Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Four

 

Sadric found a stable that would take in and guard his tharlarion for what was quite an exorbitant price.  

 

“Twenty copper tarsks? Really?”

 

“You’ll find most things are expensive out here,” remarked the bored stable hand, who seemed to have little interest in the art of negotiating. Many of his stable pens were full, and in fact some of them were rented for occupancy by men who were passing through the area and couldn’t afford the even more expensive rates for human lodging. “Men come here to earn good money, but soon find they are spending it all quickly enough. Paga, food, lodging – none of it is cheap. You are paying for security for your magnificent tharlarion, and all your belongings. Note the two large violent looking men with thick wooden staves who will guard your property day and night. You may, of course, choose to save money by simply tethering your tharlarion on the street, tied to a hitching post. Who knows, perhaps he will still be there when you return from the paga tavern?”

 

“The possibility is remote,” replied Sadric.

 

“True enough, and so our prices reflect the grave reality of the situation.” The stable hand regarded me with interest. “That’s an expensive slave you have there.”

 

“You think so?” Sadric seemed amused by the suggestion. 

 

“Girls like that are in high demand in Manitoba.” He rubbed his chin. “She’s had training?”

 

“Oh, yes,” said Sadric with a wink. “I can attest to that. Full training.”

 

I blushed and then frowned as the stable hand ran his hands over my curves, appraising Sadric’s property. I had to stand there and permit his touch, of course. I was a slave girl. 

 

“Do you want to sell her?”

 

The stable hand was the seventh man to make an offer in the two ahn we had been here. No sooner had we entered the outer palisade than Sadric had been greeted by agents belonging to various slaver houses. The stable hand offered seventy-eight copper tarsks, but Sadric had laughed that offer away. 

 

“Do you think I’m a fool?” he said. “Seventy eight copper tarsks for a girl like this?” He slapped my bottom and made me yelp. 

 

The man said something about the current state of the market, and how there had been a glut of slaves recently, and how there were training costs to take into consideration, but Sadric simply walked on. “Here in Manitoba that man would have put you on the block for quick re-sale, priced at several silver tarsks.”

 

“Oh.” That was a lot of money. I smiled at the thought of being sold for so high a price. It gave me a warm, submissive feeling.

 

“You like the idea of selling for a high price, don’t you Cassie?”

 

“I suppose.” I tossed my head, as if the matter didn’t really concern me. But what girl would want to be sold cheaply? That would suggest she was plain, dowdy, of only passing interest to the poorest of men. Obviously, I didn’t want to be sold to anyone. But if I had to be sold – if, frustratingly, I had no choice in the matter - then I wanted to go for a high price. 

 

Offers had been made to buy Marissa, too, but no one offered more than thirty eight copper tarsks for her, a fact that seemed to upset her. The stable hand had offered twenty five copper tarsks for her, when my own sale had been declined.

 

Outside, on the streets of the outer palisade, where it had been raining for a few ahn, we slopped through the sticky mud, away from the stable, for Sadric wished to familiarise himself with the layout of the trading post.

 

“Twenty five copper tarsks is still a good price,” said Sadric, perhaps wishing to cheer Marissa up. “Remember, you have no training, you are not a strong working girl, and these men are trying to buy stock at prices well below the far market assessment.”

 

I watched as Marissa tugged at the hem of her rep cloth tunic, pulling it down her thighs by an extra hort and a half. “It’s only five tarsks more than the cost of stabling your tharlarion!”

 

“Stable prices are exorbitant, I agree,” said Sadric. “The merchants should be ashamed of themselves.”

 

 “Now that we’ve arrived, may I wear robes and veils again?”

 

“Perhaps,” said Sadric. “Would you care to?”

 

“Yes!” she said, quickly, urgently, and quietly. This was a strange relationship. That Sadric would consider allowing a slave to pass herself off again as a Free Woman. “Give me robes and veils! Let me pass as a Free Woman! I am frightened of the way people here look at me.”

 

“The men?” enquired Sadric as he stroked Marissa’s upper arm.

 

“Not just the men. The Free Women gaze at me with undisguised resentment, and the slaves here laugh at me as I walk past in my tight, clinging tunic that does little to conceal my soft, feminine figure. They laugh at the unmistakable wiggle of my hips!” She pouted, clearly distressed by the way her slave curves were being exhibited.

