Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 7
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
I watched her moving about the circle.
"Aii!" cried men, as she would pause a moment to dance before them. I had little doubt she might once have been a tavern dancer. Such dancers must present themselves in such a fashion before customers. This gives the customer an opportunity to assess them, and to keep them in mind, if he wishes, for later use in an alcove.
"Aii," cried another fellow.
I speculated that she would not have languished for attention in the alcoves. "She is superb," said the fellow next to me.
"Yes," I said.
She was working her way about the circle.
It was interesting to me that a master would dare to display such a slave publicly. I gathered that he was quite confident of his capacity to keep her. He must then, I suspected, be excellent with the sword.
"Ah," said the fellow next to me.
The dancer approached.
How marvelous are the Gorean women, I thought. And I thought then, too, sadly, of the women of Earth, so many of them so confused, so miserable, so unhappy, women not knowing what they were, or what they might be, women trapped in a maze of ultimately barren artifices, women subjected to inconsistent directives and standards, women subjected to social coercions, women subjected to antibiological constraints, women forced to deny themselves and their depth natures in the name of freedom, women trying to be men, not knowing how to be women, women torturing themselves and others with their confusions, their inhibitions, their pain, their frustrations. But I did not blame them for they were the victims of pathological conditioning programs. Any beautiful natural creature can be clipped and then instructed to rejoice in it mutilations and mishapeness. It was little wonder that so many of the women of Earth were so inhibited, so frigid, so inert, so anesthetic. That so many of them could even feel their pain was, I supposed, a hopeful sign. If their culture was correct, or judicious, why did it contain so much unhappiness and pain? In a body, pain is an indication that something is wrong. So, too, it is in a culture.
Then the dancer was before me, and I was awed with beauty.
I kept her there before me for a moment, not letting her move away, my gaze holding her.
I wept then for the men of Earth, that they could not know such beauties. How utterly marvelous are the Gorean females! How utterly different they are from the women of Earth! How impossible it would be for a female of Earth to match them!
I watched the dancer then move to the next fellow, and turn about.
Suddenly I was stunned. High on her left arm there was a small, circular scar. It was not, surely, in that place, and given its nature, the result of a marking iron. Indeed, it is by means of such tiny indications, fillings in the teeth, and such, that a certain sort of girl, for which there is a market on Gor, is often recognized.
She is not from Gor!" I said.
"She is from far away," said the fellow next to me.
"From a distant land," said another.
"Called "earth," said another.
"Yes," I said.
"They make excellent slaves," said another. I wondered if this might not be true. The Earth female, starved for sexual fulfillment, suddenly plunged into the gorgeous world of Gor, subject to masculine pleasure, taught obedience, and such, might well, I supposed, after a period of adjustment and accommodation, rejoice in self-discovery, in her true liberation, in her finding herself at last in her place in nature, the beautiful and desirable slave of strong and uncompromising masters.
"I think we should send an army there and bring them all back in chains," said another.
"That is where they belong," said another.
"Yes," said another.
The mark on the girl's arm had not been the result of the imprint of a master's iron. It had been a vaccination mark. I had noted, too, interestingly, just before she had whirled away, that she was shy. I assessed her as being quite intelligent, extremely sensitive, and an excellent slave.
She had now, as the music swirled to its finish, returned to move before her master. Then, the dance ended, men striking their left shoulders in Gorean applause, shouting their vociferous approval, some armed warriors striking their shields with spear blades, she sank to the ground, on her back, breathless, breasts heaving, covered with a sheen of sweat, before her master, her left knee raised, her head turned toward him, the palms of her hands, at her sides, vulnerably exposed.
She had been superb. My shoulder was sore where I had much struck it.
Then with a sensuous, fluid movement she rose to her knees before her master. She spread her knees, widely. She regarded him, beggingly. The dance had much aroused her, and she was totally his, completely at his will, his pleasure and mercy.
"Our gratitude, Teibar!" called a fellow.
"Hail, Teibar!" called another.
