First Girl of Gor (Part One of Two)

 

 

((Being, the fourth in a series of interlinked PoV Chloe stories that comprises the anthology book, ‘First Girl of Gor’. You’ll find the earlier three stories m under the ‘First Girl of Gor’ sidebar tab. And just a reminder – the events here take place parallel during the early chapters of Ubara of Gor, before Cassandra is captured by Yishana, and before the recent events in Companions of Gor))

 

I was cold. I’d felt bitterly cold since we had first started this miserable ascent of the mountain slope that Brinn called White Fang. I’m a warm weather kajira who enjoys wearing a Taharian chalwar and vest, running barefoot through soft meadow grass lands with a warm summer breeze in my hair. I’m not suited to being bundled up in thick furs and clambering around on mountain trails. 

 

I knelt beside the campfire, worn out from the slow, arduous trek earlier today that had seen us follow a rough path up from the base of White Fang to the wide ledge where Brinn had planned on camping for the night. The lower slopes of White Fang were the easy part, where we could follow a clear trail, where ice had not yet formed to make our journey more difficult, but I hadn’t considered the effort of walking at a steep gradient for many hours with a heavy pack on my back. I whimpered softly as I laboured under the weight of the supplies and equipment that the men had decided a southern kajira could cope with. By the time we made our first camp, my shoulders and lower back felt sore and my thigh muscles ached from the steep steps. 

 

I felt justified in my complaints as even the three kajirus looked tired. They of course had carried far more weight than me, but by the time Brinn allowed them to collapse onto the plateau ledge, they looked exhausted too. And yet for them there was no let up. Brinn ordered them to set up our three tents, while Nadia and myself built a fire. 

 

It was windy up on the lower exposed plateau and I was looking forward to getting a good fire going and then to snuggle up next to a man for warmth and comfort. Nadia built the camp fire while I opened up one of the packs that contained our pots and cooking utensils. The first thing was to get warm, then offer the men and free woman hot drinks and then cook some food. All that was kajira work and so we set about quickly as the northern wind whipped round the precipice of White Fang that reared majestically far above our heads.  

 

Brinn had named the mountains for us when we had first gazed up from our base camp. There were many Sardar mountains of course, but these ones were special to him as they were the domain of the Priest Kings. In addition to White Fang, he named Hoar Frost, Ripsaw, Tusk, Glimmerdrift, the Shard, Tarl’s Bane, Scalpel, Gran Hanack, Obelisk Polaris and, finally, grandest and tallest of them all – the spear-pointed mountain that is named Stardock. 

 

“Stardock,” said Brinn in awe and reverence. “Home to the celestial chambers of the Priest Kings. A mountain that touches the stars themselves. On some nights you can see the glittering lights of Priest King vessels, like fireflies, dancing around the summit. I have heard their silver ships singing in the darkness, like dragonflies.” 

 

The Sardar mountain range is a vastness that is both revered and taboo to Goreans. Their Gods live high within these mountain peaks from where they are said to watch the comings and goings of the Goreans, and from where they enforce their strict technology laws on the sprawling mass of humanity. If Gorean myth and legend is to be believed, the Priest Kings brought the planet Gor into the orbit of our sun over two million years ago, driving it through space the way we might drive a moon rocket. The legends go on to say that their own sun was dying and so they searched for a replacement in our galaxy. 

 

The mountains themselves are very steep, ice crowned and wind swept. Little vegetation grows on the upper slopes and the area is not welcome to man. Brinn’s estate is thirty five pasangs from the foothills of the mountains where a palisade of black logs prevents further access, except at the point of a towering gate for pilgrims. The gate is built from black logs, bound with wide bands of brass, and guarded day and night by the mysterious white-clad caste of Initiates – men who forbid themselves the pleasure of women, and who dedicate their lives to the worship and understanding of the Priest Kings. The Master told me that animals are reluctant to cross the perimeter to the foothills of the mountains, either on foot or by air, because of some invisible force screen that deters them. If this force screen exists then it has no effect on humans for we couldn’t detect it. It was true though that once past the black gate we saw no evidence of wild life in the area of the palisade where the field would be resonating. Emma has reasoned that the field works in some manner that resonates in the inner ear of animals and makes them feel sick if they approach too closely, and that the frequency modulation of the signal is beyond our range of hearing. Brinn on the other hand simply calls it magic. 

 

My Master presented the Initiates at the black gate with offerings of gold and silver, which I noticed that these white clad men accepted with gratitude. I suspect their lives are not as simple and austere as they might wish us to believe. He was known to them of course, as many years ago he passed this way to ascend the stairs to the halls of the Priest Kings themselves to receive their gratitude for saving the Sardar mountains from a nuclear strike. Gorean men often pass through the black gate on a quest to speak to the Priest Kings and gaze upon their celestial world, but few are said to ever return. The Master was an exception to that, perhaps because he had been summoned. He has described his time in the presence of the Priest Kings as a time of wonder, and claims a Priest King or two took the form of giant insect bodies, though he is quick to stress that these are not their actual forms as they have no forms, and indeed can take any form they wish. Just why they would choose to take the form of giant insects though is a mystery to me.   

