Gor - Witness Of Gor Part 118

"You know why you were sold to Treve, of course," he said.

"No," I said.

"Anyone with similar properties would have done," he said, "but it was you whom they purchased."

I lay on the stones, looking at the ceiling above me.

"They wanted one to attend upon a prisoner, one who would be utterly ignorant of the affairs of our world, one who could be depended upon to innocently and naively discharge the duties of a keeper, relieving free men of that responsibility, thus, too, enabling the contacts with the prisoner to be the better limited, particularly those of free persons, one who would be unlikely to have any relations.h.i.+p, either before the collar or after it, with the parties in question, one who, a slave, would be completely within the power of the authorities, one who could not, rationally, be expected to partic.i.p.ate in any way in the affairs in question, for example, in bargaining, in tendering or accepting bribes, and such."

He cast down the whip, into the straw. This frightened me. I would rather he had held to it.

"We have our sources of information," he said. "It has come to our attention that the prisoner has escaped. This was a long time ago. It seems almost certain he would seek to return to Ar.

His presence in the city could significantly alter matters.

Furthermore, there is some reason to believe that he may now be in the city."

I understood almost nothing of this.

"Strangely enough," he said, "it seems he is unaware of his own ident.i.ty, the result, I take it, of some trauma or injury. Further, perhaps in part due to the consequences of the aforesaid trauma or injury, he may no longer be easily recognizable. In short, at present, it seems he knows neither himself nor is he known by others."

He turned to face me.

"You, of course," he said, "could recognize him instantly, for you know him as he is now, from Treve."

I lay on the stones, frightened, bound.

"It is he who was Prisoner 41, in the corridor of nameless prisoners, in the pits of Treve. We have all this from the administration in Treve. Indeed, you are apparently one of the very few people who could recognize him, and the only one whose location we know."

He approached me, a step or two.

I rose to my knees, frightened. I pulled at the cords on my wrists.

"You might suggest, of course," he said, "that your life be spared, that you might identify this fellow for us, the party of Cos, that we might then repair the oversight of Treve, by removing him from the picture, but we have considered, and rejected, that possibility. As you are a slave, and he is a free man, you cannot be trusted to identify him. You would surely suspect that you would be marking him out for death.

You would then, presumably, pretend not to recognize him, even if you did. Too, you would be clever enough to know that your life might then be worthless, that either we, or those of Ar, learning of what you have done, and, in particular, as you are a slave, might deal with you summarily, and those of Ar rather unpleasantly. As a slave, too, you would know the penalties for bringing harm, either directly or indirectly, to a free person."

I shuddered.

"I see you do," he said.

"The danger then," he said, "is that you might identify him for others, for those favorable to the cause of Ar. The underground in Ar, you see, the resistance to the occupation, in particular, a band of brigands, the Delka Brigade, mostly veterans of the campaign in the delta of the Vosk, must not locate him. He could be used, you see, even in his current state, as a rallying point for resistance."

I recalled the man in the garden, and his questions, which had frightened me so. I doubted that he was in league with the Cosians.

"Accordingly," he said, "given the information at our disposal, and your putative location, I have been sent to Ar to preclude that possibility."

Then I rose, unsteadily, to my feet. I backed away from him.

"There is no escape for you," he said.

I felt the wall behind me.

"It was for this purpose," I asked, "that you had me at your feet, begging use?"

"I have wanted you there, begging use," he said, "for a long time."

"I had thought," I said, "that when you had come here, looking for me, that you might care for me."

"I hate you," he said.

"Or," I said, "that even if you hated me, that you wanted me, that you desired me, that you would have me at your feet, helplessly subject in all things to your imperious will."

"You may scream, if you wish," he said, "but it will not be heard. You may run about, if you wish, but it will do you no good."

I regarded him, in misery.

"Kneel here," he said, pointing to a place at his feet.

Obediently, helplessly, I approached him and, cold and numb, knelt before him.

"Put your head back," he said.

I did so.

"Farther," he said.

I complied.

I felt his hand in my hair, holding my head back, painfully. I saw the movement of his arm.

Then I saw the blade, removed from his sheath, held before my face. I recalled how easily it had parted the cords on my ankles.

"Do you wish to say anything?" he asked.

