John Norman - Gor 11 - Slave girl of Gor

VIP免费

2024-12-04 0 0 736.67KB 227 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

The Collar

I lay in the warm grass. I could feel it, the warm, individual green blades, separate, gentle, on

my left cheek; I could feel them on my body, my stomach and thighs. I stretched my body, my toes.

I was sleepy. I did not wish to awaken. The sun was warm on my back, even hot, almost

uncomfortable. I snuggled deeper into the grass. My left hand was extended. My fingers touched the

warm dirt between the grass blades. My eyes were closed. I resisted the coming of consciousness. I

did not wish to emerge from bed. Consciousness seemed to come slowly, dimly. I did not wish to

emerge from bed. I wished to prolong the warmth, the pleasantness. I moved my head, slightly. My

neck seemed to wear a weight; I heard the soft clink, a tiny stirring, of heavy links of metal.

I did not understand this.

I moved my head again, sleepily, eyes closed, to its original position. Again I felt the weight,

circular, heavy, on my neck; again I heard the small sound, the stirring, simple and matter of

fact, of heavy metal links.

I opened my eyes, part way, keeping them half shut against the light I saw the grass, green and

close, each blade seeming wide, blurred in its nearness. My fingers dug into the warm earth. I

closed my eyes. I began to sweat. I must emerge from bed. I must snatch breakfast, hurry to class.

It must be late. I must hurry.

I remembered the cloth slipped over my mouth and nose, the fumes, the strength of the man who had

held me. I had squirmed, but had been held in his grip, helpless. I was terrified. I had tried not

to breathe. I had struggled, but futilely. I was terrified. I had not known a man could be so

strong. He was patient, unhurried, waiting for me to breathe. I tried not to breathe. Then, lungs

gasping, helpless, had at last inhaled, deeply, desperately, taking the sharp, strangling fumes

deep into my body. In an instant, choking in the horrid, obdurate fumes, unable to expel them,

unable to evade them. sickened, I had lost consciousness.

I lay in the warm grass. I could feel it on my body. I must emerge from bed. I must snatch

breakfast, and hurry to class. Surely it must be late. I must hurry.

I opened my eyes, seeing the grass blades not inches from my face, wide, blurred. I opened my

mouth, delicately, and felt the grass brush my lips. I bit into a blade and felt the juice of the

grass, on my tongue.

I closed my eyes. I must awaken. I remembered the clothe the strength of the man, the fumes.

My fingers dug deep into the dirt. I clawed at it. I felt the dirt beneath my fingernails. I

lifted my head, and rolled screaming, awakening, tangled in the chain, in the grass. I sat

upright. In an instant I realized I was nude. My neck wore its encircling weight; the heavy chain,

attached to the collar, dropped between my breasts and over my left thigh.

"No! No!" I cried. "No!"

I leaped to my feet screaming. The chain's weight depended from the collar, heavily, gracefully. I

felt the collar pulled down, against my collarbone. The chain passed now between my legs, behind

the left calf, then lifting. I jerked wildly at it. I tried to thrust the collar up, over my head.

I turned it, again tried to thrust it up, over my head. I scraped my throat, hurting it. My chin

was forced up; I saw the bright sky, blue with its startlingly white clouds. But I could not slip

the collar. It fitted me closely. Only my small finger could I thrust between its weight and my

neck. I moaned. The collar could not be slipped. It had not been made to be slipped. Irrationally,

madly, nothing in my consciousness but my fear and the chain, I turned to flee, and fell, hurting

my legs, tangled in the chain. I, on my knees, seized the chain, pulled at it, weeping. I tried to

back away, on my knees; my head was pulled cruelly forward. I held the chain. It was some ten feet

long. It extended to a heavy ring and plate fastened in a great granite rock, irregular, but some

twelve feet in width and depth, some ten feet in height. The plate, with its ring, was attached

near the center of the rock, low, about a foot above the grass. The rock had apparently been

drilled and the plate fastened with four linear bolts. They may have passed through the entire

width of the rock and been clinched on the other side. I did not know. On my knees I pulled at the

chain. I wept. I cried out. I pulled again at the chain. I hurt my hands; it moved not a quarter

of an inch. I was fastened to the rock.

I rose moaning to my feet, my hands on the chain. I looked about myself. The rock was prominent.

There was none like it in view. I stood on a rolling plain, grassy and gentle, widely sweeping,

trackless. I saw nothing but the grass, it moving in the soft, unhurried wind, the distant

horizon, the unusually white clouds and blue sky. I was alone. The sun was warm. Behind me was the

rock. I felt the wind on my body, but not directly, as the plate in the stone was on the sheltered

side of the rock. I wondered if the wind was a prevailing one. I wondered if the plate and chain

were so situated in order that the chain's prisoner, such as I found myself to be, be protected

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (1 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

from the wind. I shuddered.

I stood alone. I was nude. I, small, white, was chained by the neck to that great rock on the

seemingly endless plain.

I breathed deeply. Never in my life had I breathed such air. Though my head was chained I threw it

back. I closed my eyes. I drank the atmosphere into my lungs. Those who have never breathed such

air cannot know the sensations which I then felt. In so simple a thing as the air I breathed I

rejoiced. It was clean and clear; it was fresh, almost alive, almost sparkling with the

exhilaration of swift, abundant, pristine oxygen. It was like the air of a new world, one yet

innocent of the toxins of man's majority, the unquestioned gifts, ambiguous, poisoned, of

civilization and technology. My body became vital and alive. So simply did a proper oxygenation of

my system work its almost immediate effect in my feeling and awareness. Those who have never

breathed the air of a clean world cannot understand my words. And perhaps those who have breathed

only such an atmosphere may, too, tragically, fail to comprehend. Until one has breathed such air

can one know the glory of being alive?