“They’re just jealous of you. You wear a pretty tunic, much lovelier than their own plain woollen ones, and your hands are soft, your hips, thighs and legs unaccustomed to hard labour. They are shaped, rather, to offer pleasure to men in the furs.”

 

“I’m afraid of them. One poked me with a stick!”

 

“Oh? Sadric looked saddened by that. “What did you do?”

 

“What could I do? She was taller and stronger looking than me. I had to take it.”

 

The outer palisade was originally a wide open space that existed outside of the inner, more fortified palisade where the forces of Port Kar are garrisoned. Over time, as Manitoba grew beyond its original concept of a military fort, traders moved in and a shanty town of sorts grew on the fringes, offering accommodation, food and services to the itinerant population who were drawn to the Northern Forests for highly paid (and highly dangerous) work. Gradually, as open spaces were filled by more and more log cabins and tented stalls, the semblance of streets began to emerge. It was only a matter of time then until a second defensive perimeter was established, smaller than the military one. Now of course the outer palisade area is almost full, with all available spaces claimed and paid for (the men of Port Kar profit from the leasing of the land within the outer palisade) and so the first encampments outside those walls are beginning to show. In time there may be a third palisade wall, and so Manitoba will grow further outwards, sprawling further east and west and south of the mighty Laurius river that flows to the coast of known Gor. 

 

We’d only been walking for ten ehn when it started raining again.

 

“Let’s go inside and dry out,” said Sadric as he steered us towards a wide log building that was a tavern of sorts. The air steamed inside with workmen drying themselves by the enormous hearth fire that occupied the centre of the building. It was mostly a wide open space, built around a huge chimney with a fireplace large enough for several people to stand upright in it. Large stacks of firewood were piled high either side, and the two long walls were lined with ‘snugs’ – intimate spaces with low tables where men could sit, eating and drinking. Tavern slaves moved back and forth delivering plates of meat and bowls of stew, both served with a form of fresh black bread covered in poppy seeds. Unlike the taverns of Vonda, I saw no sign of any pleasure alcoves, which struck me as curious. The slaves here didn’t seem to be offered for use with the price of the paga. Perhaps this is an indication of the scarcity of floor space, as pleasure alcoves would limit the amount of available table space, and would bring no extra coin if the economic model matched that of the taverns in Vonda, where they were essentially available for free. 

 

We found a snug that had recently been vacated (the greasy plates and bowls on the table had yet to be cleared away) and so Sadric quickly claimed it before anyone else might. It was hot in here, both from the furnace like heat of the hearth fire, the proximity of so many large men who had come in out of the rain, the nearby kitchens, and the warm insulation of the log frame of the building. 

 

“Hungry?” enquired Sadric.

 

“I am, yes, Master.” I licked my lips. 

 

“If you kiss me well, Cassie, I’ll buy you a bowl of hot stew.”

I kissed him very well, and felt his hands rove around my body as I did so. 

 

“Slut,” he said, as he enjoyed the kiss of a Pleasure Slave.

 

“Pleasure Slave slut,” I said with a strange sense of pride. “You could get seventy-eight copper tarsks for me, Master.”

 

“I could get a lot more than that for you if I had you exhibited on an auction block with an experienced auctioneer who knew how best to display you with a whip in hand.” 

 

“True, Master.” The services of a skilled auctioneer is a price worth paying if you are a man who wishes to maximise the sale price of your girl. Only a fool would baulk at the expense. 

 

“Marissa. Fetch me some paga, and order three bowls of stew.” He indicated the serving area of the kitchen space. The interior was crowded now, and the wait for table service could take some time.

 

“Please don’t send me out there,” she said. “Send Cassie instead.”

 

I frowned at her. I was really quite comfortable where I was, leaning into Sadric’s arms, feeling his hands on my thighs, and licking and kissing his neck at the point of the seventeenth erogenous zone on a man’s body.  

 

“Cassie is busy,” said Sadric, quite reasonably. “You are not.”

 

Marissa left the snug and I directed my attention back to my Master. “Why are there no pleasure alcoves, Master?”

 

He laughed. “You seem disappointed.”

 

“No, of course not. I simply find it strange.”

