Companions of Gor: Chapter Nine

 

 

I ran in the darkness as fast as I could. I had no concept of where I was going, or where these narrow streets led to, but I was committed to putting as much distance between myself and that monster before she could pursue. 

 

I blindly turned down an alleyway to the left and then slipped quietly into a space between buildings that was barely wide enough for me to squeeze through. I waited there, trying to steady my breathing for fear it could be heard. The night was warm, but still it felt strange to feel air on my exposed skin. The light hairs on my arms stood up, not used to the touch of the breeze.

 

I would be a statue now, hidden In the darkness. Tacitus once wrote, ‘the art of stealth is the art of surprise, and the art of surprise is the mother of initiative before a battle.’ I read that when I was ten years old from my father’s library and I remember sneaking around the city in my woollen hose and slippers, and child’s hooded tunic, pretending I was some sort of stealthy spy, working as an agent of Vonda. I knew some of the back streets and alleys of Vonda in those days, better than I do today, but of course never the run down shanty areas that I now found myself in. I was forbidden to go there, on penalty of a fierce spanking. 

 

I couldn’t hear any sound of pursuit, but that didn’t mean that monster of a woman wasn’t out there with her whip, looking for me. Oh, Gods of Gor, my back was on fire! I chewed down on my lower lip and allowed myself to cry properly now for there was no one to see me do so. Crying is weakness. Everyone knows that. Cassandra Assante doesn’t cry. But Cassandra Assante is scared now. 

 

Still. Be still. Be strong. You are an Assante. Assantes never give up. Assantes are NOT slaves. My mother would beat me if she knew I had been crying like a silly little girl. My mother once said to me, “Never submit, Cassandra. I would rather you died than you shamed our family by submitting in the face of danger.” I was seven years old when she said that. 

 

Oh, mother, I’m not as strong as you hoped I might be. Please forgive me. 

 

The night wasn’t silent. In the distance I could hear conversation and laughter from open windows on the first floor. I heard arguments, the sound of men putting women to use on beds, and the banging of doors. These streets were alive still, but mostly deserted in the darkness. 

 

I wished I had a knife. 

 

A knife would be good now.

 

I counted slowly until I think ten ehn had passed by, and then I peered out from my tight hiding space and into the narrow alleyway. Placing one bare foot after the other, I quietly inched my way back to the street, listening for any sound that might alarm me. At least I could move freely in the slave tunic. It was good for that at least. Free women are never stealthy in layers of robes and gowns with their vision limited by a series of veils and a hood.

 

I made the street without a sound. If the monster was nearby, watching me, then she was a better hunter than I was. How could a woman be so strong! She must train every day for hours. 

 

I told myself I couldn’t just wander aimlessly through these streets. I had to have a plan. Tacitus of Ar once wrote, ‘no successful general wages war without a thorough understanding of his objectives.’ 

 

Dangerous as it might seem, I was going to head back to the courtyard and investigate the stables where I had, from the first floor window, seen the soft glow of lit lamps. I couldn’t think of any reason why Simon might have chosen to get dressed and go to the stables, but he had to have gone somewhere, and the light meant someone was there. Why would anyone be in the stables at this late hour? There was just as much chance of it being Simon as anyone else. And in any event, I had no better goal in mind. I had to get off the streets. If a man saw me, he would seize me. I was a slave girl, alone, after dark, and fair game. Either I was a runaway, or I had been sent out by my Master as a coin girl. 

 

As the phrase suggests, coin girls can be found on streets after dark with small boxes attached to their collars. The boxes have narrow slots in which coins can be placed. It is an honour system of sorts. A man can put the girl to use in a secluded alleyway, and then thank her owner by placing a tarsk bit into the slot. If the girl returns home in the morning without the sound of a couple of coins jingling in the small box, she will often be beaten.

 

It is said that men can’t expect their slaves to remain unmolested if they let them out after dark. If a man feels protective of his kajira, he should lock her up inside, once night falls. A girl on the streets is fair game. 

 

And of course no free woman would walk the streets on her own after dark, especially not in a part of the city like this. If she did, she would be courting the collar, or rape at the very least.

