Ubara of Gor Chapter One

Chapter One - Yishana al Ghul

'We are all wave-riders on the savage salt sea.'

Six months had gone by.

“I must congratulate you, Sir, on your remarkable good fortune in sacking my ship and seizing me as a hostage, for you can be certain that once my ransom is paid you will all be very rich men indeed. Behold, a ransom unparalleled standing before you in dignity, chastity and grace. Yes, rest assured that my price when I am returned, cared for, in honour, will be considerable. You are all fortunate men.” The free woman stood regally in front of the mast where she had been escorted by armed Askaris, along with two other free women who had been travelling with her on the Urqa de Maria de la Rosa galley. That ship was now listing at a dangerous angle, soon to be slipping beneath the waves after being rammed and holed below its waterline by the Larl of the Thassa. Most of the crew that had fought us had been killed in quick succession, and only those indicated by Yishana's spear pointing arm had been spared. That number had of course included all the women, for women are precious and can be considered cargo in every sense of the word. The Lady wore rich robes of concealment despite the intense heat, and her face was modestly veiled. From the tone of her voice I guessed she was High Caste and probably very rich.

“And to whom am I speaking?” enquired Tijani as he wiped the blood from his sword with a length of rag while glancing down at her. He was naked from the waist up, save for a heavy selection of gold jewellery hanging around his throat and leather vambraces on his forearms, secured on the underside with thongs. One pectoral was decorated with abstract tattoo designs of a tribal nature. Below the waist he wore a breach cloth of bright colours – red, yellow, white and black, in parallel diagonal stripes that was wound three times about his loins and secured with a heavy leather belt perforated with punched holes. Tijani disdained sandals and like many of the crew went barefoot. His head was dark with the barest silhouette of hair at the moment as he had not shaved it for a week. This contrasted with his beard that in a further example of vanity he kept closely trimmed. Tijani was black skinned, as were almost all the men on the Larl, but unlike the Askaris recruited from the unexplored areas of the Black Kingdoms, he was originally from Port Kar and had been a galley slave – one of the chained oarsmen – on board the Carcassonne the day we had encountered Yishana's pirate ram ship.

I had made the mistake of taunting Tijani many times during the sea voyage on board the Carcassonne for I had noticed him in particular taking an interest in the beautiful white skinned girl who spent her days gazing over the sea rail, dreaming of the day she might be reunited with her children.

“What is your name, girl?” he would ask me from where he sat, chained to a bench, his wrists manacled in turn to the heavy wooden oar he was expected to pull. An overseer with a whip would remind him if and when he was thought to be slacking. He was broad shouldered, strong like a bull from many months service on the Carcassonne, and his dark brown skin shone with sweat that day when I turned round and said with a derisory sneer, “do not speak to me, slave,” for slave-girls are above the attention of male slaves. The likes of us are not for them. They must toil for months to even be in with the chance of touching a slave-girl. We are for the pleasure of free men.

On one occasion it had amused me to bring a small piece of loose silk and, touching it briefly to my breasts where the scent of my slave perfume lingered, I had tossed it into the oar pit with a mocking laugh, saying, “here, this is as close to me as you will ever be.” Men had fought one another to grasp that piece of slave silk, but it was Tijani that had won it. The way he had gazed up at me as he placed the silk to his nose and inhaled my scent made me shiver at the time and be thankful he was so securely chained.

That was six months ago, and since then my white skin has been toasted a golden shade by the sun, for on board this ship we often sailed equatorial waters, and the already hot sun reflects off the water. The Thassa was gleaming blue today with a sky as pale and cloud free as it was possible to see on Gor.

“I am the Lady Saffia Luna Josefina Alejandra of Telnus, and my honour price will no doubt be my weight in gold and silver.” She brushed a little dust from the left sleeve of her silken gown. I noticed that she wore soft little white gloves that came to her wrists.

“Alejandra,” said Tijani as he inspected the edge of his blade for any remaining blood that might rust it. “That name is known to many men.”

“And so it should be, Sir, for my free companion is none other than Captain Matias Thiago Alejandra of Telnus, Third Sword to the city and Sea Admiral of the Second Fleet of Cos. May the Priest Kings praise him.” She drew herself to her full height, which wasn't saying much as she was no more than five feet five inches tall.

“Yes, that's the one.” Tijani walked towards me where I sat on a heaped bale of sail cloth watching the proceedings. I knew I would be needed soon and was simply biding my time until then. Tijani held his sword towards me and, as was expected, I knelt, thighs apart in nadu and kissed the flat of the blade. Then, taking up some rence cloth, I folded the blade carefully, for I would be expected to clean and oil the blade properly, as I did after each such battle. Tijani was the only man onboard the Larl who chose to fight with a sword in his hand. All the other men carried short stabbing spears called assegais. I didn't dare meet Tijani's eyes, for I knew what I would see there. I was the only white skinned slave on the Larl, and I knew Tijani had a particular taste for blonde white skinned girls. Me in particular.

“Master,” I whispered, without looking up.

Tijani said nothing to me, nor did he touch me. He simply turned round to face the free women again, and only then once he did, did I dare to look up and continue to watch.

Six months ago

The timbers of the Carcassonne of Cos creaked for it was an old timer of a ship; a veteran of the brine swept Thassa, its planks retaining the odour of fish after a storm. Now its decks were washed with blood and entrails and it sounded a last regretful symphony of the voices of dying men as Yishana and her Askaris surveyed what they had won with steel.

“You are making a mistake; one that you will reconsider once you realise I can be more useful to you as a free man,” said Simon as he and I knelt in unconditional surrender to this Ubara of the Black Coast. I think he was trying to emulate the smug confidence that Brinn had in these kind of situations. Brinn is never flustered or concerned by the prospect of being captured for he knows that, like Tarl Cabot, he will always find a way to escape. Simon was channelling his 'inner Brinn', though I knelt close enough to him to sense his true fear and even though we didn't hold one another's hands for comfort, I could feel his body brushing against mine and I could feel the way he trembled. Brinn would not be scared, but then Simon is not Brinn no matter how much he wants to be.

