Gor - Raiders Of Gor Part 2

There was an angry cry of confirmation from the group, mutterings, shots of agreement.

Ho-Hak once again sat down on the curved sh.e.l.l of the great Vosk sorp, that sh.e.l.l that served him as a throne in this domain, an island of rence in the delta of the Vosk.

"What is to be done with me?" I asked.

"Torture him for festival," suggested the fellow with the headband of pearls of the Vosk sorp.

Ho-Hak ears lay flat against the side of his head. He looked evenly at the fellow. "We are not of Port Kar," said he.

The man with the headband shrugged, looking about. He saw that his suggestion had not met with much enthusiasm. This, naturally, did not displease me. He shrugged again, and looked down at the woven surface of the island.

"So," I asked, "what is to be my fate?"

"We did not ask you here," said Ho-Hak. "We did not invite you to cross the line of the blood mark."

"Return to me my belongings," I said, "and I shall be on my way and trouble you no longer."

Ho-hak smiled.

The girl beside me laughed, and so, too, did the man with the headband, he who had not been able to bend the bow. Several of the others laughed as well.

"Of custom," said Ho-Hak, "we give those we capture who are of Port Kar a choice."

"What is the choice?" I asked.

"You will be thrown bound to the marsh tharlarion, of course," said Ho-Hak.

I paled.

"The choice," said Ho'Hak, "is simple." He regarded me. "Either you will be thrown alive to the march tharlarion or, if you wish, we will kill you first."

I struggled wildly against the marsh vine, futilely. The rence growers, without emotion, watched me. I fought the vine for perhaps a full Ehn. Then I stopped.

The vine was tight. I knew I had been perfectly secured. I was theirs. The girl beside me laughed, as did the man with the headband, and certain of the others.

"There is never any trace of the body," said Ho-Hak.

I looked at him.

"Never," he said.

Again I struggled against the vine, but again futilely.

"It seems to easy that he should die so swiftly," said the girl. "He is of Port Kar, or would be of that city."

"True," said the fellow with the headband, he who had been unable to bend the bow. "Let us toture him for festival."

"No," said the girl. She looked at me with fury. "Let us rather keep him as a miserable slave."

Ho-Hak looked up at her.

"Is that not a sweeter vengeance?" hissed she. "that rightless he should serve the Growers of Rence as a beast of burden?"

"Let us rather throw him to the tharlarion," said the man with the headband of the pearls of the Vosk sorp. "That way we shall be rid of him."

"I say," said the blondis girl, "let us rather shame him and Port Kar as well.

Let him be worked and beaten by day and tethered by night. Each hour with labors, and whips and thongs, let us show him our hatred for Port Kar and those of that city!"

"How is it," I asked the girl, "that you so hate those of Port Kar?"

"Silence, Slave!" she cried and thrust her fingers into the ropes about my neck, twisting her hand. I could not swallow, nor breathe. The faces about me began to blacken. I fought to retain consciousness.

Then she withdrew her hand.

I gasped for breath, choking. I threw up on the mat. There were cries of disgust, and derision. I felt the p.r.o.ngs of marsh spears in my back.

"I say," said he with the headband, "let it be the marsh tharlarion."

"No," I said numbly. "No."

Ho-hak looked at me. He seemed surprised.

I, too, found myself stunned. It had seemed the words had scarcely been mine.

"No, No," i said again, the words again seeming almost those of another.

I began to sweat, and I was afraid.

Ho-Hak looked at me, curiously. His large ears leaned toward me, almost inquisitively.

I did not want to die.

I shook my head, clearing my eyes, fighting for breath, and looked into his eyes.

"You are of the warriors," said Ho-Hak.

"Yes," I said. "I know, yes."

I found I desperately wanted the respect of this calm, strong man, he most of all, be once a slave, who sat before me on the throne, that sell of the giant Vosk sorp.

"The teeth of the tharlarion," said he, "are swift, Warrior."

"I know," I said.

"If you wish," said he, "we will slay you first."

"I," I said, "I do not want to die."