 

So, yes, it was dangerous for me to be here. I was no man’s prey. I was an Assante!  

 

Luck was with me. I saw only one man on the way back to the courtyard, and I saw him before he had a chance to see me. I ducked into a deep doorway and remained still until he walked past. The lack of street lighting in this area was of great help as I stole my way through the remaining alleys. 

 

The cafe building seemed quiet and dark. But opposite, there were still tell-tale glows from the stables. Oh, Simon, please be there. I don’t care now why you went to the stables, just please be there for me! 

 

I crept quietly to the stable wall and worked my way along it. The door was huge and closed shut. It was probably barred from the inside. But unlike the houses surrounding the courtyard, the stable had a couple of windows on the ground floor. There were shutters closed on those windows, but with a bit of luck I could peer through some of the spaces between the shutters and the window frames. Stable windows do not have glass, and so the shutters would be the only seal. 

 

Tacitus, of course, has this to say about a defensive position: ‘a place of safety that does not form an integral part of a general’s strategy, risks becoming a prison for that same general.’

 

As I peered through the narrow spaces I could just about make out movement inside the stables. The viewing angle was too narrow for me to work out who was in there, only to be aware of movement on the ground floor. I chewed my lower lip and pondered how I was going to get inside. The walls were wood, and I could see that higher up, where the hayloft would be, there was an open window space. If I could climb to that position, I felt sure I could squeeze through and drop down into the hay loft. Ideally I needed some boxes or barrels or a wagon by the side of the wall to give me some added reach, but there was nothing of that kind anywhere in sight. But the wooden planks of the stable wall were laid horizontally, and being barefoot, I might be able to use the gaps for hand and foot holds. Slowly, I inched my way up the wall, struggling to work my fingers and toes into the slight gaps. That little slut Emma would scale this wall with ease, for she was like a monkey when it came to climbing, but I struggled, for I am a free woman. I couldn’t have climbed more than one storey, but I manged to reach out and seize the windowsill before my feet might slip. I used every ounce of strength to pull myself up and then flop over onto the floor of the hay loft. 

 

And in doing so I knocked over a bucket. It rattled on the wooden floor and I cursed myself for being so clumsy! A few ihn later I heard a creaking of wood from down below. I held myself very still, hoping that the sound of the bucket might be taken as large urts moving around, knocking a pail over. But then I cursed myself for my stupidity. Why was there a metal bucket with… yes, stones inside it, balanced precariously just below the upstairs windowsill? A careless intruder was meant to knock it over. I had been careless, not clumsy. I hadn’t thought to check for an alarm system. 

 

I heard feet coming up the loft ladder quickly. The ladder creaked under the weight of a man. There wasn’t time to climb back down the wall, and anyway, I was here for a reason, to see if Simon was here. I moved behind some hay and waited. 

 

It was a man, and my night sight was good enough to make out his shape, without seeing his features. It could be Simon. It could be anyone. He held something in his right hand. He was armed. 

 

I looked about for a weapon and saw nothing I might use. But I picked up a stone, and held it in my right fist, to at least give weight to a strike with the side of that hand. It was better than nothing. Tacitus says, ‘weapons are all around you. Only a blind man cannot see them.’ I recalled a fight I once had with a girl when I was ten years old. She was bigger than me and she had won it easily enough. I told Brinn the next day and he told me the next time I saw the girl, to pick up a stone, walk up to her without warning, and smack her in the face with the side of my clenched fist. I broke one of her teeth and she cried piteously. My mother was furious and made me go round to the family and beg forgiveness a couple of days later, offering an expensive present in compensation, that came from my allowance for the next three months, but Brinn just laughed when I told him of it. He hugged me and told me he was proud I was his sister and that the girl would be in a collar one day because she was too pretty to be free. Brinn is older than me by a few years and so had just hit puberty. I didn’t understand the change in the way he saw other girls, of course, so it had just seemed a strange thing for him to say at the time. I really can’t remember the girl’s name. 

