Daughter of Gor by Olga Turlovna (Part Two)

Daughter of Gor

By Olga Turlovna

7 - I learn about the role of a free woman

“The outer veil fastens here, Mistress,” Tala says, lifting her hand to show me a discreet loop of cloth inside my hood. “The hook on the veil goes into the loop.”

She waits patiently while I fumble to secure the rectangle of cloth that covers the lower part of my face.

Silently I finish the task, and then let my hands fall to my sides, looking at my reflection in the full length mirror.

It’s not me there – it’s someone else. I see the image of Aurore of the Sardar, fully dressed as befits a free woman of Gor.

Throughout the robing process Tala has instructed me, but left me to complete the actions by myself. This is a wise decision. In the next few days I must learn to do many tasks as easily as if I’ve always been a woman, and dressing is just one of them.

The clothing I’ve put on is most reminiscent of the burqa worn by women in the Middle East, being intended to cover as much of the female body as possible, but the Gorean versions of the robes of concealment are heavier and even more elaborate than those for the deserts of Earth.

It doesn’t take long to discover they’re also highly impractical, so I pity my sisters who have endured this as part of my daily lives since girlhood. Heavy fabric means my arms and shoulders are already tired, and the layers wrapped around my lower legs restrict me from moving any faster than a waddle.

They’re hot to wear too – even here in the mountain air. When I reach the humid climate of the jungle regions this clothing will be torture.

Our mission hasn’t begun yet, and I can’t wait to be back on earth and dressing as I wish.

I’m not surprised that so many of Gor’s free women secretly crave slavery. The clothes that Tala wears would be liberation, compared to this. I’ve had a couple of hours in this garb and I’m relishing the moment I stand and stretch somewhere in a bikini.

I’m feeling irritable and petulant.

Gorean men have it easy. They wear loose clothes tied in a wrap, very similar to the Roman Legionaries or warriors of Ancient Greece. It was in clothing such as this that Aurius spent his day. I found the wrap comfortable and utilitarian, once I’d got used to the lack of underclothes.

As Aurore, life is nowhere near as pleasant.

I am covered almost completely, from the gloves on my hand to the slipper-like soft shoes on my feet. The robes cover my head, and reach down to my ankles.

The only part of my skin exposed is a letterbox rectangle around my eyes, and through this restricted opening I must view the world. It narrows my vision, and makes me feel even more vulnerable, unable to see anything in my periphery. Through this slot I have to regard my reflection, watching me silently in the mirror.

Tala stands next to me. I note that I am now only just taller than her.

I sigh, contemplating my fate as I study my reflection.

It’s no good. No amount of robes can disguise the fact that I’m a girl. And it’s not just that I’m slimly build.

We began dressing me by wrapping swaths of cloth tightly around my naked chest, like bandaging an Egyptian mummy, but all the wraps and all the layers of cloth I could carry were not enough to hide that I possess breasts.

My eyes are the worst giveaway, though, the most feminine quality on display, and as the only area of exposed flesh these windows on the soul will draw the most attention.

They’re larger than those on a man’s face, tempering the natural strength of character with an air of vulnerability. As if my femininity couldn’t condemn me any further, I seem to naturally hold my eyes wider open, giving me a pleading look that is intensely seductive. This quality is exaggerated further by my long thick lashes.

I’m dead meat looking like this – girl-bait.

What am I supposed to do?

“Damn,” I say softly in English to myself, making Tala look up, puzzled.

I touch the veil uncertainly with my gloved hand, making certain it is secure. This is not mere vanity – it is important for my safety.

Aurius could have walked around Gor with the sun on his features, but in many cities I can now be enslaved if this piece of cloth falls away, even accidentally.

I am veiled.

The touch of it on my mouth and chin is strange – I’ve never worn anything there before. It is lighter than the rest of the robes – the force of my breath is enough to make it ripple.

I am reminded that as a prelude to her capture, it is the custom for men to first tear away the girl’s veil. Goreans call this facestripping.

Despite being the likely future recipient of this treatment, I can still relate to their urge as I look at the mysterious girl in the mirror. The remaining masculine nature I have desires exposing the hidden beauty, as an assertion of my conquest.

“Hmm,” I say, vexed.

I’m clad in a way that hides and represses my sexuality, while goading men to forcibly take me. This clothing is as demeaning as the garments of slaves in many ways, and yet half the population are conditioned into dressing in this fashion.

“How long did you have to wear robes like this?” I ask Tala.

“More than ten years, Mistress,” she says. “I was robed from the first month I had bleeding, until the day I was captured.”

Captured... how different must she have been, back then when she was a free woman, compared to the slave girl humbly assisting me today. Would she have been vivacious and proud, or a lesser creature?

I think back to the events of this afternoon.

When I realised that Tala had been witness to my first orgasm inside Aurore of the Sardar, I was humiliated, expecting her to mock me or reveal my shame to Rorius. But when she entered my room as if nothing had occurred, I remembered our relative situations and understood the truth. Tala is a slave, and I am free.

She will not question my actions. As a free woman, it would be a simple matter for me to have her whipped just for entering the room at the wrong time. It is for her to be fearful of discovery, and not me.

And as my concern subsided, I considered something more.

Perhaps she discovered me in heat and waited sympathetically, understanding that I was trying to come to terms with my destiny. I wasn’t the first woman to control her fear of slavery by turning it into a secret fantasy, and I won’t be the last.

“How do I look?” I ask Tala, still staring at my hypnotic eyes.