 

“Me too.” He nodded. “I thought there would be some.” Few of the men in Manitoba owned a slave girl, and so the services of a paga tavern would do good business, though of course the owner would be well advised to charge separately for them, and not to simply include the use of a girl with the price of a cup of paga. The natural laws of supply and demand should make that fact obvious. I counted perhaps seven girls working in this place, but they were all far too busy to provide an ahn of sexual service to a single customer. “I think perhaps the availability of slave girls is scarcer than I had imagined. Either that or there is so much essential work for them to do, that it doesn’t make sense to set them aside for sexual use.”

 

“It’s a good thing that you have your own slave, then,” I said as I kissed him again. 

 

“I think there are a lot of jealous men in here tonight,” said Sadric as he regarded the neighbouring snugs, and the men seated there who watched us. 

 

I glanced about the tavern and saw many faces watching as I snuggled in close on the lap of my Master. I drew my arms up above my body and lifted my long hair sensuously, the way I had been trained to do, and let it flow like water about my body. There were audible gasps from nearby snugs.

 

“If you’re not careful, you’ll have these men climaxing without even touching you, Cassie.” Sadric had his hands either side of my waist and was watching as I swayed erotically before him. “It’s bad enough that they have to put up with tables of Panther girls. That must be frustrating.”

 

He referred of course to a few snugs in which Panther girls sat drinking and eating in small armed groups. They were safe enough, I supposed, if they remained in their groups, with their knives and spears close to hand, but even so, their provocative attire was a temptation to men who couldn’t afford to own a slave, and who had no paga slaves to play with. I could sense the tension in the steamy air as the Panther girls laughed loudly, drank paga, and often sat with their arms about one another. The neutrality of the trading post, for now, was a given, but it was a close run thing, and I doubted many of the men who worked in the forests cared for the special treatment accorded to these wild women of the woods. 

 

“One day these Panther girls will no longer be needed as scouts and skirmishers,” remarked Sadric, “and then when that day comes they will find themselves serving in the tavern, rather than patronising it. It flies against the natural order of Gor for women to act in this fashion.”

 

“And how should we act, Master? How should women act?” The snug had a degree of shadow to it, and obscured by the low tables I moved my hand to Sadric’s manhood, touching it under his tunic. It was already hard and stiff, of course, so, as we conversed, I began to stroke him with experienced measured movements of my wrist and fingers. I could prolong this sensation for however long he might want.

 

“You are an exceptional slave, Cassie.”

“Oh?” I smiled in the flickering fire light that dimly illuminated the snug. “Would you pay two silver tarsks for me, if you had to?”

 

“Easily. And as for how women should act, well, this is a good start.”

 

“Beast,” I said with a soft laugh. 

 

“You’ve changed,” he said.

 

“Oh?” I hadn’t considered the possibility.

 

“The journey here was a long one. Seventy five days. Three nights chained to a tree at night, feeling frustrated, and then seventy two nights in the furs with me.”

 

“You put me to use,” I said. I pouted. “Full use. Despite my protests.”

 

“I enjoyed your protests, though they grew quieter and less intense as the nights wore on. And then one night they seemed to cease altogether. They were replaced instead by soft, mewling cries to be touched.”

 

“The things you did to me…” I kissed him again and felt his body shiver from what I was doing to him under the table. He seemed more excited than normal. Perhaps it was the stealthy way in which I was stimulating him in a crowded room. “Do you want me to…?” I asked softly.

 

“Yes.” His voice quivered. “Yes.”

 

I few ehn later I licked my hand clean and gazed about the crowded room. Marissa had been gone a while, and I soon saw why. She seemed flustered, surrounded by two of the tavern kajirae who were making fun of her smooth skin, clean hair and slight figure. Anyone could see that Marissa was a pampered city slave, very different from the tougher girls who worked in this frontier camp. Marissa looked scared as another girl pulled her hair, and the second gave her a shove.

 

“Please excuse me for a moment, Master,” I said as I rose to my feet and left the alcove snug. The two girls were too engrossed in teasing pretty little Marissa that they didn’t see me coming towards them. I seized the hair of the first girl and smacked her face down hard against a vacant table. As she lay there bleating and dazed, probably with a broken nose, I waited for the second girl to turn and face me, and then I punched her in the stomach. She doubled up, with a reassuring scream.

 

“Are you all right?” I asked, of Marissa. She nodded, still trembling, as other slaves in the tavern lodge gazed at us. I stood there, coldly regarding them with my best hostile stare. I, too, looked like a soft city slave, so my action just now probably came as a considerable surprise to these frontier kajirae. The first of the girls began to rise on to her knees. I could see her face was smeared with blood that had run down from her nose as I seized her by her hair and dragged her over to where the second girl was lying, crying.

