Witness of Gor

17

“What are you doing?” cried the pit master, with horror.

I turned about, startled, in the cell, that in which the peasant was confined.

“Obeying, Master!” I said, frightened.

“Down on all fours!” he cried.

Swiftly I went to all fours.

The peasant, sitting, cross-legged, by the wall, in his chains, looked at me, dully.

I heard the pit master draw his belt free of his tunic.

I moaned.

Down came the belt with a hiss and I cried out in misery, and went to my stomach, my eyes filled with tears.

I looked up at the peasant. He regarded me, impassively. I do not even know if he understood what was happening.

Twice more the belt struck me. I wept. I had not known the pit master could be so angry.

“Please, Master!” I wept.

“Who told you to behave in such a fashion?’ said the pit master.

“The tall man,” I said, “the officer, he whom I served last night!”

“And who gave you permission to appear before this prisoner clad as you are?” he asked.

“It was my understanding that I should so serve!” I said.

Certainly this had been expressed to me, and the pit master, as well, had heard words to this effect in the cell. I could recall that.

“Are you trying to torment this prisoner?” he asked.

“Master?” I asked.

“Beg his forgiveness,” he said.

I crawled to the peasant on my stomach, over the stones. I was careful not to come within reach of those mighty hands. I did not think even the pit master would have cared to have come within their compass. I did not doubt but what the peasant could have torn me head from my shoulders.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said, weakly.

I heard the snapping of the pit master’s fingers. Quickly I backed away, on my stomach, from the peasant, and then rose up, on my knees, to kneel, head down, before the pit master.

“I have seen you move,” said the pit master, his rage seemingly dissipated.

I looked up at him, frightened, and the looked away. It was still hard to look upon those grotesque, massive, twisted features, the irregular placement of the eyes, one larger than the other.

“You did not move as you might have, before him,” he said.

“No,” I admitted.

“It is one thing,” said the pit master, “to appear bare-breasted, in a string and slave strip, before guards, before soldiers, before free men, serving their feasts, crawling at their feet, licking their thighs, dancing before them, and quite another before a prisoner. The free men may seize you upon a caprice and fling you down for their pleasure. They have whips. They may lash you to the furs. You may hope they will be kind enough to merely put you to their lengthy pleasures. It is not the same with a chained prisoner.”

I hung my head.

“Yet,” he said, “I know you. You had not move as you might have.”

I was silent.

“Why?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“I think you are not one of those petty, insolent slaves,” said he, “who must have her wrists tied over her head and be whipped.”

“Master?” I asked.

“You were told to torment him, weren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Did you do so?”

“Of course, Master!” I said.

“I know you, Earth slut,” he said. “You could make a rock scream with need, but you did not do so.”

“Forgive me, Master!” I said.

“You were reluctant, you were hesitant.”

“Forgive me,” I said.

“Were you afraid of him?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am afraid of him.”

“He is chained,” he said.

“Yes, Master,”

“He cannot hurt you,” he said.

“No, Master,” I said.

“You might then have tormented him with impunity,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“but you were reluctant to do so,” he said. “You held back.”

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

Does it seem honorable to you,” he asked, “to torment a helpless prisoner?”

“No, Master,” I said.

“Do you think I would have permitted it?” he asked.

I looked up at him, startled. Then I looked down, in awe. ‘No, Master,” I whispered, frightened, trembling, “you would not have permitted it.”

Then I looked up at him, in misery. “Who am I to obey?” I cried. “The officer has told me one thing, and you tell me another! Who am I to obey?”

“You will obey me,” said the depth warden.

“But is he not higher than you?” I asked, timidly.

“Yes,” he said. “He is higher than I, but you will obey me.”

“Master?” I asked.

“For I am closer to you than he,” he whispered.

I shuddered. I was indeed in the keeping of the depth warden. It was in his quarters that I had my kennel. It was on the wall of those quarters that hung the whip to which I was first subject. It was he within whose direct reach I was. I was in his power, at his mercy. He could do with me as he pleased. But I was frightened, too, because now I realized that the dept master was in direct violation of the orders of his superior. He would manage the depths as he saw fit. His, then, was the responsibility.

“Whom do you obey?” asked the depth warden.

“You, Master,” I said.

The depth warden then turned to the peasant. “This is only a stupid slave, and I am only a stupid jailer,” he said. “Forgive us. This will not happen again.”

The peasant regarded us. I did not think he understood any of what had gone on.

“In the future,” said the depth warden to me, “you will serve the prisoner with care and deference.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. “Master!” I said.

“Yes?” he said.

I put my head down and kissed his feet. “Thank you, Master,” I said.

He then stepped away from me, and went to the door of the cell.

I, on my knees, gathered in the food and water bowl of the prisoner.

I had come to the cell originally to fetch and replenish them.

The depth warden had stopped at the door of the cell. He was standing there, looking back at the prisoner.

“Is it time for the planting?” asked the prisoner.

“No,” said the depth warden.

I may have been mistaken, but I thought that I detected the path of a tear on the cheek of the depth warden.

He turned to leave.

“Master!” I called.

He turned to face me.

“How shall I be dressed, to serve here?” I asked. I knew, of course, as did the depth warden, what had been the instructions of the officer.

“You will be tunicked,” said the depth warden.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

The depth warden then, indeed, was taking much responsibility upon himself.

“But do not fear, pretty Janice,” he said. “The sight of you in a slave tunic will be torment enough for any man.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.