“Like a free woman of Gor,” she answers simply.

“I want to go out,” I say abruptly, curious to see how a stranger would react to my appropriately-clad form.

Tala’s expression changes to one of worry.

“Forgive me Mistress, but Master Rorius instructed you to stay here until you were summoned,” Tala says humbly. “Although I cannot stop you leaving Mistress, I advise you remain here. Even in the Nest, you are safer with an escort.”

I feel a wave of despondency as I know she is right.

I look to the heavy wooden door of my room. It is the door to my prison cell. I will have to become very familiar with these walls before I leave the Sardar Mountains.

“What am I supposed to do?” I ask plaintively. “I can’t just stand here all day dressed like this.”

Her look is pitying. My situation is so bad that the slave girl feels sorry for the free woman.

“A woman’s life is waiting on the will of men, Mistress,” she says, “even if she is free. If you want to learn to live as a woman, Mistress should practice waiting.”

Everything Tala advises has wisdom. So that is what I do. I learn to wait.

I walk up and down, learning to move in Aurore’s body. My initial efforts had brought Tala to hysterical giggles, so I need the practice. She said I kept my legs apart like I was constipated.

I spend time reading the few books that have been left in my room, struggling with the strange Gorean script.

Tala kneels on a cushion, reading also. Occasionally she passes comment – change my posture; do not sit like that; hold my shoulders differently. She is coaching me to be a woman.

A book of poetry I discover is intensely erotic, themed around man’s conquest of woman, and despite my difficulties in the strange language I start to feel the flush of warmth return between my legs. I pause to close the book and rub my gloved finger along the spine of the volume, and I’m surprised to see the author’s name is Kurtz of Ar.

The chances of the poet and my target being different individuals is unlikely, surely?

I open the book again. I had visualised him as the brutal warrior, but there is more to Kurtz. How would a man such as this treat me, Aurore? Would I inspire a poem?

No visitors have come to me by the time night falls, and I do not want to be alone.

“Stay with me,” I plead to Tala, a free woman begging a slave.

She shakes her head.

“Free women do not couch with slaves, Mistress,” she says. “It is a dishonour.”

“I am not like other free women,” I say.

“Even so I cannot serve you in that way, Mistress,” she says. “It is forbidden to me. Besides, Tala will be chained at the bed of another tonight.”

I shouldn’t be surprised, but that news hits me hard. The girl I had sex with in my last night as a man will tonight lie with someone else.

I imagine her curving against their body, moving as she once did against me, and I feel a pang of loss. There is also jealously for this man who will enjoy her, when I cannot.

“What am I to do, Tala?” I ask, my voice getting higher.

She looks at me, as if considering taking a risk by speaking out of place.

“It is your destiny to be taken as slave, Mistress. In your dark time alone, perhaps you should prepare yourself for life as a kajira.”

I blush, wondering if she’s making reference to the earlier incident. An ordinary woman of Gor would have her whipped for the possibility of insolence.

My session of self-gratification had been a one-off – a moment of reward and experimentation before I embark on a regime worthy of a nun. If Rorius discovered Tala was advising making it a habit, he would certainly disapprove.

“I am to retain my male mind,” I say stubbornly. “I should not prepare for slavery.”

Tala shakes her head.

“Not preparing for slavery in that sense, Mistress,” she says, reddening a little.

“When young women come of age on Gor, the older women in their communities will teach them to submit. It is done in secrecy, passed down by word of mouth from mother to daughter, but it is done all the same. Submission may save a girl’s life, and slavery is better than death. If Mistress will not open her mind to her future, at least learn to kneel with your wrists crossed, as if offering yourself as slave.”

I have misunderstood her intentions.

“Will you show me what they teach?” I ask.

“Of course, Mistress,” Tala says. “My orders are to prepare you for life as a woman, and that is something a woman must know. It must be tomorrow, though.”

I can’t keep her in my rooms any longer. She bows to me and backs away, and I am left alone with my thoughts.

The evenings cool quickly in the Sardar Mountains, but my robes are still oppressively warm and heavy. I realise I’ll have no more visitors tonight, so I undress, taking some time to remove the many clips, pins and fastenings that make the robes of a free woman.

I am taking care to avoid damaging the garments, but I can’t help thinking how quickly they might be stripped were a man cutting them away from me. There is a flutter of fear in my belly.

Once I am nude, I return to watching myself in the mirror. The effect of Aurore’s reflection on me is almost hypnotic. Oh, this is a beautiful woman.

There is a glory and freedom in moving around naked as her. I marvel at the Priest King’s technology that transformed me from someone whose physical appearance was so mundane, to inhabiting flesh that’s such a prize she must be guarded and protected.

But is this a blessing or a curse?

This body has been gifted to me, and yet I have also lost something more than my manhood. Tala burned with slave heat for Aurius – I can still feel her against me, yet she avoids lying with Aurore. Even now she might be with someone else.

She will never love me, because she yearns to serve men. This is also my destiny, serving men. The only naked flesh to press against my own will be male.

Unbidden, her words come back to me, “prepare yourself for life as a kajira.”

In front of the mirror, I fall to my knees, watching myself.

I am not unfamiliar with the submission ritual of a Gorean female, taught by mother to daughter in the most private of moments. So I open my bare thighs, to deliberately flaunt Aurore’s womanhood.

The potential pleasure that might be taken my body could be all that saves my life, so it pays the female captive to make clear what’s on offer in exchange for mercy.

My ankles are tucked underneath me, heels pressing into my buttocks, keeping my back straight and making my rump look round and feminine.

