Quarry of gor, p.41
Quarry of Gor, page 41
Too, I had work to do, within the Ahn, in the laundry. I would not care to be late and face the First Girl’s switch.
“I do not think so, Master,” I had said. “I beg to be excused.”
I had shortly thereafter found myself leashed and braceleted, and following him down steep, ill-lit, narrow stairs. Save for the wine cellars, I knew little about the chambers or passages below the house. They were not such, as I noted earlier, as to invite or encourage exploration.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Observation Panel
My hands were still braceleted behind my back, but the leash had been released, and it dangled before me, occasionally touching my breasts or a thigh.
Florian was some two yards before me.
He had slowed his pace, doubtless because of the footing.
I stifled a scream as something, small and furtive, scurried by, claws scratching on the stones.
“Do not be concerned,” said Florian. “It is a tiny urt. You have little to fear from such quick, ugly, little things unless you are bound helplessly and left for their attentions.”
The stones of the passageway were damp beneath my feet. Occasionally I stepped to one side, to avoid puddles. The passage, well below the house, was lit no better than the stairs, only a small tharlarion-oil lamp every few yards. The air here was damp and musty.
Then Florian stopped before a stout, wooden door.
“We will observe from within this chamber,” he said.
He entered, and I followed, after which he closed and bolted the door. The room was lit by another small tharlarion-oil lamp.
I was apprehensive that he had bolted the door. What woman, even a slave, would not be? As he was of the household, he was as master to me, but he was not my legal master. Ho-Tosk of Port Kar, proprietor of the Golden Chain, was my legal master.
I did not know what I was doing in this small, dank, closed-in place. He had spoken of something which was to begin soon, something which I might be interested in watching.
I should be at the laundry.
The door had been bolted.
One gathered he did not wish to be disturbed.
He turned to face me.
Had his words been a pretext to get me to this place? That seemed unlikely. Surely I was on the “girl roster.”
Was there actually something which was to begin shortly?
Perhaps so.
Might he amuse himself while waiting?
Was I to be put to use?
I did not know.
Sometimes it pleases the masters to have us beg use.
If I were ordered to beg use, I would do so, of course. I would have no choice.
How different was this world from my former world! How often I had, on my former world, subtly hinting the prospect of favors I had no intention of bestowing, been escorted to expensive clubs for dining and dancing, following which, returned to my apartment, I would, given my escort’s hopes or expectations, feign surprise or shock, and even rage. I had had my evening. Why should I pay for it? Later, alone in my apartment, I was much satisfied. I would congratulate myself on my cleverness. I received much pleasure, much gratification, from such behaviors. How stupid and foolish were such males! How easy it was to make fools of them! But now I was at the mercy of men. Now I was on Gor, in a collar!
A slave need not be ordered to beg use. More often we are ordered not to beg use, as the master has no time for us. I wonder if they understand the torment of our needs.
“We shall watch something together,” said Florian. “You, in particular, should find it of interest.”
“I should be at the laundry,” I said.
He went to a side of the chamber and slid back a small, narrow, rectangular metal plate.
“Come here,” he said. “Look through the aperture and tell me what you see.”
I went to the aperture. “We are apparently above the next level,” I said. “I look down into another chamber. It is much better lit than this one.”
“Describe the chamber,” he said.
“It is large, but empty,” I said. “To one side is what appears to be a sunken pool. To the side of the pool there is a metal fire basket, lit, with its wooden-handled heating tray. Near the fire basket is a box. Something is on the box, perhaps envelopes or papers. It is hard to tell. Toward the center of the room is a metal holding pole with a belly chain and wrist shackles.”
I then turned about, to face him.
“Open your mouth, widely,” he said.
I sank to my knees before him, complying.
“Get up,” he said. “Who told you to kneel?”
I looked up at him, puzzled. I could not speak for my mouth was open, widely. I had not been given permission to close it. I pulled at my wrists, braceleted behind me.
“Get up,” he said. “How vain you are. Do you think you are in an alcove at the Golden Chain? Do you truly think I would be interested in allowing myself to be served by so inferior a slave and slut as you, only another worthless Golden-Chain girl?”
I struggled to my feet, keeping my mouth open, widely. Once again I was aware of his seemingly inexplicable animosity toward the Golden Chain, and its slaves. Surely the Golden-Chain girls were amongst the loveliest and most helplessly responsive slaves in Port Kar. That reputation was ours, at any rate, and I did not doubt but what it was well founded. The tavern was popular and often crowded. Our girls were often thonged and sent to an alcove. And surely I, amongst them, had wept for more, and begged for more, many times, in my chains in one or another of the tavern’s alcoves. I recalled that he had said that another wanted me, but would tell me no more. Was that why he had never put me to his pleasure? Was that why he was not putting me to his pleasure now? But, if so, who wanted me? As a slave, I knew that anyone who wanted me might have me. I need only be bought. But who wanted me? Florian, the beast, would not tell me. Did I know him, had I ever seen him before? Was it someone who had merely looked upon me, whom I had never seen? How vulnerable and helpless are slaves!
