Vagabonds of Gor

46 Ina Will Keep Watch

"Where is Marcus?" asked Ina.

It was very cold in the camp this morning. There was not much light yet.

I had slept fitfully.

There were dried leaves about and dried twigs. I had dried them out last night, near the fire. If someone were to approach the camp in the darkness, not looking for them, unaware of their presence, he would presumably step on one or more of these small alarms, crushing it or snapping it, thus alerting me to his presence.

I looked down at her. She was at my feet, sitting up, in a blanket. She was in the slave tunic we had fashioned from her former free-woman's garment. Beneath the blanket her ankles had been crossed and chained. I had not wanted her to try to run off, in the night. I did not think she would have gotten very far.

"He is gone," I said.

"I do not understand," she said.

I removed the chains from her ankles.

"Thank you," she said.

I then reached to her and kissed her, gently.

"Why did you kiss me like that?" she asked.

"How do you like sleeping at a man's feet?" I asked.

"It is where I belong," she said, "there, or at his thigh, or on the floor, at the foot of his couch, chained to it, such places. Why did you kiss me as you did?"

"It is morning," I said. "Relieve yourself, slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I myself rose up, and attended to similar duties. When I returned to the camp Ina was on her knees, starting the fire. She had learned, in our keeping, particularly after leaving the delta, the performance of many domestic services, labors appropriate for females. She looked up at me, happily.

"Continue your work, slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I looked about. There were a couple of fellows about. I supposed there were others, too, here and there, among the tents, and in the nearby woods.

"Master," she said, preparing the small rack and skillet for cooking strips of tarsk.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think I would be pretty in earrings?"

"Yes," I said.

"Attractive?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"They are terribly sensuous," she said.

"They will excite you," I said, "and you will be stunning in them."

She began to hum a little tune, while working. I recognized it as a ditty of Ar.

I watched her.

She brushed back some hair from her face. She was fetching in the improvised slave tunic. It had no nether closure, of course. Such closures are rare in the garments of female slaves. The lack of such closure increases their sense of vulnerability, and is, in its way, a subtle reminder of just how much they are always, and immediately, at the mercy of their masters.

"It is nearly ready," she said. She put some bread into the pan, too, for a few moments, to warm it.

"I wonder how many women of high station in Ar know how to cook," I said.

"How would I know of such things, Master," she asked, "as I am not a woman of such station."

"True," I said.

"I need not concern myself with such women," she said. "I need only concern myself with my own duties, which are those of a slave."

"And what are the duties of a slave?" I asked.

"She will learn that from her master," she said. "Typically, she will cook and clean for him, and shop for him, and launder and sew for him, such things."

I smiled to myself. Ina, since her captivity, and her uncompromising subjection to men, had proved eager to perform such labors, and to be found pleasing in the doing of them, in them she found a felicitous and welcome reassurance, a delicious confirmation, of her subjection. Interestingly enough, such labors, too, given their meaning and what was involved in them, were extremely sexually charged for her, rather like the carrying out of a specific task commanded by a master, except on a more regular, pervasive basis. In the almost ubiquitous sexuality of the female obedience and service are arousing. In the performance of her duties she knows she is serving her master. Her day, thus, can be spent in a glow of pleasure.

"But are there no other duties?" I asked.

"A girl's first duty, of course, Master," she said, "is to be pleasing to her Master."

"In what way?" I asked.

"In any, and every way, of course, Master," she said shyly.

"Turn the bread," I said.

"Ah!" she said.

After a bit we had eaten.

It was still very early.

I tested the draw of the blade in the sheath. It was smooth and rapid.

"Was breakfast satisfactory, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. I had even permitted her to feed herself, even from the first bite, which is sometimes, ceremonially, given to the slave from the hand of the master, she not touching it with her hands.

She regarded me, puzzled.

"I am now a slave," she said.

"Yes," I said. I had not had her since her imbedding.