 

The black gate is opened by male slaves who operate the mechanism by a wooden windlass and considerable muscle. The Initiates ring a hollow metal bar whenever a pilgrim chooses to pass through the gate, as we did. From the foothills, the initial journey is not as difficult as I feared, as there are paths and even wide steps carved into the mountainside. The Master says that the path becomes more treacherous as the ascent increases but this is due to the weather conditions forming ice on the steps and the threat of sudden and unexpected gusts of wind that could pluck a climber from the side of a path and cast him down into the great abyss below.   

 

I served the free men and woman hot tea from the fire once Nadia had it burning brightly. She looked as cold and miserable as I felt, despite her hill walking experience in France. Hot sparks blew south from the wind as the men crouched down to warm their hands. Only the Lady Donna was pre-occupied with other things as she unwrapped one of her pole-like transmitters and tried to set it firmly into the ground on our plateau. 

 

“You can do that tomorrow,” said Brinn. “The skies are darkening, but we have a fire. Come, join us, Lady, for it will be night soon.”

 

“All the more reason to get the first transmitter dug in now,” said the Lady as she and Victor chipped at the hard ground with a pair of ice picks. “I came here to work, not to gaze at stars.” She worked continuously until she had made a hole and then screwed the pole into place, filling it again and securing it with a tripod at the base. All the while she was buffeted by a strong, cold wind that whipped around the mountainside. Only then did she return to take the cup of hot tea that I offered her. 

 

We took shelter with our backs to the tents which in turn shielded us from the wind. But even so I couldn’t understand why some people did this kind of thing for fun. I could be at home now in the soft furs of my Master, being fed by hand, kissing him and being kissed in return. Instead I pressed my arms close to my body and waited for the flickering flames to warm my body. 

 

An hour later I was feeling cosier on account of the fiery liquor that Brinn had fed me sparingly. The warmth of the brandy-like drink in my stomach made me forget where we were as I gazed into the flickering flames and lay with my back to Brinn’s chest. I felt his chin rest on my shoulder and his strong arms wrapped about my waist as he sang old folk songs and told tales from his childhood. Nadia was Geralt’s chosen plaything tonight, though I wished our duties were reversed. I gazed hungrily at my natural master while my actual master played with the smooth collar that lay locked about my throat. I recalled the words of the Lady Cassandra only a few days ago, and how, drunk from ka-la-na, she had secretly confessed to having feelings for the mighty Geralt. I felt jealous. Was this how Emma had felt when she had seen her Master playing with other women? I wanted Geralt’s collar. I knew I wanted that more than anything else on Gor. And I felt sure that I would be Geralt’s perfect slave, a love slave even, if only he was given the chance to master me. But my position as first girl made that difficult. I watched as Geralt fed Nadia some stew from his bowl with a spoon. Victor, the Lady Donna’s free companion, had cooked the stew tonight, wishing to help in some way with the camp duties. Now, Victor and the Lady Donna lay together, keeping one another cosy and warm beside the fire. I had never seen a free man and a free woman sharing modest intimacies before, but now I witnessed Victor with his arm about the Lady and her resting her head on his shoulder as they whispered in the darkness. Sharing a moment with Victor, the Lady seemed different, no longer the hard taskmaster we kajirae were used to. Now she even laughed gently as Victor said something that amused her. 

 

“No, Victor,” she said firmly, loud enough for us all to hear. “You’re sharing a tent with Brinn and Geralt tonight.”

 

Nadia and I had bedded the kajirus down for the night. Brinn had hammered a heavy iron spike into the floor of the ledge outside the slaves’ tent and threaded a three shackle iron chain through it. This coffle chain with its ankle rings (heavy steel ones, not light kajirae bracelets) secured the males for the night. The length of group chain wouldn’t be long enough for any of them to get within touching distance of either of the other two tents. We then told the kajirus to get inside, which they did with some resentment. They had each been given thick woollen sacks, lined with sheepskin to sleep in, the sacks opening and closing with eye hooks, enabling the chains to pass easily between the eyes. The slaves would sleep together for added warmth. 

 

“It’s like putting children to bed,” laughed Nadia softly as we left the tent. “Did you see how they looked at us?”

 

“Yes. Remember that look, Nadia. It is a look you should fear when we don’t have free men to protect us.”

 

The sleeping arrangements for the other two tents were simple and obvious enough. The Lady Donna would sleep with us, while the three free men, including her companion, Victor, would bed down in the third tent. We all had similar sleeping sacks of wool to keep warm, but the bedding was nothing more than rolled quilts. 

 

“I’d still prefer to bed with my companion and her two kajirae,” said Victor as he drank some more of Brinn’s brandy.

 

“Wouldn’t we all,” said Geralt, adding quickly as he realised the error of his words, “I meant no offence, Lady!”

 

“None taken, Sir,” said an amused Lady Donna as she stirred the campfire with a stick. “I am a grown woman. I am not offended when a man finds me desirable.”

 

“Yes, but you are companioned,” said Geralt with a trace of embarrassment still reddening his face. “I didn’t mean to imply I would do anything.”

 

“And I am reassured that you wouldn’t, Captain,” said Donna. “You are obviously honourable when it comes to the Gorean rules of hospitality towards guests. Still, you may lay with these two delicious kajirae in your dreams tonight if that helps.”