“Am I?” Yishana walked around us. Just minutes earlier she had executed the last remaining men of Cos who had identified themselves as such. Now she prowled across the main deck of the Carcassonne, victorious from having seized the vessel on the high seas. There was something odd about her, and then I saw what it was – the pupils of her eyes were heavily dilated as if she was high on some drug. Like her men she was naked save for a red breach cloth wound about her loins.

“My name is Simon of the Sardar, and this is my kajira, Emma. We are not of Cos, and owe no allegiance to Cos. Their war with you – their dispute with you – is not ours. I am of the caste of Physicians, and so I can be of use aboard ship, tending to your sick and injured.” Despite his nerves, Simon gathered his face into the kind of confident smile that Brinn would show round about now. I think he knew how valuable physicians might be on board a sailing vessel during a long voyage. He was confident then of his bargaining position.

“We have healers,” said Yishana. She didn't look at Simon, but she did look at me. I wasn't used to being looked at in this way by a free woman. Interestingly, there was none of the scorn and disgust that normally came with such a study, and too I was somewhat disconcerted and confused by the fact that this free woman was dressed so scandalously in just the red breach cloth and bangles. Brinn's slaves in the Sardar would be more modestly dressed than she was during the daytime. True we were in warm waters now, but even so, for a free woman to dress in this fashion, and be surrounded by warriors who didn't seem to object... On the mainland she would have been thrust to her knees by her own men. They would have there and then enslaved her for dressing in such a slave like fashion, regardless of their oaths to her. A man will not follow a woman who shames herself. That overrides any such oath of loyalty. And yet these silent, grim faced Askaris from some unknown jungle tribe seemed to respect Yishana, fear her perhaps. Even possibly worship her? For that is what I saw in their faces – a measure of almost religious devotion as she walked about us.

Simon laughed. “Healers, Lady? Healers are not physicians. We have the latest science at our disposal, We do not...” he glanced round and regarded the men with their tribal tattoos and jungle adornments who watched him as they held their oval shields and short stabbing spears, “make potions and wave fetish sticks to cure the sick.”

I do not think that was a good thing for Simon to say. It came across as condescending, even to my ears. I do not think Simon is racist in any way, but I think there is a little of the ingrained superiority of a technologically sophisticated Earth man towards what appears to be barbaric primitive people in his demeanour, and a natural assumption that their skills are beneath his own.

I have many well-founded criticisms of Goreans and Gorean society, but if I’m being honest there are some positive things too. Goreans on the whole have little concept of racism, which strikes me as unusual bearing in mind my familiarity with Earth. On Gor men and women do not really differentiate by skin colour or race, save perhaps in a preferential way when it comes to the price of slaves. Certain men may covet blonde haired white skinned girls, while other men may be prepared to pay a high price for a dusky Nubian beauty. The only standard that virtually all Goreans agree on is that a girl with auburn hair is particularly prized and will in any market you care to think of, command a higher price, all other things being equal.

But the concept of racism is rarely found on Gor. A white Gorean will not think less of another man because he has dark skin. Before we assume that Goreans are somewhat better than us because of this, I should mention that any trace of racism is probably subsumed by nationalism on their part. Goreans are extremely nationalistic, and they regard their city state as better than all the other city states. There is therefore a natural level of distrust and suspicion when it comes to strangers, foreigners from other cities, but the colour of their skin as such is largely irrelevant. All that matters is whether you share a Home Stone or not. A casual observer might point out that a city in the Black Kingdoms of the equator which might have citizens who are predominantly black in skin tone would be distrusted by say the citizens of Ar, but the important thing is that it’s not because of the skin colour. Citizens of Ar would feel precisely the same way if the people from the jungle city were Caucasian white. Goreans for the most part are colour blind.

“You are handsome, Simon of the Sardar. Pretty even. You will be my silk slave,” said Yishana after a while as she regarded him. “You shall braid my hair, serve me food and drink, and oil my body at my command. You will learn to be a woman's perfumed body slave, tending to her needs. All her needs...” she said as she pursed her lips and made a playful biting motion with a snap of her teeth.

This was very audacious behaviour from a free woman, practically flaunting her sexuality in front of men. I glanced round and saw no sign of emotion in the faces of the Askaris. What was wrong with them? It was inconceivable that a bare breasted woman could act in this way without having a collar hammered about her neck and a heated brand upon her thigh.

“I am a free man,” said Simon angrily. “I am not a slave.”

“You are what I say you are.” Yishana turned to face me and smiled. She ran her hand across my breasts, seeming to like what she saw. “You will be my slave too. You will be soft and pliable in my furs at night. You will give me pleasure as I command it until I grow bored.”

I looked up startled, hardly believing what I was hearing! Yishana, it seemed, was at the very least bisexual. My heart beat furiously as I thought about this. In all the time I had been on Gor I had never been expected to pleasure a woman. Such things did no doubt happen from time to time, for Gor being so closely linked to the ancient Roman and Greek cultures did not shy away from homosexuality, but it was, at least publicly, very rare. It was known that certain Masters would have a taste for male slaves and would indulge that taste as they saw fit. The male slaves need not be homosexual themselves of course, and rarely were. They were slaves – their preferences did not come into it. But free women would not dare to lay with a female slave and make such a thing known. There was I think a taboo in such matters in the major cities of Gor. It was frowned upon by men who, I believe I have mentioned before, do not share the typical Earth man lesbian fantasies of watching two beautiful women pleasuring one another. Gorean men get no sexual thrill from the concept of lesbian sex. The almost Sparta like concept of a strong man taking another man, if that was what he liked, was acceptable, though often met with bewilderment by the majority of the male population who didn't share such tastes and therefore couldn't understand them, but they disapproved of the equivalent feelings amongst the female sex. A free woman who couched with another woman, be she free or slave, would be disgraced if such word got out. It would be unseemly. I suppose deep down men might feel threatened by such feelings between women. Women after all are for their pleasure, as far as Gorean men think anyway.