Crossing my wrists in front of me I lift my arms above my head and extend them, in a position that both offers them to my captor for binding, and lifts my breasts pleasingly. Curving at the wrists, my hands point elegantly downwards.

If I was submitting for real I would be expected to lower my head, as a sign of humility and to offer the vulnerable back of my neck, but as I want to observe myself in the mirror, I keep my face raised.

It’s a graceful pose – almost like a ballet dancer. If the girl I can see offered herself to me, I’d bind her without hesitation, and I think most other men would behave the same way.

The woman in the mirror would undeniably make an exquisite slave. She can’t be me – she’s stunning.

My breathing is fast – breasts rise and fall, and I can see the muscles of Aurore’s belly defined when she inhales.

I notice my nipples are erect.

The sense of being the fragile, perfect, prize that I experience is frightening, and also thrilling. These emotions seem to take physical form, concentrating between my open legs in a tingling sense of warmth, and incompleteness that is becoming familiar.

Aurore of the Sardar is sexually aroused.

I admire her feminine hips; I admire at her long legs; her slim waist; her delicate features. She ignites my desire as a man would desire her, but there is a second level of pleasure from knowing myself to be this beautiful creature, and feeling the sensations from each nerve ending of her skin.

I had vowed not to touch myself again – Aurore is supposed to remain cold and chaste for the purposes of my mission, but temptation conquers me.

Last night I’d brought my new body to orgasm on my furs, lying on my front, but today I reach between my spread thighs and masturbate on my knees, so I can watch Aurore’s reactions the whole time.

I learn that in the throes of passion she looks no less beautiful; rather she betrays her desire by flushing a deeper pink. The pupils on her steel blue eyes dilate, and the lips of her labia swell, also changing to a deeper shade of pink.

When the crescendo of pleasure subsides I note that she has a slight sheen of sweat on her cream skin.

The erotic poetry of Kurtz mused about the power and the weakness there is in being a Gorean woman. As I groan as my breathing slows, I am inclined to agree with his opinion.

8 - Aurore enters Gorean society

“Perhaps I would like to visit your Urth,” the Lady Elveen informs me. “You say on your home world the women are more powerful than men, they move around without veils, and there are no slaves?”

A male voice comments before I have time to reply.

“I have heard much of the place. Their men are weak, and that means their women are unhappy. You would whither there, like a flower left in the desert.” It is Lady Elveen’s free companion Suruk, being gallant to her.

“There is some truth in what you say about the women of Urth,” I confirm in Aurore’s soft voice. “They have all this freedom, and yet many are unhappy. They are not as unhappy as Urth’s men, however.”

I’m being disingenuous. In truth I don’t actually know if Earth’s women are unhappy, but I’ve read this is the case in the western cultures obsessed with youth and beauty.

However I do not wish to give offence to these strangers by passing negative judgements on Gor, or get drawn into a conversation on the topic, so I comment vapidly on the pleasant furnishings in this room, drawing the discussion away.

Earth women might be unhappy, but all the same, Aurore intends to return to Earth as soon as she can. It hasn’t taken long to prove that the life of an Earth woman is much better than her Gorean counterpart, slave or free.

My new companions also know Aurore only as a woman. They know nothing of my past, and a lengthy debate on gender politics might betray my lack of female life experience.

All they see is lady Aurore, Aurore of the house of Rorius.

The master of that adoptive family is currently present in our group, watching me with the cold authority he’s wielded since I awoke inside my breath-taking new body.

In this loose unflattering clothing of concealment am draped head to foot, and yet under the constantly-watching eyes of the group Rorius still makes me feel self-conscious. Each time I open my mouth he frowns.

To Rorius I am now a lesser status of human, and should keep quiet unless spoken to. He seems to have nothing but contempt for someone who would willingly accept a female life, someone who chooses to look at the world through the narrow letterbox window in her robes.

It’s disheartening. I can imagine after enduring a lifetime of this treatment a woman would take the path of least resistance and turn herself into a silent subservient creature.

Rorius is not the only one who keeps watching me.

Suruk’s gaze studies me in a different way, trying to deduce solely from Aurore’s feminine eyes whether the rest of her form is as interesting. I know this, because carrying the mind of a male, I am watching his woman, Elveen in the same way.

I can’t help but wonder would I be pleased with what I discovered, were I to tear Elveen’s veils away and stand over her as a conquering master.

Her eyelashes are dark and heavy, and despite being a free woman she keeps her gaze lowered almost as demurely as a slave. Lady Elveen has a slight body, and although her robes disguise her heavily, what I can see suggests a shapely frame.

Yes, she might make a pleasing captive.

Elveen is kneeling on a soft cushion, as I am. The position adds to my sense of self-awareness – it is only one step away from the pose of the domestic slave. Our heads are significantly lower than the height of the men – a reminder of the reduced social status of women, but they’re the same height as a kneeling slave.

Free women kneel with their thighs squeezed tightly together. This is both from dignity and practicality. It is impossible not to keep the legs together in the restrictive robes of concealment.

Early into this social gathering I stretched forward my arms, trying to keep idle muscles from cramping. It was a mistake – I sandwiched together my breasts, and immediately saw the eyes of Suruk move to my chest.

I don’t need any more reminders of my new body from him. I only have to tense my thighs and I can feel an absence – the place where once I would have pressed skin against my testicles.

One female in this room has her knees apart to leave body available for easy examination, the slave Tala, branded and collared, and clad in her brief work camisk.

