John Norman - Gor 26 - Witness Of Gor

ONE

I looked about. No one was looking.

I crossed the perimeter of small, sharpened stones, a foot or so deep, about ten feet wide, which lined

the interior wall of the garden. This hurt my feet, which were small, and soft, and bare. Even the soles of

our feet must be soft, and this is seen to, by creams and lotions, and the nature of the surfaces upon

which we are permitted to walk, such things.

It was during the heat of the day.

The bangles on my left ankle made a tiny sound, and I stopped, looking about. I was frightened. But no

one saw. How pleased I was that I had not been belled! Normally it is a new girl, or even a free woman,

who is belled. To be sure, we may be belled at any time, and, naturally, if it is wished, kept that way. But

usually one is belled, if at all, in serving, or in the dance. To be sure, it is sometimes required of us in the

furs. Bells have many purposes, as might be supposed. Only one of these is security, making it easy, for

example, to detect the presence, the movements, of a girl. This is particularly useful at night. One of the

reasons too, why new girls, and sometimes free women, may be belled is that they may begin to

understand what they are, or are likely to become. This is not hard to understand when one has bells

locked on one's limbs. What sort of girl or woman would be belled? Later, of course, bells are

unnecessary for such a purpose. Later, obviously, there will be no doubt as to what one is, either in the

minds of others or in one's own mind.

I crept to the wall and put my fingers to the smooth, marbled surface.

I looked upward. The wall was some forty feet high. There are trees in the garden, of course, but they

are not placed in proximity to the wall. One could not use them, thus, even if they were tall enough, to

obtain access to its height. The wall, I had been told, was some ten feet in thickness. I did not know,

considering the fashion in which I had been brought here, but presumably only the interior side was

marbled. I had been told that the foundation of the wall extended several feet below the surface of the

ground. The height of the wall, now that I backed from it, I could see was surmounted by incurved

blades. I shuddered. Presumably some similar arrangement, perhaps outcurved blades, characterized its

exterior side.

I moved the armlet on my left arm a bit higher on my arm. It was warm to the touch. Many of the others

were resting. I looked about. I did not want anyone to see me near the wall. We were not to approach

the wall. The sun was reflecting against the wall.

The glare hurt my eyes.

We were forbidden to cross the perimeter of sharpened stones.

I wore a brief wisp of yellow silk, fastened at the left shoulder, my only garment. Two bracelets were on

my right wrist. I did not mind the silk. Indeed, I was grateful for it. It had only been permitted to me a few

days ago. Too, of course, as I have indicated, the weather was warm. I brushed back my hair. I have

brown hair, and brown eyes. My hair was now long. It was now below the small of my back. This is not

untypical. Many of the others had hair even longer.

I looked, again, at the wail, so smooth and sheer It had a lovely pattern in its marbling, but this pattern,

through the glare of the sun, could not be seen to its advantage. I looked up, again, at the lofty,

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formidable height of the wall. The wall seemed very smooth. Surely no purchase could be gained there.

And the wall was very high. And there were the knives at its summit.

Behind me, in the interior of the garden, I could hear the soft splashing of the fountain. It was set among

the trees, and its spill fed into the pool.

I looked again at the wall.

I heard voices, coming from the house. As swiftly as I could, wincing, hurting myself on the stones, I

withdrew from the wall. It was my intention to circle about, through the shrubbery, and the tiny, lovely

trees of the garden, to the vicinity of the fountain.

TWO It is difficult to comprehend such realities.

I had screamed, of course, but I had had no assurance that I would be heard.

Indeed, I suspected that I would not be heard, or, if heard, that I would be merely ignored. I suspected,

immediately, that my own will, my own feelings, and desires, were no longer of importance, at least to

others. And even more profoundly, more frighteningly, I suddenly suspected that I myself, objectively,

had now become unimportant. I realized that I might have value, of course, in some sense or other, for I

found myself, and in a certain fashion, in this place, but this is not the same sort of thing as being

important. I was no longer important. That is a strange feeling. It is not, of course, and I want you to

understand this, that I had ever been important in any of the usual senses of "important" such as being

powerful, or rich, or wellknown.