 

Geralt looked at me and Nadia, bundled up in our quilted jackets, long woollen stockings and boots, and hoods drawn up over our heads. We looked similar to the free woman in the darkness, though our jackets bore the side arm stitching that proclaimed us slaves. 

 

“I’m a lucky man to have Donna as a companion,” said Victor as he slapped Geralt across his back. “Slaves are a feast, but a free woman like Donna is a dish worth savouring for life.”

 

“I’ve never been companioned,” said Geralt. “My military career has made such things difficult. Most years I was on campaign in some foreign land. Maybe one day when I meet a woman who has fire in her eyes as yours does.”

 

“A free woman is precious in a man’s arms,” said the Lady Donna. “Slaves are just for sex. A free woman is so much more to a man. If you find the right free woman, of course.”

 

Geralt nodded. “And yet, Lady, I would not give up slaves…”

 

“Nor would I,” laughed Victor. “Nor would I.”

 

The Master was generous with his brandy spirit on this cold night and I was getting happily intoxicated when the Lady Donna spoke some words she had been waiting to speak.

 

“You all saw my earlobes this morning.”

 

The atmosphere suddenly felt a little tense as the men gazed at one another, unsure what they were supposed to say to this. For yes, they had seen her earlobes and the unmistakable signs that they had been pierced decades ago. 

 

“We did, Lady,” said Brinn after a while. He shifted where he sat and regarded her. “I am surprised you are referring to it though. Geralt and myself were being polite by not speaking of it.”

 

“I would rather you did. We are climbing this mountain together and I am a close friend of your sister. We should speak openly of things that trouble you, if those things might affect our relationship and ultimately our safety together.”

 

“Slaves have pierced ears,” said Brinn rather harshly.

 

“There. Well done. You said what you think, Brinn,” said the Lady Donna. “Do you think I am a natural slave because of it?”

 

“I do not know you, Lady. You are my sister’s guest, and therefore mine too. Why do you goad me to insult you?” 

 

“The free women of the wagon people often wear rings through their noses, do they not?”

 

“So I have heard,” said Brinn. “It is the custom in their land.”

 

“Do you think their free women are slaves because of it?”

 

“No.”

 

“And yet it is a piercing, much like these.” The Lady touched her right earlobe in the light of the flickering camp fire. 

 

“Slaves have pierced ears,” said Brinn again. He stared into the camp fire rather than at the Lady.

 

“My ears were pierced on Earth in the late nineteen seventies. It was the fashion then, and it probably still is. I haven’t been back to my world since Victor and I came to Gor in 1982. That is the year 10,132 Contasta Ar, in Gorean years. I was a young woman and the piercings on Earth did not have the same cultural significance as they do here on Gor.” 

 

“Earth women are natural slaves,” said Geralt, again, rather harshly I thought, for the Lady was a guest here.

 

“Many are, yes,” said the Lady. “But far from all. Cassandra has told me of your time in Port Kar, Brinn, and of an Earth woman called Elizabeth Bentley. Is she a natural slave?”

 

“No,” said a sullen looking Brinn. “She is not. I will give her that.”

 

“So. I think we are agreed that Earth women are not all natural slaves, though I grant you that the ones brought here to Gor in chains most definitely are. Take Chloe and Nadia for example. There is no mistaking they are slaves. But it is not a matter of ear piercings, is it? They would be the same slaves if they did not have pierced ears.”

 

“I suppose,” said Brinn. I could tell he would rather be discussing shield walls right now. 

 

“So, the piercing of ears does not make a woman a slave. It is perhaps appropriate on Gor for slaves to have pierced ears, but it is nothing more than a decorative motif. If a man pierced the ears of your sister, would that make her a slave?”

 

“Do not speak like that of my sister,” snarled Brinn. “She is not a slave.”

 

“I know. And this is my point. If a man did that to her, it would not make her a slave. She would still be the same proud, strong willed woman who carries your name. My pierced ears are nothing more than a response to the culture I grew up in, much like the Tuchuk tribes of the plains with their nose rings. They are unfortunate perhaps, now that I live on Gor, but they do not define me. I am, and always will be, a free woman. On Earth I could claim to be of the warrior caste.”

 

Geralt coughed some of his paga as he heard her describe herself that way. “The red caste does not accept women.”

 

“I served in the British army, which is where I met Victor. I still know how to defend myself. I served my country, my Home Stone. You should respect that, even if it seems strange to you.”

 

“I do not think you are a slave, Lady,” said Brinn after a while. “I wish you didn’t have pierced ears, for it is embarrassing for my sister to be friends with a woman with pierced ears, but if I am being honest, I myself have given my sister far more reason to be embarrassed in public in Vonda, so it would be hypocritical for me to condemn the situation with you outright. I have hurt her standing in Vonda far more than your pierced ears could ever do. But you should not reveal them, the way you did to us. Not all men would be so understanding.” 

 

“Of course. And that is wise advice I will take to my grave, Brinn. Thank you.” When Brinn didn’t respond, the Lady added, “Forgive me, but you still seem concerned and distant.”

 

“It is not you, Lady.” Brinn stared out into the darkness as he nursed his small cup of liquor. 

 

“What is it then?” she asked.

 

“It is probably nothing.” Brinn reached out and placed another piece of wood on the fire. “I sometimes sense things when there is nothing there at all. It is in my nature, Lady. I live in a constant state of watchfulness – the nature of a warrior I suppose.”