But I was lonely, and frightened.

It was a strange world on which I stood, wide and unfamiliar, open, bright and clean. I looked out

upon the vast fields of grass. I had never smelled grass before. It was so fresh, so beautiful. My

senses were alive. In this atmosphere, my blood charged with oxygen, I found that I could detect

odors which had eluded me before; it was as though an entire new dimension of experience had

suddenly opened to me; yet I suppose it was only that here, in this place, my body did not have

reason to fight its world, shutting it out, forcing it from consciousness in order not to be

distracted or sickened; here there was an atmosphere which was unsoiled, undefiled, one in which

the human could be a part of nature, not a rampart raised against her, not a defensive sojourner

treading at night, stepping softly, scarcely daring to breathe, through the country of enemies. My

vision, too, in this pure air, was keener. I could see farther and with greater detail than had

been possible before in the clouded, contaminated atmosphere in which I had been raised. How far

away seemed the familiar pollutions of the gray world I remembered. On certain days there I had

thought the air clean, and had delighted in its freshness. How little I had known. How foolish I

had been. It had been only less murky, less dismal, only a sign of what a world might be. My

hearing, too, seemed acute. The wind brushed the grass, moving in it, stirring the gleaming

leaves. Colors, too, seemed richer, deeper, more vivid. The grass was richly green, alive, vast;

the sky was blue, deeply blue, far deeper than I had known a sky could be; the clouds were sharp

and white, protean and billowing, transforming themselves in the pressures of their heights and

the winds which sped them; they moved at different heights at different speeds; they were like

great white birds, stately and majestic, turning, floating in the rivers of wind. I felt the

breezes of the field on my exposed body; I trembled; every bit of me seemed alive.

I was frightened.

I looked at the sun. I looked away, down, then across the fields.

I was aware now, as I had not been before, or so clearly, of the difference in the feel of my body

and its movements. There seemed a subtle difference in my body weight, my movements. I thrust this

comprehension from my mind. I could not admit it. I literally forced it from consciousness. But it

returned, persistent. It could not be denied. "No!" I cried. But I knew it was true. I tried to

thrust from my mind what must be, what had to be, the explanation of this unusual phenomenon.

"No!" I cried. "It cannot be! No! No!"

Numbly I lifted the chain which hung from the collar fastened on my neck. I looked at it,

disbelievingly. The links were close-set, heavy, of some primitive, simple black iron. It did not

seem an attractive chain, or an expensive one. But I was held by it. I felt the collar with my

fingers. I could not see it, but it seemed formed, too, of heavy iron; it seemed simple,

practical, not ostentatious; it gripped my throat rather closely; I supposed it was black in

color, matching the chain; it had a heavy hinge on one side; and the chain, by a link, opened and

closed, was fastened to a loop on the side of the collar; the loop was fastened about a staple,

which, it seemed, was a part of the collar itself; the hinge was under my right ear; the chain

hung from its loop and staple under my chin; with my finger, on the other side, under my left ear,

I felt a large lock, with its opening for the insertion of a heavy key. The collar, then, fastened

with a lock; it had not been hammered about my neck. I wondered who held the key to that collar.

I turned about and looked at the great rock, the granite. streaked with feldspar.

I must try to awaken, I told myself. I must awaken. I laughed bitterly. I must be dreaming I told

myself.

Again the difference in the feeling of my body, its weight, its movements, intruded itself into my

consciousness. "No!" I cried. Then I went to the granite, and looked at the heavy plate and ring

bolted into the stone. A link of my chain had been opened, and then closed, about that ring. The

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (2 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

chain was some ten feet in length. I idly coiled it at the foot of the ring. "No!" I cried. I must

awaken, I told myself. Surely it must be nearly time to arouse myself, to hurry to breakfast, to

hurry to class. There is no other explanation, I told myself. I am dreaming. Then I feared I might

be insane. No, I told myself. I am dreaming. It is such a strange dream, so real. But it is a

dream. It must be. It must be. It is a dream. All a dream!

Then to my misery I remembered the man, being seized from behind, not able even to see him, my

struggles, being held so helplessly, the cloth over my mouth and nose, his waiting for me to

breathe, at last my gasping helplessly for breath, the terrible fumes, nothing else to breathe,

nothing else, which could not be tolerated by consciousness, nothing else to breathe, and then my

loss of consciousness. That, I knew, had been no dream.

I struck my fists until they bled on the granite rock streaked with feldspar.

Then I turned and walked from the rock, some five feet, and looked out over the vast grassy

fields.

"Oh, no," I wept.

The full consciousness of my waking state, and my awareness of truth, welled up within me. It

flooded my consciousness, overwhelmingly, irrefutably.

I knew then what must be the explanation for the difference in the feelings in my body, the

explanation for the sense of subtle kinesthetic difference in my movements. I stood not on Earth.

The gravity was not that of Earth. It was on another world I stood, an unknown world. It was a

bright, beautiful world, but it was not Earth. It was not the world I knew. It was not my home. I

had been brought here; no one had consulted my will; I had been brought here; my will had been

nothing.

I stood alone there, naked, defenseless, before the great rock, looking over the fields.

I was lonely, and frightened, and I wore a chain on my neck.

Suddenly I cried out with misery and put my face in my hands. Then it seemed the earth spun

beneath me and darkness swept about me, rushing in upon me and I lost consciousness.