 

The man wasn’t making a sound. The way he moved didn’t remind me of Simon at all. If he wasn’t Simon, then I certainly wasn’t going to reveal myself. I slid further back behind some more hay and inched my way towards the ladder which was the only way down. 

 

He suddenly noticed something and I froze where I was. Maybe the hay had stirred slightly as I squeezed through. Maybe there had been a slight rustle of the straw. He circled the space where I was hiding. He was about central to me, and if I darted to the right, I would be heading towards the ladder. If I darted to the left, the window. The ladder was my best option. I threw the stone in the darkness to my left and heard it hit a wooden plank. At that precise moment I dived to the right. 

 

But to my horror, the moment the man had heard the noise to my left, he had ignored it and he had immediately moved instead to my right even before I had emerged! 

 

I cried out as his hands clamped down on my struggling body as I literally dived into his path. I screamed as he turned me about, with his back to his chest, and his fingers touched my steel collar. There was a moment of slight relaxation as he realised the struggling figure in the darkness was a slave, and I think this put him off his guard. With his grip suddenly easy on me, I reached back with my left hand and squeezed his sexual organs. Now it was his turn to scream and let me go.

 

I believe, if you’re a man, it’s really very painful.     

 

I was free for an ihn or two and I threw myself towards the ladder. In panic I scuttled down it, taking the rungs literally three at a time. I dropped the remaining distance to the straw covered floor and turned round, and just as I did I was struck on the side of my head by a heavy pot. Stunned, I fell down, still conscious, but immobilised. 

 

“Fucking hell!” came a man’s voice from above. “Gods, that HURTS!”

 

“Are you all right, Mikos?” cried a woman downstairs, presumably the person who had just dropped me with the pot in her hands.

 

I just about comprehended the word ‘Mikos’ before the woman was on top of me, pushing my head flat into the straw. I coughed and spluttered, my head reeling as I tried to shake her off.  

 

The next thing I knew, there was a man beside me, pulling me up by my collar and, as I raised my hands to do something, he ducked my head into a deep water barrel. 

 

I hadn’t had time to get a deep lungful of air before the water closed in around me, so I struggled wildly as I felt what little breath I did have being used up. The man held me there until he was sure I was helpless, and then he pulled me out. I choked air into my lungs and scrabbled with my hands on the rim of the barrel.

 

“Submit,” he said, and when there wasn’t an immediate reply, he dunked my head back under. This time he held me down longer than before, because presumably he thought I’d taken a lungful of air, which I had done. But the second time my head lifted from the water barrel I choked out the words, “I submit!”

 

I was thrown to a pile of straw and, as I lay there, my wrists were pulled behind me and expertly bound. I lay on my side, covered in loose straw, breathing in much needed sweet air.

 

“It’s just a kajira,” said Mikos. “Possibly a runaway.”

 

“So I see,” said a woman whose face I recognised as a lamp was brought near. It was Trublia! Lady Trublia! And she was dressed in just her undergown! She held a heavy pot between both hands and brandished at me in warning. I glanced round and immediately saw several softly lit lamps surrounding some sort of makeshift love nest in the straw! Trublia had given herself to Mikos!

 

What a slut!

 

Here, in a barn!

 

I stared at her in shock. 

 

I wriggled my bound wrists in frustration, but I felt a little bit relieved that these were at least familiar faces. 

 

“There is no point wriggling, girl,” said Mikos, as he brought a lamp closer. “Those are capture knots. I’m rather good at them.”

“So I see,” I said, bitterly. I waited for him to recognise me, but there was no indication that he did. Did I really look that different with my hair down, with a collar around my throat, now that I wore a slave tunic? 

 

“What is she doing here?” asked Trublia as she knelt beside Mikos. “Sneaking in through the window. She should be chained in a kitchen somewhere, or locked in her kennel for the night.”

 

“Are you a runaway, girl?” asked Mikos.

 

“No,” I said, sullenly. I was annoyed that he didn’t recognise me. That she didn’t recognise me. I thought it was obvious who I might be. 

 

“She has been beaten recently,” said Trublia as she lifted the back of my skirt. “Look at her bottom. It’s bright red.”