 

“And?”

 

“And, I had the feeling that we were being watched as we set up camp earlier this evening. Clearly, on the slope of a barren and remote mountain, that isn’t possible. But still, the hairs on the back of my neck suggested I was being watched. That is all.” 

 

-----------------------------------------

 

An hour later I slid into the three person tent alongside Nadia and the Lady Donna. It was a tight squeeze and there was much wriggling of limbs as we struggled to find space to undress. 

 

“Will one of you remove these boots,” said Donna as she lay on her side on the quilted bedroll. I set about undoing the laces on the left boot as Nadia worked on the right boot. It was a struggle to pull the boots from the Lady’s legs, and it would have been almost impossible for her to do so alone in the tight confines of the tent, but together we managed to remove each one in turn.

 

“Thank God for that,” said Donna as she lay back and flexed her toes. Her legs were still dressed in the thick woollen stockings that were tied to the steel rings on the underside of her waistcoat vest. She had pulled back her hood and removed her scarf veil and now undid the clasps on the front of her jacket. We peeled the garment away from her, stripping her down to just the blouse and fur vest. Again there was a lot of wriggling to manage that and outside in the night air it must have seemed that the tent was rocking backward and forwards to each side as we bumped against the stretched canvas. 

 

“I’ll sleep in the blouse and vest,” said the Lady. 

 

“Yes Mistress,” I said as I tucked her boots away with the hooded jacket. 

 

“But get this bloody nappy off me,” the Lady parted her legs and pulled the skirt of her blouse up. 

 

We giggled as we saw the cloth diaper, because that’s what it looked like to us. 

 

“Yes, it is stupid,” admitted Donna as we removed the pins. The cloth came away easily after that and in the storm lantern light inside the tent I saw clearly the soft curls of pubic hair around the woman’s sexual organs. Like many free women, she didn’t shave or trim down there. “If there’s one thing I miss from Earth it’s comfortable underwear,” said the Lady as she pulled the blouse back down around her. 

 

We had removed our own fur lined jackets and unlaced each other’s boots. Now we lay either side of the Mistress, pressing our bodies close together to share warmth. We had the sleeping sacks, but the Lady had made no move to enter hers yet.

 

Outside the chill northern wind howled around the mountainside, but inside we felt quite snug and comfortable as the soft pitter patter of another rain shower began.

 

And then Nadia had to go and spoil things for us.

 

“You said you were born on Earth, Mistress. I was born on Earth too, and abducted and brought here against my will! We are both Earth women! I was Mademoiselle Nadine Moreau. I lived in Bordeaux. I owned a vineyard.”

 

There was silence in the tent for a moment as I screwed my eyes shut, fearing the worst.

 

“I know you are an Earth girl,” said the Lady after a while as she turned to regard Nadia. “Your accent makes that obvious. Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Please. We are the same! Earth girls brought to this hideous planet. You have to help me. Please.”

 

“We are the same?” The Lady kept a passive expression as she said that. Again, I feared the worst.

 

“Nadia, be quiet,” I said softly.

 

“No. Let her speak, Chloe. She thinks I am the same as her. Perhaps she can explain why she considers me to be a slave.”

 

There was a chill in the air now that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. I knew that Nadia had made a serious mistake in speaking. “I’m sure she isn’t calling you a slave, Mistress…” 

 

“She said I am the same as her. She has a brand on her thigh and a collar about her neck. What does that make you, Nadia?”

 

“Men did that to me. I had no choice in the matter,” said the French girl.

 

“What does that make you, Nadia?”

 

“Men say it makes me a slave. But I should be free. I am from Bordeaux in France. We both come from Earth.”

 

“You are a slave, Nadia. Do you think I am a slave?”

 

“No, of course not, that is why I implore you to…”

 

The crack sounded loud inside the confines of the tent as the Lady suddenly struck Nadia’s face hard with the flat of her hand. The girl cried out but was still, as I hissed a warning to her.

 

“You address me as Mistress when you answer my questions. You are very lucky, girl, that it is not practical for me to whip you tonight. You are a slave. We have nothing in common. I am a free woman. Our shared sex and place of birth is an irrelevance. A gulf wider than you can imagine exists between us now. Your training to date has obviously been poor. Chloe, I hold you responsible for that.” She turned to regard me, momentarily.

 

“Yes, Mistress.” I bowed my head and feared the worst for myself now. I would be held responsible for any of my girls acting up.  

 

“I don’t care that you lived in Bordeaux and had a vineyard, girl. You are kajira now. You will always be kajira. I have no way of returning you to Earth, even if I wished to. You are not even my property. I have no responsibility towards you. None.”

 

“We are both women…” she sobbed. “Have pity on me.”

 

The Lady took hold of Nadia’s collar ring and pulled it towards her. “You are slave. I am free. You will always be slave. No one is going to free you, least of all me. I do not have the funds to buy you, and even if I did, I would not purchase a slave simply to free her. That would be a waste of money. If I bought you, or any other girl, I would keep my investment enslaved, serving Victor and myself. I have lived on this world for over forty years now and I accept its culture. I accept that women such as you will be enslaved. Life isn’t fair, Nadia. Nature isn’t fair. The world isn’t fair. You are what you are.”

