Plunder of Gor (59 page)

“Phyllis,” said Kurik, “upstairs, in my things, you will find a slave whip. Fetch it.”

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“No, no! Not the slave whip!” said the Lady Alexina.

She seemed familiar with that tool. I doubted that she had ever felt it. Certainly I had not felt it. It had not been used on me even in my training, to let me know what it might do to me. But I did not doubt that the Lady Alexina, as is not uncommon with women of her sort, had used it, and liberally, on her slaves. In any event, it was clear she did not wish to feel it, even through her robes.

“Hold,” said Kurik.

“Yes, Master,” I said, and returned to his side, where I knelt.

Kurik then surveyed his fair captive.

“Please, no!” she said.

“You will now remove your clothing, completely,” said Kurik.

She regarded him, wildly.

“Off with it, all of it,” he said, “every thread, every stitch.”

“Please, no!” she wept.

“Now,” he said, “instantly.”

Angrily, with hot, bitter tears, the Lady Alexina tore at the robes, frenziedly, ripping loose hooks, and fastenings, and then she stood before him, the bulky, cumbersome robes of concealment beside her, discarded.

Kurik then gathered up the robes, the hoodings and veils, and put them to one side, and then returned, to gaze upon the Lady Alexina.

The Lady Alexina looked to her robes, where they lay. Given the length of her chain she could not reach them.

Then she straightened her body, angrily, and looked into the eyes of Kurik. I was uneasy. No slave would have dared to look into the eyes of a man so.

“Marvel,” she said, acidly. “My robes no longer obstruct your vision.”

“One,” said Kurik, “perhaps two—two silver tarsks.”

“Monster!” she cried.

Certainly her lineaments might now be ascertained as easily as might be those of a slave.

I was uneasy. Did he not know she was a free woman?

“Off your feet,” he said to her.

Angrily she lowered herself to the floor.

To be a woman unclothed before a clothed male has its decided effect on the woman; similarly, to be an unclothed woman, not permitted to stand, placed, reduced and controlled, before the male, at his feet, as might be a slave, increases her sense of helplessness, exposure, and vulnerability, and her recognition of her now-undeniable femaleness.

Kurik then regarded the Lady Alexina, clad only in her shackle.

“Now, Phyllis,” he said, “fetch the whip.”

“Surely not, Master,” I said.

The Lady Alexina paled with fear.

“Now,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said, and hurried to the stairs.

I trusted he would not strike her. She was bared. Too, she was a free woman. One does not whip a free woman. On the other hand, the Lady Alexina had not appeared to be convinced of that.

In a matter of an Ehn or two I had returned to the basement, and, kneeling, head down, with both hands, lifted the whip to Kurik, my master.

Kurik then turned to the Lady Alexina.

“Where is the Lady Bina?”

“I do not know!” she said.

“You know,” he said.

“No!” she cried, looking up at him.

“Perhaps now,” he said, “now that you are stripped, you would particularly appreciate the return of your parasol.”

“Surely,” she said, “if only to better conceal myself from your unabashed perusal.”

Kurik then, to my relief, folded the blades of the whip about the handle, clipped them closed, and hooked the handle at his belt.

I could now understand the current value of the lovely parasol, formerly so fetching an element in the ensemble of the Lady Alexina. Her desire now made sense to me, particularly as she was free. Opened, she could, in effect, conceal herself behind it.

Kurik then went to the parasol, which was closed, and, interestingly, grasped it at its closed end, rather than at the small, narrow, trimmed handle. As it was closed, the ribs, or spines, of the parasol were above and about the handle. He then, suddenly, jabbed it toward the Lady Alexina, and she shrieked, and drew back. He then snapped it open and, twirling it, leaned toward her. There was a rattle of chain. She had now shrunk back, flattening herself against the wall. She had turned white, and her features trembled with terror. “Take it away! Take it away!” she cried.

“Very well,” said Kurik and he returned the parasol to where it had earlier lain.

Clearly the Lady Alexina, for some reason, feared the parasol. I could not understand her fear. To me, of course, it seemed harmless. Perhaps she was afraid, abnormally so, for some reason, that Kurik might strike her with it.

“Where is the Lady Bina?” asked Kurik.

“I do not know,” she said, sullenly.

Kurik's hand went thoughtfully, speculatively, to the butt of the whip, hooked at his belt.

“Lash me,” she said. “I will never speak!”

“All free women should be lashed, and made slaves,” said Kurik. “It would be good for them. It would teach them they are women.”