 

“I take it you haven’t been very pleasing, girl?” asked Mikos. “Who is your Master?”

 

This was awkward. I was going to have to identify myself. I think I would have preferred it if I had simply been recognised. 

 

“I don’t have a master,” I said. “I’m not a slave.”

 

“Obviously you’re a slave,” said Mikos. He tapped the steel collar with his fingers.

 

“A collar can be placed around any woman’s throat,” I said with a sniff. “I have not been legally enslaved by a magistrate. I remain a free woman. I have not been branded, and… oh!” I squealed in shock as Mikos lifted my skirt at the front to examine me for a brand. “Don’t! No! Your hands!” he turned me about from one side to the other, ignoring my protests, searching in the dim light with his fingers for any sign of a brand anywhere on my body. I was flushed and embarrassed by the time he finished.

 

“She’s telling the truth about the lack of a brand at least,” said Mikos. 

 

“You had no right to touch me like that!” I said. “I am a free woman!”

 

“You can see her nipples through her tunic,” said Trublia. “Look how stiff they are against the fabric now.”

 

I turned quickly away from her and blushed. 

 

Beside me, Mikos chuckled. “You liked my touch, girl?”

 

“Of course not,” I said. “Your hands were cold, that is all!”

 

“Shall I warm them before I touch you again?”

 

“You will not touch me again!” I snapped. I gazed up at him. The truth was, Mikos is really quite handsome. Devilishly handsome, in fact. I had thought so back at the dinner table. It had crossed my mind while we ate what it might be like if he kissed me, touched me, even. I blushed now that he was so close to me. “I forbid it!”

 

“The way she talks, she probably is a free woman,” said Mikos. “A slave would never talk like that.”

 

“She looks like a slut to me,” said Trublia. 

 

“I’m not the one who has spent the night in my underwear snuggling up to Mikos in a straw hay bale!” I snapped. “Have you no shame, Trublia!”

 

“Wait… how does she know my name? You didn’t speak my name, Mikos!”

 

“No, I didn’t.” He put his hands on my hips and looked into my eyes. “Who are you, kajira?”

 

“Oh! This is insufferable! Do you really not recognise me! I am Cassandra! Cassandra Assante! Isn’t it obvious!”

 

Mikos sat back and chuckled. “By the Gods, it could be.” He reached down and took hold of my hair, lifting it up, away from my shoulders, holding it up above my head as it had been styled during the evening.

 

“It is her!” Squealed Trublia in amazement. “Cassandra Assante!”

 

“I did think the voice had a familiar tone to it.”

 

“Can you please untie my hands,” I demanded. 

 

“Why do you wear a slave collar, Cassandra?” Asked Mikos.

 

“It’s a long story. Can you please untie my hands?”

 

“Have you been enslaved, Cassandra? Am I talking to a slave now? This is an important question.”

 

“No! I told you! No! I’m a free woman.”

 

“Hmm.” He regarded me again. 

 

“Why aren’t you untying my hands!”

 

“Because you look adorable like that,” said Mikos with a chuckle. “Just let me enjoy the sight for a few moments.”

 

“Beast!” I wriggled furiously in the straw but only succeeded in moving the hem of my skirt up around my thighs, so I stopped quickly once I saw what was happening. 

 

“Do you have the key to the collar?”

 

“No! Obviously not! Do you think I would be wearing it if I had? Men are so stupid!”

 

“Probably not,” agreed Mikos. With a sigh he untied the knots at my wrists. “So, where is Simon?”

 

And so I began to explain the circumstances of how Mikos had now found me in a slave tunic and a collar. I may have left out things he didn’t need to know, such as the intimate details of my night together with Simon, and simply made it sound as if Simon had persuaded me to dress up for him. That was embarrassing enough, but at least I could claim to simply be a dutiful companion catering to her companion’s beastly desires against her better judgement or wishes. 

 

“It was horrible and demeaning, of course,” I said. “I have never felt more cold and frigid the whole night! It may be his fantasy but it does nothing for me. My blood was cold and my skin felt numb.”

