Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 48
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
Lavinia then, gratefully, rose to her feet, and went to kneel before the slave. How well she knelt before him! how well she looked at his feet, though he were only a slave. She then lifted the note to him, her head down between her extended arms, holding the note in both hands, proffering it to him, much as in the manner in which a slave offers wine, and herself, to a master. The fellow gasped, and seemed shaken by this, the sight of the beauty so before him. I almost feared he might fall, so beautiful she was. Never I suspect had he had a woman so before him. In that instance I think he may have first begun to sense the glories, the exultancies, the fittingness, the perfections and powers of the mastery. I watched Lavinia surrender the note to him. it was almost as though it were her own note, offered pleadingly to him on her own behalf, and not putatively the note of another, in whose transit and delivery she was merely humble courier. To be sure, she had written the note herself. I was much puzzled by her behavior. I was also much impressed by it. I had never hitherto realized she was that beautiful.
"You have delivered your note, slut!" said one of the men, angrily. "Now, be off with you!"
"Yes, Master!" she said.
He drew back his hand, angrily, as though contemplating giving her a cuff. "Yes, Master!" she said, and scrambled to her feet, not at all gracefully, in her haste, and raced past me, going west on Tarn Court. Clearly she would not have relished further attentions from the fellow. Already she was a bruised, thrice-kicked slave. I do not think that he intended striking her that time, incidentally, but was only threatening to do so. The threat, however, had been sufficient to speed her on her way, and had she not leaped up and departed with suitable dispatch I did not doubt but what her lovely face in an instant, flashing and burning scarlet, might have suffered the sting, and perhaps more than once, of that ready, harsh masculine hand.
"She is pretty," said one of the fellows, he who had questioned her, looking after her.
"But she is only a female," said the other, he who had threatened her.
"And a slave," said he who had questioned her.
"Yet they are the prettiest and best, " said he who had threatened her.
"Yes," said he who had questioned her. "There is no comparison."
The handsome slave stood in the street, under the trellises, in the light and shade, looking after the slave, wonderingly. In his hand, neglected, was the note. It seemed he could not take his eyes off the retreating figure of Lavinia. Could it be that he found her of interest, and in the most profoundly sexual way in which a man may find a woman of interest, of slave interest? I had not counted on that. I trusted that this would not disrupt my plans.
"Read the note," ordered one of the fellows.
Absently, almost as though not aware of his surroundings, except for the now tiny figure of the slave, hurrying away, he opened the note. He could, apparently, read. I had counted on that. He was a high slave. Too, it would have been difficult for him, I supposed, as he was a well-known actor, to have learned parts without being able to read. To be sure, some actors do, having the parts read to them, and they memorizing them from the hearing of the lines. This is particularly the case with women, as most parts of women on the Gorean stage, other than those in high theater, which tend to be acted by boys or men, are acted by female slaves, many of whom cannot read. Also, of course, as is well known, singers, scalds in the north, and such, transmit even epics orally. Because there are many Goreans who cannot read, many stores, shops, and such, will utilize various signs and devices to identify their place of business. For example, a large, wooden image of a paga goblet may hang outside a tavern, a representation of a hammer and anvil outside a metal-worker's shop, one of a needle and thread outside a cloth-worker's shop, and so on. I have known extremely intelligent men on Gor, incidentally, who could not read. Illiteracy, or, more kindly, an inability to read and write, is not taken on Gor as a mark of stupidity. These things tend rather, in many cases, to be associated with the caste structure and cultural traditions. Some warriors, as I have indicated earlier, seem to feel it is somewhat undignified for them to know how to read, or, at least, how to read well, perhaps because that sort of thing is more in the line of, say, the scribes. One hires a warrior for one thing, one hires a scribe for another. One does not expect a scribe to know the sword. Why, then, should one expect the warrior to know the pen? An excellent example of this sort of thing is the caste of musicians which has, as a whole, resisted many attempts to develop and standardize a musical notation. Songs and melodies tend to be handed down within the caste, from one generation to another. If something is worth playing, is it worth remembering, they say. On the other hand, I suspect that they fear too broad a dissemination of the caste knowledge. Physicians, interestingly, perhaps for a similar reason, tend to keep records in archaic Gorean, which is incomprehensible to most Goreans. Many craftsmen, incidentally, keep such things as formulas for certain kinds of glass and alloys, and manufacturing processes, generally, in cipher. Merchant law has been unsuccessful, as yet, in introducing such things as patents and copyrights on Gor. Such things do exist in municipal law on Gor but the jurisdictions involved are, of course, local.
"What does it say?" asked the fellow.
The slave clutched it to him. "It is private," he said, "and, I fear, personal." "Let me see," said one of the fellows.
"Better that only I and Appanius see this," he said. He seemed white-faced, shaken.
"Very well," said the fellow who had spoken, stepping back. He had judged from the slave's response, it seemed, that the matter was not one for just anyone to press.
"Is it important?" asked the other fellow.
"I am afraid," said the slave.
"Let us return to the house," said the first fellow.
