Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Forty-Nine



I leaned back against the tree, and listened to the crackle of the small fire, in the tiny camp on the way back to Shipcamp.

I idly reached for the leash, and tugged twice, which activated the metal ring on the leash collar, lifting and dropping it twice, signaling the slave that she should approach, which she did, on all fours.

“Please me,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said, bending over me.

Later she lay beside me, her head at my thigh.

I had seen fit to deny her clothing.

“Keep me,” she whispered.

“You are a camp slave,” I reminded her, “at Shipcamp, and are the property of Pani masters.”

“Will Master return me to Shipcamp?” she asked.

“A caught slave,” I said, “is to be returned to her masters.”

“I am afraid,” she said.

“As well you might be,” I said.

“What will they do with me?” she asked.

“I do not know,” I said.

“I do not want to die,” she said.

“I do not think they will kill you,” I said. “They bought a large number of women and, I think, not primarily for the use of mariners and mercenaries, but for sale, or use as trade goods, somewhere, where I am not sure, presumably wherever the great ship makes its eventual landfall, doubtless one of the farther islands, for who would dare venture beyond them?”

“I heard,” she whispered, “they seek the World’s End.”

“That would seem madness,” I said. “No ship has ventured much beyond the farther islands and returned.”

“There is a man called Tersites,” she said, “a master shipwright, he is supposedly determined.”

“I think he is mad,” I said.

“It is said he thinks of the World’s End,” she said.

“I think that may be to dismay strangers, perhaps to obscure an actual destination. In any event, there are many rumors. Who knows what courses might be plotted in the privacy of a secret chartroom?”

“Perhaps the ship has departed,” she said.

“That is possible,” I said, uneasily.

She rose on her elbows. “Then you could keep me!” she said.

“I will sell you at the first opportunity,” I said.

“I do not think so,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked.

“I think Master is fond of Laura,” she said.

“Laura is a slave,” I reminded her.

“Even so,” she said.

She then lay beside me again. I felt her breath on my thigh. And then her lips.

“Laura loves Master,” she said.

“Laura is a liar,” I said.

“Slaves are not permitted to lie,” she said.

“I think I will sell you to a woman,” I said.

“Do not!” she said. “I am a man’s slave, and would be yours.”

“Do not fear,” I said. “I cannot sell you. I do not own you. You belong to Pani.”

“I see,” she said.

“Do you really think the Pani want us to sell, or trade?” she asked.

“Certainly,” I said.

“Why?” she asked. “We are very different from their Pani women.”

“What does it matter?” I said. “It is always a pleasure to see pretty slaves on the auction block, regardless of their skin color, their hair and eye color, and such.”

“Perhaps we might have some value as exotic goods,” she said, “something unusual, or different.”

“Also,” I said, “I do not think there were many Pani women for sale in Brundisium.”

“I saw few in Tarncamp, or Shipcamp,” she said.

“I suppose,” I said, “that there are Pani kajirae, captures in war, and such, but the usual arrangement seems to be in virtue of contracts of some sort, which may be bought and sold, the woman accompanying the contract.”

“How is that different from the collar?” she asked.

“It seems to have something to do with prestige, or such. The status is putatively higher. One would expect such women to be treated with more esteem and deference than a common slave. One would not expect them to be collared, or publicly stripped, or such. Too, they are often highly trained, in music, singing, dancing, conversation, the serving of tea, the arranging of flowers, and such.”

“But they still go with the contract,” she said.

“That is my understanding,” I said.

“I saw two of them,” she said, “in Shipcamp. Both were beautiful.”

“So, too,” I said, “are most common slaves, let alone women purchased for the Pleasure Gardens of Ubars, high merchants, and such.”

“Am I beautiful?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Thank you, Master!” she said, softly, gratefully.

“You have improved in the collar,” I said. “It has that effect on a woman.”

“I think you like me,” she said.

“You do have a hot, active little belly,” I said.

“I think Master followed me north from Brundisium,” she said. “I think Master sought me in Shipcamp, and perhaps in Tarncamp. Master pursued me into the forest with Master Axel, and his beast. And when others returned to Shipcamp, Master did not do so. He followed me, and recaptured me.”

“I was well paid to come north,” I said. “I joined Axel for diversion, and a pleasant hunt. I later followed you because you had annoyed me in the camp of Genserich, and I decided to get my leash on you, and make you pay.”

“You have made me pay well, Master,” she whispered.

“You are attentive, and juice nicely,” I said.

“I love Master!” she suddenly wept.

“With what love?” I asked.

“With the deepest and most profound of loves,” she said, “the helpless, abject love of a slave!”

I took her by the hair, my hand tight in its rich, dark, glossy loveliness.

“Hurt me,” she said. “Show me that I am a slave, and that you own me.”

She winced.

I relaxed my grip. “But I do not own you,” I said.

“Buy me,” she begged.

“Only a slave begs to be purchased,” I said.

“I am a slave!” she said.

Ritual phrases are often required of a slave. One of the most common is, “Buy me, Master.” Sometimes along the side of a road, where a number of slaves, neck-chained, may be knelt for inspection and possible sale, the slave is expected to lift her head and, as she is examined, utter the phrase, “Buy me, Master.” This phrase is not that unusual on slave shelves, and such, as well.