Tala serves our group, attending to the men first, and as she kneels before Suruk I can’t help noticing the lingering look they exchange. Since she left me last night I’ve been wondering whose furs she warmed, and now I have my suspicions.

Tala and Suruk share the briefest emotional contact, but from my kneeling position I notice all the same, and with her heightened understanding of the subtleties of Gorean society, the lady Elveen does not miss it either.

“Slave, here,” she commands imperiously, clicking her gloved fingers, and conversation stops instantly as the atmosphere in the room changes instantly from one of polite conversation to one that is darker, ominous.

Tala looks uncertain and she hesitates, looking to Suruk for guidance until he nods his permission for her to leave. That delay in her moving to kneel before the mistress takes seconds, but it is enough.

“You keep me waiting, slave?” Elveen says, in almost a shout. I can’t believe Elveen is petty enough to be jealous of this gentle kajira, but her voice is high with emotion, almost hysterical.

It is unfair.

Tala didn’t even behave incorrectly – rather it might have been worse if she’d left Suruk without permission, but the exchange I’m suddenly witnessing isn’t about her being slow. This is about Elveen’s companion looking with desire upon a mere slave girl, and the free woman’s need to reassert her power.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” Tala says calmly, head lowered.

There is unmistakably some fear in her voice, but the emotion I can really detect is resignation. She understands she’s already doomed.

Elveen is insecure and jealous, and this is how she will control that insecurity.

I feel a surge of pity for the hapless slave.

“There is a master of the slaves here in the nest?” Elveen asks the girl angrily.

“Yes, Mistress,” Tala replies instantly.

“Report to him,” Lady Elveen commands, “and tell him the Lady Elveen ordered you whipped for being slow.”

I am about to object – this is not right, this is not justice, but Rorius anticipates my actions and cuts me off.

“Aurore, be silent,” he commands me.

His stare is direct, and I hesitate as I realise this might be a test, this whole situation contrived to see if I interfere to protect Tala the way a man would have done. Certainly a free woman of Gor, Lady Aurore of the Sardar, would not intervene in the punishment of a mere slave.

I look back to Elveen, trying to decide if she’s contrived to bait me, but she is distracted, staring aggressively at Tala.

“Yes Mistress,” the kajira replies to the Lady Elveen, already rising to her feet, ready to go to her fate.

“May I be dismissed, Masters?” she asks without protest.

I look desperately at the men. A command from either one could override Elveen, but Suruk is not going to contradict his free companion in front of strangers, and Rorius is quite willing to let an insignificant slave be beaten if it teaches me a lesson.

Tala’s eyes meet mine just once, and I see understanding and forgiveness. The slave forgives the free for my betrayal.

“You may go,” Rorius says, and Tala leaves the room.

I have been commanded to stay silent by the head of my house and I do so, but inside I am seething with fury. My masculine instincts are strong - I want to stick my damned sword through Rorius and then Elveen, before rushing to rescue Tala from her beating.

But I have been transitioned, and I can do nothing.

Rorius is a trained warrior. Aurius of London would have been unlikely to best him in battle, and Aurore has no chance.

Unwanted, I can also feel tears forming in my eyes.

I fight them back. There’s no way I’m going to give these people the satisfaction of crying in front of them.

Staring down at the ornate carpet, my emotions are at their lowest point since I awoke.

This is what being a woman is like on Gor - this feeling of impotence in the face of male power. If the disciplining of a slave is some kind of training test, Aurore of the Sardar has learnt the lesson, but she doesn’t like the taste of it one bit.

Gorean literature has long advocated that women secretly delight in the strength and superiority of men, claiming it brings out the female natural slave. But viewing the world through the narrow slot in my stifling robes of concealment, I think the attitude of Gorean literature is misogynistic nonsense.

A man can have physical strength above a woman without mental superiority. Just because these people can better me in a fight doesn’t mean my opinion counts for nothing and should be ignored.

Nonetheless, these are the attitudes enforced on me by being female in a sexist society on a sexist planet. This is not a world ready for suffragettes. However much I might want equality, like every other woman I am cursed with the deadly combination of being physically weaker and sexually desirable.

Without the benefits of civilisation on my side, it’s undeniable that I cannot survive without male protection. And the price of male guardianship is my subservience to the head of my house, and the repressive robes of concealment to hide by body.

I clench my hands into fists, vowing that as soon as I’m safe on Earth I’ll flaunt Aurore’s body in the most revealing outfit money can buy. I’ll enjoy the hopeless looks of men, when I deny them. The rest of my life will be a revenge on the male sex. I shall be Estella from Great Expectations.

Even tensing my hands reminds me of my condition, however.

The gloves that cover my hands are delicate and thin, made of a silken material that covers but does not protect. As Aurius I had worn heavy tarn gauntlets of thick leather. These things are no protection other than hiding my skin.

I breathe deeply, steadily mastering my emotions.

Only once I have regained my composure do I look around. It turns out everyone is watching me.

Rorius is nodding to himself – this defeat being the first time I’ve seen any sign of satisfaction with me. Lady Elveen’s gaze is caustic, as if I’m nothing more than a rival, and Suruk is puzzled.

His reaction to me is the easiest to forgive.

In the Nest we are not to ask others for the reason for their presence, or for any information about their service to the Priest Kings. This protocol has been observed, but it means he is expecting a woman used to her role, and compliant, rather than a woman who clenches her fists when a mere slave is sent to a whipping.