The Retinue

I felt myself being rolled roughly on my back. "Veck, Kajira," said a voice, harshly. "Veck,

Kajira." It was not a patient voice. I looked up, startled, frightened. I cried out with pain. A

metal point jabbed into my body, at the juncture between my left hip and lower abdomen. The point

lifted, and the shaft of the spear turned; he struck me on the right thigh, hard, with the butt of

the spear. My hand went before my mouth; his foot, in a high, strapped sandal, heavy, almost an

open boot, kicked my hand away. He was bearded. I lay between his legs. I looked up at him in

terror.

He was not alone. There was another man a bit behind him. Both wore tunics, red; each, at his left

hip, had slung a blade and scabbard; each, at his belt, carried an ornamented knife; the man

behind him who stood over me had slung over his back a shield, of layers of leather and brass, and

carried a spear, beneath the blade of which was slung a helmet with a plume of dark, swirling

hair; he wore a cord of teeth, from some carnivore, about his neck. The man who stood over me had

put his helmet and shield to one side; the helmets of both would cover the entire head and most of

the face; the helmets were cut and opened in such a way as to suggest a "Y." The hair of both men

was long; the hair of the man behind was tied back with a narrow piece of folded cloth.

I slipped from between the feet of the man who loomed above me, moving back. I had never seen such

men. I felt so vulnerable. They were mighty, and like animals. I crouched, backing away. The chain

hung from my collar, heavy. I stopped. I turned, and tried to hide myself, as I could, with my

hands. I dared not even speak.

One of the men barked a command at me. He moved his hand, angrily. I removed my hands from my

body. I turned, still crouching. I understood that they would look upon me.

The bearded man approached me. I dared not meet his eyes. I could not understand such men. My

world had not prepared me to believe that such men could exist. He stood closer to me than would

have a man of my world. Each in my world, it seemed, carried about with him a bubble of space, a

perimeter, a wall, an invisible shield, an unconsciously acculturated, socially sanctioned

remoteness, a barrier decreed by convention and conditioning. Behind this invisible wall, within

this personal, privately owned space, we lived. It separated us from others, it kept us persons.

In my particular Earth culture, this circle of inviolate, privately owned space had a radius of

some two to three feet. Closer than this we did not, commonly, in my culture, approach one

another. But this man stood close to me. He stood within my space. Suddenly I realized that my

space did not exist on this world. I began to tremble with terror. So small a thing it seems,

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (3 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

perhaps, that this convention should on this world not be acknowledged or respected, indeed, that,

at least in my case, it did not exist, but it is not, truly, a small thing; no, to me the

crumbling of this artifice, this protective device, this convention, was catastrophic; it is

difficult to convey my sense of loss, of helplessness; on this world my space did not exist.

I saw the black leather strap, wide, shiny, across his body, from which depended the blade slung

at his left hip. Behind it I saw the coarsely woven, thick red fibers at his tunic. I knew that

were he to seize me in his arms and crush me to his chest, with what strength must be his, that

the mark of the strap, the coarse fibers, would be imprinted on my breasts.

I felt the point of his dagger beneath my chin. It hurt. It thrust up. I cried out, rising almost

to my toes. I then stood straight before them. I stood straighter than I had ever stood in my

life.

The man then stepped back, and he, and the other, inspected me, completely, walking about me. They

discussed me, candidly. I could not understand their speech. My chin was very high, as the point

of the dagger had left it. I trembled. I heard the small movement of the chain in the collar loop.

I wondered what could be the status of women on this world, on a world where there were such men.

It took the men some minutes to complete their examination. They did not hurry.

The two men now stood before me, one a bit behind the other, looking at me.

I felt the collar, weighted by the chain, pull down against my collarbone; the chain hung between

my breasts; I felt its heavy links on my body. I stood very still.

"Please," I whispered, not moving my position.

The bearded man approached me. Suddenly he struck me with his right hand, a swift, savage, open-

handed slap. I was hurled stumbling, spinning, to the end of the chain, which caught me, cruelly,

at the neck, jerking me to the ground. My lip and the side of my mouth were cut. My head seemed to

explode. I tasted blood.

The man barked a command. In panic and misery, in a movement of collar and chain, I fled again to

my place and again stood before them, so straight, my chin again high, precisely as I had been

before.

I wondered what could be the status of women on this world, on a world where there were such men.

He did not strike me again. I had placated him by my obedience.

He spoke to me again. I looked into his eyes. For a moment our eyes met. I knelt.

The other man thrust my body down on my heels, so that I knelt back on my heels. He took my hands

and placed them on my thighs. I looked up at them.

I am a brunet, with very dark brown hair. My eyes, too, are dark brown. I am lightly complexioned.

I am some five feet five inches in height and weigh about one hundred and twenty pounds. I am

thought to be not amply but excitingly figured.

The men looked down upon me. At that time my hair was cut short. I felt the side of the point of

the bearded man's spear under my chin, and I lifted my chin, so that my head was high.

My name was Judy Thornton. I was an English major and poetess.

I knelt before barbarians, nude and chained.

I was terribly frightened.

I knelt exactly as they had placed me, scarcely daring to breathe. I feared to move in the

slightest. I did not wish to be again struck, or to irritate or offend them in the least. I did

not know what they might do, these mighty and terrible men, so unpredictable, so uncompromising

and primitive, so different from the men of Earth, if they were not completely and fully, and

absolutely, pleased with me. I determined to give them no cause for anger. I determined that they

would have my absolute obedience. Thus I knelt not moving before them. I felt the wind move the

hair on the back of my neck.

