Daughter of Gor by Olga Turlovna (Part Seven)

Daughter of Gor

By Olga Turlovna

26 - In which I discover that some of my masculine instincts remain, but others have gone forever.

I don’t make eye contact with my master as I move numbly to the ring of dirt that is the area for contests.

He is a cruel and barbaric brute, but he is a genius, I must acknowledge that.

Kurtz is the only one that knows I used to be a man. He is the only one here who knows I used to be a soldier. He is the only one here who knows I am trained to fight.

So Kurtz has lured the panther into this fight, and now she walks into the trap.

I have read a number of scrolls where kajirae describe their encounters with panthers. When challenged to fight for freedom by the proud and strong warrior women, the slaves are reduced to grovelling weaklings.

I found these accounts unsatisfactory.

Tonight I will craft a tale more to my taste. Since my transformation into a woman I have been demeaned, humiliated, beaten, abused and belittled. That kind of treatment builds up a lot of resentment, especially to someone with so much masculine pride.

I’ve been frustratingly unable to do anything about these blows to my ego before now, but tonight, after months of constant defeats, I’m overcome with the craving to kick some ass.

Here my master has also shown his genius.

“Skinny slut,” Ailsa says, and she shoves me in the shoulder. “I can see from your soft body you’ve been in some high-caste cylinder all your life. You will be no match for me.”

Such insults are nothing to me, gamesmanship before a contest, but the Taluna has also upset Nessa, and for that offence I am determined she will pay. I am still too much of a man to let someone hurt a girl I care about.

And my master knows this, too.

“This white silk slave is your personal slave?” Ailsa calls across to Kurtz.

“She is,” he confirms.

“If I am risking the collar in this fight, then so must she,” Ailsa taunts. “When I win, she will be delivered to me.”

“Agreed,” Kurtz says without hesitation.

I look wide eyed across to him. But he’d promised I would choose my own destiny. My stomach seems to dive to my feet. This is far more important than Nessa. I am fighting to avoid an uncertain future as slave to the Taluna.

He meets my eyes for a moment, and I can read in his neutral expression that he’s certain of my victory. It’s okay for him though – he’s not the one gambling his freedom.

Buckets of the lake water are being tipped to the floor of the circle. Evidently the dry dirt floor is considered too easy a surface to make good sport, so we will have to struggle on the slippery ground.

“Great, mud wrestling,” I glumly think.

The volume of the crowd is building to a roar already, but to my surprise, for once it is in support of me. I am one of their own, and I am also the underdog in this competition. Goreans are a loyal people, and they love to see a victory for the little guy, so it seems they have two reasons to cheer me on.

I step into the ring, and Ailsa steps in at the far side, facing me.

The black mud is cold on my soles, and is half-an-inch deep. This is going to be treacherously slippery.

We are quickly encircled by a crowd, several people deep. Wagers are being accepted, with very good odds offered for those foolish enough to stake money on the gangly kajira’s victory.

I hop from foot to foot, limbering myself up like a boxer.

Aurore’s body is certainly the weaker of the two women, but I am at much less of a power disadvantage with her than I would be fighting a man. Ailsa and I are about the same height, so we will be equal there, having the same length of reach.

My woman’s body is beautifully flexible, and the physical chores I perform have toughened my muscles more than is apparent. Learning the slave positions and serves of Gor has also improved my poise and balance.

In Ailsa’s favour are combat experience in her current body, and her Amazonian muscle development. I am sure that Ailsa will attempt to win by intimidation, aggression and physical strength. I must win by remaining calm, and using technique.

The greatest threat is if she knocks me out with a well-aimed strike, or gets me into a wresting pin where I’m forced to submit.

Everyone is in position.

There is a moment of silence in the room. We are ready.

I mentally push all the ring of faces away, my eyes locked on the woman in front of me. She is all that is important.

“Begin,” someone says.

My ears ring with the volume of the crowd’s shouting.

Ailsa begins confidently moving towards me, in a half crouch. So sure is she of victory that she barely has her guard up.

As soon as I score a hit and she realises I have some physical training, the fight will become much more difficult, but while we are untested there is the chance I could defeat her immediately with one knockout blow and strip her once she’s rendered unconscious.

“This one is for Nessa,” I say, and instead of using Aurore’s body for the graceful movement of a slave intended to give men so much pleasure, I twist my torso, extending my foot to the height of my head and using the momentum from the rotation to execute a Taekwondo spinning kick.

It is a showy and risky move – the leg extension in a spinning kick leaving the groin very vulnerable, but the momentum gained by success can be devastating.