 

I could only imagine what thoughts were churning through Nadia’s head right now. She had obviously hoped beyond hope that the Lady Donna would come to her aid once she knew she was from Earth. It was a foolish and rash thing to think, for it was obvious to me that the Lady was Gorean now in her outlook. 

 

“You think perhaps that it was a stroke of misfortune that you were chosen by the Gorean slavers? You think perhaps that it could just as easily have been a woman like me? You think perhaps that we are the same because I too could easily be enslaved by men?”

 

Nadia said nothing, but I could tell that was what she thought.

 

“Let me tell you something that girls from Earth do not understand in the early days of their bondage. It was no fluke that you were enslaved and I wasn’t. Gorean slavers are very particular about who they abduct. Consider it a compliment, Nadia; out of all the women living in Bordeaux, you and a few others were selected for this year’s coffle. Your beauty, your intelligence, your breeding, your education, your graceful way of moving, your natural slave instincts, they all qualified you for abduction, to be brought to Gor. Do you think the slavers would abduct just any woman? No, they wouldn’t. The vast majority of women on Earth can sleep safely in their beds. They will never be enslaved. Never. Goreans only seek to capture the best slaves. Think about it, why would they want to glut the market with too many girls? The prices would drop, and they would be faced with crippling expenses to feed and house their stock levels. In the same way OPEC controls the supply and price of oil, slavers are careful to only collar the optimum number of slaves to steady the market. And if they will only enslave a limited number of women, then they will be very particular as to who they acquire. That is why we’re not the same, girl. Given the choice of enslaving me or you, Goreans would choose you every time. You were a slave even before you were brought to Gor. Goreans can always tell. Now you are what you were bred to be. Collared. Branded. And really quite lovely.”

 

Nadia began to cry. I wished she wouldn’t do that. 

 

“You will live a long life on Gor, and you will never age. That is an incredible gift. But you will serve free men and women throughout that life. No one will ever free you, and no one will care that you were once the fashionable Mademoiselle Nadine Moreau, a secret slave who owned a vineyard, shopped in Parisian boutiques, but dreamed of chains and masters late into the night.”

 

When Nadia blushed at that, the Lady smiled. “I know your secrets, Nadia. I have never had those fantasies. But I know that the girls brought here in collars always did. It’s in your genetic makeup. You are probably descended from a long line of natural slaves. You are where you are supposed to be.”

 

Lady Donna released the collar and allowed the girl to lie back on the bed roll. “Your training though has been inadequate,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “In the morning you will tell your Master that you have insulted a free woman and that you are to be punished when we return to the estate. A punishment appropriate for your behaviour isn’t practical up here on the slope of White Fang, but believe me, you will feel the full horror of that punishment when we return.”

 

“Please, Mistress I am so sorry! I did not mean to offend you!”

 

“After your Master punishes you, I think you will never dare to insult a free woman ever again. And as for you, Chloe, you are to tell your Master you have been derelict in your training of this slut. You will beg to be whipped when we return to the estate. Six lashes, I think.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” I closed my eyes, knowing there was no point in begging. A free woman had spoken, and the men would comply with her wishes in the matter. I would be whipped, and it would be by the hand of a man. I dreaded the pain that was to come. And it was Nadia’s fault. The stupid bitch should have known better. I would have to remind all the slaves on the estate in no uncertain terms that they had to fear free women at all times. How could Nadia have been so utterly stupid! 

 

Scritch

 

Scratch

 

We all heard it in the stillness of the night. A faint scrabbling sound coming from outside, along the rock face of the mountain perhaps. Then we heard the sound of some loose stone chippings falling down the slope. And again:

 

Scritch

 

Scratch

 

The Lady said nothing, except to place a finger to her lips, indicating we should all be silent. Slowly, quietly, she turned down the flame in the storm lantern until the inside of the tent was in darkness. I sensed her right hand move to where she kept a long knife sheathed in its leather scabbard. I sensed rather than heard her draw that knife from its sheath, and then she carefully unhooked the fastenings at the front of our tent by touch alone.

 

When her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness, the Lady quietly drew open the front flap of the tent and, peering outside with knife held ready in her strong right hand, she gazed out onto the ledge. 

 

Scritch

 

There WAS something out there. I prayed it was just some indigenous animal – a mountain verr perhaps – though the odds were slim. I felt my heart beating quickly as the Lady exhibited bravery beyond my ability, as she crept quietly out onto the cold stone ledge to investigate. Her knife hand was drawn back, ready to strike, as she moved on all fours along the ledge, feeling with her left hand for the precipice edge that should be two or three feet to the left of the tent mouth. And then she crouched very still, not making a sound as she listened and tried to sense what was out there. Her bravery was born out of a logical sense that there was no protection to be had in a tent. Rather, we were sitting targets for any assailant who could simply thrust a spear through the canvas while we lay there. Probably she would have liked to raise the alarm and rouse Brinn and Geralt, but doing so might spur whatever was out there into action, long before the men could be up and armed to defend themselves. And so the Lady took it upon herself to steady her nerves and try to locate the source of the scrabbling sounds. 

 

Suddenly her right hand slashed to the side, as a motion close to the rock face startled her. We all heard a scrabbling sound as something climbed away from us into the darkness. Again the Lady slashed out with the long knife in her right hand, but this time she hit nothing. The sound of something receding into the distance suggested though that whatever it was had not wished to be seen. And just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. 