I think Simon was a bit startled by this as well. He glanced up from where he knelt and watched as Yishana now placed her fingers within my mouth. I knew what I was supposed to do, and I sucked them, raising doe eyes to her as I did so. I felt a tingle of sorts in my body, for I still found women attractive, but my feelings on the matter these days were complicated. My Kurii given body was naturally attuned to feeling submissive before men, and it opened itself hormonally to the touch of a man. But my mind – the mind that had once been Eric Michael Anderson – he who was sexually attracted to women on Earth – that mind still appreciated the female form.

In the past I had had successful and pleasurable sex with Rachel, but that had been an exception to the rule. When earlier than that I had tried to arouse Kara early on in my slavery, my body had suddenly made me feel repulsed when I had considered touching her vulva. Up until then I had felt aroused by Kara, but the moment I tried to satisfy any sapphic impulses, something inside my body switched my feelings off and replaced them with a feeling akin to nails scratching down a blackboard. I hadn't understood what had happened, but suspected there may have been some element of Kurii conditioning to switch off my old male self in place of a more traditional set of female responses towards sex.

“Emma is my slave,” said Simon. “She belongs to me.”

Yishana glanced at the tall main mast of the Carcassonne and then back at Simon. “Prepare him,” she said simply.

Simon was taken to the mast and chained there, that is to say his wrists were locked in slave bracelets and these in turned were hammered into the mast at a point well above his head. He stood there at the mast as an Askari cut away his tunic.

I suspect Simon at this point must have thought he was going to be branded, but I knew that wouldn't be happening. Standing, with wrists secured to a mast is not a branding position. For a brand to be applied to a slave, the slave's thigh must be secured in place so tightly that it cannot move even an inch. That way the brand can be applied neatly and accurately, providing a clean and decorative sigil of the kef letter in the Gorean alphabet. Branding is almost always done to a slave-girl but not always to a male slave. There is some speculation as to why this is and I have in the past heard the theory that in certain cities the branding of male slaves was discouraged because male slaves remain dangerous and it would not do for them perhaps to observe their strength in numbers and then plan a revolt. Very few male slaves become meek and compliant on Gor. It is not in their nature. Whether this is the case with male slaves taken from Earth, I do not rightfully know. Brinn in the past told me that he considers men of Earth to be weak and suitable for lying in chains at the foot of a woman who desires a male silk slave, but he also feels that many men of Earth can be taught not to be weak if they are brought to Gor. This is what he tried to do with Simon to varying degrees of success.

So no, I did not think that Yishana was about to brand Simon on the thigh. What she had planned though was equally as bad.

“I am not a slave,” said Simon again as he stood with his back to the mast, his wrists chained helplessly above his head. Brinn would have said the same thing but with confidence. I could see the fear in Simon's eyes as he knew he was completely out of his depth now. Simon was strong, but he was not a warrior, and he knew himself to be surrounded by armed men who might kill him at the slightest command from this beautiful but savage looking Ubara of the Black Coast.

“Your name is Emma, yes?” asked Yishana as she glanced at me.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Arouse your former Master.”

It's fair to say that a free woman had never told me to do THAT before. But I was quickly coming to the conclusion that Yishana was no ordinary free woman. I walked softly towards Simon, my body moving like liquid silk, and as he moved in his chains I could see that just the way I looked at him was already beginning to have its effect.

“Emma...” said Simon as he cleared his throat.

I dropped to my knees before the chained slave. And then I touched him carefully with my hands. His penis rose swiftly until it stood before me, quivering with desire. It is that easy with a man if you are a trained Pleasure Slave.

There is a common misconception on Earth that a woman cannot rape a man. This is obviously nonsense if you think about it, because obviously a man who finds himself helpless could be penetrated anally by a woman with a phallus shaped toy if she so chose. I think the saying originates from the erroneous assumption that a woman would only rape a man through conventional penetration on her part. So in order for her to be penetrated the man has to be erect, and if a man is erect he is in this state because he is aroused and compliant, ergo it cannot be rape.

The truth of the matter isn’t quite so straight forward as Simon was now demonstrating. He hadn’t asked to be manacled to the main mast and he hadn’t asked that I move towards him and arouse him with my hands, but the effect was the same – whether he wished to have intercourse with me in full view of the crew, my hands and then my mouth were bringing him to a full, stiff, uncompromising erection that I could then manipulate as I wished. Furthermore, the effect of being chained was adding to his arousal, I think. This is not typical of Gorean men who on the whole harbour no secret submissive fantasies. A male Gorean slave is basically a dangerous caged animal who might turn on a free woman who was his mistress if the opportunity presented itself. They do not usually get aroused by being chained. Simon however is from Earth, and although he might be essentially dominant in his tastes, he was weak enough to find sexual pleasure through bondage like a girl might.

It is things like this that make Gorean men think poorly of Earth men. A man they feel should not be submissive in any way. And so, Simon was quickly compliant to my touch, much to Yishana’s quiet satisfaction. She noted I think how easy it was to bring him to full arousal. I knew how to touch him with my hands and then when I placed my lips to the tip of his penis he was putty in my hands. I looked to Yishana for further direction and she nodded.

“Bring him to orgasm, girl.”

And so I did. He moaned and trembled in the wrist manacles as he stood there helpless to stop me. I know how to prolong a man’s orgasm and I know how to trigger it quickly. With Simon I did the latter. He came hard in my mouth, his legs shaking as he did so. I withdrew, wiped my lips with the back of my hand and I swallowed his semen. I was used to doing that sort of thing by now. Yishana and the crew watched as his penis lay back, flaccid for the time being.