I lowered my head, burning with shame. Im my eyes in that moment it seemed I had lost myself, that my codes had been betrayed, Ko-ra-ba my city dishonored, even the lbade I had carried soiled. I could not look Ho-hak again in the eyes. In their eyes, and in mine, I could now be nothing, only a slave.

"I had thought the better of you," said Ho-Hak. "I had thought you were of the warriors."

I could not speak to him.

"I see now," said Ho-Hak, "you are indeed of Port Kar."

I could not raises my head, so shamed I was. It seemed I could never lift my head again.

"Do you beg to be a slave?" asked Ho-hak. The question cruel, but fair.

I looked at Ho-Hak, tears in my eyes. I saw only contempt on that broad, calm face.

I lowered my head. "Yes," I said. "I beg to be a slave."

There was a great laugh from those gathered about, and, too, in those peals of merriment I heard the laugh of he who wore the headband of the pearls of the Vosk sorp, and most bitter to me of all, the laugh of contempt of the girl who stood beside me, her thigh at my cheek.

"Slave," said Ho-Hak.

"Yes," said I, "a"Master." The word came bitterly to me. But a Gorean slave addresses all free men as Master, all free women as Mistress, though, of course, normally but one would own him.

There was further laughter.

"Perhaps now," said Ho-Hak, "we shall throw you to the tharlarion."

I put down my head.

There was more laughter.

To me, at that moment, it seemed I cared not whether they chose to throw me to the tharlarion or not. It seemed to me that I had lost what might be more precious than my life itself. How could I face myself, or anyone? I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death.

I was sick. I was shamed. It was true that they might now throw me to tharlarion. According to Gorean custom a slave is an animal, and may be disposed of as an animal, in whatever way the master might wish, whenever he might please. But I was sick, and I was shamed, and I could not now, somehow, care. I had chosen ignominious bondage to the freedom of honorable death.

"Is there anyone who wants this slave?" I heard Ho-Hak asking.

"Give him to me, Ho-Hak," I heard. It was the clear, ringing voice of the girl who stood beside me.

There was a great laughter, and rich in that humiliating thunder was the snort of the fellow who wore the headband, that formed of the pearls of the Vosk sorp.

Strangely I felt small and nothing beside the girl, only chattel. How straight she stood, each inch of her body alive and splendid in her vigor and freedom.

And how worthless and miserable was the beast, the slave, that knelt, naked and bound, at her feet.

"He is yours," I heard Ho-Hak say.

I burned with shame.

"Bring the past of rence!" cried the girl. "Unbind his ankles. Take these ropes from his neck."

A woman left the group to bring some rence paste, and two men removed the marsh vine from my neck and ankles. My wrists were still bound behind my back.

In a moment the woman had returned with a double handful of wet rence paste.

When fried, on flat stones it makes a kind of cake, sprinkled with rence seeds.

"Open you mouth, Slave," said the girl.

I did so and, to the amus.e.m.e.nt of those watching, she forced the wet past into my mouth.

"Eat it," she said. "Swallow it."

Painfully, almost retching, I did so.

"You have been fed my your Mistress," she said.

"I have been fed by my Mistress," I said.

"What is your name, Slave?" asked she.

"Tarl," said I.

She struck me savagely across the mouth, flinging my head to one side.

"A slave has no name," she said.

"I have no name," I said.

She walked about me. "Your back is broad," she said. "You are strong, but stupid." She laughed. "I shall call you Bosk," she said.

The Bosk is a large, horned, shambling ruminant of the Gorean plains. It is herded below the Gorean equator by the Wagon Peoples, but there are Bosk herds on ranches in the north as well, and peasants often keep some of the animals.

"I am Bosk," I said.

There was laughter.

"My Bosk!" she laughed.

"I should have thought," said he with the headband, formed of the pearls of the Vosk sorp, "that you might have preferred a man for a slave, one who is proud and does not fear death."

The girl thrust her hands into my hair and threw back my head. Then she spat in my face. "Coward and slave!" she hissed.

I dropped my head. It was true what she had said. I had feared death. I had chosen slavery. I could not be a true man. I had lost myself.

"You are worthy only to be the slave of a woman," said Ho-Hak.

"Do you know what I am going to do with you?" asked the girl.

"No," I said.