Luckily for me Ailsa is not anticipating the attack and she does not block.

However my execution is not quite perfect, and I skid to the left, narrowly avoiding overbalancing, so rather than striking her temple I am too low and hit under her ear. All the same it is enough to send her sprawling into the wet mud.

I have no intention of fighting fair with my ownership at stake, so I move in while she’s still on the ground and punch her as hard as I can in the side of the head.

Moving back into a guard position, I watch as Ailsa’s face splashes into the oozing sludge.

I think for a moment it’s all over and I’ve knocked her out, but one does not become leader of a Taluna tribe without being tough. Ailsa’s eyes flutter open and she begins to push herself up, shaking her head groggily and wiping the filth from her cheek.

I close in for another strike, but this time I have been overconfident.

My step forward is fractionally too long and my leg slides away from me. Ailsa needs no invitation to grab my ankle and pull me completely off my feet. I suddenly find myself on my back in the layer of mud with Ailsa’s body on top of me.

She moves against me, trying to bring up her knees so she can straddle and use her bodyweight to pin my arms. I’m not going to allow that to happen – if she succeeds I will surely lose, so I begin twisting right and left underneath her.

The writhing motion of our bodies together is so sexual it almost distracts me, but luckily it gives me an idea.

Sex – she will be frightened of her own sexuality.

Reaching down her body I rip at the brief animal skin skirt, suddenly leaving her naked below the waist.

For a moment I tune in to the crowd noise, aware of the cheer this has evoked. They must have a pleasant view.

Ailsa is livid at the humiliation I’ve just delivered, and for a moment, she claws furiously at me, with no regard for winning, just trying to scratch my face. I am grateful that the arduous life in the forest wears down the nails of panthers.

We tussle for several minutes to the loud encouragement of the crowd, rolling over and over and punching, so one girl and then the other is on top.

Ailsa is not fighting with enough coherence to present much threat, but constantly blocking tires me. At one point she lands a punch so my cheek flares with pain and I see stars.

Then she remembers her goal and grabs for my camisk, pulling it away so hard that it hurts my shoulders.

The garment tears away, but in concentrating on it she leaves herself undefended.

I rip Ailsa’s panther top away, and manage to twist my hips enough to throw her off me, so I roll to the side and to the edge of the circle.

Breathing heavily I regain my feet.

We are spread out in similar fashion to the start of the fight, only now both of us are naked and both of us are covered in dirt. I have to marvel for a moment at her divine body. The camouflage of mud on her pale skin only makes her more desirable.

“Take her, Aurore,” a woman’s voice encourages from just behind me.

For a second time the Taluna and I close on each other.

This time, Ailsa is being cautious. Her guard is high, but she’s not formally trained and it’s slightly too high. Exploiting the gap in her defence I kick the side of her knee and her leg gives way, so she falls part on her face into the ooze.

Immediately my hands are on her left arm, holding where the vulnerable joints between the bones are at wrist and elbow.

I twist the limb, and she has to move flatter into the liquid mud. A bubble forms where she exhales from under the surface, and she splutters.

I feel my first moment of pity for her, and my first comprehension of what I’ve done. It is over now, already over, my hold on her pinning her into place. But there will be a dreadful few seconds as she comes to realise that.

Sure enough, Ailsa’s attempts to break free become increasingly more desperate. She’s almost breaking her own limb in a panicked attempt to escape, but I cannot risk giving her the least slack.

“Please,” she says to me, opening her mouth enough that liquid flows and she coughs. It is the first time I have heard her use the word.

Sympathy surges within me, but it’s too late.

The crowd invade the circle. My other senses begin to function again, and I become aware of the noise – applause and cheering.

People are patting me on the back. Although I am naked, no-one attempts to touch me intimately.

A warrior takes Ailsa’s arm from my hands, and a second warrior pulls her free arm behind her into almost the same position.

Swiftly her wrists are bound together. She has started weeping.

With her wrists secured a piece of rope is circled around her throat to serve as a choke leash, and with this she is lead back before the Ubar.

The crowd pulls back, leaving Ailsa and I alone before his thrown, save for the warrior who holds her leash.

I fall to my knees. I am still a slave. She remains standing, even though her lip bleeds from a split and she looks exhausted.

In the edges of my vision I can see the other Taluna, hopelessly outnumbered, being quickly subdued.

Kurtz looks coldly at Ailsa.

“I believe you agreed that if my weak slave defeated you, then you and your band would join them in the pens?” he asks.