They then again took their way east on tarn Court and, in a bit, once beyond the trelliswork, went to the right side of the street, which now, given the lateness of the afternoon sun, was the shady side. Normally Goreans keep to the left sides of streets and roads, as is proper, given that most men are right-handed. In this fashion the sword arm is on the side of the stranger. A similar, interesting historical detail, though are particularly pertinent to Gor, as most Gorean garments have buttons, is that, on Earth, men's shirts, jackets, coats, and such, have the buttons on the right side, so that the opening of the garment is held down, and to the right. This is because the sheath of the knife or sword is, by right-handed men, commonly worn on the left, facilitating the across-the-body draw to the right. In this arrangement of the garment's fastenings, thusly, the hand, or sleeve, or guard of the weapon, will not be caught or impeded in its passage to the ready position. A similar provision does occur, incidentally, in various Gorean garments, having to do with pins, brooches and such. Also the male tunic of the wraparound variety has its overlap to the right, presumably for a similar reason. Warriors, in situations of danger, commonly carry the scabbard over the left shoulder. The scabbard is held with the left hand and the draw takes place with the right. The scabbard and strap is then discarded, to be recovered, if practical, later. Obviously the scabbard attached to a belt is not only an encumbrance but it is something which someone else might seize, cling to, and perhaps use to his advantage.
I watched them withdraw. I was not even certain that the slave would show the note to Appanius. On the other hand, since he had been witnessed in receiving it, which I had not known would happen, it seemed highly likely he would do so. My plans, as I had laid them, of course, did not require that the note be seen by Appanius. Appanius did, of course, figure significantly in my plans. The note did not, as far as Appanius was concerned. It could do its work with or without his knowledge.
I now went west on Tarn Court.
In a few Ehn I had come to the rendezvous point, on Varick, west of Aulus, which I had arranged with Lavinia. I waited there, near the doorways. She would not be loitering in the vicinity, of course, as that would attract attention. She would, rather, pass this point at certain intervals, in one direction or another. She may have passed it once or twice already. I would then, in the concealment of one of the doorways, put her in the small cloak she had worn before, now folded in my wallet, and we would then make our way home.
I observed her approaching.
How beautiful she had been, how fetching she was now.
"Master," she said.
"In here," I said, gesturing to the doorway.
She stepped within the sheltered area and I took her by the upper arms and turned her about, and thrust her back, sharply, against the wall, to the right. "Master?" she said.
I looked down into her eyes. I held her by the upper arms, facing me, slave close. It is not unpleasant to hold a woman thusly. There were the tracks of tears, some only half dried, on her cheeks. She had thus wept even after leaving Tarn Court, probably while hurrying along.
"You are fortunate that you were not cuffed," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You are not unattractive," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
I stepped back a little, not releasing my hold, and looked down at her.
"Even in such garments," I said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
The recent garments prescribed for state slaves, of course, as such things went, were quite modest. They had their supposed role to play, doubtless, in the attempt on the part of Cos to depress the sexual vitality of the males of Ar, to devirilize them and make them easier to manage. That program, of course, as I have indicated, was unsuccessful. That the female is a slave is far more important than her garmenture, pleasant as that may be, dressing her in one manner or another for your pleasure, for example. That the female is a slave can double or treble, or more, the sexual interest and vitality of the male. It also has a considerable effect, an astounding effect, on the sexuality of the enslaved female, as well. The reasons for this have to do with the order of nature.
"Is Master angry with me?" she said.
"Stand back against the wall," I said. "Put the palms of your hands back, against the wall. Hold them there. Do not move."
"Yes, Master," she said.
I touched her.
"Ohh," she said, trying not to move.
"You are still hot," I said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"No forgiveness is necessary," I said. "Being hot is commendable in a female slave. Indeed, she may be whipped if she is not."
Yes, Master," she said, swallowing hard.
"And recently," I said, "if I am not mistaken, you were steaming, and oiled." "Do not be angry, Master," she begged.
How exciting she had been on Tarn Court! How beautiful she had been on Tarn Court! I had been tempted to rush forth and seize her, putting her to my pleasure, I owning her. I had not, of course, done so. That would surely have interfered with my plans.
"Do not be angry with me, Master!" she begged.
"To whom do you belong?" I asked.
"To you, Master," she said.
"And to whom else?" I asked.
"To no one else!" she said.
I regarded her.
"The slave hopes that her master is not displeased with her," she said.
I then took her once more by the upper arms and drew her, again, close to me. I held her in this fashion for a few Ihn, and then she made a tiny noise, and turned her head to the side, to her right.
"You feel my closeness?" I asked.
"Yes, my master," she whispered.
"And you grow excited?" I said.
She looked up at me. "Yes, Master," she said.
"And you cannot help yourself?" I said.
"No, Master," she said, looking away…
"And I could be any man?" I asked.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"But I am your master," I said.
"Yes, my master," she said.
"You are a female slave," I said.
"Forgive me, Master," she said.
"I effect nothing critical," I said. "Your sexuality has been taken away for you, and out of your control."
"Yes, Master," she whispered, frightened.