The men continued to regard me. This frightened me. I did not move at all. I remained, of course,

as they had placed me. I looked straight ahead, not even daring to meet their eyes. I was

terrified lest, inadvertently, I had done something to displease them. I moved no muscle. I knelt

back on my heels, my back straight, my hands on my thighs, my chin up. My knees were pressed

closely, defensively, together.

The man said something. I could not understand.

Then, with the butt of his spear, roughly, to my horror, he thrust apart my knees.

I was Judy Thornton. I was an English major and poetess.

I could not help but moan, the position was so elegant and helpless.

I knelt before them in what I would later learn was the position of the Gorean pleasure slave.

Satisfied then, the beasts turned from me. I did not move. They busied themselves in the vicinity

of the rock. It seemed they searched for something.

Once the bearded fellow returned to stand near me. He said something. It was a question. He

repeated it. I stared ahead, terrified. My eyes filled with tears. "I do not know," I whispered.

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (4 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

"I do not understand. I do not know what you want."

He turned away, and again gave himself to his search. After a time, angry, he returned to regard

me. His fellow, too, was with him. "Bina?" he said, very clearly. "Bina, Kajira. Var Bina,

Kajira?"

"I do not know what you want," I whispered. "I do not understand you."

I gathered they must be asking after whatever it was they sought. They had covered the area

thoroughly, even turning aside long grass with the blades of their spears.

They had not found it.

"Var Bina, Kajira?" repeated the bearded man.

I knelt as they had placed me, the chain hanging, heavy, from my collar.

"I do not know," I whispered.

Suddenly, savagely, he struck me across the mouth with the back of his right hand. I flew to the

left, to the grass. The blow was vicious. It hurt me more than had the first. I could not believe

its force, its ruthlessness, its swiftness. I could scarcely see; I fought blackness and pain and

seething light; I was on my hands and knees in the grass, my head down; I tasted blood; the collar

hurt my neck; I spit blood into the grass; he had struck me; did he not know I was a woman! He

jerked me by the collar and chain to his knees; he thrust both hands into my hair. "Var Bina,

Kajira!" he cried. "Var Bina!" "I do not understand you!" I cried. "Oh!" I screamed with misery.

With both hands he shook my head viciously. I could not believe the pain. My small hands were

helpless on his wrists. "Var Bina!" he demanded. "Please, please!" I wept.

He threw me down, with a rattle of chain, to his feet. I lay there on my side, terrified. He

unlooped the shoulder belt from him and cast it, with the scabbard and blade, to one side. Then he

swiftly loosened the belt at his waist. He slipped it free from the sheath and dagger, and doubled

it. He struck it once in the palm of his hand. I could not see him. I lay before him, turned away

from him, on the grass. Then I heard it whistle through the air. I cried out with pain. Again and

again, viciously, he struck me. Once he stopped. "Var Bina, Kajira?" he asked. "Please don't hurt

me," I begged. Again he struck, and again and again. I writhed before him, lashed, squirming on my

belly in the grass, weeping,' clutching at the grass. In the pain I could scarcely comprehend it.

I was being beaten! Did he not know I was a girl! "Please don't hit me," I cried. "Please!" I

covered my head with my hands. I lay with my head down. I shuddered with each blow. I would do

anything if he would stop! But I did not know what he wanted!

Then he stopped, angrily. I did not even lift my head, but lay, weeping, my hands still over my

head, the chain running between my legs, and under my body, to the collar.

I heard him replace the sheath and dagger on his belt, and put on the belt. I heard him lift the

shoulder belt and regard himself with the blade. I did not look up, but lay weeping, chained,

trembling. I would do anything he wanted, anything.

One of the men spoke to me, and prodded me with the butt of his spear.

I rose to my hands and knees. I felt the chain on my collar. Again I was prodded with the butt of

his spear.

Red-eyed, my cheeks and body stained with tears, in pain, my back and sides, and legs, stinging, I

adjusted the chain and knelt again as I had originally. There was blood at my mouth. Little had

changed. I knelt precisely as I had before. Little had changed, save that I had been struck and

beaten.

The two men conferred. Then, to my horror, the bearded one approached me. He crouched before me.

He took from his dagger sheath the steel blade, narrow, about seven inches long, double-edged,

evenly sharpened. He held this up before my face. He did not speak. The other man crouched down

behind me. With his left hand, fastened in my hair, he drew my head back; with his right hand he

thrust up, high on my neck, under my chin, the heavy iron collar I wore. It hurt. My jugular vein

was, held as I was, prominent and, beneath the clasping, circular iron, prominent and exposed.

"No," I begged. "No!"

I gathered that I was of no use to these men. I felt the delicate, razor-sharp edge of the dagger

on my throat.

"Var Bina, Kajira?" queried the man. "Var Bina?"

"Please!" I wept, whispering. "Please!" I would have done anything. I would have done anything. I

would have told them anything, done anything, but I knew nothing. I could not give them what

information they desired.

"Don't kill me," I begged. "I will do anything you want! Keep me! Keep me for yourselves! Keep me

as your captive, your prisoner! Keep me as anything you want! Am I not beautiful? Could I not

serve you? Could I not please you?" Then, suddenly, from deep within me, welling up, from

somewhere so deep within me that I did not know I contained such depths, flooding from me,

startling me, horrifying me with my own wickedness, I cried out, "Do not kill me! I am willing

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (5 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

even to be. your slave! Yes! Yes! I am willing even to be your slave. Your slave! Do not kill me!

I will be your slave! Let me be your slave! I beg to be your slave!"