That is not it at all. No, it was rather in another sense of "important" that I suspected or, I think, better,

realized, that I was no longer important. I had now become unimportant, rather as a flower is

unimportant, or a dog.

It is difficult to comprehend such realities, the darkness, the collar, the chains.

I had screamed, of course, but, almost immediately, I stopped, more fearing that I might be heard, than

not heard.

I crouched there, shuddering. I tried to collect my wits.

My neck hurt, for I had jerked, frightened, against the collar, turning it, abrasively, on my neck.

I do not think that I had realized fully, in the first instant, or so, though I must have been aware of it on

some level, that it was on me. Perhaps I had, in that first instant, refused to admit the recognition to my

full consciousness, or had immediately forced it from my consciousness. Perhaps I had simply put it from

my mind, rejecting the very possibility, refusing to believe anything so improbable. And in consequence I

had hurt myself, unnecessarily, foolishly.

I felt it, in the darkness. It fitted closely, and was heavy. I could not begin to slip it. A ring was attached

to it, and a chain was attached to this ring, running, as I discovered, to another ring, fastened to a plate,

apparently bolted into the wall.

My wrists were also confined. I wore metal cuffs, joined by some inches of chain. My ankles, by metal

anklets, linked by a bit of chain, were similarly secured.

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I crouched in the darkness, terrified.

I felt the collar again. It was closed by means of a heavy lock, part of the collar itself. It would thus,

presumably, respond to a key. The cuffs and anklets, on the other hand, were quite different. They had

apparently been simply closed about my limbs, closed by some considerable force, perhaps that of a

machine, or even, perhaps, unthinkably primitive though it might seem, by the blows of a hammer on an

anvil. They were of flat, heavy, straplike metal. They had no hinges. Perhaps they had begun as partly

opened circles into which my limbs had been thrust, circles which had then been, by some means, closed

about my limbs, confining them. They did not have hinges. There was no sign of a place for the insertion

of a key. They clasped me well. It would be impossible to remove them without tools. I could thus be

freed from the collar, and the wall, quite simply, by means of the key. I could not be rid so simply, of

course, of my other bonds. This suggested to me that I might be, in the near future, removed from this

place, but that no similar indulgence might be expected with respect to my other bonds. I wondered who

held the key to my collar. I suspected that it might be merely one of many keys, or, perhaps, a key to

many similar locks. It would doubtless be held by a subordinate, or agent. The key to a collar such as

mine, I suspected, would not be likely to be held personally by anyone of importance. The will by the rule

of which, by the decision of which, I, and perhaps others, might be confined would doubtless be remote

from the instrumentalities by means of which the dictates of that will would be enacted. As far as I knew I

did not have any enemies, and I did not believe that I had ever, really, truly offended anyone. I

suspected, accordingly, that what had happened to me was in its nature not personal, at all, but was,

rather, objective and, in its way, perhaps quite impersonal. Accordingly, although I did not doubt that I

was here because of something about me, perhaps because of some properties or other, and thusly,

doubtlessly, for some reason, I did not think that the matter really had anything to do with me in a truly

personal sense. I suspected it had to do rather with a kind, or a sort, of which kind, or sort, I was

presumably an example.

What had become of me? What was I now? I dared not conjecture, but knew.

The place where I was damp, and cold. I did not wish to be there. I did not want to be in such a place. I

heard water dripping from somewhere, probably from the ceiling. I felt about, in the darkness. Near me,

as I brushed aside straw, I discovered two shallow, bowl-like depressions in the floor. My fingers

touched water in one. In the other there was something like a bit of damp meal, surely no more than a

handful, and a curl of something, like a damp crust.

I lay back down, in the damp straw, on my right side. I pulled up my knees, and put my head on the

back of my left hand.

I would certainly not drink from such a source, nor eat from such a place.

I pulled a little at the chain, that attached to the collar on my neck.

I could feel the force, small as it was, transmitted through the chain, to the collar, the collar then drawing

against the back of my neck.

Once footsteps passed, in what I supposed must be a corridor outside. I lay there, very quietly, not

daring to move. I saw, for a moment, as the footsteps passed, a crack of light beneath the door. Until

that time I did not know the location of the door. The light was some form of natural light, that of a

candle, a lamp; a lantern, I did not know. As it passed I saw some of the straw on my side of the door.