"Do not be troubled," I said. "It is appropriate that a female slave be sexually alive, vital and responsive.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"Even required," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said.
"You would not wish to be whipped for insufficient heat, would you?"
"No, Master!" she said.
"Think no more about it then," I said. "Surrender, rather, as you now must, and wish to do, to your deepest needs and desires, to your most profound and helpless passions, to those truths, hitherto concealed in the most secret recesses of your belly."
"Take me somewhere, Master!" she begged. "Take me somewhere!"
"You are somewhere," I informed her.
She looked wildly at me, and I then, by the upper arms, lifted her up, against the wall.
She looked down at me. "Master!" she begged.
I kept her to the wall with my body, and, in an Ihn or two, got my hands to her waist, lifting her up. She put her arms about my neck, sobbing. "Oh, yes, Master!" she breathed. "I yield me, as a slave, your slave!"
For an Ehn or two I held her.
"Aiiii," I breathed, gasping.
"I am yours," she whispered, "your slave!"
"Yes," I said. "Yes, you are."
Shortly thereafter I became aware of a presence behind me. I turned. There was a guardsmen there, a regular, not an auxiliary. I had never seen him before. He did not seem angry. I lifted Lavinia upward. "Ai!" I said, softly. I then put her to her feet in the doorway. She kissed at my arm, and kept her arms about me. Surely she was aware of the observer, as well. "Do you not know enough to kneel in the presence of a free man?" I asked her. Quickly she removed her arms from my body, smoothed down her tunic, and knelt, properly, in the doorway. "Does the whip master know where you are?" asked the guardsmen of Lavinia. "No, Master," she said.
"You are pretty," he said.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"These state sluts are all the same, " said the guardsmen.
"Oh?" I said.
"I liked it better when they were belled," he said.
"That was nice," I said.
"It made it easier to keep track of them, in alleys, in doorways, and such." "Doubtless," I granted.
He looked at Lavinia, who lowered her head.
"I suspect it is lonely for them, in their chains, at night," he said.
"I suspect so," I said.
"She has duties," he said. "Do not stay here long."
"We shall be gone in a moment," I said.
He then turned about and went south on Varick.
Lavinia was trembling.
I had her rise and put the short cloak about her. Then, on a thought, as it pleased me, I had her adjust the hem of the garment she wore so that it was slave short. I then, too, adjusted the cloak so that it barely covered the raised hem of the garment. She would hold the cloak high, bunched, about her neck, to cover the collar. In this fashion it was concealed that she wore a garment resembling that of a state slave and her legs, quite contrary to the intent of the statelength garment, were extensively and delightfully bared.
"I delivered the message," said Lavinia to me.
"I know," I said.
"You saw?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
She looked down.
"Do not be afraid," I said.
"I could not help myself," she whispered.
"I effect nothing critical," I said.
She looked at me.
"You are a female slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said, wonderingly. "That is it. I am a female slave. I have now become a female slave."
"Do you object?" I asked.
"No, Master," she said. "I love it!"
"You did your work well, excellently," I said. "I am very pleased."
"Thank you, Master!" she said.
I then looked out from the doorway. The guardsman was nowhere in sight. Indeed, the street was deserted.
"We will now return to the insula," I said.
"Shall I heel my master?" she asked.
"No," I said. "Precede me."
"Yes, Master," she smiled.
23 A Message is to be Delivered
"The dung of tharlarion be smeared upon the Home Stone of Ar's Station!" cried the portly fellow. "Let it be spattered with the spew of urts!" He seized up the Home Stone from the plank on which it sat, the plank resting on two inverted wastes vats, of the sort used in insulae, in the park of the Center Cylinder, within which likes the Central Cylinder. "Not even jards of stone would pick the bones of this loathesome rock!" cried the fellow. There was laughter at this by the guards about, and several other folks, too, outside the roped-off enclosure, within which was the Home Stone on its mock pedestal. Indeed, several fellows, expecting some sort of show, had hurried to stand outside the rope, to watch. The guards, too, it seemed, remembered this fellow, and egged him on with their cries. There was a line, as well, behind the fellow, awaiting its turn to enter the roped-off circle, and, one by one, express their contempt for the "Traitress of the North" as Ar's Station was now referred to on the boards. "Surely I should kill him!" hissed Marcus to me.
"You are under no obligation to do so," I assured him, irritatedly.
"Honor deems it necessary," said Marcus, grimly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
"Nonsense!" I said.
"Yes!" he hissed.
"Not at all!" I insisted.
I was now alarmed. When Goreans get the idea that honor is involved they suddenly become quite difficult to deal with. Moreover, Marcus, an agile fellow, could make it over the rope and get to the vicinity of the Home Stone in something like one or two jumps.
"Certainly!" he said.
"Shhh!" a fellow, turning about. "I wish to hear this!"
I hooked my right hand in the back of Marcus' knife belt. This made it difficult for him to move forward, let along get the elevation necessary for leaping over the rope.
"That was a nice blow," said a fellow nearby, turning to me, "the concept of a stone jard and likening the Home Stone to unfit mineral carrion."