"My ears are even pierced," she said, softly, indicating them delicately with her fingers.

"Yes," I said. The sight of pierced ears tends to be profoundly sexually stimulating to many Gorean men, probably for several reasons, some of them perhaps subconsciously symbolic, having to do with softness, penetration, helplessness, bondage, and such. It is probably for this reason that many slavers, in the last few years, have taken to subjecting the properties passing through their hands to this tiny, delightful operation, so momentous in its consequences. Ear piercing, at least on a widespread basis, may have been encouraged by the presence in Gorean markets of girls brought from Earth for slaves, some of whom had pierced ears. Some of these girls, doubtless, were terrified and startled at the magnitude of the desire they produced, and the audacity and delight with which they were handled and ravished, not suspecting perhaps for months that part of their appeal, even to strangers, was something as apparently improbable and innocent as the piercing of their ears. The Earth girl, incidentally, makes an excellent slave. It is for such a reason, doubtless, that the slave routes between Earth and Gor tend to be regularly plied. To the Gorean master, the Earth girl has an exotic flavor. From the girl's point of view, of course, she whose sex has in effect been hitherto denied to her, and who has hitherto encountered only men of Earth, most of whom have been sexually reduced or crippled by negativistic conditioning programs, and instructed to rejoice in the fact, Gor comes as a revelation. There they find men who, for the most part, are quite different from those they are accustomed to on Earth, strong, powerful, uninhibited, uncompromising men, men who have never been subjected to pathological conditioning programs aimed at the taming or debilitation of the male animal and its instincts, men who have never been tricked into the surrender of their natural dominance, men who have retained their sovereignty, that mighty sovereignty in nature without which they cannot be men, without which women cannot be women. In the eyes of such men the Earth female finds herself looked upon as what she is in nature, an authentic, genuine female, and finds herself treated accordingly, and without compromise. She then, now in her place in nature, and knowing that she will be kept there, by the rod and whip, if necessary, finds her joy and fulfillment. To be sure, after a time, the Earth girl, except perhaps for such things as the fillings in her teeth or a vaccination mark on her arm, becomes indistinguishable from other Gorean slave girls. It is not, incidentally, that Earth girls are better than Gorean girls, or Gorean girls better than Earth girls. They are both, in effect, the same, excitingly marvelous. This is not surprising as they are all, ultimately, of Earth stock. Too, more profoundly, they are all women, with the beauties, and the needs, of women.

"Is the slave, Ina, not pleasing to her master?" she asked.

"You are pleasing to me," I said.

"Is there anything wrong, Master?" she asked.

"No," I said.

"Master seems sad," she said. I looked at her, sharply.

"Forgive me, Master," she said.

I gestured that she should approach me, and she did so.

She stood near me, frightened. I think she was afraid that she was to be beaten.

"Sit here," I said. "Cross your ankles."

"Master seems suddenly in a better mood," she said.

"Oh!" she said, her ankles now tightly chained together. She could not now run.

"What is Master going to do?" she asked.

"Sleep," I said.

"Master?" she asked.

"If anyone approaches within ten yards, awaken me. If none so approach, awaken me in what you take to be an Ahn."

"Of course, Master," she said, puzzled.

I now felt strong, and pleased. I had permitted myself, the preceding night, to lose sleep. That could be extremely dangerous. I would now rest for an Ahn, unless interrupted. I had been so much a fool as to be sad. That is not the mood in which to enter battle, even the battle which one knows one cannot win, even the ultimate battle in which one knows one is doomed to defeat. Do not be sad. Better to take the field with laughter, with a joke, with a light thought, with a buoyant heart, or to go forward with sternness, or in fury, or with hatred, or defiance, or calculation, but never with self-pity, never with sadness. Never such things, never them! The warrior does not kill himself or aid others in the doing of it. It is not in the codes.

"It seems an odd time to sleep, Master," she said.

"Quite so," I said. "Keep watch."

"Yes, Master," she said.