The door, as one could tell from the light, it revealing the thickness of the beams, was a heavy one. Also,

along its bottom, reinforcing that portion of the door, one could detect a heavy, bolted band. It seemed

likely, too, of course, that the door might be reinforced similarly at other points. These things, the light,

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the nature of the door, seemed to fit in well with the primitive confinements in which I found myself.

I then, trembling, put my head down again.

Perhaps, I thought, I should have called out, as someone, or something, had passed.

Of course, that is what must be done!

But when the steps returned, I was again absolutely quiet, terrified.

As the steps passed, I did not even breathe. I remained absolutely still. I was frightened, even, that the

metal on my body, in which I was so helpless, might make some tiny sound. I did not want, even by so

small a sound, to attract attention to myself. It was not that I doubted that whoever, or whatever, was out

there was well aware of where I was, and how I was. It was merely that I did not want to draw attention

to myself. I would later be taught ways in which it is suitable to draw attention to oneself, and ways in

which it is not suitable to draw attention to oneself. On this occasion I am confident that my instincts were

quite correct. Indeed, they have seldom, if ever, betrayed me.

I gasped with relief, as the steps passed.

To be sure, but a moment later, I again castigated myself, at having neglected this opportunity of inquiry

or protest. Indeed, shortly after the steps had passed, I scrambled to my knees! I must be angry! I must

pound upon the door! I must call out! I must insist upon attention! I must demand to see someone! I must

demand release! I must bluster and threaten!

I must attempt to confuse my jailers, and terrify them into compliance with my will! If necessary, I must

appeal to undoubted legalities!

But I could not pound upon the door, of course. I could not even reach the door. I had not been chained

in such a way as to make that possible. And I did not doubt but what that was no accident.

I struggled to my feet, bent over. I could not stand fully upright, because o the chain on my neck. I put

my hand up. It touched the ceiling. I had not realized the ceiling was that low. I then lay down, again. I

was alarmed, and dismayed. The area in which I was confined was not so much a cell, as something else.

It was more in the nature of a kennel.

My mood, or fit, of indignation, or resolve, of protest, of momentary righteousness, of transitory

belligerence, such a futile bellicosity, soon passed. Save for the sounds of a bit of chain it had been silent.

I supposed I had thought I owed it to my background, or my conditioning program. To be sure, I

suspected that neither of these was likely to be particularly germane, or helpful, with respect to my

current plight, or, more likely, condition. It was not merely that it seems somehow inappropriate, or silly,

and likely to be ineffective, to adopt a posture of belligerence when has a chain on one's neck, and

cannot even stand upright. It was rather that, given my current situation, chained and confined as I was, it

seemed to me that any such pleas, or demands, or such, would be absurd. Doubtless decisions had

already been made, pertinent to me. Matters, in effect, like those of nature, had doubtless already been

set in motion. If there had been a time when such threats, or protests, might have been effective, it was

doubtless long past. Too, I did not doubt, somehow, but what I was not the only one, such as myself, in

this place. The chains, the ring, the depressions in the floor, the apparently small, close, nature of the area

of my confinement, the incomprehensibility of my being here, except perhaps as one of a group, perhaps

similar to myself, all suggested this. Let others, if they wish, I thought, adopt such postures. For myself,

not only did I not find them congenial, given my nature, but, too, I was afraid, distinctly, that they might

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not be found acceptable, unless perhaps, very briefly, at the beginning, as a source for amusement.

Too, I considered the nature of legalities. One tends, if naive, to think of those legalities with which one is

most familiar as being somehow the only ones possible. This view, of course, is quite mistaken. This is

not to deny that all civilizations, and cultures, have their customs and legalities. It is only to remark that

they need not be the same. Indeed, the legalities with which I was most familiar, as they stood in

contradiction to nature, constituted, I supposed, in their way, an aberration of legalities. They were, at the

least, uncharacteristic of most cultures, and historically untypical.