It is a relief when I am saved any further discussion on Tala by Telisio, who enters the chamber and inclines his head politely to our group.

“Lady Aurore,” he addresses me first.

He emphasises the ‘lady’ with an impish smile, and I can’t help but grin in response.

Telisio is the only free person to treat me with any kindness or humanity since my transformation. I feel a surge of gratitude so intense I could kiss him.

“Lady Aurore,” he continues, “You and Rorius are summoned by the Priest King, Misk.”

The sudden acceleration in my heart rate is so intense I feel light headed for a moment.

Why does Misk want to see us so soon? Is this it? Am I leaving to my fate already?

Then I slowly get from the kneeling position to my feet. Whoever designed the free woman’s robes didn’t consider ease of movement for the legs, and I am ungainly and awkward.

Telisio leans out an arm to support me, and I grasp it gratefully with my gloved hand.

Once standing, I leave that hand in position, enjoying the physical contact for a moment. For some reason I remember that he has seen me naked.

“Let go of him, Aurore,” Rorius tells me, and I drop my hand obediently.

We make our polite excuses.

It is with relief that I have the opportunity to take leave of Elveen and Suruk. My first impression as a female of Gorean society is of a culture that is repressive and stifling, and I want no more of it.

I start to feel more like my former self as swiftly we move through the corridors of the Nest. My head is clearing, and I focus my thoughts on the mission.

In Misk’s chambers, two chairs have been prepared for the men, and again a cushion is on the floor for me to kneel in the manner of free women. They could have let me sit on a chair this once.

A map of Gor is spread on a low wooden table.

Misk is in the room. At eight feet tall the insect-like creature towers over the humans.

We are all silent as the Priest King addresses us.

“This map shows the jungle region of Gor, where the two rivers drain the large central Lake Ushindi,” Misk reminds us, and with an insect limb he indicates a point on the map.

“These rivers are the Nyoka and the Kamba. The outflows are close together on the lake shore. We have confirmed that between these two rivers lies the camp of Kurtz, at the shoreline close to the Kurii landing point.”

“From this strategically valuable position he controls all the shipping downstream from his location.”

Telisio asks an obvious question.

“Why is there no city there already, if the location is so prefect?”

“This area is swampland,” Misk answers. “Proximity to the two rivers waterlogs the ground. The Kurii landing site was nothing more than a dry mound, deeper into the marsh.”

“It must have taken an immense amount of effort for Kurtz to construct a defendable fort there. Our expectation is the camp will be some kind of pontoon structure. Only a man such as Kurtz is capable of achieving a task like this.”

Silently I stare at the map from on my knees, imagining myself in the steaming heat of the jungle. Then I trace the snakelike coils of the river west to the sea. Soon I will see all this for myself.

“How are we to ensure that Aurore moves close to the camp, in such a way as she can be captured without arousing suspicion?” asks Rorius. He calls me Aurore, not Lady Aurore the way Telisio does.

Well - I suppose it’s better than him using Aurius.

“We have received intelligence,” replies Misk. “A retinue will pass through the Jungle, a retinue travelling upriver by barge. It carries the Lady Nessa, a woman reputed to be a great beauty, and the treasure that is her dowry. She is pledged to be made free companion to a warrior in the high country.”

“Priest Kings believe that the barge is too attractive a target for Kurtz’ men to resist, even though it will be heavily defended. You will join the retinue escorting the Lady Nessa, with your story being that Lady Aurore is also on her way to an arranged companionship and there is benefit from combined protection. When the barge is attacked your orders are to abandon Aurore and escape with your lives if possible.”

The phrase ‘abandon Aurore’ chills me. They mean abandon Aurore to slavery, a fate many would consider worse than death.

“When does the barge leave?” Rorius asks.

“In ten days,” answers Misk.

Telisio gives a low whistle, tracing a line with his finger from the Sardar Mountains in the north east of Gor, over the trading city of Torcadino and all the way west and south to the jungles.

“That’s a long way to travel in so little time,” he says.

“It is, so you must leave in one ahn,” agrees Misk. “Any other training that Lady Aurore requires, she must learn on the journey.”

Someone once described army life as long periods of boredom separated by brief moments of terror. After endless waiting in my room, we have reached the terror stage, but perhaps that is for the best.

I’ve felt sick with nerves since I first saw my female body, and I might attempt to flee if I have too long to contemplate my future.

The men leave to pack. Male Nest slaves are despatched to prepare two tarns to transport us to the port of Schendi, on the other side of the continent.

An armed guard escorts me back to my quarters, but my preparations only take moments. I have nothing to take but loading a set of spare robes into a sack. All my belongings will be lost when I fall to Kurtz men, so it is pointless for me to take treasured possessions.

The only kind of leave I want to take is bidding farewell to Tala.

She is away somewhere, perhaps being flogged even now. I long to hold her to me, but I’ll be lucky if I live long enough to see her again.

9 - Blood on his sword

After two days flying I am so cold I can’t remember being warm, and the soreness has taught me about every muscle in my new female body.

My mode of transport has been the cause of this.

The men rode up on the tarn birds’ backs, as proud warriors. I travelled in a small circular basket suspended underneath the bird’s stomach, in a space not much bigger than a wicker laundry carrier.

There is no distinction between free women and slaves in this form of carriage, although slaves usually travel bound. At least I have escaped that indignity.

For once the use of tarn baskets is not a display of Gorean sexism. Only rarely do tarns tolerate female riders.