I was sure that Kurik would never strike a free woman. Few male Goreans would do so. To be sure, the free woman would have no guarantee of that. Gorean masters, on the whole, incidentally, seldom apply the lash, even to their slaves. There is seldom any point in doing so. The slave attempts to be pleasing, honestly and fervently, to the best of her ability. It would be absurd then to do her hurt. She is a prized possession, a treasure, lovely and desirable; she is the most delicious thing a male can own. Let him rejoice in his slave. There she is, at his feet, curled, exquisitely desirable, needful, hoping for a smile, or a caress. She longs not for a whipping, but for her possession, her being owned, her ravishing. She is her master's possession and plaything, and would have it no other way. She longs for discipline; she desires to be taken in hand, and subdued. She desires to yield the surrender that, in any case, she knows would be taken from her. She longs to be mastered. So work her, and well, and enjoy her, and never let her forget she is a female, and, in a collar, a slave. It is enough that the whip is there, and she knows, if it is appropriate, it will be used on her. This is very different from the case of the free woman. The free woman and the slave sense they are competitors, rivals. Thus, free women can be very cruel to slaves. Slaves commonly hope they will not be purchased by a woman.

“I will never speak!” she cried. “Starve me! Put water outside my reach! I will never speak!”

“We do not have time for such things,” said Kurik.

His face was unreadable. This frightened me.

“I will not speak!” she cried.

“You are my prisoner,” he said. “Though you are a free woman, you are naked, on a chain, as might be a slave.”

“So?” she said.

“Perhaps then,” he said, “as a free woman, you would like to earn your keep.”

“‘My keep'?” she asked.

“Being kept alive,” he said.

“You do not frighten me,” she said.

“Remember,” he said, “you are a free woman. You are not a slave, not a domestic animal, protected by her collar, not a property, a loot, which would merely change hands. You are a free woman.”

“You would do well to spare me,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

“The vengeance of Decius Albus,” she said.

“By tomorrow,” said Kurik, “Decius Albus will realize you are in our hands, and will discard you, a tool that is no longer useful, and, unfortunately, will change the location of the Lady Bina.”

“If you slay me,” she said, “I will never reveal the location of the Lady Bina!”

“And if you do not,” he said, “of what use are you to us?”

“Collar me,” she said.

“You would look well in one,” he said, “but what woman would not?”

The Lady Alexina rose to her knees, and extended her hands, piteously, to Kurik, my master.

“You look well on your knees,” he said. “Split them.”

“Please, no!” she said.

“Now,” he said. “And now, back on your heels, place your hands, palms down, on your thighs. Get your back straight, get your head up.”

Then the Lady Alexina, though free, was before him, in nadu, the position of a Gorean pleasure slave.

“Put the iron to my thigh,” she begged. “Mark me! Put me in the degrading, scandalous scrap of cloth, fit only for a slave!”

“No,” he said. “I deny you the protection of a collar. For my purposes it is important that you be free.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

Kurik then turned to me. “Has Lyris been fed?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then she must be quite hungry,” he said.

“I do not know,” I said, “but surely sooner or later.”

“Who is Lyris?” asked the Lady Alexina.

“Look to the cage,” said Kurik, as he bent down and disengaged the shackle on the fair ankle of the Lady Alexina.

“No!” she said.

At the same time, Lord Grendel, who had maintained until now a discreet silence in the presence of the Lady Alexina, presumably that she might think of him as no more than a simple guard beast, one of an unusual nature, went to the cage and said something, in Kur, to Lyris, who, snarling, withdrew, going to the back of the cage. Lord Grendel then freed and held open the gate of the cage.

“No, no!” cried the Lady Alexina, held by the arm, being dragged by Kurik to the cage. She was then thrust within and Lord Grendel closed the gate, fastening it shut with the heavy chain and padlock.

The Lady Alexina cast a wild look at Lyris, snarling in the back of the cage, and turned, and pressed herself piteously against the bars of the gate, extending her small hands through them.

“Mercy!” she cried. “Let me out! Let me out!”

“Well, pretty Lyris,” called Kurik to Lyris, “here is your meal.” Lyris, of course, would find Gorean unintelligible, but the meaning of the words was not lost on the Lady Alexina, who, doubtless, having seen Lord Grendel work the opening and closing of the gate, now realized he was no simple guard beast. Too, for all she knew, if Gorean might be at the disposal of one beast, it might be at the disposal of another, as well. And, if Kurik's words were no more than the cheerful prattling of a man to a beast, such as a pet sleen, there was still little in that possibility from which to gather reassurance or consolation. “Note, Lyris,” called Kurik to Lyris pleasantly, “your supper has been nicely prepared. You will not have to bite, and chew, and tear, through cloth.”