To be sure, if the intent is to contradict nature rather than fulfill her, there was doubtless much point to

them. Thusly, that they produced human pain and social chaos, with all the miseries attendant thereupon,

would not be seen as an objection to them but rather as the predictable result of their excellence in the

light of their objectives. But not all legalities, of course, need have such objectives. As I lay there in the

darkness, in my chains, and considered the factuality and simplicity of my predicament, and the

apparently practical and routine aspects of my helplessness and incarceration, I suspected that my current

situation was not at all likely to be in violation of legalities. Rather I suspected it was in full and conscious

accord with them. I suspected that I was now, or soon would be, enmeshed in legalities. To be sure,

these would be different legalities from those with which I was most familiar. These would be, I

suspected, legalities founded not on politics, but biology.

I was now very hungry. But I would not, of course, drink from a depression in a floor, nor soil my lips

with whatever edible grime might be found in an adjacent depression.

I was cold, and helpless.

If it would be stupid, or absurd, as I suspected, if not dangerous, to pretend to a belligerent stance, to

protest, or threaten, or to appeal to legalities, the purport of which might well be aligned precisely against

one, then perhaps, I thought, one might appeal to the pity, the mercies, of one's captors. Could one not

plead with them, armed in all the vulnerable panoply of one's tears, of one's utter helplessness and need?

Could one not beg them for mercy? Might one not even consider, in such a desperate predicament, the

almost unthinkable option of kneeling before them, and lifting one's hands to them? Might one not, in such

desperate straits, dare even to assume that posture, one so natural. so apt, to supplication? And might

not one even cry, or pretend to? Surely they could not resist so piteous a spectacle. Surely, considering

one's weakness, and the presumed power of one's captors, this would be an endeavor more likely of

success than the utterance of empty threats, of meaningless protests, the enunciation of futile demands.

I would not drink here, nor eat here.

I did not think, really, given the fact that I was here, the presumed methodicality of my arrival in this

place, the presumably routine manner of my incarceration, the nature of my cell, or kennel, suggesting that

it was not unique, that my presence here would not be its first occupancy nor its last, the unlikelihood that

there was anything special about me, the probability that I was only one of several such as myself, that

my pleas would move my captors.

I changed my position several times.

It is hard to comprehend such realities, the darkness, the dampness, the stones, the walls, the wet straw,

its smell, the collar, the chains, the not being clothed.

There was some sense of security, oddly. just being on the chain.

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I did not speculate that I might have gone insane. The chain was too real.

In time I went to my belly and put my mouth down, and lapped the water in the shallow depression

beside me. Then, a little later, I reached into the other shallow depression and withdrew the damp crust

there, and fed on it. Too, in a moment, I addressed myself to the small bit of meal in the same container.

Later, with my finger, I carefully, methodically, wiped out the inside of the depression, that I might not

miss whatever last, tiny, wet particles of meal might adhere there. They had suddenly become very

precious. As I licked these gratefully from my finger, these few particles, such tiny, damp things, I realized

that what I was fed, and when I was fed, and in what amounts, and, indeed, literally, even if I was fed,

was now up to another.

This is a very frightening thing to understand.

I lapped again a bit of water, and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

I rolled to my back.

I looked up, into the darkness.

I bent my knees. I put my chained wrists over my head. I could feel the chain there, behind me, leading

up to the ring on the wall from my collar.

I was not strong, or powerful. I was not strong, even, let alone powerful, for the sort of creature I was.

What, I wondered, then, could be the meaning of the chains I wore. Perhaps in them, I speculated, was a

lesson. Oh, to be sure, they confined me.

They kept me in a place. I could not rush at the door, if it were opened. I could not run. I could not use

my hands freely.

They might keep me from being something of a nuisance, I supposed, particularly at the beginning, if I

were so inclined, or became difficult or hysterical.

But their primary reason I suspected had less to do with security than something else. That they were on

me, that I was in them, and helplessly so, I suspected, might be intended, particularly at this time, to be

instructive. Let me begin to be familiarized with chains, let me begin to become accustomed to them. Let

me learn, too, in this graphic, profound fashion, what I had become, what I now was.

I supposed that later, too, such as I might find ourselves chained. But then, I supposed, apart from

practical matters, such as security, and mnemonic considerations, and such, that that might be regarded

as much a matter of appropriateness as anything else.

I, and perhaps others, were such as to be appropriately chained. That was the sort we were. To be

sure, beyond such things, there is no doubt as to the effectiveness of chains. They hold us, perfectly.