It was freezing at altitude, and for the first time I was grateful to be clothed head-to-toe in the heavy robes of concealment. I was provided with blankets by a slave on departure from the Nest. For this kindness I have been grateful.

Flying by tarn is safer and faster than travel on the ground, but like many species of daylight hunters tarns don’t see well in the dark. Therefore we adopted a routine where each day at dusk we looked for a secluded place to land and wait out the night.

This evening I have no idea where we are, other than a small wooded area in a line southwest of the Sardar. We are in is enemy territory. Not very surprising - anywhere on Gor that is not home counts as enemy territory.

Everyone is being cautious.

The warriors lit a fire, but disguised it by strategically placed rocks and bushes, designed so as not to be visible to distant observers. It does not shed enough heat to warm me.

There is a cold breeze blowing, and the trees rustle.

All of us crave food, so we quickly agree to risk someone leaving the camp to hunt. I am disqualified by gender from participating, again, so my duties are to prepare the cooking pots over the fire.

Rorius is selected to hunt, either through being the most skilled, or through a desire to get away from me.

I am not displeased to see him go. Picking up a complicated looking crossbow, Rorius disappears grumbling into the darkness.

Telisio is left to mind the camp, the birds, and the female.

“Why does he hate me so much?” I ask Telisio, watching Rorius disappear into the gloom of the woods.

I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to ask, and Telisio doesn’t seem to be surprised at the question.

“His anger is not really directed at you,” he replies, “but at the situation. Rorius believes the mission is a mistake, but he respects Misk too much to contradict the Priest King’s judgement.”

I can’t help but feel stung.

“He thinks I am not good enough? I will fail?”

‘Finding someone to collar you will not be difficult. You understand the power such beauty as yours can have on men. But after that event, Rorius believes there is no scenario where you can succeed in your mission. You will be broken and his will becomes yours, as happened with the other females sent to him. Or you will remain masculine in your mind and your male nature will betray you. Slaves who do not bend can be killed. It will be an impossible path for anyone to walk safely.”

I nod, digesting this new information.

“He is unsure how to treat you to give you the greatest chance of success – both of us are, for that matter,” Telisio admits. “Rorius’ instinct is to treat you like any other female of his household, educating you to behave in the inferior role of a woman, so your disguise is stronger as a result. There is wisdom in this – familiarising you with your female role while deliberately provoking your male pride.”

“For me it is more difficult. I visited frequently while you were changing in the tube, so I perceive the woman and react to your beauty, but I remember the man. I treat you as I did before. “

Sitting down on a log Telisio begins to check his kit, examining arrows for defects.

My cheeks grow warm – the only warm part of my body in the cold night, as I wonder how much time he’s spent looking at Aurore naked. It had never occurred to be before, but I wonder if he might actually desire the female-me.

“What did I look like in the tube?” I ask curiously. I might as well find out. “Did I grow organs and then a skin, or did I mature from infant to adult?”

“At first your male body appeared to dissolve, until there was so much matter suspended in the liquid that I could no longer see anything. When the fluid became clear, your body appeared as it did when you left the tube – as a complete adult female. So I didn’t witness the true transformational phase of the process, but the Priest King said the organs are grown already adult.”

I am silent, and Telisio seems to consider our discussion concluded, but as I move away he adds one more thing.

“Except for you, our group probably travels to our deaths. And yet Rorius puts this fate aside works to train your mind. So don’t judge him too harshly for his Gorean nature.”

I ponder this as I make myself busy. I stir a pot of broth, chopping in a few vegetables as I wait for Rorius to catch the meat course.

On a combat mission, one soldier always has to prepare the meals, so I do not consider this work demeaning when it is allocated to me. It is not necessarily ‘woman’s work’.

Telisio’s perspective on Rorius hasn’t softened my views on him yet, but it might do when I’ve had enough time to think. Could his attitude really be carefully contrived to provoke a male reaction, flaming my masculine pride?

I am not convinced.

The tarns, a short distance outside the camp circle, shuffle restlessly.

Crouching down, I suspend a cooking pot over the fire. It dangles from a metal crossbar, propped by simple ‘X’ shaped supports of iron at either end.

As I stretch forward my breasts press again against my upper arms, surprising me. Since awakening in Aurore I have frequently experienced such moments, where my body suddenly reminds me that I am female.

In front of the fire I pause.

The veil rests against my feminine chin, kissing softly.

I crouch differently to a man, Aurore’s wider hips making kneeling a more comfortable position. My heels press into my buttocks.

What have I done? I’m a woman. Overcome by the enormity of the changes in my life I look up for a moment to Telisio, and discover he has stopped checking his arrows.

He might have been watching me for a while.

“What’s it like?” he asks, as if he’s been reading my mind.

“To have this body?” I reply, and laugh ruefully in Aurore’s high voice. “I feel weak. I don’t like being reliant on others to protect me. I have to deal with being both vulnerable, and desirable. That’s a dangerous combination on Gor.”

“I mean inside your head,” he clarifies. “Do you feel like you’re a woman, or a man in a woman’s body? Do you think this mission is futile?”

I crumble some herbs into the pot, as I consider the question.

“I don’t know how a woman thinks, so it’s difficult to answer that accurately,” I say. “But I don’t feel a very fundamental shift in my identity. I feel the instincts of the man, and only see the woman in the mirror. My thoughts and desires are as before. I would not be aroused by a male lover, for example.”

“In that case surrender to Kurtz will perhaps be difficult to bear.”