“No!” she pleads, shaking her head, “I didn’t mean it.”

“See it done,” Kurtz commands. “Those of my warriors who wish to teach these Taluna that they are women may do so.”

There is not a shortage of volunteers in the room.

“Nooo!” wails the blonde as a warrior with a beard drags her by her bonds towards the edge of the room, towards a place intimately deep in the shadows.

I have brought this about. I watch her in horror, until what I can see becomes too personal and I have to look away.

“You did well, Aurore,” Kurtz says to me.

I do not feel like I have done well. I might have been the victor, but I feel like what just happened was a defeat.

Guilt overwhelms me. My animal male drive to win overcame whatever humane part of my nature resisted. Ten women are being enslaved because of my actions. One is already being violated right before us, and I cannot evade the rhythmic sound of her moaning. It might haunt me forever.

“Thank you, Master,” I am obliged to say, masking my emotions.

He considers me for a moment. I dare to look up and see that he is leaning forward, as if considering another of his barbaric Ubar judgements.

I drop my gaze again.

Something lands in the sand near me with a soft thud. I look at it and realise it is a small silver key. I pick it up.

“The panther’s terms were for the victor to be permitted to leave,” Kurtz says. “You may do so if you wish. We accept no free women in this place, but you can walk from the compound, where arrangements will be made to return you to the place from which you came. It is time to accept your destiny, be it here or elsewhere.”

This is the key to my collar. All I have to do is unlock it, and I am a free woman. I could go back to the Nest straight away.

Only I know the meaning of his words. He wants me to submit truly, or leave. My choice is to accept the ways of Gor, or reject them.

I look around the room. Everyone is watching me waiting for my answer, and their goodwill is almost overwhelming. Except the panther girls, who I see are now disarmed and chained, I know the names of everyone in here.

I only felt so deeply a part of a group when I was in the army.

From the edge of the room there is another low moan that breaks the silence.

All I had to do was let Ailsa win, and I’d now be leaving the compound as a slave to the panthers. I have shown myself to be weak, and contemptible, and Gorean.

Crawling closer to the dais, I hold the key out to my master.

“I could have let the Taluna win, but I did not. Thanks to me, ten women who could have been walking free are now slaves. As penance, I too deserve to remain nothing but slave, Master,” I say in front of the whole crowd.

Amongst these brutal and barbaric people, I believe I have found my place.

27 - Stockholm syndrome

“Have you heard of capture bonding?” Kurtz asks me tenderly.

“No Master,” I admit.

My voice shivers, for he is tracing his fingers up my sides, from my hips to under my arms. The touch tickles me, but it is also delicious. The nerves in my skin seem to be linked through my body, from fingers to toes, but pooling most intensely in the growing warmth at the apex of my legs.

“It is a phenomenon observed by the caste of physicians of your world. A captive begins to take on the views of their captors, empathising with and becoming loyal to those people, instead of the captive’s original social group.”

“Stockholm syndrome, Master,” I groan sensually. “You mean Stockholm syndrome.”

I have my head resting back on his chest. When he speaks Kurtz’ deep voice therefore resonates through me, and I can hear the steady strong beat of his heart.

After my contest with the Taluna he ordered a bath carried into his hut and filled with scented water. There he washed me, slowly and sensuously, as if he were the one that was slave.

Now he is lying back, relaxed, and I am leaning back into him.

We are, of course, both naked.

“In pre-historic times of conflict, on your world as well as here on Gor, females were more likely to be taken captive than to be killed.” Kurtz says. “Sites of ancient massacres show an absence of female skeletons, confirming that the women were carried away as prisoners.”

“If the woman learned to take on the views of her captors, submitting to them, her captors would be more favourably disposed towards her, and her survival would be more likely.”

“Thus the physicians say that there is an evolutionary advantage for human women to be psychologically susceptible to this occurrence of submission into the captors’ culture,” he says.

“It is less advantageous for males to inherit this trait, as being genetic threats to the home males they are more likely to be killed immediately.”

His hands reach under the surface of the water and move to my lift naked backside, cupping and caressing my buttocks intimately. Oh, that feels so nice. Having my rump touched as a woman is a beautiful experience.

My Master’s passion for me is inflamed, that desire being expressed by the rod of his meat that presses against the base of my spine.

He lowers me back down, and his arms wrap round my waist. Parting my thighs, he moves his fingers between them, touching my sex for the first time.

And the person that was once Aurius of London does not shrink away from him. I am so aroused that my sex yearns for the contact with him to be even more intimate.