Tijani, the muscular black galley slave, had been watching me throughout. He leaned against the port-side rail now that he was free of his wrist manacles. I learned later that Yishana routinely freed the oarsmen who had been pressed into service on the ships of Cos. “Let those who have reason to hate the Ubarate of Cos and seek its downfall, let them carry steel and be free at my behest. I will loose ten thousand swords against Telnus before I die,” she was fond of saying, and whenever she would mention the state of Cos her eyes would seem to burn with self-righteous fire.

If a man impressed her, she might offer him a place on the Larl of the Thassa, but for the rest she would offer them free passage to the shore where they might make their own life on mainland Gor. Tijani had been shackled to the oar and had spent many months rowing in the service of the Captain of the Carcassonne. Naked, like the other galley slaves, he was an impressive sight, six feet five inches tall and endowed with the largest penis I had ever seen. He watched me with the look of a man who well remembered the slights I had made him endure while he was securely chained to the rowing bench. He still wore his collar – a crude thing of raw iron that had been beaten about his neck. Male galley slaves do not have the pretty steel collars that pleasure slaves wear, but rather heavier things that are hammered shut with rivets. In time he would be freed of the collar when Yishana’s men no longer had other things to deal with.

“Cherish this moment well, slave,” said Yishana as she signalled to someone in the crew. She placed her hand on Simon’s stomach and ran her nails down his skin to the soft curl of public hair around his penis. She curled her fingers in amongst the hair as the Askaris parted their ranks to allow a black slave-girl through. She had short hair, was naked except for a piece of silk about her hips, and she wore large golden hoop earrings in each earlobe. In her hands she carried a small wooden box with an open top that she presented to Yishana with barely a glance at the chained figure of Simon.

“I’m not a slave,” said Simon again.

“That was the last moment of pleasure you will experience as a free man,” said Yishana. “When next you derive any pleasure from a woman, it will be as a slave, in my furs, pleasing me.”

“I said…”

“Hush.” Yishana placed a finger to Simon’s lips. “Guard your words now carefully, for I now pronounce you slave. You see - it is done. How simple it is.” Around the deck all the Askaris raised their spear butts and pounded their shields three times, signalling Yishana’s decree. To every man on board this ship, Simon was now a slave, uncollared and unbranded that he might be.

I would not be calling him Master again now that he was a slave. The relationship between us had changed completely the moment Yishana had spoken her words and the Askaris had acknowledged them with a clash of spears against shields. Simon was no longer free; he was no longer a Master. I looked at him now as a slave-girl of Gor looked upon a male slave. He had taken me away from my home and my children when he could have returned me there. He had thought he would strike out and create a new life for us.

And he had. It's just that his new life wasn't quite what he thought it might be.

What happened next was horrible to behold. And if it was bad for me to watch, it was even worse for Simon to experience.

Yishana took hold of Simon's penis and pulled the foreskin by its tip, stretching it out slightly. Then her slave handed her from the box a pair of steel clippers designed to make a small punch hole. She placed the sharp rounded points to the stretched foreskin tip and neatly punched a hole through it. Simon screamed loudly and shook in his chains and I squeezed my eyes shut, imagining what that must have felt like.

“Hush,” said Yishana again as she returned the steel hole punch and was given a small steel ring that was open enough to thread through the hole in the tip of the foreskin. With another small tool she closed the steel together, pinching it shut. Now Simon had a steel ring piercing through his foreskin, closing it shut. He could still pee through it, but the foreskin would not permit any sliding back on the penis itself. But Yishana wasn’t finished. Now she pinched out some of the skin from Simon’s scrotum, causing him to flinch in pain. And again, with the steel tipped clippers she punched a hole through the skin there. Again, Simon screamed, louder than before. Yishana ignored this and simply threaded a second steel ring through Simon’s scrotum skin, pinching it closed with the second tool. And then she took a third steel ring, the same small size as the other two, and with its open end threaded it through first the ring on the tip of his penis and then through the ring on his scrotum. She pinched this ring shut too. Now Simon’s penis was chained to the side of his scrotum, making any form of erection impossible and extremely uncomfortable. As a chastity device it was incredibly cruel and incredibly effective. I watched Simon shake in his chains, moaning from the pain and horrified at the realisation of what Yishana had done to him.

“Arouse him again,” said Yishana to me. Knowing I had little choice, I knelt before Simon again and set myself to licking and kissing his chained manhood. This time when the penis tried to rise and expand and the foreskin tried to move with it, Simon let out cry of pain and it quickly receded back down.

“And again,” said Yishana as she watched Simon squirm in discomfort.

“Please, Mistress… he understands now,” I said as my hair brushed his thigh.

“Do you understand, slave?” asked Yishana.

“Yes,” whimpered Simon as he hung there helpless in his chains.

“Try not to think of slave-girls from now on,” said Yishana matter of factly. “They are no longer a source of pleasure or delight for you. The touch of a slave girl now will bring you nothing but discomfort.” Yishana turned to address one of her men. “Release him. Give him a pretty breach cloth of silk to wear and see that he is fed and watered.”

Something had changed, and both Yishana and I had noticed it, for although at first Tijani's eyes had been watching me alone, now he had switched his attention to Yishana and he watched with cold detachment the figure of the Pirate Queen, naked from the waist up, her skin still splattered with traces of blood from the sailors of Cos that she had stabbed with her assegai spear. Perhaps Yishana had noticed that she was being stared at for she now turned her attention to the men at the port side rail, the men who had only an hour ago been chained to the oars of the Carcassonne.

Yishana clicked her fingers and the black skinned slave-girl reappeared, this time carrying a long dressing gown-like silk robe with a high waist belt. As Yishana opened her arms, the slave-girl placed the robe around her Mistress, closing it and tying it with the silk belt. The robe fell to her ankles and all of a sudden Yishana seemed much more respectable, though a glimpse of her throat could be seen from the immodest v-cut of the garment. Perhaps her semi-nude appearance was one she reserved for battle alongside her similarly garbed Askaris, and she was wise enough not to prolong such an appearance when perhaps her men grew relaxed and drunk and began to think of women. A goblet of some drink was handed to her and she drank from it and as she did her eyes roved along the line of freed galley slaves. She returned the goblet to the black skinned slave-girl and then walked across the varnished wooden deck towards the oarsmen.