“I remember,” she said, “the first time I saw Master.”

“And I you,” I said.

“I was free!” she said.

“No,” I said, “you were merely a slave, not yet collared.”

“No!” she said.

“Do you think I cannot recognize a slave when I see one?” I asked.

“I was free!” she said.

“As free as a woman such as you could be,” I said, “one not yet taken in hand by a man, and put to his feet, stripped and collared.”

“How you looked at me!” she said.

“The chain,” I said, “is made for women such as you.”

“Fully clothed,” she said, “I felt naked before you.”

“And so I perceived you,” I said, “as you might appear, exhibited on the block for the consideration of buyers.”

“I fled,” she said.

“You were well and carefully scouted,” he said, “as I explained to you in the camp of Genserich, in a number of venues, in a number of garmentures, and such.”

“And even, sedated, in my own bed, it seems,” she said, “stripped, variously positioned, photographed, measured in considerable detail, and such.”

“Of course,” I said.

“Were you involved in this?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But do not concern yourself. You awakened later, pleasantly enough, and knew nothing of what had taken place.”

“But it had taken place!” she said.

“Certainly,” I said.

“It seems we are carefully selected,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “but also with an eye to the future. What will she be like when she has learned her collar? What will she be like once she is the victim of the raging slave fires we will build in her belly? What will she be like once she has been trained to please men? What will she be like when she has suitably dieted and exercised?”

“I see,” she said.

“Your body, for example,” I said, “is more of a slave’s body now than it was on Earth.”

“I am pleased if Master is pleased,” she said, moving more against me, the she-tarsk, with the maddening softness of her.

“Your Gorean is coming along nicely,” I said.

“We must strive to learn the language of our masters,” she said.

“Why did you run away?” I asked.

“Please do not make me speak,” she said.

“Very well,” I said.

“I fear the men of Gor,” she said.

“But they stir your belly, and you suddenly become acutely aware, as you were not before, of your sex.”

“Yes,” she said. “It suddenly becomes meaningful. It suddenly seems the single most important thing about me, that I am not a male, but a female.”

“I understand,” I said.

“That is because there are men here,” she said.

“There are men on your former world,” I said.

“How is it,” she said, “that Gorean men are so different from those of my former world?”

“I do not think they are so different,” I said. “They are of the same species.”

“It is hard to believe,” she said.

“There are different roads, different paths,” I said. “Much depends on which one takes.”

“My former world,” she said, “is filled with unhappiness, misery, and hatred.”

“Much depends on the road one takes,” I said.

“Few find their own way,” she said. “Most take the road they are told to take.”

“And few will try another,” I said.

“Herds,” she said, “ask no more than to be driven.”

“It seems so,” I said.

“Even if to the slaughter bench,” she said.

“There is profit in this, of course,” I said, “for those who drive the herds.”

“I do not think the men of Gor herd,” she said.

“No,” I said, “it is not in their culture.”

“The men of Earth herd,” she said.

“Not all of them,” I said.

“Where are the masters?” she asked, bitterly.

“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.

“Where are the slaves?”

“Here and there, doubtless,” I said.

“I knew none,” she said.

“You may have,” I said. “You may have known women who, unbeknownst to yourself, and concealed from the world, were their master’s slave, even to nudity, the whip, and collar.”

She lay back, her shoulder against my thigh.

“Master has a slave, Asperiche,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I hate her,” she said.

“It is not your concern,” I said.

“Is she better than Laura?” she asked.

“A thousand times,” I said.

“I find that hard to believe,” she said.

“Oh?” I said.

“You did not follow her from Brundisium, into the labors and dangers of the northern woods,” she said. “You did not risk your life to pursue her in the forest!”

“It is growing late,” I said.

“What is Laura to you?” she asked.

“No more than a foolish slave, a capture, to be returned to the Pani,” I said.

“After what you have done to me?” she said. “After what you have made me feel?”

“You are a slave,” I observed.

“I hate you,” she wept.

“You are, of course,” I said, “a nicely curved piece of collar meat.”

“Can she lick the whip as well as Laura?” she asked. “Can she belly and crawl as well as Laura? Are her lips as warm, and begging, on your thigh as those of Laura?”

I was silent.

“I am sure she is very nice,” she said.

“She is hot, and lovely,” I said.

“But perhaps not the slave for you,” she said.

“A slave is a slave,” I said. “They are interchangeable.”

“Master has the advantage over me,” she said.

“How is that?” I asked.

“A slave,” she said, “must tell the truth.”

“I see,” I said.

“Is that why one slave sells for more than another, why one slave’s price might purchase a ship, and another a wooden bowl and spoons, why one slave is bartered for a city, and another for a she-tarsk, why one girl is purchased to be chained at the foot of a Ubar’s throne and another to carry water in the fields or quarries?”

“Kneel, turn about, put your head to the leaves,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

She did not sound displeased.

“You obey promptly and well, Earth woman,” I said.

“I am no longer an Earth woman,” she said. “I am now a Gorean slave.”

“You are far from the aisle of that great emporium where I first saw you,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Did you expect to find yourself one day as you are now?” I asked.

“No, Master,” she said.

“But you are now here, as you are,” I said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I then put her to my pleasure.