 

When the Lady returned to the tent she turned the flame of the storm lantern back strongly enough to gaze at her knife edge. It was coated in an oily fluid from where she had cut something, but the oily fluid was not blood as we knew it. We watched her sniff the fluid and then she carefully wiped the blade clean with a strip of rep cloth.

 

“What was out there, Mistress?” I asked. “Did you see it?”

 

“Briefly, yes. But it was dark. I could not be sure.”

 

“What was it, Mistress?”

 

“Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. Go to sleep. We will discuss this in the morning.”

 

And then she lay down between us, but kept the blade close by her side. 

 

---------------------------------------

 

In the morning, Nadia and I boiled water for the masters and the mistress to wash with, and then to make hot tea. We were some distance away from the free people as they sat together close to the precipice of the rock ledge while they talked quietly amongst themselves. 

 

“The Lady is talking about the thing last night, isn’t she?” asked Nadia as she fed some more sticks into our camp fire. 

 

I nodded but said nothing. I wasn’t in a good mood with Nadia, seeing as how I had six lashes of the slave whip to contend with when we returned from this expedition. Instead, I took the opportunity while we were working together alone to drill some hard facts of life into that stupid French head of hers.

 

“I’m going to be whipped because of you,” I said sharply.    

 

“I didn’t mean that to happen, Mistress,” she said. I don’t think she was scared of me, possibly because I tend to be supportive of new slaves who try their best. She hadn’t dealt with me when I was angry, so far. “The Lady shouldn’t punish you because of what I said.”

 

“But that’s what she’s going to do. There are consequences to everything you say and do as a slave, not just for yourself, but for me too, because I’m responsible for you. There will be a punishment from me after you have recovered from your punishment at the hands of the Master.”

 

“What?” Nadia looked startled. I don’t think she had considered such a possibility.

 

“That’s how this works. Any girl who gets me whipped will live to regret it later. Shall I hand you over to Candice?”

 

“No!” I could see the fear in her eyes. “Please, Mistress, she is cruel.”

 

“Yes, she is. The second time you do anything to get me whipped, Candice will decide your punishment. Be thankful that this first time you will only be punished by me, but punished you will be. Now look after this fire. I’m in no mood to talk to you right now.”

 

I approached the men and knelt maybe two feet from where they spoke in quiet tones. The Lady glanced at me as I did so and she asked, “What do you want?”

 

“There is hot water for tea, Mistress.” 

 

“Have you come here to eavesdrop because you are curious?”

 

“Yes, Mistress.” There was no point in lying. She would know and I would have extra lashes added to my sentence. 

 

“You are honest. Good. One girl at least knows the penalty for lying to a free woman. We are in no imminent danger. I frightened the thing away last night. If it was bolder, surer of itself, it would have attacked me.”

 

“What was it, Mistress? Forgive my curiosity, but Nadia and I are worried.”

 

“A beast of some sort. Its body was about the size of a girl’s body, minus her limbs. It was a lumpen shape in the darkness, but it had multiple articulated limbs, much like a spider. It could scale the rock face quickly and easily.”

 

“You injured it, Mistress?”

 

“I cut it with my knife. I do not know how injured it was by the blow. But I cut something.”

 

“Large, intelligent spiders are known to live in the swamps north of Ar, Chloe,” said my Master. “They are large enough to be ridden and can construct vast networks of broad, web-like elastic strands that form a structure about a pasang in width. They use their leg hairs to smell their surroundings and are known to use sophisticated translators to talk to humans. From what little I know of them, they will not harm rational creatures, not even to defend themselves.”

 

“You think one of those spider people came to see us last night?” I asked. 

 

“No, I do not. I mention it only as the most obvious connection to what the Lady thinks she saw. As I said, the spider people live in the swamps of Ar. They would not range this far north, nor would they scale mountains, even assuming they could pass through the magical defences of the Priest Kings.”

 

“My experience last night suggests the creature, whatever it is, is wary of us,” said the Lady.

 

“And if you can cut it, Lady, then we can kill it. If that becomes necessary.”   

 

“I personally commend the Lady for her bravery last night,” said Geralt as he slapped a clenched fist to his shoulder in salute. “With a display of bravery like that, I can forgive your pierced ears.”

 

“How kind of you,” said the Lady with a soft chuckle. 

 

“I told you my Donna is a remarkable woman,” said Victor as he placed his hand on hers. “Formidable, resourceful, and ready with a knife in her hand while her menfolk snore fast asleep, oblivious to danger.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t exactly snoring,” said Brinn. “I don’t snore. Just ask Chloe.”

 

I simply lowered my eyes and said nothing as Brinn made that inaccurate claim. 

 

“Hmm. It seems that you probably do,” said Donna, laughing again, as she saw me fidget with embarrassment. “You do seem to have an honest girl who doesn’t like to lie.”  

 

Nadia and I served hot tea and some pieces of hard cheese for breakfast from our backpacks, along with a couple of stale rolls that were broken up and distributed. The men produced dried, cured strips of tarsk that they chewed and ate, and offered some to the Lady which she accepted. Nadia and I mixed some dried gruel with hot water and ate that as our meal once the free men and woman had finished their breakfast. The three kajirus ate the same gruel as us. 