“Are there men amongst you?” she said as she stood before them, her head held high.

Several of the men cried out that there were, though I noticed that Tijani remained broodingly silent for now.

“Understand that I will make you free men. But always remember that it was the Ubarate of Cos who made you slaves. You will be returned to the shore in due course and permitted to go free.”

Several of the men began expressing their gratitude, and I think for the most part they were perfectly genuine in their feelings. I wondered how many galley slaves Yishana had freed in her time hunting the ships of Cos on the waves of the Thassa. How many Gorean men now carried steel in their right hands and felt a burning hatred towards the island state of Cos because of her actions?

Yishana seemed disinterested in the cries of gratitude. Only when one of the men stepped forward and knelt before her and said, “I owe you a debt of steel, Lady,” did she smile.

“You owe me nothing. I discharge your debt.”

The man looked up and blinked, not understanding this. “Command me, Lady, and I am yours.”

“And what is your caste?” she asked.

“I am of the caste of bakers,” he replied.

“I have no need of bakers,” said Yishana. “Return home, live your life, and take vengeance against Cos in some fashion if you so wish to honour me.”

“I am a builder,” said another as he stepped forward from the rail.

“And I have no need for builders.” Yishana did not look at the huge black man, Tijani, but by not looking at him, it became obvious to me that she was waiting for him to say something. One by one the various men who had been chained to the oars offered service to her, and one by one she declined politely. She showed little emotion in doing so, but seemed gracious in a way that many free women do not.

And then all the men had spoken in turn save Tijani.

“You alone are silent,” she said. Yishana did not turn round, but it was obvious whom she was addressing.

Nothing was said for a few moments, and then Tijani said, “I'm thirsty. I do not speak with a dry throat. It does not agree with me, Lady.”

Yishana clicked her fingers, and the black skinned slave-girl hurried to fetch a bottle. She returned quickly and moved towards the black galley slave until he simply said, “no.” The slave stopped, looking confused. “Her.” Tijani suddenly pointed towards me. 

“What about her?” said Yishana as she now turned to regard Tijani at last. I thought Yishana looked very regal, very Ubara-like in her soft silken robe, belted tightly and high on her waist. She no longer looked like some savage panther girl, for that was the first thing I had thought when I had seen her preparing to fight. It was the closest comparison I could make from my past experiences. Whoever she was, she seemed to have some breeding, for she spoke well and carried herself with an air of superiority, though it seemed different from the usual airs and graces I associated with free women of the cities. They it seemed often had something to prove, whereas Yishana didn't.

“I want Emma to serve me,” said Tijani as he moved from the ship's rail. He clicked his fingers at me and pointed to the polished deck close to his feet.

“You do not find Imani attractive?” asked Yishana. Personally, I thought Imani was very attractive. She had a vibrant ripe sexuality about her, and a deliciously curvaceous body. Goreans have a preference for what used to be referred to as 'womanly curves' – that hourglass shape that accentuates the difference between hips, bust and waist. Skinny androgynous girls from Earth are not greatly desired and are quickly put on a suitable diet to improve their figure to Gorean standards. Imani had womanly curves in abundance.

“Of course I do, but Emma flaunted herself on board the Carcassonne while I sat at the rowing benches in chains. She will serve me.”

Yishana nodded and turned her head in my direction. “Do so.”

“Yes Mistress.” I stepped forward and took the goblet from Imani's hands. I felt very unsure of myself for I did not understand or comprehend the power dynamics on board the Larl of the Thassa. Yishana was in charge of course, but there was also the hawk like man with the shaven head and the dark robes who seemed to stand close to her at all times, and there were apparently preferred warriors who took positions of authority, and then there was Tijani himself, merely a collared galley slave who had been freed from his chains, but whom Yishana seemed to have some interest in. I approached Tijani and knelt before him on the deck with my thighs open, my head lowered. I reached out with my arms and presented him with the goblet. I think it contained some sort of Rum spirit. “Your drink, Master. Emma hopes it gives you pleasure.”

Tijani said nothing as he took the cup and put it to his lips.

“Happier now?” asked Yishana as she watched him drink.

“Give her to me,” said Tijani with a smile as he finished the drink and placed the empty cup on the flat surface of the rail.

“I think not.” Yishana smiled too. “You are very demanding for a galley slave. Bold even.”

“I am not a galley slave,” said Tijani. “We both know that I soon will be one of your chosen preferential warriors on board this ship.”

“Oh?” Yishana raised a shapely eyebrow in amusement. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

“Your men fought well enough,” said Tijani as he began to pace the deck looking at them. “But of course they were only fighting sailors, bakers and builders. Pit them against the disciplined infantry of Cos and things might be very different.” Several of the spear carrying Askaris stiffened at this insult, but when Yishana raised her silk sleeved right hand they took the insult without complaining. Whatever the hold she had on them it was amazing to see. They practically worshipped her. I had never witnessed such a thing on Gor before. “That can change,” said Tijani. “They can be better. They will be better now that you have me by your side.” Now he stepped up to Yishana and loomed over her. Yishana was maybe five feet seven inches tall. Against Tijani she seemed very small indeed. I could see one or two of Yishana's chosen men ready their weapons as this stranger approached their Ubara so closely. But Yishana seemed not to mind.

“Bold,” she said. “Very bold. What is your caste?”

“I wear the scarlet,” said Tijani proudly.

