Mercenaries of Gor

"No," I said. "But then you are not the sort of woman who is to be treated with respect. You are a collared slave."

"I wait for my master," she whispered.

"I do not think, now, given the recent confirmation of these insights in you, you will have to wait long for your rightful chains, but, in the meantime, you will serve the customers in the Tu

"The customers!" she wept.

"Yes," I said, and then I turned her over, putting her again on her belly on the mat.

"Oh!" she said.

"Yes, the customers," I said, "of whom I am one."

"Yes, Master!" she said. "Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!"

"Excellent," I said.

I saw that her fingernails had scratched at the mat. I put my hand on the mat, near her face. The mat was damp there, from tears.

"Master well knows how to use a slave," she said.

"You yielded well," I said.

"I ca

"And only that?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I gently parted her hair, putting it delicately on either side of her neck. In this way I could see the collar on her neck, and the small, sturdy lock at the back of the neck.

"I wonder who truly loves himself, and women," she whispered, "he who is so true to himself and his nature, refusing to deny it or pretend it doesn't exist, and who fulfills women, as what they really are, or he who betrays himself, who lies to himself and who denies the true needs of women?

"It is true," I said. "There are two sexes, and they are quite different." "Is that not heresy, for a man of Earth, to say that?" she asked.

"This is Gor," I said. I pulled at her collar a little. "Are you not aware of that, slave?" "Yes, Master," she said. "I am aware of it."

"In a world where nature is free, a world not subjected to ideological poisonings, a world where she is not crippled, and hobbled," I said, "what is the place of women?"

"At the feet of men, Master," she said.

"And where are you, Louise?" I asked.

"At the feet of men," she said.

"Such does not prove, of course," I said, "that Gor is the ideal world, but it does indicate that Gor possesses at least one feature of the ideal world." "Yes, Master," she said.

"To be sure," I said, "it is not unknown for females, free women, of course, to seek power."

"Such pursuits, to me," she said, "seem disgusting and u

"Why not?" I asked.

"For then we ca

"Yes," I said, "but then you, of course, are a slave."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are not a free woman,"

"No, Master," she said.

"That makes a great difference," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"They do much what they please," I said, "even if its ultimate objective is clearly the subversion of nature, involving the reduction and debilitation of an entire sex, a sex crime than which, it seems, none could be more heinous." "How filled with hate they must be," she said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Unable to be men," she said, "they try to destroy them. In this they fail also to be women."

"Perhaps," I said. "I do not know."

"They will attempt to use law," she said, "using men against men, using them as their dupes and tools, until the last man can be destroyed."

"That seems the intent," I said. "It is not even well concealed."

"No, Master," she said.

"It is an interesting concept," I said, "that legislation could be passed against manhood, that nature can be dismissed with a statute, that her reality and aristocracy can be declared illegal. Surely there is some sort of category confusion here. Laws ca

"What happened?" she asked.

"He got wet," I said. "To be sure, he may have ordered the waves beaten, but, as far as we know, the ocean failed to take note of this."

"At least he moved before he was drowned," she said.

"Let us hope that all kings, however stupid they may be, would have that much sense at least."

"Surely they would," she said.

"Not necessarily," I said. "If they are sufficiently stupid, and sufficiently strongly conditioned, closing their minds to options, and such, they might remain right where they were, proceeding righteously to a watery grave. Such things are not unknown. Many people have given their lives for absurdities. Some are called heroes."

"Surely at least some of them were idiots," she said.

"That might seem a juster appraisal, scientifically," I admitted. "Still one might regret the tragedy involved, even in the case of the idiot."

"Yes, Master," she said.

I stood up. "Master is leaving?" she asked.

I brushed her waist and flank with my foot. She shrank back a bit, on her belly, to the side. Women are so inutterably beautiful. I then put my foot on her, and let her feel a little of my weight, but not much. I then thrust down a bit, and stepped away from her. It had been an admiring, spurning caress. She lay there, the chain on her neck, on the mat. "I am through with you now," I said. "The hostess will soon come to unchain you, and send you back to your waiting station. The key is on its nail."

"And thus you leave me?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. I glanced over at the nearby table. The fellow who had been unconscious there, the free woman, the Lady Tutina, now chained half naked at his slave ring, she still unconscious, was showing some signs of reviving. "Master!" said the girl.

"Remain on your stomach until unchained." I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

I then stepped away from her, looking about myself. I had received a note to come to this place. I had waited, but no one, it seemed, had attempted to make contact. There could, of course, be various reasons for this. I did not think, however, that among these reasons would have been the inability to recognize me. Presumably the individual, or individuals, would be familiar with my appearance, either from the plaza near the Central Cylinder or from a description. This made it seem plausible, then, as they had not yet contacted me, that their business with me might be of a clandestine nature. One might think then in terms of the possible transmission of secret information, or, perhaps more likely, of the enterprise of the assassin, the covert business of unsheathed daggers.

I looked about. I did not think there would be more than two of them. I considered the openings to the Tu

I walked past the waiting station. The only girl there now, the only one not now on a chain, this testifying to the traffic of the house, was Birsen, the brown-haired girl who seemed as though she could have been a fashion model on Earth, "head down," I said. Immediately, kneeling, she put her head to the floor, the palms of her hands, too, resting on it. It is pleasant to own and master women. Too, it is correct to do so. Bondage is merely an institutional recognition and formalization of the proper and natural relationship between the sexes. In a moment I had come to the low opening of the Al-Ka Tu