He called Teibar then waved to the men about, and turning about, took his way from the area of the circle. The slave rose to her feet and hurried after him, to heel him. more than one man touched her, and as a slave may be touched, as she moved through them, hurrying to catch up with her master. To even these touches I could see her respond, even in her flight. I saw that she was a hot slave, and one, who would be, whether she wished it or not, uncontrollable, helplessly responsive, in a man's arms. Then she was with her master, seeming to heel him, but yet so close to him that she touched him, brushing against him. I had little doubt that she would soon be lengthily used, ravished with all the attention, detail and patience with which Gorean masters are wont to exploit their helpless chattels.
After the dance of Tuka, men and slaves departed from the circle, many doubtless to hurry to their blankets and tents. I, too, thought I had taken comfort earlier with the blond mat girl, was uncomfortable.
"Use me, Master?" said a coin girl.
I looked down at her, a small brunet, half naked in a ta-teera, a slave rag. About her neck, over her collar, close about it, was a chain collar, padlocked shut, with its coin box, and slot.
"Master?" she smiled.
I was angry. She had doubtless come to a circle, knowing that fellows in need, ones without slaves, such as I, might be found there. Her attitude seemed to me insufficiently respectful. She was not even kneeling.
"Oh!" she cried, spinning to the side, cuffed.
I snapped my fingers. "There," I said, pointing, indicating a place before me, "kneel there, facing away from me." Swiftly she crawled to the place, obeying. "On your belly," I snapped. Swiftly did she fling herself, a slave who might have been displeasing, in terror, to her belly. I seized her ankles and parted them, widely, pulling her toward me. "Perhaps you deserve a full lashing," I said. "No, please, Master!" she wept. "How much are you?" I asked. "Only a tarsk bit, Master!" she wept. I considered the matter. I could afford that. I dragged her back to me. She gasped, mine. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh! Oh!" Then I thrust her from me, and stood. She was then on her side, looking back at me. She was grasping. I kicked her, angrily, with the side of my foot. She winced. "Forgive me, Master," she wept. "I beg forgiveness!"
"Perhaps you will learn manners," I said. "Yes, Master," she said. "Perhaps you will know enough next time to be respectful, and to kneel before men," I said. Yes, Master," she said. "Forgive me, Master!" I looked down upon her angrily. I think she feared she might be again cuffed, or kicked. Then she crawled to my feet, and kissed them. Then she looked up at me. "Buy me, "she begged, suddenly. "It is to a man such as you that I wish to belong!" I dragged her to her knees by the hair and, she sobbing, trying to hold me, thrust a coin, a tarsk bit into the coin box. I then thrust her back to the dirt, on her side, and, turning about, angrily, left her. "Master!" she called after me. "Please, Master!" In a time I turned back to regard her. She was where I had left her, except that she was now kneeling. Her shoulders shook with sobs. She had the coin box, on its chain, lifted in her hands. Her head was down, and her hair fell about the coin box. She pressed her lips to it, again and again, sobbing. I did not think that she was a poor slave. I think rather that she merely needed a strong master.
"Well done," said a fellow, passing me.
I looked back at the girl again. She did have pretty thighs, well revealed in the ta-teera. But then I steeled myself against softness, and reminded myself that this was no time to acquire a bond maid, even one with a lovely little figure and pretty thighs, one who was now clearly ready to obey instantly, and with perfection.
I looked to the lofty walls of Ar. Within them lay what danger, what treachery, what intrigue I dared not guess.
"Oh!" said a slave, slapped below the small of the back by a peasant.
"She is in the iron belt," said the fellow, looking at me, grinning.
The girl hurried on.
"Perhaps it is just as well," I said.
He laughed.
She looked well in the tunic.
I passed a couple, the master enjoying his slave.