 

“Obviously,” said Mikos with a grin.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sat up on my knees and rubbed my wrists. “So, the two of you have been… snuggling in here… since I said goodbye to you?” I said, to change the subject.

 

Now it was Trublia’s turn to blush. “I was a little drunk and found myself in here when we left,” she said. “I too have been cold and frigid the whole time! The beast has been taking advantage of me! I am so glad you are here, Cassandra, to spare me further handling.”

I noticed how Mikos raised an amused eyebrow as he looked at Trublia, who didn’t deign to meet his gaze. 

 

“I see he has stripped you,” I said. “Down to your under garments.”

 

“I had little choice,” said Trublia with a blush as she considered her single garment left. It just about covered her knees. “His hands were all over me as I protested. It was beastly. But what could I do? He is so strong and persistent!”

 

“It is true that I am strong and persistent,” said Mikos with a chuckle.

 

Trublia and I gazed at one another for a moment, me in my slave collar and tunic, and Trublia in her slip like under garment that reached to her knees. 

 

“Slut,” I said.

 

“Slut,” She said back.

 

“Ladies,” said Mikos, interjecting between us. “Ladies, let us not dwell on the past. I’m more concerned that Simon has vanished. I can’t think why he might have left of his own choosing when, by all accounts, he had the lovely Cassandra coming back to his room in a fetching slave tunic. The thought troubles me.”

 

“A slave collar as well,” added Trublia with a hint of acid to her voice. “Let’s not forget she wears a slave collar like SLAVES do.”

 

“That as well,” Agreed Mikos. Gods of Gor, but he was handsome, the rough, uncouth brute! I sat there in the straw, noticing he hadn’t touched me since I had declared my name. 

 

Good.

 

I didn’t want to be touched.

 

I didn’t.

 

I would hit him if he tried.

 

I stretched my left ankle out slightly in his direction and looked at him meaningfully.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that, Cassandra?” asked Mikos.

 

“Like what?” I quickly looked away and drew my ankle back. 

 

“Do you want me to touch you again?”

 

“Don’t be absurd! You have your slut here, if you want to do anything like that!”

 

“I’m not the one wearing a slave collar!” said Trublia, angrily.

 

“And I haven’t been rolling in the straw with Mikos and panting like a sleen in heat,” I snapped back. Gods of Gor, the woman was insufferable!

 

“Ladies, ladies, please!” said Mikos. “There is a time and a place.” 

 

“She started it,” we both said at precisely the same time.

 

“Cassandra, in your account, you described a strong looking woman who scared you. You said she had an unusual accent. Did she tell you her name?” asked Mikos.

 

“No, when I asked, she said that curiosity is not becoming in a kajira.”

 

“And that is true, but I think I may know the woman. I think I need to talk to her.”

 

“Could I ask you to convey me home, please, Mikos? This has been a harrowing experience for me tonight.”

 

“I’m sure it has been. But I wasn’t planning on walking through these streets after dark either. I’m not a warrior and this can be a dangerous place when night falls. I was planning on staying here until dawn.”

 

“Until dawn?” Trublia looked alarmed by the news. “But I have to get home! I can’t return to my apartment in the morning. The other women who live there will demand to know where I have been all night! You don’t understand how they talk! The peer pressure…”

 

“It’s a little late for that, my dear,” said Mikos. “It’s simply too dangerous to walk home now.” He stroked her ankle and then kissed her hand. 

 

“What am I to do?” I asked. “I don’t want to intrude on whatever you are planning to do in that straw over there.”

 

“Nothing is going to happen,” said Trublia, quickly enough. “I need my clothes!” She rose to go to where they lay, folded over a barrel, but Mikos reached out with a smile, took her left ankle and tipped her over into the straw where she fell with a squeal.

 

As she thrashed around in the straw, he drew her back by the ankle to his side, lifted her up and kissed her on the mouth. I looked away, not wishing to be a witness. When I looked back, Trublia was looking quite flustered. 