“Of course you do,” said Yishana, obviously intrigued. “I suppose then that there is a place for you on the Larl. I am the Orisha Yishana al Ghul, chosen Avatar of Nakeisha wind-rider, and Ubara of the Black Coast. You may kiss my hand.” She held her right hand before him with the back of her wrist clearly available to his touch – an audacious thing to do on Gor, for by doing so a free woman is placing her small wrist in the close proximity of a man who can then take it and lock slave steel upon it. Within certain central cities of Gor such a move is tantamount to saying, 'I am a woman who places myself now within your power. I choose to do so for my own reasons. I have not been coerced. I am of course at your mercy, and I understand you can do anything you wish with me, but I trust you not to abuse that power.' Tijani took her wrist and held it for a moment. He had her. He could now if he wished throw her to the deck, strip her clothes from her body and enjoy her. Presumably the Askaris would kill him with spears, but the principle remained the same. I think Tijani appreciated this as he held Yishana's wrist for maybe longer than she had anticipated. I saw a slight trembling of her eyelashes and then Tijani brought her wrist up and kissed it softly with his lips before releasing her.

It was an almost imperceptible thing, but I saw the faint rising and falling of Yishana's bosom – a small thing a slave-girl can always recognise in a sexually aroused free woman, that other people might miss, for we are very observant for even the slightest signs of arousal in both men and women. Yishana might be some proud Warrior Queen on board the Larl, but it seemed she was still of the female sex and driven by hormones that she no doubt fought to control in order to lead such savage looking men. The lingering touch of Tijani had had some effect on her it seemed, even if she refused to acknowledge it.

“Give me Emma,” said Tijani again. “Now that I am of your crew, I want the blonde slave as a welcoming gift.”

“No.” Yishana smiled. “I think not.” She glanced at me. “Emma is ship's cargo. On the Larl of the Thassa it is I who have the first say in everything. Ship's cargo belongs to the ship.”

Tijani wasn't happy about this, but what could he do? I shivered, thinking what might have occurred if Yishana had given me to this man. The way he looked at me...

I glanced round and saw that Simon had now been freed from the chains that had held him to the mast. He now knelt with his head down, gazing in anguish at the shackled state of his manhood.

Over the next hour the Askaris began moving the cargo from the Carcassonne to the Larl of the Thassa. Said cargo of course included myself. Naomi, one of the black slave-girls, approached me and with a wax stick marked my thigh with the number 17.

 “What is that?” I asked. I noticed Naomi then marked Simon with the number 18.

“That is your inventory number,” she said. “The Mistress is methodical. Everything we take is itemised and recorded in the ship’s ledger. Every man in the crew receives a fair share of the value when it is eventually sold.”

I was cargo you see, and cargo always has a value somewhere. “I’m a pleasure slave,” I said. “I’m highly trained. I am worth in the region of nine to ten silver tarsks in Ar.”

“We’re not going to Ar,” said the girl.

“Will I be sold?”

“Of course. You are cargo.” She examined my collar and saw it had an inscription. “What does your collar say?” Obviously she couldn't read.

“It proclaims me the property of Simon of the Sardar.”

“Him?” Naomi glanced down to where Simon cupped his tortured penis in his hand. It would still be painful even now.

“Yes, that is Simon of the Sardar, my Master.”

“He is not your Master any longer. Your collar will be replaced.” Naomi's hands were upon me now, turning me round so she could examine my body for unsightly blemishes or signs of disease. The marks from my whipping on Brinn’s estate had long since faded and healed and so she seemed satisfied by what she found. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am,” I said proudly. “I am valuable.”

“We shall see.” She opened my mouth and examined my teeth, finding them healthy, and my gums in excellent condition too. “Can you read and write?”

“Yes.”

“Any other skills?”

I thought about this for a moment. I wasn’t actually very skilled outside of my ability to dance and give pleasure to men. I wasn’t particularly good at domestic skills for I had never needed to be. “I was a First Girl,” I explained.

“Few skills then.”

“Where will I be sold?”

“The slave market of Asperiche. We will put into port there soon to resupply.”

The slow setting of the sun was the signal for the victory celebrations to begin. Like all commanders Yishana understood the need to keep her men content. They had fought for her, risking their lives, and so they would naturally want to enjoy the spoils of their victory. Iron braziers were lit and meat was cooked over coal fires. Barrels of paga had been opened and the men were beginning to get drunk. Yishana lay on a wooden couch on her command deck that was swathed in thick exotic furs – the pelts of various animals from the deep interior of the jungle kingdoms. These were the pillage and loot from numerous raids; fabulously soft and luxurious. Yishana was dressed modestly in her silk gown, and she now wore ankle boots of soft leather. Her incredibly long hair had been unbound and was now being carefully braided again by Simon who knelt on the deck behind Yishana’s couch. He had groomed her hair with a narrow-toothed comb and had massaged conditioning oils into her hair. In time he would grow rather good at tending to a Lady’s hair after receiving various punishment beatings when he perhaps did something wrong, but for now he was simply trying his best not to offend the Ubara of the Black Coast for fear of what else she might do to him. Simon was naked tonight, and in the lantern light it was possible to see the three small steel rings that confined his manhood. A fourth larger ring had been attached to the central ring, and this acted as a ring to which a long steel chain was clipped. The other end of the chain had been attached to a slave ring set into the base of the wooden couch. By this arrangement Simon was effectively chained by his manhood to the bed on which Yishana lay. Whenever Simon moved, the heavy links of chain moved too, and considering the strain that movement would place on the delicate foreskin of Simon’s penis you can understand he tried to keep his movement to a minimum.

There was rhythmic drumming from the main deck where several of the Askaris were making music. Men were singing in a ululating voice only normally found in the jungle interior. They were drinking heavily and feeling happy. From time to time an Askari would salute Yishana where she lay and she would raise her hand in acknowledgement.