“Let me out!” screamed the Lady Alexina, reaching through the bars toward Kurik.

“You are free,” Kurik reminded her.

“Collar me!” she cried. “I beg the collar, I beg it!”

“It is denied to you,” said Kurik, “be wished well, free woman.”

“Mercy!” she begged.

Kurik turned away.

“When does it feed?” she screamed.

“I do not know,” said Kurik, “but it will feed, sooner or later.”

Kurik and Lord Grendel then, followed by me, left the basement. I was much disturbed.

On the upper floor, I threw myself to my knees before my master, and wept. “Please, Master,” I begged, “do not resign her, even though she be an enemy and free, to so horrible a death!”

“Do not be concerned,” said Lord Grendel, “I informed Lyris that if she so much as touches the Lady Alexina, I will kill her.”

I collapsed to the floor, in relief.

Shortly thereafter we heard piteous screams from the basement. “I will speak! I will speak! I will speak!”

Chapter Fifty-One

Crossed spears barred our way.

Kurik flourished the ribbon of yellow paper, embossed with the red seal of Decius Albus. As we had supposed, the Lady Bina was being held in the House of a Hundred Corridors. This had been confirmed by the Lady Alexina, beside herself with hysteria, in Lyris' cage. More importantly, she had revealed the secret location of the Lady Bina's quarters within the palace. Kurik's pretext for gaining admittance to the palace was twofold, first, supposedly to guarantee the current safety and well-being of the Lady Bina, for Lord Grendel, and, second, to make clear to Decius Albus, who would convey the information to Surtak and his cohorts, that Lyris was in our custody and would be returned, safely and unharmed, for Eve. We anticipated little opposition to this proposal. The case with the Lady Bina was quite otherwise. She was brought from her hiding place, cell, or quarters, to a court chamber near the front of the palace. There, unseen ourselves, by means of a secret panel, we observed her, sitting, being shown varieties of rich cloths by slaves, from amongst which cloths she might choose, for the measuring and sewing of robes. It seemed she was pleased with everything shown. She seemed intent, and in good spirits, and did not seem aware she was in any sense a prisoner. She was then, after a time, her business seemingly concluded, conducted away, to be returned to her secret location in the palace, which secret location was now known to us, thanks to the intelligence afforded by the Lady Alexina, who had been only too pleased to be removed from Lyris' cage and returned to her shackle, fastened at the slave ring.

The spears were pulled away, and Kurik and I proceeded down the hall. The embossed pass had been removed from the pouch of the Lady Alexina, which pass allowed her free movement in the palace.

We continued down the hall.

“It should not be far now,” said Kurik.

I felt exceedingly uneasy, for several reasons. First, I was preceding my master. On a street, unless on a leash, being exhibited, this can bring the lash. Furthermore, we were in the House of a Hundred Corridors, clearly under false pretenses. Lastly, and perhaps most frighteningly, I was clad in garments that had been taken from the Lady Alexina. We had repaired the damage to her robes, the rent hooks, and such, as best we could. I was well veiled, and I had the parasol, which I used in such a way as to give a casual onlooker very little opportunity to look closely upon me. I often looked down, or away, to the side, that the color of my eyes not be noticed. Decius Albus, Drusus, Tyrtaios, and some others, doubtless, would be aware of the coloring of the Lady Alexina, but many guards, we hoped, would not. They could, however, recognize the meaningfulness of the pass.

“We are on the third level, in the Corridor of Turia,” said Kurik. “The Renata Chamber must be near.”

“I hope so, Master,” I said.

The corridor was long.

“If the Lady Alexina lied,” said Kurik, “we will return and feed her to Lyris.”

“I am sure she is aware of that,” I said.

“Are you all right?” asked Kurik.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“Your step is uncertain, you are trembling,” he said.

“Forgive me, Master,” I said.

“You do not walk like a free woman,” he said.

“I am not a free woman,” I said.

“Nor are you much of an actress,” he said.

“I am in a collar,” I said. “Perhaps Master might have removed it.”

“Do not be foolish,” he said. “You belong in a collar, and I want you in a collar. Collars are not removed from slave girls until a new collar has been affixed.”

“Surely sometimes it is done,” I said. “Masters have little to fear. We cannot take off our brands.”

“Are you a clever slave?” he asked.

“I do not know if I am clever,” I said, “but I am highly intelligent. Else I fear I would be of little interest to Master.”