 

“Don’t come near Marissa again,” I said, and then kicked her away.

 

“Come on back to the alcove snug,” I said, as I took Marissa’s hand in my own. I gazed sullenly at the other slaves in the tavern and focussed my stare at them one at a time. Now they knew. Marissa stayed very close to me, gripping my hand like a child might, as we threaded our way back to the alcove where Sadric sat watching. Many other people were watching, too, though I knew Free Men would rarely, if ever, intervene in the internal squabbles of slaves. And amongst the men watching, I saw a table occupied by panther girls, and one in particular; the blonde haired panther I had previously seen trying to feed a sweet candy to her friend was gazing at me again with renewed interest. She had seen me fight the other slaves, and she nodded, raising a goblet of paga as I passed by. She seemed amused by what she had seen. 

 

“Mistress,” I said, lowering my gaze to the Panther girl, who then turned away, now bored by me. She whispered something to her friend, who laughed. 

 

“Thank you,” said Marissa in a subdued voice, as we walked back to the safety of the snug.

 

“It’s nothing. It’s important to prove early on that you’re not a victim. Can you fight?”

 

“No.” 

 

Priest Kings lend me strength – she had started crying again! “If you keep crying all the time, these slaves are going to make your life hell.” I turned her to face me, and I re-arranged her hair and wiped her eyes. 

 

“I’m sorry. I’m just not used to this. It’s been a nightmare since I was taken in Port Kar and branded.”

 

I sighed. “Sometimes I won’t be around when something like this happens to you. You’re going to have to learn to look out for yourself. This isn’t some civilized city. Some of these girls will fight hard.” I flexed my fingers and then knelt back down beside Sadric.

 

“It didn’t take you long to start a fight, Cassie.”

 

“They cornered Marissa,” I said.

 

“Yes, they did. Come here girl,” he said to Marissa. She knelt down beside him and he put his arm around her to comfort her. “Were they terrible to you?”

 

“Yes, Sadric,” she sobbed. “I hate this! It would be safer for me if I wore robes and veils.”

 

“I’ll give it some thought.”

 

I felt a sense of movement behind me, and turned to see that two men had appeared at our table. They were both bearded, strong, and I sensed they might be outlaws – men without a Home Stone.

 

“Tal, friend,” said the first of the men to Sadric.  

 

“Tal,” said Sadric, politely enough. “Though I do not think I know you, and so cannot truly say you are a friend.”

 

I moved a little closer to my Master, sensing an ugly mood in the air. Both of these bearded men were now gazing at me and Marissa with keen interest.

 

“We wish to use your slaves.” The first man placed a copper tarsk coin on the low table, soon followed by another such coin from the second man. They were both armed, with swords and knives at their belt, unlike my Master who wore his blade commonly over a shoulder strap in the fashion of the warriors. 

 

Nothing was said for a few ihn as Sadric politely gazed at the two coins. Again, I moved closer to him, but now he pushed me aside. I was crowding him. “I sense there has been a misunderstanding,” he said as he looked up at the two outlaws.

 

“What misunderstanding?”

 

“I am not in need of two copper tarsks.”

 

“We’re not asking,” said the first outlaw.

 

“Take the coins as consideration,” said the second man who now showed his teeth in a crooked grin. “We’re going to put your girls to use, whether you accept the money or not.”

 

“That strikes me as a challenge,” remarked Sadric. “I am of the warriors.”

 

The men seemed startled by this, but only for a moment. “You do not wear scarlet,” said the first outlaw. 

 

“True.” Sadric shrugged. It was indeed true. I had not known my Master to wear scarlet on any day of our travels, and to my knowledge none of his garments in our saddlebags were of that colour. 

 

“So I do not think you are a warrior,” said the first outlaw. “There’s no need for this to be ugly. We’ll return your girls when we’re finished with them.”

 

I held my breath and felt a tightness in my chest. I did not want to be put to use by either of these brutes. They seemed violent and uncaring for my feelings.

 

“Is this Kajira Canjellne?” asked Sadric, slowly. 