“I will complete my mission,” I state simply, although I feel a flutter of fear in my chest. “When the time comes I will kneel, offer my wrists as if for binding and beg for the slave’s collar. But I will do so because it is my best option for survival, not for any other reason. I know this ordeal will be finished, one day, and I will be living a life of ease back on Urth. All I have to do for this reward, is not get killed. Slavery is the practical choice. Even you would consider it.”

“Be careful making that suggestion Lady Aurore. A warrior of Gor would tell you he should prefer death to such dishonour.”

I shrug.

A twig in the fire breaks with a snap, and I hear from the shadows a noise of irritation from one of the tarns.

“Survival for me is through obedience to my mission,” I insist, “but I will yield from pragmatism. There is not some part of my soul that secretly craves the life of a slave, as my natural place. If the Gorean belief is true that women, in their hearts, crave the life of a slave... No, I do not think like a woman.”

“It is good for our purpose that you are not suited to yielding sexually, but that will make your destiny an unpleasant one.”

I shudder, but blame it on the cold night. Unable to meet Telisio’s gaze, I look into the shadows. And just in time to see those shadows of the forest come to life.

Telisio and I are already on our feet, with the reflexes of trained warriors.

A large group of armed men are rushing us from every direction, with loud cries intended to intimate.

They are roughly dressed – common robbers or outlaws perhaps. It doesn’t matter. They are the enemy.

Telisio has his sword drawn, and is the main threat to them. I have no weapon, and yet they come for me, and not him. The strategy is logical. It is because I am the weak point in our group.

Five men are upon me, in an instant.

I cry out with rage, as strangers’ hands grasp me.

The force is overwhelming, and the struggle is brief.

I am almost dragged off my feet by the strength of them, while my arms are quickly and efficiently forced behind my back. But rather than pull me over, their grip on me pins me between them in a standing position.

One man who is not occupied with the task of restraining me holds a knife to my neck, the point pressing right into my jugular. He is a little taller than the others, with a nearly trimmed brown beard. There is an air of authority to him, and the other men look to him as if he is their leader.

There is no need for him to vocalise his threat.

“Stop,” is all he says to Telisio, in a quiet voice, and my companion freezes instantly. I feel momentary gratitude that Telisio will not risk letting me die, but then dread when one of our attackers removes Telisio’s sword from his limp grasp.

We are disarmed. We are doomed.

I do not panic. Rather I count round the circle, assessing our strategic situation. There are nine attackers – five on me (four restraining and one holding the blade); two guarding Telisio; and two watching the forest. It is a sensible formation.

One of these four that surround me is fumbling behind me, but pinned by my arms, my wrists crossed as if for binding, I cannot look round to see exactly what he’s doing or uncross my arms. I can guess their aims though.

Something bites as hard as wire into the skin of those wrists, confirming my fears. Aurore of the Sardar is indeed bound.

I struggle instinctively, tensing my arms to test the bonds. I’ve never been tied-up before, and it’s not a pleasant experience. The binding is incredibly tight and I feel vulnerable.

It’s too high up my wrists to reach the knots – straining my hands I can barely reach the fibrous material with my fingertips.

Unsurprisingly, my efforts are futile. The men of Gor have known for centuries how to tie a woman.

“You, the female - also - keep still,” the man holding the knife orders, and I freeze. The blade is right against my throat. It feels razor sharp. Once foolish movement and my life could bleed away by accident.

“You’re in the wrong part of Gor, strangers,” says the bearded man. He says ‘strangers’ including us both, but he is looking at Telisio and addressing a fellow warrior.

He doesn’t even glance at me. A bound female does not represent a threat.

“There is a price for spending the night here,” he continues. “Hand over your coin, and the leave us the woman, and you may go with your life.”

Telisio looks directly back at him. My friend is calm, so calm that he is almost indifferent. His eyes glance to meet mine only once.

“You can take my coins and leave in peace,” Telisio replies, staring bold and unblinking at the bearded man, “but the woman leaves with me.”

This bravado is perhaps a mistake, because knife-man looks at me appraisingly, and I find my face growing hot.

“She must be beautiful, to be worth dying for,” he speculates. “Well - if she is indeed pleasing, then tonight she shall change from girl to woman as she serves us in the furs. If she does not please, she will be sold in the morning to the first passing slaver.”

His men chortle at this. Their laugh chills my blood.

A number of them are looking suggestively at me now. The idea of an evening’s entertainment at my expense is evidently pleasing to them.

I can’t just stand here passively and let them think they’ve beaten me, without some show of resistance.

“I will never yield to someone like you,” I retort angrily.

Knife-man laughs at me then, a rich, warm laugh.

“A challenge from a girl with spirit. All the better. I will enjoy taming you.”

He is patronisingly self-confident, but he probably has good reason.

I realise I have trusted in Rorius and Telisio’s ability to execute this mission so entirely that I have become blind to the realities of Gor. It has never even crossed my mind that we might fail before I am delivered to Kurtz. Instead of me enjoying a blessed life on Earth, perhaps only a year from now, a different fate awaits.

I will become just one of the millions of slave girls on Gor, lost forever from the influence and protection of the Priest Kings. They will not make efforts to find me when they can find another man of Urth for the mission.

This isn’t the way it’s meant to be. Panic rises in my chest. I can’t face being condemned to slavery. I must do anything I can to escape this future.

“I was once a male,” I plead, my last idea of a way I might escape the inevitable.

Even if it buys me time, that’s good.

Neat-beard first looks surprised, and then laughs uproariously.