A wadding was thrust in my mouth and held in place by straps, these cinched behind the back of my neck. Alarm must have shown in my eyes.
“You are to observe, Golden-Chain girl,” said Florian. “You are to do so in absolute silence. You are not to cry out, you are not to speak.”
He then, by the leash, drew me to the opened observation panel. There were two rings near the bottom of the aperture, one on the left, one on the right, fixed in the stone. He threaded the leash through the left ring, pulled it tight, and fastened it in such a way that my head was held in place, at the opened observation panel. In this way, I could not draw away from the panel, even should I wish to do so.
“It will begin, shortly,” said Florian, coming to stand beside me, to my right.
At that moment, from somewhere, below, in some passageway, I heard a long, wild, wailing woman’s scream. A few moments later a door, below, was thrust open. “No! No!” I heard, a woman’s voice. “What is the meaning of this? Let me go! Free me! What are you going to do? Stop! Stop!”
One of the guards entered, one I recognized from the canal boat, carrying Dorna in his arms. Her body was wrapped tightly, from ankles to throat in several layers of gray cloth. In this wrapping, she could barely squirm. It was fastened about her by what seemed numberless loops of coarse rope. There was a light sheen about the wrappings, the blankets, sheets, or whatever they might be. It reflected the fire light in a way unfamiliar to me, certainly not like common rep-cloth, a cheap, common material often used for the garmenting of slaves. It did not occur to me immediately, but I conjectured, a moment later, given the terror of Dorna, and the situation below me, the fire, the pole, the pool, and such, what must be occurring. I wanted, desperately, to pull away from the ring to which I was fastened. I regarded the material in which Dorna was wrapped. It must have been treated, perhaps saturated, with some unusual substance or substances. In full daylight, I suspected it might have proved indistinguishable from common rep-cloth. Yet, I was sure, even then, that if one wore it, it would have had a different feel to it. There was, in any case, no mistaking the terror of Dorna. She may never have felt that feel on her body before, but she doubtless suspected its nature, and purpose. I tried to pull away from the ring but could not do so. “Steady, slut,” whispered Florian.
Two more men entered the room below, Miles, whom I knew from the holding, and he who had been the seeming officer on the canal boat, whom I shall refer to as “the officer.”
“Put her on her knees,” said the officer.
Swathed as she was, she knelt stiffly within the ropes and layers of material. Her arms were helpless within the swathing. She could not have spread her knees, even if commanded to do so. Tower slaves and free women commonly kneel with their knees together; pleasure slaves commonly kneel with their knees spread. In this way, they are more conscious of the nature of their slavery.
I recalled that a woman was supposedly more likely to tell the truth when she was on her knees. Perhaps this was because of a greater sense of vulnerability, which sense enhances the fear of punishment. Kneeling, of course, also induces a sense of helplessness. Too, it is a posture of submission, and thus appropriate for slaves. To me, as a natural slave, which I now knew myself to be, it felt right and proper to kneel. I loved to kneel. I knew I belonged on my knees before a master. I suppose many women feel they belong on their knees before a master. If they are slaves, is that not where they belong? How else can they be themselves and have their fulfillment? How I pitied the poor slave who has no master.
Dorna looked wildly about her. “It is not necessary to proceed further, noble masters,” she said. “I will speak volubly and honestly. I will tell you all you wish to know, freely and in detail. To be sure, this puts my life in mortal jeopardy. Thus I beg of you, but do not seek to bargain, that you will have the mercy to sell me secretly far from Port Kar, that I will be spared the vengeance of those I am now ready to betray.”
“You,” said Miles, “though your neck is encircled with a collar, are an esteemed colleague of, and informed confidant of, Pa-Kur, of the Caste of Assassins.”
“Yes, Master,” said Dorna.
“And thus, you are privy to the most secret plans, programs, and schedules of Pa-Kur and his associates, particularly pertaining to possible designs having to do with this house?”
“Yes, Master,” said Dorna.
“Speak,” said the officer.
“Pa-Kur,” she said.
“Your master,” said the officer.
“Yes, my master, Pa-Kur,” she said, “has designs upon this house. I fear to speak, but must. He believes that somewhere in this house is a golden cup, worth perhaps two tarn disks of gold, of double weight. He hopes to take the cup as a trophy to the Black Court of Brundisium, that to prove his temerity and skill. He has enlisted two men to assist him in secretly entering this holding with the intention of locating, and absconding, with the cup.”
“Do you think you are a free woman?” inquired the officer.
“Master?” she said.
“Free women may lie,” said the officer. “Slaves may not.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“You have lied long enough,” he said. “Immerse her.”
“No!” she screamed, but the guard who had introduced her into the chamber, in his arms, lifted her and plunged her into the pool. He even, three or four times, held her head fully, briefly, under water. Then he drew her soaked figure dripping from the pool and laid her near the fire. Oddly enough, there was no great pool of water about her soaked figure. It was as though her tight, wrapped layers of sheeting, within the ropes, sucked the water into its fibers.
“Cut the ropes!” she screamed. “Free me! Now! Now! Tear away the cloths!”