 

Once the camp had been dismantled and loaded on the backs and shoulders of our three strong kajirus, we set off again, moving further up the narrow pathway. Occasionally we reached sections that had been chiselled into steps and these made for more strenuous work as the gradients were generally steeper. At certain points the pathways were no more than a foot and a half wide and during those times I kept one hand on the rock face and didn’t dare to look down. The cold wind continued to whip around our bodies, but not fiercely enough to risk blowing anyone over. By now Brinn had roped us together in sets of three. I was roped to the Lady and her free companion, while Nadia was roped to Brinn and Geralt. The male slaves were roped together. 

 

I breathed a sigh of relief whenever the pathway widened to a more respectable three feet or so in width, but even so we were now high above the valley floor and I was growing more and more fearful of this climb. The air felt a little thinner, but from time to time when the clouds parted I felt the warmth of the sun against my cheeks. By mid-morning I had taken down my hood and enjoyed the sensation of the sun warming the back of my head. 

 

We took the opportunity to catch our breath maybe once an hour, whenever the pathway opened up onto a ledge of sorts. Then the Master would call a halt and tell us to sit. The Lady would take this opportunity to use some calibrating devices to take readings from where we were. She seemed pleased with the progress we were making, and by early afternoon she had planted the second of her transmitters into the rock face with the aid of her companion. 

 

“It beeps,” said Brinn as he pressed an ear to it.

 

“So it does,” said the Lady with a smile. “Beep-beep, Brinn. Shall we get moving?”

 

And so we did, climbing high up the south face of White Fang. From time to time Brinn would indicate the vast tower that was Stardock, to our right, that highest of mountains in the Sardar, where he had once climbed to pay court to the Priest Kings. “I camped out on that ledge over there,” he said, pointing to a scratch on the rockface of Stardock. “The wind was fearsome that night, but I endured.” 

 

“Why didn’t the Priest Kings simply lift you up to their celestial palace, high in the clouds?” enquired the Lady, quite reasonably. The question had crossed my mind as well. 

 

“They would have done, had I asked, but a man purifies his body and soul in the context of the climb. I proved myself worthy to be received by our Gods. Tarl made the climb, and so I did too.”

 

We were maybe a third of the way up White Fang when the Master was satisfied that we should camp for our second night on the south face. Once again the kajirus set up our camp while I ordered Nadia to build a campfire. And again, the Lady positioned her third transmitter facing out into the sky. This one not only beeped but flashed an irregular spot of light. 

 

“Are you happy doing this?” asked Geralt as he joined the Lady close to the edge of the cliff.

 

“I am. I live for my work, Geralt. It was why we were chosen in the first place. You think it strange, don’t you, that a woman can be so active?”

 

“The Priest Kings permit these things?” He tapped one of the transmitters gently.

 

“Well, if we are suddenly struck down by the flame death, then you will know the answer is no,” said the Lady with a smile on her lips, though Geralt seemed startled by the possibility. “I’m joking. There will be no flame death. My studies are supported, never mind permitted. I suspect they know we are here.”

 

“They are watching us? Even now?” Geralt’s eyes were wide with wonder at the thought of being observed by his Gods.

 

“Oh, they know we’re here all right. They know a lot of things. Say hello if you like.” She adjusted one of the probes that extended from the pole until a green light came on.

 

“Great and noble Priest Kings,” said Geralt as he faced out towards the early evening sky. “I am humble before your magnificence. Command me and I shall obey.”

 

“I’m sure they liked that,” said the Lady. 

 

“Should I make some sort of offering?” asked Geralt as the thought suddenly occurred to him.

 

“I really wouldn’t bother,” replied the Lady.

 

------------------------------------------

 

The Lady’s companion cooked stew again, tasting much the same as the previous night’s stew, but after breakfasting on gruel in the morning, Nadia and I were only too happy to eat from the communal pot.

 

“Look at them wolfing it down,” laughed Victor as he saw me on all fours lapping at the bowl without the use of my hands. “If only Donna was that enthusiastic about my cooking.”

 

“Hold the girl’s hair out of her face, Victor,” said the Lady. “She’s making a mess of herself.” We were both eating quickly because the men were racing us. Whoever finished first would get a handful of sweet treats from a pouch. I glanced at Nadia and saw she was ahead of me, so I doubled down on my efforts. I felt Geralt take hold of my hair and hold it away from the bowl, which pleased me no end. He almost held it like he might hold my leash. By some miracle I managed to finish my stew first, amidst laughter from the men, and received the tasty treats from the palm of Geralt’s hand. 

 

“Well done, Chloe, you sleek little slut.”

 

I kissed his hand after taking the treats and gazed up at him with undisguised longing. Your slut, Master, I thought to myself. Your slut.

 

The Master had been angry with Nadia and myself after we had crawled to him that evening, confessing how Nadia had insulted the Lady. I had never seen the Master so angry with me before, and I feared he was going to whip me there and then. 

 

“How did you let this happen, Chloe?” he snarled. “You’re my first girl. You had one slave to control. Just one!”

 

“I have no excuse, Master,” I sobbed as I knelt with my forehead pressed to the floor in obeisance. 