I rolled to my side.

I considered the simple, meager fare. What was I, I wondered, that such stuff had been deemed suitable

for me. Too, I again considered the chains. What was I, I wondered, that I wore such? I dared not

conjecture, but knew.

I drew up my legs, and put my hands on my shoulders, huddling, making myself small in the damp straw.

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I was cold.

The corridor was quiet outside.

I lay very quietly.

One feels some comfort, and security, perhaps oddly enough, in such a situation, being on one's chain.

THREE I had looked again at the wall.

I had heard voices, coming from the house. As swiftly as I could, wincing, hurting myself on the stones, I

had withdrawn from the wall. It was my intention to circle about, through the shrubbery, and the trees of

the garden, to the vicinity of the fountain.

"Stop," I heard, a man's voice.

Instantly I stopped, my heart sinking. I turned, of course, immediately and fell to my knees, putting my

head down to the lavender grass, as was its color here, in this portion of the garden, the palms of my

hands down, too, on the grass, beside my head.

It was a man's voice that had spoken.

I did not dare look, of course, upon he who had addressed me.

I had not received permission to do so.

But how could it have been a man's voice? How could it be, a man's voice, here, in the garden, at this

time of day? Normally we vacate the garden when men enter it to work, as, for example, its gardeners.

We are not for the eyes of such as those. And normally, if there are to be guests, if we are to entertain,

information to that effect is issued to us hours in advance.

We must, after all, have time to prepare ourselves. One must bathe. One must do one's hair.

There are silks, perfumes and jewelries to be considered. One must be made up, and so on. On the

other hand, ironically, our appearance, achieved at such cost, with so much labor, and so much attention

to detail, seems most often taken for granted by our guests. Often they scarcely seem to notice us, as we

serve. To be certain, we are taught, in such situations, to be selfeffacing, and to serve deferentially. Such

things can be changed, of course, at so little as a word, or the snapping of fingers.

How could there be a man here, in the garden, at this time of day.

I kept my head down to the grass.

I had not been given permission to raise it.

Sometimes when men are to enter the garden, suddenly, or with little notice, such as guardsmen, say, in

the line of duty, as in inspections or searches, a bar is rung, and we must find our body veils, and kneel,

head down, and cover ourselves with them. Such veils are opaque. We are not, after all, for the eyes of

just anyone.

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But I was not now concealed in my body veil!

Who could this man be? I was in light silk It was extremely brief, and was, for most practical purposes,

diaphanous.

Certainly it left little doubt as to my lineaments.

FOUR I do not know how long I lay in the darkness. Sometimes I slept I did not know what time it

was, what day.

Indeed, I suspected that I would not be familiar even with the calendar.

Once or twice some meal, and another crust, was placed in the shallow depression beside me.

This was done while I slept. No longer did I permit it to linger there.

I devoured it, gratefully, eagerly.

But for a long time now there had been nothing more in the depression.

The depression for the water, like a sunken bowl, was replenished from a slender, flat trickle of water. I

could feel it with my finger. It was little more than a dampness. That trickle, I assumed, had its origin

elsewhere in the darkness. It derived, doubtless, from the water which, as I could hear, slowly, drop by

drop, fell into the chamber, perhaps from the ceiling, perhaps from some pipe or ledge.

The water bowl did have a tiny run-off which might carry excess fluid away, presumably toward some

drain, but the amount of water was so small in the bowl, and took such time to accumulate, that the

run-off was not used I learned to conserve the water, my tongue even licking the rough bottom of the

depression.

But there had been no more meal, or crusts, of late, in the food depression.

I was ravening.

I wondered if my captors had forgotten about me. I wondered if I had been left here to die.

I mustered the courage to call out, piteously. "I am hungry," I called.

"Please feed me. Please!

I am hungry!”

But I doubted that anyone heard. There seemed to be no one about.

I pulled on the chains. They held me well.

How helpless I was!

I was ravening. I was ready to do anything, just to eat.

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Then, again, perhaps a day later, when I awakened, I found a bit of meal, and a crust, in the depression.