 

“I am obviously in the way,” I said, rising to my own feet. “I shall make a bed of sorts in the hayloft above.” I walked to the ladder and climbed back up, not looking down. Upstairs, on the raised structure, in the darkness, I found a reasonable bed of straw and lay some piles of sackcloth over it. I heard the sounds of a woman whimpering down below as I did so. The little slut was obviously enjoying herself! I felt annoyed as I lay myself down. Yes, Mikos was very handsome. I could understand why Trublia was attracted to him. I clenched my fists as I tried to make myself comfortable on the straw bed. Would I have to listen to that noisy slut all night!   

 

But exhaustion meant I drifted off to sleep within just a few ehn of laying my head down on a makeshift pillow. 

 

It was still dark when I suddenly woke up, for there were hands on my body. I jumped up in alarm and then recognised the dark silhouette of Mikos beside me. “Mikos! Has something happened?”

 

“Lady Cassandra,” he whispered as he lifted the skirt of my tunic with his fingers.

 

“What are you doing!” I whispered, slapping his hand away. 

 

“I recognised that look in your eyes, earlier,” he said as he took hold of my wrist and lifted my hand away. I struggled, but he was stronger than me.

 

“Where is Trublia?!”

 

“Asleep. Chained to an iron ring. Why? Do you wish to speak with her?”

 

“The woman is a slut!” I hissed. His hands were on my body again, once more pulling up the skirt of my slave tunic. “Let go of me.”

 

“You need to be quiet, Cassandra, or you’ll wake the Lady.”

 

I whimpered far too loud as he suddenly touched me between my thighs. 

 

“No!” But I whispered the word ‘no’. I didn’t want to wake Trublia, for some reason. I felt Mikos lie down beside me and continue stroking my body. I protested and struggled a bit, before giving up when he pulled my wrists apart and began tying them to a support beam with binding fibre. He is a strong man, so I concluded my resistance was rather futile.

 

“You wear a slave collar,” he said. “It’s because you wear a slave collar. You should know that. You are simply too desirable, looking like that, to deny myself.”

 

“What about Simon?!”

 

“Simon should be here to protect his woman, that is what a companion should do. Instead he has left you in a barn, dressed as a slave. This is his own fault. And you do make a very beautiful slave girl, Cassandra.”

“Don’t call me that!”

 

He kissed my hair and then me, directly on the lips. “I can’t think of you any other way now that I’ve seen you like this. You will always be a kajira to me when we see each other in polite society. I will always imagine a collar around that pretty neck of yours.”

 

“I could scream,” I said.

 

“Of course you could. I will give you a moment to do so.” He sat up and waited. “Do you perhaps expect Trublia to wake and run to your aid?”

 

“No. Of course not. She is chained to a slave ring.”

 

“Then why would you bother to scream?”

 

“It was just a thought,” I said as he finished tying my wrists to the beam. “Don’t part my thighs.”

 

He parted my thighs. 

 

“You were looking at me all during dinner, Cassandra. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

 

“You’re imagining things!” I flexed my wrists and felt that rising pleasure from being bound helplessly. “I want you to untie me!”

 

“And I want to be the Ubar of Ar. It’s funny how unrealistic our dreams and ambitions can be.”

 

“I’m frigid,” I said quickly. “I’m cold. You will get no pleasure from me. Ohhhhhh!” I suddenly cried out as he did something intimate between my legs. 

 

“Good. You are a free woman, Cassandra. I would think less of you if you weren’t frigid and cold. I shall try to ignore any evidence to the contrary, on your behalf, as a courtesy.”

 

“It’ll be dawn soon,” I said as I lay on my back in the straw with my thighs forced open.

 

“Not for several ahn, yet.” He rolled the skirt of my tunic up past my hips and placed his hand on my naked skin. “I think…”

“What do you think?”

 

“I think… I am going to call you ‘Cassie’ tonight.”

 

“Don’t do that!” I hissed.

 

“And you are going to refer to yourself by that name while I put you to use; while you beg to be put to use.”

 

“Never!” I shook my head. 

 

“Do you know what this is?” asked Mikos as he showed me a slave switch.

 

I stared at it for several ihn. And then I said, in a quiet voice. “My name is Cassie. Please put me to use.”