There were five black slave-girls on board the Larl, and that evening I knelt with them inside a chalk circle that had been drawn on the deck of the ship. The Askaris were drinking heavily and they were using us. How it worked was this – while the men wrestled, played dice, argued, joked, made music, lots would be drawn. Slave tokens equal to the number of slaves on board ship would be placed in a box with a hole in the top big enough for a man to thrust his hand inside. These slave tokens would be mixed with enough blank tokens to equal the number of Askaris and a draw would be done once every hour to allocate us out. The men would choose us in turn. I knew I would be the first choice in any draw, for although the black girls were beautiful, I was a trained pleasure slave and that counted for a lot. I also knew that, beautiful as the girls were, I was clearly superior to them in beauty.

So as the first of the Askaris approached the circle with a winning token I knew he would select me above the others. Lanterns had been hung from the rigging above us, illuminating our bodies. I knelt waiting for the hand that would take my wrist and pull me to my feet, but then I felt the black girl, Kitsu, to my left being lifted up instead. I was stunned for a moment. Kitsu was pretty, yes, there was no doubt of that, but she was kneeling beside me! How was it that the Askari had selected her in preference to me?

One by one the other black slave-girls were selected in preference to me: Naomi, then Imani, then Asha, and then Falala. I did not understand this. I was an incredibly beautiful pleasure slave! I could possibly sell for ten silver tarsks in Ar!

And then finally, only when I was the last girl kneeling in the chalk circle, like some consolation prize I felt an Askari take hold of my hair and pull me towards him. I was furious. I had never been the last girl before. Not even in the slave pens of Banu Hashim when I was unskilled. I stumbled after the Askari who seemed slightly drunk. Well, things would soon change once he used me. I didn’t think any of the other girls were trained pleasure slaves. They did not move as I did, and delightful as they might be in the furs, I could do things to a man that he would find incredible. Once I demonstrated my skills on this Askari whose breath smelled of dark spiced rum, once word got out, I’d be the crew’s favourite within days. Never underestimate the advantage of being the favourite amongst men. Men can be very generous when they like you and when they have to compete with one another for your favours.

I was thrown suddenly onto my stomach on a pale of canvas. It was dark on this side of the ship, away from the lanterns and the braziers and the hot coals over which meat was being roasted. I squirmed, making to roll onto my side so that I could show the man what I was able to do, but I suddenly felt his hands force me back onto my stomach again. I didn’t understand. I couldn’t do much when I was lying on my stomach. Did he not…

And then he was on me and he simply pressed my face down into the canvas. I felt him push my tunic up and then he pushed into me. I was held down, unable to do anything more than wriggle as the Askari hammered away at me from behind, thrusting hard, not caring what I might be trained to do. He grunted with pleasure as I gasped for breath with a face full of sail cloth. For several minutes he thrust deep inside me and then he came. With another grunt he pulled out, and before I knew what was happening, his hand was in my hair again and I was pulled back to the pools of lantern light and thrust back into the chalk circle.

I gasped for breath and wiped my nose. My hair was a mess and my tunic hem was still hitched up around my hips. I tugged it back down. I could feel his sticky residue between my inner thighs where it leaked. Two of the black girls had already been returned to the circle before me. The other three were still being used judging by the moans and grunts from either side of the ship.

I wasn’t even sure in my disorientated state which Askari had had me. In the dim light it was difficult to tell, for the lantern light above our heads served to illuminate us to the men but make the area of the ship outside the light darker.

I put my hand between my thighs and felt the sticky residue. Neither girl looked at me at all. After a few more minutes the other three girls returned one at a time. Kitsu was the last to be returned and she seemed to have a contented smile on her face. No doubt she had not been had by a man who had thrust her face down into wet sail canvas!

An hour later it was time for the men to draw lots again. The draw was accompanied by loud drumming and cheers as each man brought forth either a blank chit or a slave chit This time I knelt as a pleasure slave, graceful, sensual, enticing. The first man took Kitsu. I was livid! How was this happening! Kitsu was not nearly as beautiful as I! What was wrong with these men?

And then to my anger I was chosen last again. This was insane. This just did not happen to me. I felt a hand in my hair again and I actually hissed as I was drawn out from the circle. There was no need for that! I could be led by the wrist, but no, the man had to hold my head down to his waist so that I stumbled bare foot at his side, unable to see. I was thrown onto sail canvas on the other side of the ship from before, and once again I was rolled on to my stomach.

“Master, if you let me I can…”

I felt a hand strike me across the face.

“Quiet.” And then I was pushed down onto the sail cloth again. I was quickly penetrated and the Askari rode me like his friend before had done. I could hardly move with his weight pressing down on me. I was just being used as a tight wet hole in which to fuck. And then I was drawn onto my feet and dragged back to the circle as before. This time only one girl knelt there. Ten minutes went by until all the other girls were returned. Kitsu was the last to join us again. I was used five times that night before the men grew so drunk that the box draw became forgotten. I felt sore and miserable. Was this to be my lot on the Larl? Was this how the Askaris of the Black Coast used women? I was a skilled Pleasure Slave! The things I could do for them if they let me…

NOW

“I have a few reasonable demands of course, that are not in any way negotiable,” said the Lady Saffia.

“I am sure you do.” Tijani regarded the two free women who stood close to the Lady Saffia. While richly dressed, their robes and gowns weren’t quite as expensive looking as the outspoken Lady’s. I suspected they did not share quite her level of exalted grace within the palaces of Telnus. “Who are your companions?”

“They are my good friends, the Ladies Amelia and Tamaya. Like myself they are chaste, refined and delicate creatures and they too will bring you good ransoms, though obviously not quite as good as my own.”

“That is a shame,” said Tijani as he regarded the two Ladies. Something in his gaze made them huddle closer to their friend, Saffia.

“Perhaps we should address my demands when it comes to my captivity?” suggested Saffia pleasantly enough now that she knew her own safety was guaranteed.

“As you wish.” Tijani began to walk around the Ladies which troubled Amelia and Tamaya in particular.