“The optimum survival tactic is not for the woman to yield too quickly, as there is the possibility she may be rescued and then ostracised by her own people as a traitor. Neither can she take too long to accept defeat, as if she annoys her captors with overly long resistance they might harm her.”

“Master is suggesting that this is happening to me?” I ask.

“It is a possibility,” he says, “or what is occurring between us right now might be pure sex drive. What do you think?”

“I’m not accepting that I’ve suddenly learned I’m a natural slave, if that’s what you’re suggesting, Master. But I can admit that women have sexual needs as well as men, and right now I really want that pleasure.”

I feel him nod.

“For me also, desire for you has become more important than anything else. Let us accept there is a third option for you, where you remain with me until you wish to leave, and we consider the issues in Gorean culture another time.”

“The adornment Master has dressed me with does not fit into this third way,” I observe, lifting my elegant lower leg from the water.

There is the sound of a slave chain rattling as it moves against the side of the bath. The source of that noise links a steel bracelet locked around my left ankle to a loop embedded deep in the floor of the Ubar’s hut.

In every other respect I am free to move around, but I am also restricted for the night to a radius about this point.

My mind keeps going back to Tala, chained similarly to wait in my furs, so long ago at the Nest. Then I was the warrior, holding her in my arms. Now I am the slave girl.

“I said you could remain with me until you wish to leave, Aurore,” he says, and I can hear the humour through his chest. “Not that I would free you while you are here.”

He touches the very core of me with his fingers then, in a caress notdissimilar to the first I received with the whip, and I cry out at the stimulation.

“Your reaction to my touch is quite delightful,” he says, and to make his point his fingers move up my sides again, touching the surfaces of my breasts to brush my engorged nipples.

I can’t help but writhe, proving his point with an involuntary display of the sensitivity of Aurore’s body.

“One area where my training here has been brutally effective...” I admit in a groan, “is in awakening desire in me. I am aching with need for you, Master. The part of me that was a man still finds women attractive, but my female biology has provoked my desire for strong men. I tire of resisting this truth.”

“So take me,” I then plead. “Take me as slave if you really must think of it that way, or take me as a woman, but take me.”

“Do you beg your master?” he asks gently.

If it’s so important to him, I’ll say it.

“Please, Master.”

He turns my torso to him and kisses me, kisses me tenderly. The warmth that suffused my body ignites into flames.

Then, in a simple hut, somewhere deep in the jungles of a barbaric world, an insignificant slave woman and her master grant each other’s wish.

28 - In which our numbers increase.

“Something is different with you this morning Aurore,” Nessa says.

I blush, amused and irritated at the same time. How can she possibly have noticed already?

Nessa laughs in sudden understanding, a tone of gentle teasing.

“Aurore is no longer white silk everyone,” she crows out to the women in the room.

I try to shush her but it’s too late.

Kajirae rush across congratulate me, like losing my virginity has been some kind of achievement. The atmosphere back in the pens is warm and enveloping.

Instead of being above them somehow, my status elevated by my chastity, I’m suddenly at the same level. My sisters in the collar are no longer jealous and see me as one of them.

Hiding my blushes I continue to wash myself, sponging from the bucket of tepid lake water provided for the girls in the pens. I have to concentrate on the area between my legs, which is sticky and unpleasant after my night’s activities. There was some blood, as is common when a virgin is deflowered. When he first entered me there was a little discomfort, but by the end of the night being filled with him was one of the most delicious sensations that must be possible.

“Did you enjoy it?” Nessa asks. She stands nude next to me, also cleaning herself at the small bucket.

How can I answer that? I’m tired and I feel strangely emotional, but I also feel complete.

“As time passes you will gain even more pleasure from the act,” Nessa tries to educate me, “and you will crave being taken by your master more and more.”

My feelings are too uneven to want to hear this right now. Maybe I yielded too easily. Maybe I’ve already betrayed womankind, and if I desire those experiences even more, it will just prove I’m slutty.

But it felt so good, moving under his hands.

I don’t need anything to further disturb my equilibrium, but it happens anyway. Our intimate conversation is broken by the arrival of one of the Taluna, being returned to the pens.

Kurtz promised Ailsa that her band would join us in the pens, but all the women spend their first night in the compound elsewhere. Ailsa’s group were divided amongst the men, each girl being given to a warrior for the night. They only join us in the morning.

Each girl is shackled in a coffle, linked at the throat to her fellows who only yesterday moved freely in the jungles.

Today they are slaves, sitting miserable and naked, and speaking little.