I shook with the horror, the scandal, the wickedness, of what I had said. But then, boldly,

desperately, determinedly, resolutely, repudiating nothing, I whispered, clearly and firmly, my

head back, held back, his hand in my hair, "Do not kill me, please. Yes, I will be even your

slave. Yes, I, Judy Thornton, will be your slave. I, Judy Thornton, beg to be your slave. Please.

Please, let me be a slave!" I tried to smile. "Make me your slave," I whispered, "Masters!" How

startled I was that I had called them Masters, and yet, how natural, it seemed, for I was a girl,

suitable prey for such as they, a natural quarry and prey for such as they, and they, as I sensed,

were the natural masters, by the dark laws of biology, of such as I.

"Please, Masters," I whispered.

"Var Bina, Kajira?" queried the man.

I moaned with misery. I did not know but they, rich and powerful masters, had access to many women

as beautiful, or more beautiful, than I. On Earth I had been noted as a beauty, an unusual, even

ravishingly beautiful girl, but on Gor, as I would come to understand, I, and others like me,

could be acquired and disposed of for a handful of copper tarsks. There was little special about

us. In many houses we would be kept with the kettles, as scullery and kitchen girls. I had been

the most beautiful girl in the junior class at my elite girls' college. In all the school, there

had been only one more lovely than I, or so some said, the lovely Elicia Nevina, who was in

anthropology, in the senior class. How I had hated her. What rivals we had been!

I felt the edge of the dagger anchor itself in the outer layer of skin on my throat, preparing for

its slash. I felt the man's hand and arm, through the steel of the dagger, flex for the movement

of his arm. My throat was to be cut.

But the blade paused. It withdrew from my throat. The bearded man was looking outward, away from

me, over the field. Then I, too, heard it. It was a man singing, boldly, a melodic, repetitious

song.

Angrily the bearded man stood up, sheathed the dagger, took up his shield, his spear. His fellow,

the other man, already accoutered, even to the helmet, watched the man approach. He balanced his

spear in his right hand. The bearded man did not yet don his helmet, but stood near it.

I went to my hands and knees in the grass. I could scarcely move. I threw up in the grass. I

pulled at the collar and chain, futilely. If only I could have run, or crawled away. But I was

fastened in place.

Numbly I lifted my head. The other fellow was approaching at an even, unhurried pace. He seemed

good-humored. He sang in a rich voice, a simple song, as though to content himself in long treks.

His hair was black and shaggy. He, too, was clad in scarlet, as were the other two men. He was

similarly accoutered, with short sword, slung at the left hip, with a shoulder belt; a belt at his

waist with a sheathed knife; heavy sandals, almost boots. He carried a spear over his left

shoulder, balanced by his left hand; from the spear depended a shield, behind the left shoulder,

and a helmet; about his right shoulder was slung a pouch, which I gathered must have contained

supplies; a bota of liquid, water I assumed, was fastened at his belt, on the left, behind the

point at which the scabbard depended from the shoulder belt. He strode singing, smiling, through

the tall grass. He seemed similarly garbed to the other men, wearing a similar tunic, but they

reacted to him in a way that indicated they were not pleased that he had now appeared. His tunic

was cut slightly differently from theirs; there was a mark at the left shoulder, which theirs did

not bear. These differences were subtle to me, but to those who could read them perhaps acutely

significant. I pulled at the chain. No one paid me attention. Had I been free I might have slipped

away. I moaned to myself. I must wait.

The approaching man stopped singing about twenty yards from us, and stood grinning in the grass.

He held the spear, with its dependent articles, in his left hand now, and raised his right in a

cheerful fashion, palm inward, facing the body. "Tal, Rarii!" said he, calling out, grinning.

"Tal, Rarius," said the bearded man.

The newcomer slipped the bota from his belt, and discarded, too, the pouch he carried.

The bearded man waved his arm angrily, and spoke harshly. He was ordering the newcomer away. He

pointed to his fellow and himself. They were two. The newcomer grinned and slipped the spear to

the ground, loosening the helmet and shield.

The bearded man placed his helmet over his head, it muchly concealing his features.

Carrying the shield on his left arm, carrying the spear lightly in his right hand, the helmet

hanging, too, by its straps, from his right hand, the newcomer approached casually.

Again the bearded man waved him away. Again he spoke harshly. The newcomer grinned.

They spoke together, the three of them. I could understand nothing. The newcomer spoke evenly;

once he slapped his thigh in laughter. The two other men spoke more angrily. One, he who was not

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (6 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

bearded, shook his spear.

The newcomer did not pay him attention. He looked beyond the men, to me.

I then became aware, as I had not before, in my fear, of a strange emotional and physiological

response of which I had been the victim moments before, when I had begged mighty men to enslave

me. My feelings had been flooded not only with terror but, mixed with them, with the feelings of

terror, had been a strange, almost hysterical release of tension, of bottled-up emotion. I had

said things which I had never dreamed could come from me, and they could not now be unsaid. I

realized I had begged to be a slave. Of course I had been terrified, but I felt, in my deepest

heart, that I had not said what I had said merely to try and save my life. Of course I had been

desperate to save my life. Of course I would have said anything! But it was the way I had felt

when I had said it that now so shook me, so profoundly, to the quick. Mingled with the terror

there had been a release of suppressed instincts, a joy in confession, a rapture of openness, of

authenticity and honesty. That I had been terrified, and desperate to buy my life at any cost, had

been the occasion and an adequate justification, of my utterance, but this terror could not

explain the wild, uncontrollable acknowledgement, the shattering of inhibitions which I had felt,

the torrential rapture, the abandonment, the capitulation to myself and my instincts which had,

though blurred and mixed with the terror, so shaken and thrilled me. The terror was unimportant.

