Gor - Witness Of Gor Part 121

"I love you," I said.

"You are prepared to die, for having been disobedient?" he asked.

"Yes, Master," I said.

He regarded me.

It occurred to me that if he slew me, he would, in this way, fulfill his orders. What would it matter to his superiors how it was that I came to be slain? "Strike," he said.

"No," I said. "Forgive me, Master."

"There is no other way," he said.

"But there is another way, Master," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"This!" I cried, and lifted the knife, it held in both hands, and turned it toward my own breast. I closed my eyes. I plunged the blade toward me.

But it never reached my heart for his mighty hands, moving like lightning, seized my wrists.

I cried out with pain, helpless in that grip. The knife fell to the stones. "Little fool!" he cried. He pulled me to my feet by the wrists, and regarded me, fiercely, and then forced me back down, on my knees, before him.

"Hear me!" he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You may not take your own life," he said. "I forbid it."

"Yes, Master," I said, frightened.

He then threw me to the stones, angrily, before him. He reached down and retrieved the dagger, which he replaced in its sheath. He then threw the sheath and belt to the side. He picked up his cloak, and dropped it down, beside me.

"Keep your head down," he said.

I dared then not lift my head.

"Why did you not kill me?" he asked.

"Because I love you," I said.

"Even though you knew your failure to obey could cost you your own life?"

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," he said.

"I would rather die than injure you," I said.

"Why?" he asked.

"I am master's slave," I said.

He crouched down beside me and, with his fingers, lifted my chin, and looked deeply, inquiringly, into my eyes. Then I averted my eyes, for it was hard for me to look into the eyes of my master.

"What sort of slave are you?" he asked.

"Master, please!" I begged.

"Speak," he said.

"I confess myself master's love slave," I whispered.

"My love slave?" he said.

"Yes, my master," I said. "I know that you may not care for me. I know that you may despise me, that you may hate me. But it does not matter. I do not care. As worthless as my love may be, that of a meaningless slave, know that it is yours, unstintingly, irreservedly, all of it. It is yours, entirely. I am your love slave."

He lifted up the cloak, and put it about my shoulders.

I looked up at him, through tears.

"I am unworthy to be loved," he said. "I have betrayed my honor. I have not obeyed my orders."

"Is it well that the entire world should fall into the hands of Lurius of Jad?" I asked. "Is he not mad? Is he not a tyrant?"

"He is my ubar," he said.

"Honor," I said, "has many voices, and many songs."

He looked down at me, startled. "That is a saying of warriors," he said. "It is from the codes.

It is a long time since I have heard it. I had almost forgotten it.

Where did you, a slave, hear it?"

"In Treve," I said.

"A den of thieves!" he said.

I did not respond. Who knows within what houses may be heard the voices of honor? Who knows within what walls may be heard her songs? "I do not think we can leave the city," he said. "We have no pa.s.ses."

"We must then remain here," I said.

"For those of the black caste to come, to kill us?"

"It would seem so, Master," I said.

"He who was Prisoner 41, in the Corridor of Nameless Prisoners, in the pits of Treve, may be in the city," he said.

I recalled the peasant. That seemed unlikely. How could any man have survived in the mountains, alone, for most practical purposes unarmed. Too, what difference could it make, really, if he were in the city, a mere peasant? "You could recognize him, if you saw him?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"We must try to escape from the city," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"I wonder if I should keep you," he said.

I threw off the cloak and flung myself naked to his feet. I held to his ankles. I pressed my lips to his feet.

"Please keep me, Master!" I begged.

"I must guard against weakness," he said.

I kissed his feet.

"You are dangerous," he said. "It is the soft foes who are most dangerous."

"I am not your foe, Master," I said.

"I wonder," said he, musingly.

"Do not fear me, Master," I said.

"You cannot help what you are," he said. I licked and kissed at his feet.

"Still," said he, "the problem is not at all insoluble."

"Yes, Master," I murmured.

"Women such as you prove to be exquisitely pleasing," he said.

"Yes, Master," I whispered.

"Subject, of course, to the proper controls, and handling."

"Yes, Master," I said.

"Do you think your life with me would be easy?" he asked.

"No, Master," I said.

"You realize that it is likely that I will be sought, and slain, and that you, too, if you are with me, would share that fate?"

"Yes, Master," I said.

"You may now leave," he said.

"Master?" I said.

"I give you one last chance," he said, "to leave this place, to fall into the hands of another."

"Keep me," I begged.

He looked down at me.

"It is what you wish, truly?" he asked.

"Yes, Master!" I said.

"Very well," he said.

"Thank you, Master!" I said.

But his eyes seemed now stern.

Suddenly I was no more than a frightened slave.

"Master?" I said.

"You have had your opportunity to elude my clutches," he said quietly, evenly. "You did not avail yourself of it."

I looked up at him, frightened.

"It is now too late," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.

"To all fours," said he, "and face away!"

I complied, frightened.

"Strictly," he said, "you have not been entirely pleasing this afternoon."

"How have I displeased my master?" I asked.

I heard the whip removed from the table.

I did not dare look back.

"You were ordered to strike me, to slay me, and you did not do so."

I was silent.

"That was disobedience," he said.

"Yes, Master," I said.