“You two lazy sluts!” Udumi calls to Nessa and I. She seems to have been afflicted with the same irritable mood as most of the girls.

“You are to cleanse the hall of the debris from last night,” she says.

“Yes Mistress,” we both say in unison, and we head from the pens.

There are only two types of weather in the jungle – pouring rain, or hot and humid. At the moment it is the latter. We are likely to sweat during the strenuous cleaning, but at least we won’t get soaked on our short walk outdoors.

Armed with rags Nessa and I cross towards the communal building, but we stop short, only half way in our brief journey.

An “X” shaped wooden cross has appeared overnight at the dockside. To this is tied the Taluna, known as Ailsa, secured hand and foot.

She has been much beaten – I can see a series of red welts from the whip that criss-cross her body, and she is soiled with mud and dirt. All the same she still looks magnificent – her Amazon body looking all the more toned for being tensed in the frame.

Her breasts are divine. A small part of me yearns to touch her, but I will not add to the violations she’s endured, and even if Ailsa welcomed the attention Nessa is here. I well remember Udumi’s warnings about the very few lesbians on Gor.

The panther looks up at us as we approach.

I’m expecting to see hatred in her eyes, but she just looks defeated.

“Mistress,” she pleads, and I realise it’s me she’s talking to. It’s been some time since I was addressed in that way.

“Some water, please mistress,” she begs humbly.

I mercifully fetch her some water from the marsh, containing it in the round shell of a Gorean nut that resembles a coconut.

Ailsa’s wrists are tied, so I have to hold the drink to her lips for her.

“Thank you, Mistress,” she says hoarsely as she swallows.

I have to replenish the cup several times before she is able to talk easily.

“During the night I was much used,” she then says. “And today my girls and I will be collared.”

“Forgive me,” I tell her, heavy with responsibility.

She shakes her head, shuffling slightly to get more comfortable in the ropes.

“It was my own arrogance led me to this fate,” she says.

“I thought I could be treated equally to men, but this was a mistake.”

“During my ordeal this night I have reflected on my place in the world. I think no-one would choose to be a woman of Gor.”

A vision of my previous night fills my mind – the kisses of my master, and the touch of his hands on my body.

“It’s not so bad,” I say, and I really believe it as I proceed to clean the hall.

For me, being a Gorean woman in slavery continues to be a pleasurable experience. That night I am denied the slave gruel in the pens, again being summoned to serve the desires of my master.

With Ailsa’s misery troubling my conscience, I discuss her

observations on the desirability of being a woman with him. However, undermining any argument of mine that being female is pure suffering, it just so happens this conversation occurs when my master is deep inside the body of Aurore.

At that moment the experience of being a woman is very pleasurable indeed. We are lying almost still, me atop him, only moving enough to maintain our mutual arousal.

“I have heard it said that the weak men of Urth would change places to be a Gorean female, even if she is a kajira,” he says, with a tone that suggests he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Is that true Aurore? There are men who would be jealous of you, even though you are made to lie naked and chained in the furs of a jungle savage?”

I look down at Aurore’s lush body, and then down my long bare leg to where once again the ankle bracelet is in its place.

“There are many men on Urth who would readily swap places with me,” I admit.

“Why are the men of your world so unhappy, that a female pleasure slave’s life is something to be desired?” Kurtz asks me curiously.

Pleasure slave? Hearing him say the title gives me an uncomfortable glow.

As I think I can’t resist gyrating my hips a little, feeling the sensation of a solid object - part of another person, moving inside my abdomen. Who wouldn’t want this, if this is womanhood?

“The role of the man is no longer clear in Urth society, because social skills and intellect have become more important than physical prowess,” I say. “Or it might be the men who consider themselves unattractive that long to be female. Unlike Gor it is the women who make the sexual selection on my home world, and men long for this power.”

I seem to be getting into full flow.

“Our society raises us to believe if a man works hard and lives a good life, he deserved a beautiful woman. But the women haven’t agreed to this deal.”

“So the smart guy that studies hard will still have to watch his dream girl go on dates with some meat head, just because the guy has a body like Conan the Barbarian.”

I smile at the image of Conan, and rub Aurore’s slim hand across the massive pectoral muscles of the Ubar’s chest.

“So the man would like to be the beautiful girl, because if he was her he could understand how she feels being so desired, and why she makes her choices.”

“But the leader of the panthers is desired,” Kurtz questions. “She is probably being taken against her will even now. From her own lips she states she doesn’t wish to be a woman, and yet you tell me some of these men would still want to be her?”