 

“Are you not up to this? Should I appoint a different first girl? Should I simply sell you and be done with it?”

 

“No, Master, please, it happened so quickly! By the time I knew what she was saying it was too late…”

 

“She shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. YOU should have taught her to respect and obey free women from day one. YOU have failed me.”

 

“Please don’t sell me, Master! Please!” I was terrified. I couldn’t imagine being sold and beginning a new life somewhere else on Gor, in a new collar. I would lose everything. 

 

“What do you think I should do then?”

 

“Whip me, Master. Your whip is punishment enough. You know I fear the whip. It will be a lesson I will never forget, and I will ensure no kajira ever dares to even think such thoughts, let alone speak them aloud.”

 

“You will feel my whip, Chloe. You can count on that. And if Nadia insults the Lady a second time up here on the mountainside, I will personally throw her off the edge of the precipice and sell you when we return. I promise you that.”

 

I went straight over to the terrified French girl and slapped her hard across the face. I was furious with her. “You will say nothing from now on to the Lady, unless she asks you a direct question, and then you will restrict yourself to answering her questions clearly and precisely. Nothing else! I am furious with you! You have no idea how serious this is! Candice will punish you when we get back. Candice, not me.”

 

She broke down crying, and I left her there. I was too angry to pity her right now the way I might have done for less serious infractions. Stupid! She had been so stupid! Insulting a free woman is about as bad as it gets on Gor. You never do that. Never. 

 

 

The Lady lay awake that night, dressed still in her boots and jacket, her knife close to her hand, as the minutes ticked into hours and the time stretched past the moment when the beast had first scuttled down the rock slope yesterday. I think the Lady had hoped she might stay awake, ready for it, as the men in the other tent were taking it in turns to listen out for the sound of the creature’s approach. But at some point during the night fatigue set in from the day’s labours and, like Nadia and myself, the Lady fell fast asleep. 

 

I woke in darkness to hear the same sound from yesterday – the scritch scratch of multiple limbs descending the side of White Fang. A hand covered my mouth to prevent me making any sound, for the Lady had opened her eyes before I had. 

 

“Quiet,” she whispered into my ear so that only I might hear the word. Nadia stirred to her left and I felt the Lady cover her mouth too as she woke. Tonight we had slept with our heads close to the tent flap, making it easier for the Lady to loosen the clasps and draw the canvas aside. She waited, allowing her eyes to become used to the darkness outside and then she slid out from the tent, knowing that somewhere close by the men would be doing the same thing. I dragged myself forward on my elbows until I too could see out onto the narrow ledge. And there I saw movement – a shape, its body as large as a girl’s, climbing cautiously down onto the ledge outcrop, its spider-like limbs pacing cautiously towards our tent. “Now!” screamed Brinn, and at that command Geralt slid back the hood of his storm lantern, exposing the light of the flame within. They had kept their lanterns lit during the night, but closed so that the light wouldn’t be visible. With the light shining forwards we all saw that there were two spider-like forms crouched low on the slope of the rock. It was impossible to make out any detail of the ink-black forms, but without warning one of the creatures reared up on its hind legs and sprayed a powerful mist from an aperture set on the underside of its mandibles. 

 

A noxious cloud enveloped the startled shapes of Geralt and Brinn and when I caught the merest whiff of the spray I realised, as I choked and coughed, that it resembled tear gas or mace. The men fell to their knees, unable to see or even breathe properly as the chemical vapour infected their lungs. Their eyes streamed red as they coughed and choked and promptly vomited onto the ground. Brinn barely held onto his sword, while Geralt lost his – it fell, sliding along the ledge to drop over the precipice.

 

“Masters! Don’t move! You’re near the edge!” And they were. I had caught only a brief trace of the gas, and so I could still see, though my eyes too were streaming now, and I could see that Geralt would fall if he stumbled back another couple of steps. And then I heard a scream from behind me as the second spider creature faced the lady and this time it sprayed some sort of webbing, again from its underbelly. The strands whipped out and enveloped the Lady’s upper torso and right arm. Almost as soon as the strands struck her body, they began to settle and bind like glue. She instinctively turned to one side, and in doing so, permitted the creature to spray further webbing at her exposed back and thighs. Her right arm seemed glued to her body as the spider now drew her back along the outcrop towards its mandibles. Brave as she was, she began to scream, seeing herself dragged backwards, legs first towards those clicking claws. 

 

The Lady’s free companion appeared from inside the tent, brandishing a blade, but the other spider snapped at him and tore a bite from his right arm with its mandibles. Victor screamed in pain and kicked at the creature, but instantly a mass of webbing sprayed from its nether regions, binding his thighs with viscous coils of glue. The spider bowled him over with a sudden charge and once it was standing above the man it began to roll him around on the ground, wrapping further strands of webbing around his body. 

 

But Victor was not its intended target. Sensing me, sensing me stumbling and fleeing as far as I could go along the ledge mouth, the spider shot a further jet of this webbing to snare my back and legs. I fell flat on my face, screaming as I too was dragged back, the way the Lady had been. And then while our men choked and gagged in the mist, the Lady and I were rolled over and over by the clicking legs of these creatures and more and more webbing was wrapped around our struggling torsos. 

 

The next thing I knew, before I fainted, was the sensation of being lifted and carried up the sheer face of the cliff side.