It had been nothing more than an occasion, not even necessary. What was important had been the way

I had felt when I had begged those mighty men to be my masters. It was as though, in asking for

chains of iron, I had cast off thousands of invisible chains, which had held me from myself.

Chains of iron I thought might hold me to my own truths, not permitting me to strive for what, in

the heart of me, I did not wish, for what I was not. I wondered then what was the nature of women.

I knew then that, before, in the emotions that had flooded me I had not been only terrified. I had

felt liberty and release, and joy. Oddly, too, in those moments, besides my terror, I had been

aroused. Never before in my life had I been so erotically charged, so aroused, as when I had

begged those mighty men to enslave me. I now looked at the newcomer, who was regarding me. I

shuddered. I, nude and chained, felt my body suddenly soaked with the heat of desire. Perhaps he

had read the bodies of many women. He grinned at me. Beneath the bold appraisal of my bared beauty

I reddened, angrily. I put down my head. I was furious. What did he think I was. A chained slave

girl, whose beauty might belong to him who was the most strong, or most powerful, to him with the

swiftest sword, or to the highest bidder?

He pointed to me. He spoke. The bearded man again spoke harshly, waving his arm, ordering the

newcomer away. The newcomer laughed. The bearded man said something, gesturing to me. The tone of

his voice was disparaging. I felt angry. The newcomer looked more closely at me. He spoke to me,

calling across the grass. The word he spoke I had heard before. The other man had said it to me

after I had been beaten, when he had prodded me with the spear, before I had again knelt, though

then struck and beaten, before the men, shortly before the dagger had been put to my throat.

Tossing my head I knelt, the chain dangling from my collar before my body, to the grass. I knelt

back on my heels, my back very straight, my hands on my thighs, my head high, looking straight

ahead. I thrust my shoulders back, my breasts forward. I did not neglect the placement of my

knees; I opened them as widely as I could, as I knew the men wanted. I knelt before them again in

that most elegant and helpless position in which men may place a woman, that position I was later

to learn was that of the Gorean pleasure slave.

The newcomer now spoke decisively. The bearded man and the other retorted angrily. The newcomer,

as I saw out of the corner of my eye, was pointing to me. He was grinning. I trembled and

shuddered. He was demanding me! He was telling them to give me to him! The bold beast! How I hated

him, and how pleased I was! The men laughed. I was frightened. They were two, and he one! He

should flee! He should run for his life! I knelt, chained.

"Kajira canjellne!" said the newcomer. Though he indicated me peremptorily with his spear, it was

at the two other men that he looked. He did not now take his eyes from them.

The bearded man looked angry. "Kajira canjellne," he acknowledged. "Kajira canjellne," said the

other man, too, soberly.

The newcomer then moved back a few paces. He crouched down. He picked up a stalk of grass, and

began to chew on it.

The bearded man approached me. From within his tunic he drew forth two lengths of slender, braided

black leather, each about eighteen inches long. He crouched behind me. He jerked my wrists behind

my back, crossed them, and bound them, tightly. He then crossed my ankles, and, too, bound them,

tightly as well. I could feel the braided leather, deep in my wrists and ankles. I winced,

helpless. Then, holding me by the hair with his left hand, from behind, I felt a heavy key, which

he must have removed from his tunic, thrust deeply into the large collar lock, below my left ear.

The heavy collar, with its lock, pushed into the left side of my neck. The key turned. I heard the

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (7 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

bolt click back. It made a heavy sound. It must have been a thick, heavy bolt. He dropped the key

to the grass and, with both hands, jerking it, opened the collar. He dropped it, with the

depending chain, to the grass. I was freed of the collar! I looked at the collar. It was the first

time I had seen it. As I had surmised, it matched the chain. It was heavy, circular, of black

iron, hinged, efficient, practical, frightening. It bore a staple and stout loop. One link of the

chain was fastened about the loop. The loop was circular, and about two and one half inches in

width.

I was free of the collar! But I was bound helplessly. I pulled futilely at my bonds.

The bearded man lifted me lightly in his arms. My weight was as if nothing to him. He faced the

stranger, who still crouched a few yards away.

"Kajira canjellne?" asked the bearded man. It was as though he were giving the stranger an

opportunity to withdraw. Perhaps a mistake had been made. Perhaps there had been a

misunderstanding?

The stranger, crouching in the grass, his shield beside him, the butt of the spear in the grass,

the weapon upright, its point against the sky, nodded. There had been no mistake. "Kajira

canjellne," he said, simply.

The other man angrily went to a place in the grass, to one side. There, angrily, with the blade of

his spear, he traced and dug a circle in the earth. It was some ten feet in diameter. The bearded

man then threw me over his shoulder, and carried me to the circle. I was hurled to its center. I

lay on my side, bound.

The men spoke together, as though clarifying arrangements. They did not speak long.

I struggled to my knees. I knelt in the circle.

The stranger, now, stood. He donned his helmet. He slipped his shield on his arm, adjusting

straps. He slid the short blade at his left hip some inches from the sheath, and slipped it back

in, lifting and dropping it in the sheath. It was loose. He took his spear in his right hand. It

had a long, heavy shaft, some two inches in width, some seven feet in length; the head of the

weapon, including its socket and penetrating rivets, was some twenty inches in length; the killing

edges of the blade began about two inches from the bottom of the socket, which reinforced the

blade, tapering with the blade, double-edged, to within eight inches of its point; the blade was

bronze; it was broad at the bottom, tapering to its point; given the stoutness of the weapon, the

lesser gravity of this world, and the strength of the man who wielded it, I suspected it would

have considerable penetrating power; I doubted that the shields they carried, though stout, could

turn its full stroke, if taken frontally; I had little doubt such a weapon might thrust a quarter

of its length through the body of a man, and perhaps half its length or more through the slighter,

softer body of a mere girl; I looked upon the spear; it was so mighty; I feared it.