“Even with her, they would like to change places,” I admit. “There is a purity of purpose in slavery – all that is important is pleasing the master. To someone whose life seems without meaning, to have reason and be cherished might be desirable.”

That seems to arouse him for some reason, and he begins to move his hips. The motion is ever so slow, but it is the start of a rhythm.

“What about you, Aurore?” he asks, running his hands up over my back. “Do you enjoy slavery? Is that why you didn’t leave when you had the chance?”

I smile, boldly leaning down to kiss his cheek.

“Master will never get me to admit that. I just like having sex as a woman.”

So that is what we do.

29 - The coming of the grey man.

I am running across the wooden docks and jetties of compound, racing back towards the slave pens having just dropped a bundle of soiled tunics to the laundry, when I notice a dark-skinned slave woman is waving vigorously at me from a doorway.

It is Udumi. Udumi is beckoning me across to her.

I switch direction, the shelter she offers being closer than that of the pens. Today is a pouring day in the jungle – one of those days it rains so hard that you’re drenched the moment you’re exposed to the open air.

Our tropical slave tunics are ideal for keeping the wearer cool in the sun, but they’re not a good garment for the wet. Mine is soaked, and when it does that it clings to every curve of my form and goes partly translucent, almost as revealing as if I were naked.

The Priest Kings also chose to give Aurore hyper-responsive nipples that grow erect at any excuse, so they protrude against the wet tunic, impossible to hide.

It is not a dignified look, but luckily there is only Udumi to see me in this state.

“Come in quickly, I have a bone to pick you,” she says harshly.

Hmm, this doesn’t sound good. Her hostile voice is back, the tone she used to speak during my early days as a slave. All the same I comply, and follow her into the room. It looks like one of the warrior’s quarters. It is at almost the opposite side of the compound to Kurtz’ hut. They face each other across the jetties like enemies.

This must be Chiron’s rooms.

Prising the mat of my long hair away from my back I lean over and try to wring out some of the water. It can take an ahn for Aurore’s hair to dry in the perpetual rain forest humidity.

Apart from the dirt floor there is none of the monastic poverty present in my master’s quarters. Opulent furs and fabrics are piled in an untidy heap almost waist-high, and wider than a human being. Next to the mound sit multiple bottles of fine wines and perfumes.

He has some throne-like chairs of a mahogany wood, and painting of a nude woman on her knees decorates the wall.

“What’s the problem?” I ask Udumi.

“You told me you were the agent of the Priest Kings,” she says, “sent to infiltrate Kurtz’ group. You have succeeded – he made you his personal slave, and then his passion slave.”

“Yes,” I agree.

She seems to be furious, but I’m baffled why. I’ve not done anything wrong.

“I assume your mission was to make your way back to the home of the Priest Kings, where you would be returned to Urth?”

“That was the idea,” I confirm.

I am not expecting the slap, so she catches me right across my unguarded cheek, almost knocking me off my feet.

“What in the name of the Priest Kings are you doing still here then? I saw what happened after the fight. He offered you freedom and passage home. Instead you come out with some crap about only deserving to stay here in front of the whole camp, and then you run around the compound like a love-struck fourteen-year-old.”

Udumi grasps my shoulders, trying to shake sense into me.

“You’re not an unattractive woman, Aurore. I presume at some time in your life on Earth a guy has shown interest in you. So why are you acting like this is the first time?”

I rub my sore face, which is throbbing with pain.

“I let a sheltered life,” I say. “Actually this is kinda the first time I’ve had so much attention.”

“Grow up, Aurore,” she insists. “Gor is not a fair world. It doesn’t matter if you deserve to stay as penance for the panthers. Get out while you have the chance.”

Udumi lifts her hands to her head and rubs her eyes with exasperation.

“Oh, Priest Kings, Aurore, you don’t know how you can piss people off,” she groans.

“Why is this important to you?” I ask. “What difference does it make what I do?”

“Because I want you to leave and take me with you,” she says. “You might enjoy playing adult Dungeons and Dragons but I would do anything to go home.”

I am so surprised at this request that I almost do the cliché jaw drop.

“But I thought you liked Gor,” I say. “You seem so happy, and so natural in your place.”

Udumi grimaces like I’m dumb.

“All I’m doing is what I have to do to survive,” she says, “and for women on Gor that means submission. But I don’t for one ehn buy into all this women-are-meant-to-be-slaves philosophy.”

To emphasise her point she cross her wrists, and says in a needy voice, “Oh master, please rape me, oh teach me my slavery.”