“But you are bare within the layers,” said Miles.
“No, please!” she cried.
Her eyes were wild with terror. She struggled within her bonds. She tried to roll toward the feet of the officer, doubtless to press her lovely lips pleadingly upon his high, bootlike sandals, but the guard, interposing his own bootlike sandal, did not permit this. “Mercy, mercy!” she wept. “Take pity on a mere slave!”
“‘A mere slave’,” said Miles. “Interesting.”
“It will begin soon,” said the officer.
“Mercy, Masters!” begged Dorna.
Then she shrieked in horror. Even yards above the floor of the chamber, where Florian and I were at the observation panel, one could hear the crackling¸ the fierce whisper, of precipitating, interacting chemicals.
I was held at the observation panel, tightly, by the leash, fastened to the ring. I could not pull away. I wanted to cry out in misery and protest, but, the prisoner of a Gorean gag, could not do so. I jerked at the bracelets that held by hands pinioned behind my back. “Steady, worthless, well-formed she-tarsk,” said Florian. I turned my head piteously toward him, but he thrust my head, held by the hair, back to the panel. “Doubtless you have some sense of her torment,” said Florian, quietly. “Were you not yourself once clad in a tunic of fire? Fire cloth is interesting. I would not mind clothing one of your collar-sisters from the Golden Chain in such an attractive little outfit. Perhaps she might then learn to better please a paying customer. It might be pleasant to have her at my feet, weeping and begging to please me, in the way of what she is, a worthless, miserable slave.”
Florian then removed his hand from my hair.
“Look well,” he said.
Below, Dorna was writhing and screaming.
“After this,” said Florian, “she will be well primed for the powders.”
“It burns, Masters!” wept Dorna. “Have mercy! Beat me! Lash me! But free me of the ropes! Cut away the cloths! I beg it! It hurts! It hurts! It burns! It burns!”
“Perhaps you are now docile, and are prepared to be cooperative?” asked Miles.
“Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” she screamed.
“Be patient,” said Miles. “In a few Ehn the reactions will subside, and then cease.”
“Though the pain will linger for some time,” said the officer.
Well above the floor of the chamber below I could still hear the crackling from the cloths, though now it was less fierce.
I think Dorna then fell unconscious.
“Remove her impediments,” said the officer. “Put her at the pole, belly chain and high-wrist shackling.”
The guard then undid the swathing of ropes which had held the treated cloth so tightly about her body, and put her, kneeling, she held by Miles, at the pole, her back to the pole. The guard then cinched the belly chain about her, pulling her back, tightly, against the pole, and then drew her wrists up, high, over her head, and shackled them to the pole.
“I think she has slept long enough,” said the officer. “Awaken her.”
The guard went to the pool of water, and returned with a pan of water, which he dashed over her body.
She awakened, instantly, screaming, “Not water! Not water!” Then she struggled in the belly chain and shackles. Links of metal scraped the iron pole. As she was fastened, she could not rise to her feet.
“You need fear water no longer,” said the officer.
“She is a pretty little slave,” said Miles.
“Please do not speak of me so demeaningly,” she begged.
I recalled that she had once held a high position in Tharna, that of First, or Highest, Silver Mask, in the time of the Gynocracy.
“How is it now?” asked the officer.
“It still burns,” she said.
“But not so much,” he suggested.
“No,” she said. “Please give me clothing.”
“You are a slave, a beast, a domestic animal,” said the officer. “You are not entitled to clothing. Surely you know that.”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Perhaps you would be interested to know what is going to be done with you,” said the officer.
“Sell me secretly, far from Port Kar,” she begged.
“After we are done here,” said the officer, you will be sedated, and will sleep for several hours. “You will awaken in a disreputable part of the city. You will learn, presumably shortly thereafter, that the collar of a well-known, popular tavern, the Golden Chain, was put on your neck and that of Pa-Kur removed. You will also discover that you are clad in a tunic of the Golden Chain. You will be taken as a runaway slave and will be returned to the Golden Chain for punishment, and service.”
“‘Service’?” she said.
“That of a common paga girl.”
“No!” she cried.
“There you will better learn you are a slave,” he said, “waiting on masters, bringing them food and drink, and pleasing them, should they find you of interest, in the alcoves.”
I had little doubt that many would find her of interest.
“No, no!” she said. “I would be seen, tunicked and unveiled. Sooner or later, I would be recognized. My life would be forfeit. I have been in the power of enemies of Pa-Kur. He would find me and kill me!”
“We trust he will try,” said the officer.
“You are bait,” said Miles.
“Following your capture,” said the officer, “we anticipated that Pa-Kur and his cohorts would vanish, and it has proved so.”
“He has done you no harm,” said Dorna. “It would be unlawful to seize him.”
“He might be legitimately seized for the attempted destruction of property,” said the officer.
“Or its destruction,” said Miles.
“The destruction of what property?” said Dorna.
“You,” said Miles.
“Now, my dear,” said the officer, going to the box on which reposed some envelopes or packets, “it is time for you to tell us all about the secret plans of Pa-Kur.”