The two men who were my captors conferred briefly among themselves. He who was not the bearded man

then stepped forward, his shield on his arm, his spear in hand. He stood separated from the

stranger by some forty feet.

I observed them. They stood, not moving, each clad in scarlet, each helmeted, each similarly

armed. They stood in the grass. Neither looked at me. I was forgotten. I knelt in the circle. I

tried to free myself. I could not. I knelt in the circle.

The wind moved the grass. The clouds shifted in the blue sky.

For a long thee, neither man moved. Then, suddenly, the stranger, laughing, lifted his spear and

struck its butt into the ground. "Kajira canjellne!" he laughed.

I could not believe it. He seemed elated. He was pleased with the prospect of war. How terrible he

was! How proud, how magnificent he seemed! I thought I knew then, with horror, the nature of men.

"Kajira canjellne!" said the other man.

Warily they began to circle one another.

I waited, kneeling, frightened, nude and bound, in the circle. I watched the men warily circling

one another. I pulled at my bonds. I was helpless.

Suddenly, as though by common accord, each crying out, each uttering a savage cry, they hurled

themselves at one another.

It was the ritual of the spear casting.

The spear of him who was one of my captors seemed to leap upward and away, caroming from the

oblique, lifted surface of the stranger's shield. The spear, caroming from the shield, flew more

than a hundred feet away, dropping in the grass, where it stood fixed, remote and useless, the

butt of its shaft pointing to the sky. The stranger's spear had penetrated the shield of he who

was one of my captors, and the stranger, bracing the shaft between his arm and body, had lifted

his opponent's shield and turned, throwing it and his opponent, who had not the time to slip from

the shield straps, to the ground at his feet. The stranger's blade, now, loosed from its sheath,

under the opponent's helmet, lay at his throat.

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (8 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

But the stranger did not strike. He severed the shield straps of the opponent's shield, freeing

his arm from them. He stepped back. He cast his own shield aside, into the grass.

He stood waiting, blade drawn.

The other man got his legs under him and leaped to his feet. He was enraged. The blade in his

sheath leaped forth. He charged the other, the stranger, and swiftly did the two engage.

I knelt terrified. I shuddered with horror. They were not human, as I understood human beings.

They were warriors and beasts.

I cried out with fear.

I had always had a fear of steel blades, even knives. Now I knelt bound and nude, helpless,

utterly exposed and vulnerable, in the vicinity of fierce men, skilled and strong, who with intent

and menace, with edged, bared steel, addressed themselves to the savageries of war.

They fought.

I watched, wide-eyed, bound. Furious, sharp, was the precision of their combat.

They were not feet from me.

I moaned.

Backward and forward, swiftly, did they move in their grim contest.

I wondered at what manner of men they might be, surely like none I had hitherto known. Why did

they not flee in terror from such blades? Why did they not flee? But they met one another, and did

battle. How I feared, and still fear, such men! How could a woman but kneel trembling before such

a man?

One man wheeled back, grunting, turning, and fell to his knees in the grass, and then fell,

turning, to his side, lying upon his shoulder, doubled, hunched in pain, bleeding, his hands at

his belly, his blade lost in the grass.

The stranger stepped back from him, his blade bloody. He stood regarding the other man, the

bearded man.

The bearded man lifted his shield and raised his spear. "Kajira canjellne!" he said.

"Kajira canjellne," said the stranger. He went to extricate his spear from the penetrated shield

of the man with whom, but moments before, he had shared the sport of war. The fallen foe lay

doubled in the grass; his lower lip was bloody; he tore it with his teeth, holding it, that, in

his pain, he might make no sound. His hands were clutched in the scarlet of his wet tunic,

bunching it, at the hall-severed belt. The grass was bloody about him.

The stranger bent to lift the penetrated shield, that he might remove from it his bronze-headed

weapon.

In that instant the bearded man, crying out savagely, rushed upon him, his spear raised.

Before I could respond in horror or my body move the stranger had reacted, rolling to the side

and, in an instant, regaining his feet, assuming an on-guard position. As my cry of misery escaped

my lips the thrust of the bearded man's spear had passed to the left of the stranger's helmet. The

stranger had not remained at the vicinity of the shield with its penetrating spear, but had

abandoned it. For the first time now the stranger did not seem pleased. The bearded man's spear

had thrust into the grass. Its head and a foot of its shaft had been driven into the turf. He

faced the stranger now, sword drawn. The instant he had missed the thrust he had left the weapon,

spinning and unsheathing his sword. The bearded man was white-faced. But the stranger had not

rushed upon him. He waited, in the on-guard position. He gestured with his blade, indicating that

now they might do battle.

With a cry of rage the bearded man rushed upon him, thrusting with his shield, his sword flat and

low. The stranger was not there. Twice more the bearded man charged, and each time the stranger

seemed not to be at the point of in-tended impact. The fourth time the stranger was behind him and

on his left. The stranger's sword was at his left armpit. The bearded man stood very still, white-

faced. The stranger's sword moved. The stranger stepped back. The bearded man's shield slipped

from his arm. The straps which had held the shield to his upper arm had been severed. The shield

fell on its edge to the grass, and then tipped and rocked, then was still, large, rounded, concave

inner surface tilted, facing the sky. I could see the severed straps.

The two men faced one another.

Then did they engage.