It sounds entirely authentic. She is quite the actress.

Udumi sinks to the floor then, as if exhausted.

“You came here of your own free will Aurore, so perhaps that’s why you don’t understand what it’s like. Maybe that’s your problem. Well let me enlighten you.”

“When a woman wakes up and discovers her old life is gone forever and she’s a prisoner on Gor, it is easier to forget her former existence, give up all hope and lose herself in the role of a slave.”

“That’s how I stayed alive and kept my sanity, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t switch this life at a moment’s notice to be sitting in a bar in Santa Monica drinking a margarita.”

I too feel a sudden pang of longing at the image her words provoke.

“Then you come along, playmate of the month with the chance of a way home, and I can’t forget Earth any more. You woke up all my hope, and all the pain. And then I’m forced to watch you throwing that all away when I’d give anything to be you?”

She sighs.

“I’d never thought what I’m doing would hurt anyone else in that way,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I can imagine that must be hard for you.”

“There’s more,” Udumi says. “My grandmother, back in L.A. She was sick, cancer of the liver. I want to see her before she dies.”

I look at her, bemused.

“In the scrolls on the lives of slave women on Gor, none of them ever worry about ageing relatives,” I say.

“You must snap out of the sex fantasy Aurore, you must leave, and you must take me with you.”

“I would like to help you,” I say, “but I’m not sure how I can do that. Agents of the Priest Kings are to watch the markets of Gor for my sale,” I tell her. “But they will not expect to buy two slaves. I would have to return to the Sardar and send for you, or plead with my master to return us both.”

“He already nearly crossed swords with Chiron over my collaring. It’s not going to go well if my master wants Chiron’s woman as well.”

Udumi is shaking her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You do not have long left to run around in this romance of whips and chains. And whatever you think of your master, he is a Gorean and will eventually treat you the way Gorean men treat women.”

“He is different from the others,” I say, wanting to defend him. “He does not take women by force anymore.”

She shakes her head again and leaps back to her feet.

“See this?” she asks.

Udumi lifts her beautiful ebony left thigh, twisting her knee to present the brandius mark to me. On her it adds to her beauty, rather than detracting.

“He might have said you weren’t to be used sexually, but I don’t remember the conversation where he told Chiron you weren’t to be branded.”

It is my turn to shake my head. I feel sudden fear.

No, actually he hadn’t expressly said I wouldn’t be marked for life as a slave, but surely that’s his opinion.

“You will be marked soon,” Udumi insists. “Let that be your wake-up call.”

“None of the women from your raid has long left here. It is harmful to keep captives here beyond a certain duration. Bonds begin to form between the slaves and their masters, and neither wants to part. Slave trading is a business, so the girls have to move on.”

Nessa and her blonde-haired warrior are attached to one another. Surely they won’t sell Nessa?

“One of the slavers’ caste comes here in the next week. He will buy the first of you. They will mark you all before then.”

I’ve become so used to the routine her I have forgotten that the compound is a training and processing place for slaves, and by necessity those slaves must be sold onwards.

I have no more time to think on this, though. There is a sound from outside the hut, and Udumi swears. I am aware of the voice of Chiron, owner of this place, and of this girl.

He has a knack of disturbing our conversations.

“Hide,” Udumi urges indicating the mound of fur and fabric, “Under here. Don’t let him find you.”

She lifts some silk drapes from part-way up the heap. There is no time to argue. I scramble into place underneath them.

I feel weights added to those above me, as Udumi piles further items on top, probably disguising the shape of a human figure.

There is a small cave-like opening in the silks. Like a child spying from under the bedclothes, I can see into the room.

Chiron enters his quarters shaking the rain from his tunic, accompanied by a strange looking man.

The male visitor is cloaked almost as heavily as a free woman might be, wearing a cowl of grey material, stained dark from rainwater, that masks his features. He is an unusually shaped fellow, having very broad muscular shoulders but a slim waist, so his upper body is almost an inverted triangle.

“It does not engender trust that you hide your face,” Chiron says to him.

“I can reveal myself if you wish, but most prefer I keep myself covered,” the man says, and when he draws back his hood I can see why.

This one’s face is hideously deformed. White hair bulges from patches where his skull is not swollen. His skin and hair show he is elderly, which means he must be ancient in Urth years, but his shoulders are enormous and still bulge with the muscle of his prime.

The grey man looks as if someone tried to create some superhuman, but the experiment turned him into Frankenstein’s monster.

“You are an exotic?” Chiron asks, referring to the poor humans bred for specific traits or behaviours.

