then I put my head back, and breathed deeply. The hood and gag were then pulled away. One of the men put them, with the binding fiber, in his belt. Two other men crouched beside me. Two others stood nearby. The man on my left, in his two hands, took my left wrist; the man on my right, with his two hands, took my right wrist. They stood, throwing me upright to my feet, between them.

I was unclothed, save for the black, enameled, belied collar, and the black, enameled belled ankle ring, as I had been in the alcove of the Chatka and Curla. My face was red from the slave hood. My body was broken out from the moisture and heat of the slave sack.

I stood between the two men, their hands on my wrists. I was in a torchlit anteroom, of large size. A long rug, some forty yards in length, narrow, red, led toward a large pair of white doors, which opened from the center. Two guards, helmeted, with spears, stood at that door. There were shields and crossed spears on either side of the door.

I shrank back, looking at the tall doors.

I felt pressure on my wrists. "Come, Animal," said one of the men. "Yes, Master," I whispered.

By the wrists I was led toward the great door. I was very frightened, for I knew these must be the men associated with the Mistress, Lady Elicia of Ar. They thought that I bore a message for them, but I did not. They would be disappointed. They would be angry. Gorean males are not patient with displeasing slave girls. I did not wish to be disfigured or tortured, or slain. I was innocent! I would plead my innocence! Perhaps then I would be only whipped.

The doors were swung open by the helmeted guards. I was flung to my knees. "Kiss the floor, Slave," said one of the men.

I did so, my arms held high, straight behind me, thrusting me down. Then again, rudely, I was thrown to my feet and led into the room.

It was a lofty, beautiful room, as though in a palace. It was floored with purple, glossy tiles, broad and shining. There were slender, lofty white pillars, golden hangings. I was led toward a dais on which a large, corpulent man sat, one of enormous weight, reclining on cushions. He wore white robes, stained with wine, swollen with fat, bordered in laced gold. His face was heavy, coarse, pitted where whiskers, one by one, had been pulled from it by tweezers. He was balding, and wore upon his head a crown of grape leaves, from the famed Ta grapes of the terraces of Cos. I sensed in him intelligence, vanity, wealth, cruelty and power.

I saw that at the foot of the dais, before me, before where I now knelt, released by the men who had held me, there was a low table, and, on this table there were strands of thread and, in small cups, beads, wooden slave beads, beads of various colors, of many colors.

I looked down at the low, wooden table, the beads in the tiny cups. I trembled. It seemed I had knelt here before, or somewhere like this, in a dream which had once tormented me in Tabuk's Ford. I wondered if I had ever knelt in such a place as this before, or if it were merely the figment of a slave girl's dream. The dream had seemed real. I wondered if it were in some odd sense a recollection or anticipation. I dismissed such nonsense from my mind. But the similarity of this setting to that of the dream was uncanny and frightening.

A slave whip, by one of the nearby men, was lifted before me. I then was truly frightened, for this, too, had been in the dream.

"What is this?" I knew a voice would ask.

"What is this?" asked the man.

"A slave whip, Master," I said, knowing that I would.

"And what are you?" inquired the voice.

"A slave, Master," I said. I wanted to scream out to them that I knew nothing of their messages or whatever it was they might seek. I wanted to scream out to them that I was only a miserable slave, and knew nothing. I wanted only a bit of mercy from them.

"Do you obey?" asked the voice.

"Yes, Master," I said.

I trembled. These things had been said, too, in the dream. I did not think the dream was prophetic. Rather I understood now that in someway the dream had recalled to me, or touched upon, a ritual in which I had been rehearsed.

I pulled back my head, fearing the press of the slave whip to my lips.

This puzzled the man, I sensed. But then, as was his part, he thrust the whip against my lips. He did it angrily. He had not been pleased to have been anticipated. The heavy leather of the whip, folded back about its handle, bruised my lips. I tasted a drop of blood. I could feel the whip hard against my teeth, lying across them diagonally.

"Kiss the whip, Slave," said the man. I kissed the whip.

There was a silence.