I knew that men, the beasts, Gorean men, at least, loved to have their collars on intelligent women. Were they not the prizes? Did they not bring the highest prices? The three major criteria for selection by Gorean slavers were beauty, intelligence, and passion, helpless passion, slave passion, a woman's slave needs. And it was in the most intelligent women, commonly, that these needs were the deepest and the most profound, the most irresistible, and intense. How, once we were collared, these put us at the mercy of our masters, at whose mercy we soon begged to be!

“How do you like the Robes of Concealment?” he asked.

“It can be death to a slave who is not a serving slave to touch them,” I said, “and it can be death to any slave who dares to wear them.”

“How do you like them?” he asked.

“I do not like them,” I said. “They are heavy, bulky, and cumbersome, the folds, layers, and draperies. Were free women not free women, I might almost feel sorry for them.”

“But consider such robings,” he said. “They are beautiful, are they not?”

“Yes,” I said, “they are commonly very beautiful.”

“They are concealing,” he said. “Few raiders, without independent information, from the baths, or such, would care to risk their lives to seize such a woman, one who might, when unveiled, dismay a male tarsk. Slaves, thus, distract attention from free women, and are more likely to be carried off. This provides a measure of protection for their glorious and noble free sisters. Too, free women are likely to be more closely guarded. Too, of course, they like the contrast between themselves and slaves to be clearly marked. Too, hating slaves, they enjoy exhibiting and humiliating them, almost denying them clothing.”

“Men do not seem to object,” I said.

“That is true,” he said.

“Nor do I,” I said.

“You are a slave,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

In the beginning, many new slaves, just out of the pens, or shortly after feeling the capture loops, are terrified to be viewed in the garments in which they will now be placed, tunics that make their new status, that they are only slaves, clear to all, let alone camisks or ta-teeras. Sometimes they must be whipped into the streets. But later, reveling in the freedom of their collars, and having no choice but to move as what they are, women, and slaves, they, now perfect and real, having found their identity, and rejoicing in it, brazen in the recognition of their uniqueness, their specialness, and desirability, move with a naturalness befitting the lovely, graceful animals they now are, move with pride and joy, save in the presence of free women, of course, whom they muchly, and justifiably, fear.

“Tunics are more comfortable,” I said. “It is easier to move in them.”

“I would suppose so,” said Kurik. “It is not that much different from being naked.”

“We are naked, often enough,” I said.

“Try to walk more like a free woman,” he said.

“It is nice to have sandals,” I said.

“Enjoy them while you can,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

“I trust guards will not observe you attentively,” he said.

“Why?” I asked. “My eye color?”

“They probably will not do so, as you are with me,” he said. “With me, they are likely to take you for what you seem. They are unlikely to be attentive, to be suspicious.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“After even a rudimentary slave training,” he said, “a woman is transformed, often in ways she does not even understand. She is different. She speaks like a slave. She thinks like a slave. She moves like a slave. She is a slave. Sometimes a slave, usually a new slave, foolishly thinking escape might be possible, dons the garments of a free woman, and hopes to pass herself off as a free woman. She may even have obtained the key to her collar, and removed it. But her movements, her walk, her carriage, her small gestures, induce suspicion, for they seem reminiscent not of a free woman, but a slave. She is detained, to her misery, by guardsmen. Free women are brought in and she is stripped. The brand is then revealed. Her first punishment is at the hands of the free women. It is not pleasant. She is then remanded to the authorities, and returned to her master.”

“I see,” I said.

“Too, of course,” he said, “she may be investigated by means of her Home Stone, her family, her friends, her connections, her doings, her address, and so on.”

“Each Gorean,” I said, “has his place in society.”

“Yes,” he said, “and each slave girl hers.”

“And where is that?” I asked.

“At the feet of her master,” he said.

I felt warm, and grateful, and needful. What a wonderful gift was my bondage! I had come to realize that I had longed for it, even on Earth. Now, on Gor, I was in my collar!

“Stay on your feet,” he said. “Do not kneel. Do not press against me.”

“Yes, Master,” I wept.

I longed to lie at his feet, naked, lifting my body to him, begging for the attentions to which a master frequently subjects a slave.

“If others are about,” he said, “I would not use the word ‘Master'.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“There is a guard,” he said. “That must be the Renata Chamber.”

“Tal,” said Kurik. “The Lady Alexina calls upon the Lady Bina.”