“You could say that,” he answers.

“Forgive me – raise your hood again.”

The grey man does so.

The two men then sit in the throne chairs.

From my narrow field of view there are occasional flashes of Udumi’s body, as she moves around the room, kneeling first to serve her master, and then the guest.

“Your slave is a beautiful woman,” the grey man compliments.

“She is barbarian,” Chiron answers, “taken when the Ubar first seized this place.”

“Really?” the grey man answers, “that is more interesting to me than you might think.”

Once drinks are served, Udumi kneels and the men settle down to business.

“You have requested a parley with me, and not the Ubar,” Chiron begins. “So say what you have come to say.”

“I represent those who once used this landing site for their... tarns,” the grey man begins, answering carefully.

“This territory was seized unlawfully from them by he who you call Ubar, the man known as Kurtz, causing much disruption to our trading operation in this area. This slave girl that kneels here would have been just one part of their property that was lost.”

After a pause he adds, “Those I represent are much vexed.”

Chiron shrugs.

“Gor is a place for the strongest to take what they want,” he responds. “What has happened to your people, has happened. What is your loss of concern to me?”

The grey man shifts in his seat.

“Those I represent wish to renew their operations here,” he says. “This construction,” (and he gestures to the walls of the compound) “might be serendipitous. They send me to propose to you a joint venture.”

“My associates have access to an almost unlimited supply of barbarian women that we can deliver here. In the compound they will be trained and sold on for mutual profit. Everybody wins.”

Anger bubbles in me at his casual words. From the darkness under the silks and furs, I reflect that the captives do not win.

“If this offer is so attractive, why not take it straight to the Ubar?” Chiron asks.

“Because the first of our terms is that we are delivered the one called Kurtz, who must give account to those I represent for his conduct. You will become Ubar in the compound, and we hope you to be a more reasonable man with whom we can do business.”

Even though Chiron is the beneficiary of this offer, he seems angry.

“You are bold and foolish to come here as Kurtz’ guest, and speak such sedition,” he says. “I am loyal to him. I should put you to death right here.”

The grey man seems unalarmed by this threat.

“I do not discuss an easy black and white matter of betrayal with you. I speak of a change which is inevitable, whether you help me or not,” he says. “Your Ubar is resented by many others apart from my employers, and this territory was not unclaimed before you arrived.”

“Bila Haruma, he who holds the Ubarate at the north shore of the lake, has seen his trade badly damaged by Kurtz’ activities. Already he is gathering his forces to mount an assault on this compound.”

“He has decreed all the men who serve Kurtz are to be put to the sword, or taken as slave.”

“A tidal wave of hatred builds, one that will wipe this place from Gor.”

“Only we have the power to prevent that fate, but those I represent will not intercede to save the one who has harmed us. So the decision before you is not about betrayal. It is about joining us, or meeting your deaths. You have the chance to save the lives of all here.”

Chiron thinks for a moment.

“You said that delivery of Kurtz was one of your terms. There are others?”

“Only one more,” the grey man replies, “a trivial matter. We believe you have a white girl here as slave, exceptionally beautiful with dark red hair, who was in the party of a river boat which was captured by your men some months ago. That girl will also be given to us.”

I gasp, but Chiron is already speaking and no-one hears me.

“Aurore?” Chiron asks. “What do you want with Aurore? Why is she so important?”

“Those I represent desire the use of her,” the grey man says.

“There are many female slaves,” Chiron counters, “even a few as beautiful as her. Make use of those.”

“She comes from the houses of those who oppose my employers,” says the grey man. “The opportunity to use her for retribution against them is unique.”

Silence falls for a moment. Then the grey man speaks again.

“You are a man of conscience. I suggest you tell the Ubar every word of our proposal. He has a sense of honour even in his madness, and may sacrifice himself to save this place from Bila Haruma, and give his agreement.”

Chiron seems somewhat mollified by this suggestion.

“How will we contact you, if do wish to accept this offer?” Chiron asks.

The grey man is prepared for this question.

“The landing area for our Tarns is still here,” he answers. “Leave a lock of the redhead girl’s hair affixed to the slave post there, and we will understand the sign.”

Thus do I learn that I truly am the catalyst of doom, as Kurtz foretold.

My master is to die, either at the hands of the others or the Ubar across the lake. I am part of the deal that will lead to his death.

The great importance of what I’ve just heard temporarily dislodges Udumi’s warning from my mind, but when I hurry back to the pens I see with further dread that the forge has been lit.