"Who commands me?" I asked. I had sudden respect for whoever had devised the ritual we were enacting. My last question was not the sort of question a slave girl, in such a situation, would ask. It was too bold. The master, if he wishes, will inform the girl as to who it is who commands her. If he does not wish to inform her, he does not. The girls needs to know only that she is a slave and that it is hers to obey. Yet the question was not utterly incontextual. A bystander might simply infer that the girl was new to her collar and did not understand that such a question might bring the whip down upon her. Another subtlety was that the expression 'Master' had not been included in the question.

The gross, corpulent man looked at one of his lieutenants, a helmeted fellow who stood nearby. They exchanged glances.

I had, by this response, identified myself for them. The identification would be confirmed by the next responses.

The corpulent man looked at me, and shifted his weight, rotund, immense and slack, on the cushions.

"You are commanded by Belisarius, Slave Girl," he said. I did not know if 'Belisarius' was his true name, or a code name for the contact.

I knew now, however, incontrovertibly, that this was the contact, this was the specific individual to whom I was expected to communicate the intelligence which I supposedly conveyed.

I wanted to cry out that I knew nothing. The small eyes, deep in the fat of the heavy face, regarded me.

"What is the command of Belisarius, the slave girl's master?" I asked. I could scarcely hear myself speak.

"It is simple," said the voice.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Bead a necklace, Slave Girl," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

A strange state of consciousness seemed suddenly to come over me. I was aware of what I was doing, and yet it seemed as though I behaved in terms of some prearranged pattern.

It was again almost as though I were in a dream.

I reached toward the strands of thread on the table, and toward the cups of tiny beads.

I do not know why I first chose a yellow bead, but I did, And then I chose a blue bead and a red, and then another yellow. I began to bead a necklace.

I knotted the end of the thread on the necklace.

I lifted it to Belisarius. One of his men took it, carefully, and handed it to him. He placed it on the dais before him.

I shook my head. Strangely, as soon as the necklace had been taken from me, my natural state of consciousness returned. The behavior, whatever might have been its import, had been discharged. It was as though I awakened from a dream.

I saw Belisarius looking carefully at the beads before him. I had strung the same order of beads more than once, to complete the necklace. Too, the necklace was long and loose, like most slave necklaces. It would loop at least twice about a girl's throat. It seemed to be indistinguishable from thousands of necklaces which I had seen on the throats of slave girls.

It did not take Belisarius long to regard the necklace.

Suddenly he pounded his heavy fist on the dais with pleasure. "At last!" he said. "At last!"

The men about him did not ask what significance he had found in the necklace, nor did Belisarius explain to them what he had seen in the arrangement of the beads.

I felt a knife at my throat. "Shall we kill her?" asked a man behind me.

"No," said Belisarius. "The message has now been delivered."

"What if she falls into the wrong hands?" asked a man.

"It would not matter," said Belisarius. He looked at me. "Bead the same necklace, Slave Girl," he said.

I trembled. Suddenly I knew I could not. I could not remember the order of the beads.

"I cannot, Master," I said. "Please do not kill me!"

"Even if she could rebead the necklace," said Belisarius, "its message could not be understood, and, even if it could be understood, it would be meaningless to others." He laughed. "And even if its meaning could be understood, it would be too late for the enemy to act. They could then understand only the danger in which they would then stand."

The knife was drawn away from my throat. I' almost fainted on the tiles.

Belisarius regarded me. "Besides," said he, "the Lady Elicia wants the pretty little thing for a serving slave."

"The Lady Elicia," said one of the men, "would, I wager, look well naked and in a collar."

The men laughed.

"Perhaps later," said Belisarius, "when she has served her purposes."

The men laughed.

I felt my hands being tied behind my back. The wadding of the gag of the slave hood was rolled and thrust deep in my mouth. The gag straps were drawn back, deeply, between my teeth; I winced; then, behind the back of my neck, they were cinched, tightly.

I looked at Belisarius, bound and gagged before him. "Use her for wench sport," he said, "and then return her to the Chatka and Curla."

The slave hood was pulled up, and opened, and then pulled down and over my head; it was folded and tucked under the chin, taking up its slack, and the leather belt, looped twice about my neck, was drawn through its loops, tightened and buckled shut.

By one ankle I was pulled across the tiles to the side of the room.