“Firstly, I will of course require a private cabin of suitable luxury and fittings. Now I am not so stupid as to expect first class accommodation on a simple ram ship, but certain standards cannot be compromised. Where necessary the cabin must be refitted with exquisite cushions, soft furnishings and pleasant lamps. I shall offer suggestions for further improvements after I have dined.”

“I see,” said Tijani.

“I will require a slave to attend to my needs – dressing me in the mornings, serving me food, wine, that kind of thing. She will be required to dress my hair and run errands. Thirdly I do not wish to be disturbed unduly by common members of your crew. You will make it clear that I am a woman of considerable status and that the men on board this ship should show considerable respect when meeting me. Finally, when I take my exercise on board deck – some walking and talking with my friends, I will require that part of the vessel roped off so that I am not disturbed.”

“Anything else?” enquired Tijani.

“There may be some other minor matters as I think of them, but I feel that forms a comfortable basis on which we can build an ongoing relationship ahead of my ransom.”

Yishana had been listening to this exchange from where she stood on the poop deck, leaning against the inner rail that overlooked the deck of the Larl. She wore her ankle length belted silk robe and seemed relaxed enough. As I watched her, she smiled and rose from the rail to walk down the short flight of wooden steps to the main deck of her vessel.

“Alejandra… that name is very familiar to me,” she said as she approached the Ladies.

“If you don’t mind,” said Lady Saffia, “I am speaking with the ship’s captain. We are discussing arrangements for my captivity and ransom.”

“He is not the ship's Captain. He is a Chosen Man who leads ten spears. He does not command here. I do.” Yishana betrayed no emotion as she said that.

“Oh.” The Ladies seemed surprised by this. Perhaps they had assumed that the Ubara of the Black Coast must be subservient to a man in reality as opposed to legend. “Well then.” Saffia turned her attention away from Tijani now that she knew he held no particular authority. “You heard my conditions?”

“I did. This is a ram ship, Lady Saffia, we have few cabins. But I shall endeavour to provide adequate accommodation. You will have the use of any slaves on board that you see fit, provided you do not mark or maim any of them. That would not be acceptable for they are my property. As for your other demands – the Larl of the Thassa is not a pleasure cruise.”

“I am the Lady Saffia...”

“Be quiet or I will have you gagged,” said Yishana. “You will be my captive until I have the opportunity to meet with your free companion.”

Lady Saffia stiffened, seeming angry. “My free companion will expect…”

“I am sure he will.” Yishana turned now to the Ladies Amelia and Tamaya. “Ladies…” she nodded a polite greeting.

The Ladies curtsied demurely to Yishana, recognising the power imbalance between them. I think they were still horrified by the savage state of her when she had fought – her bare breasts, the splattering of blood on her skin and the wide dilated pupils as she had screamed in battle. I think she had killed two sailors of their vessel, both of them wielding cutlasses of sorts, but in both cases the men had been funnelled towards her at a disadvantage by the Askaris with their sharp stabbing assegais. It was not clear how well she might fight without her men to support her. Regardless, it takes bravery to enter battle under any conditions for her safety could never be guaranteed.

“Is your Home Stone that of Cos?” enquired Yishana. I think she noticed Tijani's hungry eyes on her as she spoke. She had once refused him a slave-girl, and he perhaps still remembered that. Gorean men who are warriors have an expectation of taking what they want, and they are not used to being refused, especially not by a woman. I do not think Tijani would soon forget Yishana's refusal to give me to him. Now his eyes seemed to linger on the swell of her breasts beneath the long, ankle length belted robe of rich silk. The belt you see drew attention to her slim waist and the definition between her waist and hips and breasts. It was easy enough to imagine her still naked. I think Tijani tended to like what he saw when Yishana fought semi-naked.

“Please don't kill us,” begged Lady Amelia, knowing how Yishana had responded to answers to that question with the men earlier on. All the men who claimed the Home Stone of Cos now lay dead. “My father is an administrator of the port of Selnar. He will pay gold for me.”

Lady Tamaya clutched her hands together in supplication. No doubt she too was of Cos. “And my father is a Captain in the Cosian army. He has money too!”

Yishana smiled. “I do not kill the women and children of Cos. I am not a monster.”

The Ladies seemed relieved. Amelia in particular now regretted her moment of weakness. She drew herself back into a pose of polite disinterest. Perhaps she felt she should have remained a little more haughty, aloof and confident in her own safety such as her good friend Saffia had?

“Though I do not need your ransoms, Ladies. What I do need is to keep my crew happy. My Askaris fought hard today. Five of them were killed. Your ship put up resistance you see. There are always repercussions when a ship’s crew resists the Larl of the Thassa.”

The women glanced at one another and one of them, Tamaya, was quick to say, “that was the Captain’s decision, not ours. We would have surrendered. We did not fight.”

“No, but in my eyes you are cargo, Ladies. Valuable cargo perhaps. Plunder, even. My crew fought hard today.”

“I do not understand,” said Amelia. “My father will ransom me.”

“It seems the ransom of the Lady Saffia will be more than we can possibly spend in a reasonable amount of time. There is no need to be greedy. My more immediate concern is the expectations of my Askaris. Warriors always want a woman after they have fought… and there are not many women on board the Larl...”

“You can’t possibly mean…” began Tamaya.

“You will be stripped and given to my crew for their pleasure. Afterwards, should you beg it, you will be branded and enslaved. If you prefer death instead, that can be arranged also. The choice is of course yours.”

“I must protest!” said Lady Saffia in defence of her friends.

“Protest all you like, Lady Saffia,” said Yishana without emotion. “But be thankful you bear the name Alejandra, for I have many loyal Askaris and few enough slave girls to satisfy their needs. I could always make room in my chains for one more.” Yishana raised her right hand and that was the signal for a number of the Askaris to step forward and take hold of the arms of the Ladies Amelia and Tamaya. They began screaming hysterically as their rich clothing was cut and stripped away from their pale skinned bodies while a horrified Lady Saffia watched helplessly by the mast.