I looked up at the moons of Gor. They have, it seems, an unusual effect on women. Sometimes female slaves, or captured free women, are chained beneath them. I do not know the nature of this effect. Perhaps it is merely aesthetic, for surely the moons are very beautiful. On the other hand the logical approach the moons may have a profound subconscious symbolism, in its waxings and wanings, clearly suggestive of feminine sexual cycles. But even more interestingly the effect on the female is possibly biological. There are many biological vestiges in the human being. One which is typical and interesting is the tendency of the skin to erupt in tiny protuberances, "goose bumps," when it is cold. This response presumably harkens back to a time when the human animal, or its forebear, had a great deal more hair from the flesh, thusly forming an insulating layer against the cold. So, too, the sight of the moons, and their rhythms, and such, so interestingly approximating the periods of feminine sexual cycles, may at one time have played a role in mating cycles. Perhaps the female came out into the moonlight, in her need, where she might be located and appraised, thought not in the harsh light of day. Perhaps in the moonlight, away from darkness, with its dangers of predators and such, she cried out, or moaned, her needs, attempting to attract attention to herself, calling for the attentions of the male. Perhaps those which would seek to mate in the fullness of light distracted the group from feeding, or were too much fought over. Perhaps those who sought the darkness were not as easily found or succumbed to predators. Perhaps, in time, as a matter of natural selections, operative upon a relatively, at that time, helpless species, those tended to survive whose mating impulses became synchronized with the moons. This might explain why, even today, and doubtless numerous genetic codings later, codings obviously favoring frequent and aperiodic sexuality, some women are, so to speak, in addition, still "called by the moon." It would be a vestige, like the rising of hair on "goose bumps." Aside from this, it might be noted, of course, that the sexual cycle of various species do tend to be correlated with the cycles of the moon, presumably through one natural selection or another. The Kurii, for example, seem to have retained some vestiges along these lines, for in that species, as I understand it, it is not unusual for females to go to the mating cliffs in the moonlight, where, helpless in their sexuality, they cry out, or howl, their needs.
I passed a few fellows playing dice. There are many forms of dice games on Gor, usually played with anywhere from a single die to five dice. The major difference, I think, between the dice of Earth and those of Gor is that the Gorean dice usually have their numbers, or letters, or whatever pictures or devices are used, painted on their surfaces. It is difficult to manufacture a pair of dice, of course, in which the "numbers," tow, three and so on, are represented by scooped out indentations. For example, the «one» side of a die is likely to have less scooped-out material missing than the «six» side of a die. Thus the «one» side is slightly heavier and, in normal play, should tend to land face down more often than, say the «six» side, this bringing up the opposite side, the «six» side in Earth dice, somewhat more frequently. To be sure, the differences in weight are slight and, given the forces on the dice, the differential is not dramatic. And, of course, this differential can be compensated for in a sophisticated die by trying to deduct equal amounts of material from all surfaces, for example, an amount from the «one» side which will equal the amount of the «six» side, and, indeed, on the various sides. At any rate, in the Gorean dice, as mentioned, the numbers or letters, of pictures or whatever devices are used, are usually pained on the dice. Some gamesmen, even so, attempt to expend the same amount of paint on all surfaces. To be sure, some Gorean dice I have seen to use the «scooped-out» approach to marking the dice. And these, almost invariably, like the more sophisticated Earth dice, try to even out the material removed from each of the surfaces. Some Gorean dice are sold in sealed boxes, bearing the city's imprint. These, supposedly, have been each cast six hundred times, with results approximating the ideal mathematical probabilities. Also, it might be mentioned that dice are sometimes tampered with, or specially prepared, to favor certain numbers. These, I suppose, using the Earth term, might be spoken of as "loaded." My friend, the actor, magician, impresario and whatnot, Boots Tarsk-Bit, once narrowly escaped an impalement in Besnit on the charge of using false dice. He was, however, it seems, framed. At any rate the charges were dismissed when a pair of identical false dice turned up in the pouch of the arresting magistrate, the original pair having, interestingly, at about the same time, vanished.