“That’s a new one,” he cries, tears in his eyes, and he claps his hand to his chest the way a Gorean would applaud an entertainer. “You – a male. Well male - I shall confirm the truth for myself very soon. Let us strip this male who wears robes of concealment, while his companion makes up his mind if he wants to live.”

Telisio twitches, hand reaching for his sword, but the man chides him, saying, “No, no...”

My friend stills again.

The man holding the knife takes it from my throat, ready for using it to strip my robes from around my shoulders. I prepare for the first cut that bares my skin.

Instead, an arrow strikes the bearded man’s skull and penetrates so deeply that the point protrudes from the back of his head.

Adrenaline spikes. Everything happens in slow motion.

My surviving guards release their hold on me and reach for their weapons. One is ducking with the reflexes of a trained warrior and simultaneously drawing his sword, but he only moves into the path of a second arrow that takes him straight in the chest. It flings him back with such force that his feet leave the ground before he tumbles backwards to the leafy forest floor.

Telisio is also moving with instinct, diving to the side in a combat roll, while reaching for his sword.

I am not unskilled in combat, so I also move at professional speed. But as the only one in this tableau with their wrists bound behind them, my options are limited.

I can do little but dive out of range of enemy weapons, and avoid getting myself killed by accident. As a former professional soldier, I know that my male ego must not important at this moment. To play as a team, my duty is to keep out the way.

Telisio comes up from his gymnastic roll with sword in hand, and he slices across the belly of the first of his two guards. The man’s stomach opens like a zip, and the pink loops of his digestive system start to spill down in a wash of blood.

As the gutted man screams, groping to keep his guts inside him, Telisio is already acrobatically on his feet. He buries his sword into the throat of his second guard.

Nine attackers is down to five. No, four – an arrow thuds into the chest of another one of the robbers, flinging him back onto the forest floor.

The remaining men close on Telisio, with their swords drawn. Four armed men close on one.

He doesn’t have a chance against such odds, but then I hear a berserker roar that chills the blood, and Rorius comes charging from the forest.

“Get the girl,” a wiry man in ragged clothing says, pointing urgently at me. “They won’t risk anything happening to the girl.”

Two of the men turn and stalk towards me. Their eyes look flat and dead.

Crap.

I start backing away, my wrists held helplessly behind me. I don’t dare look around for an avenue to escape. My hood and veil restrict my view too much to risk turning my face away. I strain against the bonds. If only I could get free.

These two men have made an error, though, in turning their backs to Rorius and Telisio. My protectors defeat the other two opponents as effortlessly as in any contest between expert and amateur, and our numbers of warriors are even.

The fight is nearly over. Two of the enemies are between me and my allies, but they can’t risk turning to attack me, as that will present their backs to my friends.

Rorius and Telisio are closing.

The last two robbers made no attempt to escape their fate, but boldly faced death. They must have realised that we couldn’t risk releasing them in their home territory, where there was the risk of reenforcements arriving for a further ambush.

I respect their courage.

Four blades meet with a clash, blood is spilt, and we are victorious.

The forest seems suddenly silent after the noise of combat, and we stand for almost an ehn.

Rorius walks round the nine bodies, checking on the dead. The man with the belly wound is still alive but mortally injured. I watch as Rorius dispatches him mercifully, with a stab through the heart. It is the first sign of humanity I’ve seen from him.

For a moment he and I look at each other, before I start pulling at my bonds. Struggling seems to make them tighter, not looser. I’m no closer to being free.

“Can someone release me from these?” I eventually have to plead.

It is Rorius that walks across to me first. I turn my back to him, stretching my arms out behind me. There is a light pressure from something I assume to be his sword, and suddenly the bindings go slack and I can move freely.

It is impossible for the captive to escape the bonds, but so easy for someone else to free them.

I gratefully rub my sore wrists. The skin is covered by my slender gloves, but I suspect there will be red marks left by the bindings.

“You did well, Aurore,” Rorius says. And that is the first nice thing he has ever said to me. Two kind acts in one day. I’ll have to narrowly escape death more often.

“I was no use at all,” I reply, surprised. “I tried to keep out of the way.”

“Exactly. I thought you might try to fight, like a man. Your responsibility to this mission is to stay alive.”

“Thank you...” I answer a little uncertainly.

He nudges one of the bodies with his foot.

“Please, search these men thoroughly – we might as well take anything useful that will help us on our journey. Then Telisio and I will drag them away from the camp. I don’t want to have to stare at corpses all night.”

“Of course,” I say softly, and crouching gracefully I begin to pat down the first body. Now I have the chance to impress I’m going to make the most of it, so my search is thorough, even patting down the men’s genitals.

I can’t help being reminded with each one that had things gone differently, I could have been handling these organs in a different way.

I reach the bearded leader, and wonder if he’d really have given me to them all, or kept me as a prize for himself.

The next man is a ferret-like individual, thin enough to be emaciated. He was not the alpha-leader of this group, and would only have the choice of females his betters had rejected.

I would not have enjoyed him forcing himself on me.

My wrists are throbbing, distracting me. I was only bound for minutes, and I pray that I never have to experience the bite of those ties for a longer period.

After the battle, the rest of the night is sleepless for me.

The ambush in the forest has reaffirmed to me that as a female on Gor, I am entirely reliant on male protection. There are only two ways to attain this protection – through subservience within a family or a tribe, or via the total submission of slavery.

I have been reminded how easily that protection can be lost, and the courage men need to maintain it. Compared to capture by strangers, obedience to Rorius is not such a bad option.