It might have been the rarest of viands. I fell upon them, like a starving little animal. For a day or two then

such slender provender made its appearance in the depression. I knew that I had lost weight. This would

doubtless make some difference with respect to my curves. But, more importantly, I think, I was learning

to make do with what was given to me, and to be appreciative for it, whatever it might be. Too, of

course, I had learned, and more keenly, and profoundly, than before, that I did not have control over my

own food. I had learned that even for such a thing I was now dependent on another.

I awakened suddenly.

I thought that I heard a sound, outside.

I became instantly alert, frightened. There was a sound, outside! It came, I thought, from somewhere

down the corridor, to the left.

I rose up, hurriedly, to my knees. I was wild, frightened. My chains made a noise.

I heard a door, heavy, grating, opening somewhere, away, to the left. I heard a voice. My heart almost

stopped. I do not know what I expected. Perhaps I had feared that it would be merely an animal sound,

not so much a voice, as a barking or growling.

But it was a human voice.

I felt my body, quickly. I was frightened. I was unclothed. How much more slender seemed my body

now!

I was frightened.

It was, you see, a man's voice.

I heard doors opened, on different sides of the corridor, it seemed, getting closer. I heard, now, more

than one man's voice. Their tones seemed imperative, as though they would brook no question or delay.

The voices themselves, though clearly male, and human, seemed unlike those of men with whom I was

familiar. I am not sure, precisely, in what the differences consisted. It may be merely that they spoke

somewhat more loudly than the men I was accustomed to, for such things often vary culturally. But I think

it was more than some possible difference in mere volume. Too, I do not think it had to do merely with

an accent, though they surely had such, an accent which appeared distinctively, oddly, in words they

uttered in various languages, languages some of which I could recognize, though I could not speak them,

as the doors were opened, and which, on the other hand, seemed so natural, so apt, in their discourse

among themselves. No, it was not really so much a matter of volume, or of accent, as of something else.

Perhaps it was the lack of diffidence, the lack of apology, in their speech, which struck me.

Perhaps it was this sort of simple, natural assurance which most struck me. Too, in their tones, intelligent,

clear, confident, forceful, it was not difficult to detect a simple, unpretentious aspect of command.

Indeed, in the tones of several, per. haps their leaders, there seemed something which might best be

characterized as a sort of natural, unassuming imperiousness. This made me terribly uncomfortable. How

dare they speak like that? Who did they think they were? Men? Did they think they were men? That is,

of course, "men" in a sense long since prohibited to, or abandoned by, the males with which I was

familiar. And could they be really such men? And, if so, what consequences might that entail for one such

as myself? How could one such as I, given what I was, possibly relate to such creatures. In what

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modalities, on what conditions, would it be possible to do so? I put my hands about my body, again. I

was much more slender now. I could tell, even in the darkness. I had not been much fed.

The doors, opening, were coming closer now. They were heavy doors, doubtless like that on my

chamber. That could be told from the sound of their opening.

Beneath my door now, visible in the crack between those heavy beams and the reinforcing iron band

and the floor was a light. It was doubtless a dim light, but it seemed very bright to me, as I had been long

in the darkness.

I heard a door across the way and a little to the left opened. I heard an imperious voice.

Again I recognized the language, but could not speak it.

Then, a few moments later, I heard a key, large, and heavy, turning in the lock to my door.

I put up my chained wrists, suddenly, frantically, wildly and, as I could, on one side and then the other,

fixed my hair.

As the door opened I covered myself as well as I could.

I winced against the light, and could not face it. It was only a lantern held high in the threshold, but I was

temporarily blinded. I looked away, my hands over my body.

"Be absolutely silent," said a voice, a man's voice.

I would not have dared to make a sound.

"I see that you do not need to be instructed to kneel," he said.

I trembled.

"You already know what posture to assume in the presence of a male," he said. "Excellent.”

I squirmed a little, being so before a man. I fought the sensations within me.

He laughed.

I blushed.

"Put your head to the floor," he said.

I obeyed, immediately. There were tears in my eyes, from the light, you understand.

He entered the chamber.

The lantern, now in the care of another fellow, remained mercifully by the door. It was easy to tell its

position, as its light was clear, even through my closed eyelids.

The fellow crouched down beside me. "Remain still," he said. "Do not look at me.”

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John Norman - Gor 26 - Witness Of Gor

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