I stayed to watch the fellows playing dice for a few Ehns. I do not think they noticed me, so intent they were on their game. The stakes were small, only tarsk bits, but one would not have gathered that from the earnestness of the players. A slave girl was kneeling nearby, in a sort of improvised slave brace, a short, stout pole, drilled through in three places. Her ankles were fastened to the pole, by means of a thong threaded through one of the apertures, near its bottom, her wrists by another thong passing through a hole a few inches higher that the bottom hole, and her neck by a thong passed through the aperture at the top part of the pole, behind her neck. There are many arrangements for the keeping of slaves, bars, harnesses, and such. I will mention two simple ones, first, the short, hollow tube, usually used with a sitting slave, whose wrists are tied, the thing then passing through the tube to emerge at the far end, where it is used to secure her ankles, and, second, the longer pole, drilled four times, used with a prone or supine slave, in which it is impossible for her to rise to her feet. Her ankles are fastened some six inches or so from the end, and she is then, of course, secured, in one fashion or another, back or belly to the pole, as the master might please, at suitable intervals, by the wrists, belly and neck, the pole usually extending some six inches or so beyond her head. The girl near the gamblers was apparently not a stake in the game. On the other hand, it is not unusual for female slaves, like kaiila and other properties, to serve as stakes in such games, as in races, contests and such. Indeed, in many contests, female slaves are offered as prizes. I had once won one myself, in Torvaldsland, in archery. I had subsequently sold her to a warrior. I trust that she is happy, but it does not matter, as she is only a slave.
"Larls, larls!" called a fellow. "I win!"
"Alas," moaned the other. "I have only verr."
"Larls" would be maximum highs, say, double highs, if two dice were being used, triple highs if three dice were in play, and so on. The chances of obtaining a «larl» with one throw of one die is one in six, of obtaining «larls» with two dice, one in thirty-six, of obtaining «larls» with three dice, one in two hundred and sixteen, and so on. Triple «larls» is a rare throw, obviously. The fellow had double "larls." Other types of throws are "urts," "sleen," "verr," and such. The lowest value on a singe die is the "urt." The chances of obtaining, say, three «urts» is very slim, like that of obtaining three «larls» one in two hundred and sixteen. «Verr» is not a bad throw but it was not good enough to beat "larls." If two dice are in play a «verr» and a «larl» would be equivalent on a numerical scale of ten points, or, similarly, if the dice are numbered, as these were, one would simply count points, though, of course, if, say, two sixes were thrown, that would count as "larls."
A lad danced past, pounding on a tabor.
I stood there, in the camp, looking about, at the various fires and the folks about them. Mostly, as I have suggested, these folks were of the peasants, but, among them were representatives of many other castes, as well, mostly refugees from Torcadino and its environs, in the west, and from the vicinity of Ar's Station, in the north, folks who had fled before the marshes of Cos.
"Ai!" cried a fellow a few yards away, tumbling off the filled, greased wineskin. He would not win the skin and its contents. There was much laughter. "Next!" called the owner of the skin. "Next!" As it cost a tarsk bit to try the game I think he had already made more than the cost of the wineskin and its contents.
I wondered if I could balance on the skin. It is not easy, of course, given the surgent fluid and the slippery surface.
Another fellow addressed himself to the task, but was on his back in the dirt in an instant. There was more laughter about the skin.
"An excellent effort," called the owner of the skin, "would you care to try again?"
"No," said the fellow.
"We will hole you while you mount," volunteered the owner.
But the fellow waved good-naturedly and left.
"A tarsk bit," called the owner. "Only a tarsk bit! Win wine, the finest ka-la-na, a whole skinful, enough to treat your entire village."
"I will try," said a fellow, determinedly.
I walked over to the circle to watch.
The fellow was helped to the surface of the wineskin. But only an Ihn or so later he tumbled off into the dirt. Fellows about slapped their thighs and roared with laughter.
"Where is more wine?" called one of his friends.
There was laughter.
How odd it was, I thought, that these folks, who had so little, and might, were it not for the forces of Ar, such as they were, between Cos and the city, be in mortal jeopardy, should disport themselves so delightedly.