I then realized, as I had not before, the skill of the stranger. Earlier he had matched himself,

for a time, evenly with the first opponent. In a swift, though measured fashion, he had exercised

himself, sharply and well, respecting his foe, not permitting the foe to understand his full power

with the blade, the devastating and subtle skill which now seemed to lend terrible flight to the

rapid steel. I saw the wounded man, now on an elbow, watching, with horror. He had not even been

slain. Lying in the bloodied grass, he realized he had been permitted to live. It was with

humiliating skill that the stranger toyed with the stumbling, white-faced bearded man, he who had,

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (9 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt

minutes before, been preparing to cut my throat. Bound, kneeling in the circle, it was with

sudden, frightening elation that I realized the stranger was the master of the other two. Four

times was he within the other's guard, his blade at breast or throat, and did not finish him. He

moved the bearded man into a position where his fallen, discarded shield lay behind him. With a

cry he forced back the bearded man, who fell, stumbling in the shield, backward, and then lay on

the grass before the stranger, the stranger's blade at his throat. The stranger, in contempt, then

stepped back. The bearded man scrambled to his feet. The stranger stood back, in the on-guard

position.

The bearded man took his blade and hurled it into the grass. It sank to the hilt.

He stood regarding the stranger.

The stranger slipped his own blade back in the sheath. The bearded man loosened his dagger belt,

dropping the belt and weapon to the grass. Then he walked, slowly, to his fellow, and similarly

removed his dagger belt. The man held his bloodied tunic to his wound, to stanch the flow of

blood. The bearded man lifted the other man to his feet, and, together, the bearded man supporting

the other, they left the field.

The stranger stood watching them go. He watched them until, they disappeared in the distance.

He removed his spear from the shield which it had penetrated. He thrust it, upright, butt down, in

the turf. It was like a standard. He sat his shield by it.

Then he turned to face me.

I knelt within the wide circle, torn by the blade of a spear in the turf. I was naked. I was bound

helplessly. It was an alien world.

He began to approach me, slowly. I was terrified.

Then he stood before me.

Never had I been so frightened. We were alone, absolutely.

He looked at me. I thrust my head to the grass at his feet. He stood there, not moving. I was

terribly conscious, helpless, of his presence. I waited for him to speak, to say something to me.

He must understand my terror! Was it not visible in my bound body, my complete vulnerability? I

waited for him to speak some gentle word, something kindly, something to reassure me, a

thoughtful, soft word to allay my fears. I trembled. He said nothing.

I did not dare raise my head. Why did he not speak to me? Any gentleman, surely, by now, speaking

reassuring, soothing words, averting his eyes from my beauty, would have hastened to release me

from my predicament.

He removed his helmet. He put it to one side, in the grass.

I felt his hand in my hair, not cruelly, but casually and firmly, as one might fasten one's hand

in the mane of a horse. Then I felt my head drawn up and back, and back, until, his right hand on

my knee, his left hand in my hair, I knelt bent backward, my head on the ground, my back bent

painfully, my eyes looking up, frightened, at the sky. He then examined the bow of my beauty. I am

quite vain of my beauty. Then he threw me on my side and stretched me out, to examine its linear

aspect. I lay. on my right side. He walked about me, and looked at me. He kicked my toes straight,

that the line of my body would be more extended. He crouched beside me, then. I felt his hand on

my neck. He rubbed his thumb in a scrape the collar had made on my throat when I had foolishly

struggled, earlier. It smarted. But the scrape was not deep. He felt my upper arm, and forearm,

and my fingers, moving them. He moved his hands on my body,, firmly, following its curvatures. He

put one hand on my back and another on my side and, for a few moments, holding me thus, felt my

breathing. He felt my thigh, and flexed my legs, noting the change in the curve of the calf. It

did not seem what a gentleman would do. Never before had a man handled and touched me as he did;

no man on Earth, I felt sure, would have so dared to touch a woman. I felt examined as an animal.

At one point, turning my head, thrusting two fingers of his left hand and two fingers of his right

hand into my mouth, he pulled my mouth widely, examining my teeth. I have excellent teeth, white

and small and straight. I had had two cavities, which had been filled. He paid them little

attention. He had seen, as I later learned, women from Earth before. Such tiny things can be used

to determine Earth origin. Goreans seldom have cavities. I am not certain what the reasons for

this are. In part it is doubtless a matter of a plainer, simpler diet, containing less sugar; in

part, I suspect, the culture, too, may have a role to play, as it is a culture in which undue

chemical stress, through guilt and worry, is not placed on the system either in the prepubertal or

pubertal years. Gorean youth, like the youth of Earth, encounter their difficulties in growing up

but the culture, or cultures, have not seen fit to implicitly condition them into regarding the

inevitable effects of maturation as either suspect, deplorable or insidious. He then threw me to

my other side, and subjected my helpless beauty, on its right, to a similar examination.

I was horrified at the boldness, the frankness, with which he handled me.

Did he think I was an animal! Did he think I was only property?

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt (10 of 227) [1/20/03 3:34:29 AM]

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

file:///F|/rah/John%20Norman/Slave%20Girl%20Of%20Gor.txt1TheCollarIlayinthewarmgrass.Icouldfeelit,thewarm,individualgreenblades,separate,gentle,onmyleftcheek;Icouldfeelthemonmybody,mystomachandthighs.Ist etchedmybody,mytoes.Iwassleepy.Ididnotwishtoawaken.Thesunwaswarmonmyback,eve hot,almostuncomf...

展开>> 收起<<

John Norman - Gor 11 - Slave girl of Gor.pdf

共227页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

John Norman - Gor 11 - Slave girl of Gor

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: