Beware the Savage Jaw Chapter Four

Chapter Four: The Tatrix

15.05 on the 30^th December 2024:

There were two new guests that had arrived by helicopter and if the trajectory of their flight path had been anything to go by, they had been lucky to have made it here in one piece in these high winds. The guests were a man and a woman. The woman was maybe in her late sixties/early seventies but it was difficult to tell for sure because she had that elegant look seen on ageing movie starlets who had the benefit of collagen, Botox, lift and tuck operations, an on-staff hairdresser and personal trainer. She basically looked good for her age and could best be described as 'handsome' if no longer beautiful. Although she had obviously had some face work done (the tell-tale signs were the way her mouth might move when talking, but her eyes would not crease into laughter lines, suggesting heavy use of Botox) she hadn't succumbed to vanity sufficiently to dye her hair. It remained mostly grey, cut to a shoulder length bob with a long fringe and swept back and to the side. She was dressed in a long black skirt that reached to her ankles, two and a half inch pumps that looked very expensive and a grey charcoal silk blouse and tailored jacket. The clothes looked designer, possibly Italian, and they were matched with tasteful gold jewellery, predominantly bracelets. I noticed however that she wore no jewellery around her neck and she didn't have earrings of any kind. In Gorean terms both those things were significant by their absence. She could easily be the wealthy and well born wife of a rich businessman or senator, but something about the way she moved and regarded us suggested she was not simply a woman who stood in the shadow of her husband. She did however have a wedding ring on her left hand.

The man was much younger than her – possibly in his late twenties or early thirties. He was very handsome in an almost Hollywood action hero mould, with carefully cut hair, immaculate grooming and buff physique. This was a man who exfoliated, used expensive grooming products but also worked out heavily at the gym.  I suspected he was also the sort of man who waxed his body. I don't know – I just got that impression. He walked beside the woman and watched the room the way a bodyguard might. I had no doubt he was armed.  

In fact there was something a bit Gorean about the way he watched us. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. I didn't think he was Gorean, but maybe he had spent some time on Gor. He had that look.

“Lady Francesca,” said Rowell as he indicated the sweeping panorama of the geodesic sun dome and the people within. “May I introduce Lord Peter Moorcroft, and Mr Montague's silk girls.” I notice he didn't refer to the silk girls by name. That was also significant. He also didn't mention me, but then I was essentially staff and therefore invisible.   

“Lord Moorcroft,” the Lady gracefully inclined her head. She seemed to already know the man for he smiled and nodded back to her as something of an equal. “This is Conrad, my ward,” explained Lady Francesca as she gestured to the man at her side. “He is from excellent accredited breeding stock, personally supervised by myself at conception and accordingly I adopted him when he was a young child. Consider him my son and heir to all intents and purposes.”

“Pleased to meet you, Conrad,” said Moorcroft as he stepped forward to shake the man's hand. Conrad smiled back warmly, but his eyes continued to watch the room from all sides.  Moorcroft then took the proffered hand of Lady Francesca and kissed the back of it briefly. “Glory to the Steel Worlds,” he said as he stepped back from the woman.

“Glory to the Steel Worlds,” she replied in a sincere voice. She then turned her gaze back to Rowell who stood close by with the pathetic expression of a man who would offer up his first born son for sacrifice if it would please his guests. “Tell me, Mr Rowell, do you have a whipping post on the grounds of this estate?”

“We do, yes. It is at your disposal of course. Has the maid offended you?” He glanced at me and I probably looked scared. What the hell had I done to anger this woman so suddenly? I was standing to the side in the proper pose required of a maid with my hands at my sides.

“No. But kindly inform these silk girls that if they ever remain seated again when I enter a room they will be taken outside, stripped, tied to the whipping post and lashed twelves times. I will give them a few seconds now to correct their behaviour.” She didn't look at either the white silk or red silk girls. Both looked startled and both suddenly leapt to their feet. I don't think anyone had ever spoken to them like that before.

“Of course, Lady Francesca,” said Rowell, as stunned by this statement as the rest of us.

“Clasp your hands behind your back when you're standing,” said the Lady as she regarded the silk girls now with a sidewise glance. They complied immediately. “I will say this to you the once. I think you're both sluts, white and red alike. You rise when I enter a room and remain standing until I give you permission to sit or kneel. You will not initiate conversation in my presence. You will speak only when spoken to or invited to share your opinions – and they had better be respectful opinions befitting your sex. Other than that I expect you to be demure and respectable.” Her eyes narrowed as she saw that Samantha wore the Islamic style two piece bathing suit. “Dress yourself in your wrap, you slut.”

There was actual panic in Samantha's eyes as she quickly reached for the silk wrap and drew it on around her body, her hands seeming to fumble with the sash tie.  

“As for you...” she turned her attention now to Marcia in her one piece bathing suit that exposed her legs, arms and shoulders. “Find something to wear when you are out of the water. You may be red silk, but that is no reason to flaunt your body like a slave. Go.” She pointed to the changing room. Marcia hurried away in obvious fear. None of us had any idea what rank this woman held, but the way she was talking it suggested she was important in Kur circles.  

“Lady Francesca Mollinari du Pont is the Tatrix of the Eastern Seaboard of the United States and holds a rank of Second Claw on Earth,” explained Rowell with respect.

“Indeed,” said Lady Francesca.    

On Gor a Tatrix was the title of a female ruler of a city state. Corcyrus was possibly the most famous city in Central Gor ruled by a long line of Tatrixes. Second Claw meant she was part of the High Council on Earth that served the Kurii. There would be perhaps a dozen Second Claws – each representing a geographical region but only one First Claw overall. There was one other unique rank on Earth and that was the Kurii 'sacred executioner' – the man known only as 'the Sleen'. He reported personally to the First Claw and did his dirty work.  

“Has the Sleen arrived yet?” asked Conrad.

“Not yet. We're expecting him in time for the evening meal,” replied Rowell.

“I'm very much looking forward to meeting him,” said Conrad with enthusiasm. “I think we will have a lot to talk about.”

“Conrad spent many years on Gor,” explained Lady Francesca. “I sent him to Gor when he was fifteen to train with a warrior and learn the ways of true men,” she said proudly as Conrad nodded. “My heir has to be a man – not a weak man of Earth but a man with iron and steel in his blood. A Gorean man.” She touched his arm with pride. “You learned many things on Gor, did you not?”

“I did, mother,” said Conrad as he gazed at the silk girls for a moment.

“He has embraced his heritage – the heritage of his sex. He will not show weakness before women the way so many men of the Kurii on Earth still do. What are women Conrad?”

“The slave sex, mother, to be taken by men,” he said, though there was no indication that he counted Lady Francesca in that category. “They belong in chains at my feet.”    

“Exactly. My son may not have been born on Gor, but he is Gorean now and therefore fit to rule on Earth one day.”

I saw Moorcroft exchange a surprised glance with Rowell.

“Well, Lady Francesca, noble Tatrix, you are both very welcome here at Bear Crag and I am sure that the Sleen himself will be most impressed with tales of the Gorean tuition your ward has benefited from.”

“I can fight with a gladius. And I have killed three men in open combat,” said Conrad as he stood up straight. “I have earned the right to wear scarlet on Gor.”

“That is...” Rowell obviously searched for the right words, “most impressive. You will rise to be a senior Kur Claw in no time I feel sure. I think we are all privileged to know you now.”

“Indeed,” added Moorcroft, hedging his bets before the chosen ward of the Tatrix of the Eastern Seaboard. “Glory to the Steel Worlds!”

“Glory to the Steel Worlds!” Conrad slapped his left shoulder with his right fist in acknowledgement. It was a Gorean form of salute but coming from Conrad it looked down right fascistic.        

I had seen Conrad's type on Gor before during my forty years as Kurgus's prime agent. I used to call men like Conrad 'battlefield fodder'. We thought of them as wheat for the grinding mill – pump them up, send them out and watch them kill until they died too. Kurgus would not have been impressed by Conrad. He would have smiled politely at the man and fed him compliments to be sure of his loyalty. And then Kurgus would have used him on some mission where he didn't want to lose one of his valuable assets.

I sometimes wonder where Kurgus is now. The last I saw of him he had been led away by the panther girl, Tallia, to live as her slave in the deep forests of northern Gor. There had been chemistry between the two of them, but they were both dominant and that could never end well. Kurgus fucked with my mind over the years and even now I hate him and love him in equal measure. He was my first lover and the one who burned himself deeply into my psyche. The pathetic truth is, even towards the end I had wanted to please him, to make him proud of me, to earn his love. But men like Kurgus never truly love anyone. It is why they are so successful.

“Maid!”

“Yes, Sir?” I curtsied, the formal curtsey that was expected of maids in the household – a bowing of my head accompanied by bending my knees outward rather than straight ahead and sweeping one foot behind the other. I was also expected to hold the edge of my skirt out from my body.

“Help me with the luggage. And show us to our rooms,” said Conrad brusquely.

“Of course, Sir. This way, Sir.” I kept a watchful eye out for his mother, knowing that she was a woman likely to find fault with the slightest aspect of my service. I had seen her type before many times on Gor. Free women of high status could be a menace.