"You are my master," I said. "I love you."

"You lie to the end," he said.

"I do not lie to my master," I said.

I felt his hand tighten in my hair. My head was pulled back, farther. I heard the blade touch the collar, beneath it. Then I felt its edge, like a fine, hard line, at my throat. I closed my eyes.

He suddenly cried out in rage and drew the knife away.

He leaped to his feet and, in fury, fled to the other side of the room.

He threw down the knife.

He struck the wall with his fists.

I collapsed to the stones, scarcely believing myself alive.

"How absurd," he cried, in anger, "to love a slave!"

"Master?" I said.

He spun about. "Yes!" he cried. "I love you, you worthless s.l.u.t, you meaningless thing! I have loved you, madly, insanely, uncontrollably, recklessly, violently, from the first moment I saw you!"

"Master," I breathed, unable to believe my ears.

"Yes!" cried he. "Call me 'Master'! It is fitting, for you are a slave, and will never be other than that!"

"Yes, Master!" I said.

"You are no more than a branded s.l.u.t, no more than meaningless, worthless collar meat!" he cried.

"Yes, Master!" I cried.

"You are unworthy to be a free woman!"

"I hope so, Master," I said.

"What?" he cried.

"-I hope so, Master," I whispered.

"Slave," he sneered.

"Yes, Master," I said. "It is true. That is what I am."

"Disgusting!" he said.

"No!" I cried. "No!"

"Do you dare speak back to me?" he cried.

"With master's permission!" I cried.

"You will never be a free woman!" he said.

"Nor do I wish to be a free woman!" I said. "I have been free! I know what it is like! I am content to be a slave, and wish to be a slave! I am fulfilled in bondage, in ways that you, a man, or some men, may never understand! Oh, yes, you enslave us for your gratifications and pleasures, you monsters, you beasts! But what you do not know is that we love our bonds, and our belonging, and our being owned, and being helplessly subject to the magnificence, the glories, even to the whip, of your total, uncompromised mastery of us!

Do you not know we want men to be strong, and our masters? Let the twisted and hormonally deficient conceal their seekings of power under the pratings of rhetorics. Let others of us who long to love and serve, and obey, and be desired, dream of masters!-yes masters!-our masters!"

He looked down upon me, and I realized that these things to him, a man of Gor, were not that strange.

He knew something of our needs.

He was not a stranger to the nature of females.

"I am a slave," I whispered.

"It is well known to me that you are a slave-legally," he said. "I can see the collar, the brand."

"It is more than that," I wept. "I am a slave inwardly, in my need, and in my love, and in my nature! It is what I am! Despise me for it, if you wis.h.!.+ I am a natural slave, a rightful slave, and here, on this world, in my collar, I have found myself at last! Hate me! Hold me in contempt!

But I am a slave, and I love being a slave! I love it! I love it! Do not try to force me to be what you want me to be! Rather accept me for what I want to be, and am!-one who knows she belongs at the feet of men!-and desires to be at the feet of men!-their slave!-their loving slave!"

"I do not understand myself," he said.

"Master?"

"How could I care for you?"

"It is my hope that you do, at least a little, my master."

"You are no more than an Earth s.l.u.t, a barbarian!"

"Yes, Master," I said. "Forgive me, Master!"

"The lowest of the low," said he.

"Yes, Master," I said, "Forgive me, Master!"

"You are not even of Gor!" he cried.

"I have been brought to Gor," I said. "I have been collared here, and made a slave here!

Surely now I am of Gor! How could I be more of Gor, than as a Gorean slave girl, hoping like other Gorean slave girls to be found pleasing by her master?"

"You do have a beautiful face," he said, "perhaps the most beautiful I have ever seen, and you have a quick wit, and a luscious feminine mind, and superb slave curves, a body that drives me mad with desire, and your responses would shame those of a she-sleen in heat."

"It seems the slavers knew their business, Master," I smiled.

"We do," he said, "slave."

"Do not treat me as might a man of Earth a woman of Earth," I begged.

"Treat me rather as a man of Gor a woman whom he owns-one whom he will well master."

He glared down at me.

"Please take me not as you would have me, but as I am."

"You are a slave," he said.

"And I rejoice that I am, Master."