I gathered this was not an unfamiliar business from the guard's point of view. Quite possibly the Lady Alexina had frequently called upon the Lady Bina. That would make sense, I supposed, that one free woman would attend upon another. Kurik had not even displayed the pass that had brought him this far. He was not challenged, possibly because of my presence, I taken to be the Lady Alexina, possibly because of the assurance with which he presented himself, possibly because the guard was accustomed to seeing the Lady Alexina accompanied in the halls of the palace by one associate or another.

We were admitted into the Renata Room.

The door, which was ornate and heavy, was closed behind us. The room was large, bright, light, and airy. The walls were painted with rich colors, which was often the case in a Gorean dwelling. The room was richly appointed. There was nothing about it that suggested a cell, or an incarceration of any sort.

“Tal, dear Alexina,” said the Lady Bina, pleasantly, approaching us. Her veils were lowered. I had the sense that she thought little of displaying her features. Her origins, I had been given to understand, were not Gorean. She was quite beautiful and, I did not doubt, was well aware of that fact. “What news from the Central Cylinder?” she asked. “Has the date been determined? Have the preparations for the Ceremony of Companionship been completed? Poor Marlenus. How he must chafe at these delays. He must be patient and brave. I trust you bring good news. I plan to remember you well, dear friend, for all your efforts, your comfort and counsel, when I am Ubara.”

I knelt, which muchly puzzled the Lady Bina.

“Do not kneel, Alexina,” she said. “I shall not expect that of you, my friend, even when I am Ubara.”

“She is not the Lady Alexina,” said Kurik. “She is a slave, my slave. Her name is ‘Phyllis'. You know her from the house of Epicrates. I am Kurik, of Victoria, ally to Lord Arcesilaus, friend to your protector, Lord Grendel. You, noble lady, are in grave danger.”

“You are the driver of the pay wagon,” she said. She had engaged him, when arranging the transportation of Lord Grendel, and a slave, to the late-evening meeting at the house of Decius Albus, off the Viktel Aria, purportedly to make contact with a representative or representatives of Lord Arcesilaus.

“A ruse,” he said, “to pursue a purpose.”

“Does it seem to you that I am in danger?” asked the Lady Bina.

“I assure you, you are in dreadful danger, terrible danger,” said Kurik.

“I am to be Ubara of Ar,” she said.

“The Ubar,” said Kurik, “has never seen you.”

“Secretly,” she said, “or my beauty was described to him.”

“He does not even know you exist,” said Kurik.

“Nonsense,” said the Lady Bina. “He even sent an officer of the Taurentians to inform me of his suit, of the projected honor, and fetch me to this palace, while a thousand details were attended to.”

“It was no Taurentian,” said Kurik. “It was an Assassin, a member of the Black Caste, in the uniform of a Taurentian, Tyrtaios, by name.”

“I do not understand,” she said.

“You have been deceived, misled,” said Kurik. “You are a hostage, who could be lightly sacrificed.”

“I have been treated well here,” she said.

“Of course,” said Kurik. “Why should you not be?”

“Only a few Ehn ago, I ordered robing,” she said.

“We were permitted to witness that,” he said, “from a concealed vantage point.”

“That was part of the deception?” she said.

“Of course,” said Kurik.

“I am a prisoner?” she said.

“Surely, consider the guard, outside,” said Kurik.

“He is there for my protection,” she said.

“To prevent your escape,” said Kurik.

“Slave,” said Lady Bina, “brush back your hood, sweep aside your veils.”

I did so.

“Am I in danger?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” I said.

“And slaves may not lie,” said Kurik.

“They may be instructed to do so,” she said.

“I will speak briefly, and plainly,” said Kurik. “Lord Agamemnon still lives. He is active and dangerous. His cohorts are loyal and determined. He wishes to recruit Grendel to his service, as spy and tool, as Grendel is respected, trusted, and well known to the faction of Lord Arcesilaus, which Lord Agamemnon wishes to supplant. If Grendel does not give his oath, your life is forfeit.”

“Surely not,” she said.

“Dear Lady,” said Kurik, “I have no doubt that your intelligence is high, extremely so, but the data at its disposal, on which it must rely, is egregiously sparse, and bears little relation to the intrigues and complexities of this world. You are, forgive me, noble Lady, incredibly innocent and naïve. Your antecedents almost guarantee that. You are recently from a steel world, and you know little or nothing of this world, its customs, habits, and politics. You do not even have a Home Stone. How could you then expect, in a state such as Ar, rich and populous, to so simply ascend a throne? You lack family relations, connections, position, and power. Your ambition is unjustified, your hopes unfounded. If Marlenus knew of you, and truly desired you, would he not have confronted you in person, urging his suit with fervor?”