 

My body stiffened at the sound of those words. For warriors, Kajira Canjellne is the spoken challenge where one warrior may attempt to claim the girl of another warrior. It is a form of ritualised combat, usually climaxing in death for one of the two participants, so is not a challenge to be issued lightly. 

 

“To be clear,” said Sadric again. “Is this Kajira Canjellne?” His eyes seemed to grow hard. 

 

“Kajira Canjellne is a warrior challenge,” said the first outlaw. “You are not a warrior.”

 

“Is this Kajira Canjellne?” said Sadric for a third and possibly final time. 

 

“We will meet you outside with blades,” said the second outlaw. He had grown tired of the dispute and simply wanted to put us to use. Killing Sadric would be acceptable, as far as he was concerned. 

 

“Excellent,” said Sadric. He rose from the table, despite the frantic look I gave him. Within moments he had tied my wrists and the wrists of Marissa behind the small of our backs.

 

“Why are you doing this?” I cried. 

 

“Kajira Canjellne,” he said, surprised I had to ask.

 

“If they kill you, what is going to happen to me? To Marissa?”

 

Again, Sadric seemed surprised by the question. “I suppose you will belong to these two men. You will be their slaves, until they choose to sell you.”

 

“What?! You can’t do this!”

 

“Kajira Canjellne has been spoken.” He looked at me as if I were stupid. “You wouldn’t understand. You are just a slave girl.”

 

It was raining outside. The two outlaws now had their blades in their right hands as various other men exited the log tavern to watch what was now going to happen.

 

“Kajira Canjellne,” explained Sadric as he tied me by my collar ring to a slave hitching post. I stood, barefoot, in the mud. 

 

“Are you a warrior?” said one witness.

 

“I am, yes,” said Sadric proudly.

 

“He doesn’t wear scarlet,” said another man who stood there in the cold rain, keen to watch.          

 

“They are supposed to wear their caste colour with pride,” said a third observer as he spat onto the muddy ground. 

 

“There are two of them!” I said. “They are outlaws! They know how to fight!” I struggled with my wrists, but to no avail, as Sadric then secured Marissa by her collar ring to the same hitching post. “I don’t want to be their slave! What about our mission?” It was obvious to me that if Sadric was killed, I would never be free. I would be lost for all time to slavery, with no hope of ever being saved from my kef brand. How could he take such a risk!

 

“Be quiet, Cassie, or I shall have you whipped.” Sadric pushed me aside and walked through the wet mud to where the outlaws stood, prepared for battle. 

 

“I thank you for this,” he said with a smile. “No one has ever declared Kajira Canjellne to me before.” He offered a slight bow.

 

It is fair to say they didn’t know what to make of this statement. For a moment they seemed to hesitate, concerned perhaps of this insane gratitude and over confidence. And then they watched as Sadric drew his blade and discarded his scabbard with the same practised motion.

 

“I think he is of the warriors,” said one of the observers. There were perhaps twenty to thirty men now watching, and also a number of Panther girls, including the blonde Panther who had earlier raised her goblet as I had passed by her table. She leaned against the girl to whom, earlier, she had tried to tempt and tease with a sweet candy, when we had entered the outer palisade. 

 

“He does not wear scarlet,” said another man. 

 

The first of the outlaws moved in, swinging his blade in a deadly arc, as his friend moved to the side to outflank Sadric. My Master turned, parried the blade, swung low, and slashed open the surprised outlaw’s stomach. Without pausing to observe the horrific wound he had just struck, Sadric swung the tip of his blade at the face of the second outlaw who narrowly parried it with his own short sword. 

 

“Ta-Sardar-Gor!” cried Sadric as he now clashed steel with the remaining outlaw, cutting, parrying, and wearing down his opponent with carefully measured strokes.

 

“Why does he not wear scarlet?” said a man. “He is clearly of the warriors.”

 

It was an uneven contest. My Master wore down the arm of the second outlaw and then cut his sword arm open. The blade tumbled into the mud from the man’s paralysed fingers.

 

“Quarter!” he begged, as he stumbled back, his right arm now hanging limp. “Quarter!”

 

“Kajira Canjellne!” said Sadric, grimly, as he cut the man’s throat open with a sudden furious slash. 

 

I knelt in the mud, straining as far as the neck tether allowed, as the men from the tavern lifted and dragged the two bodies away. 

 

Men had fought for me. Despite my terror, I found myself incredibly aroused. I had never known this possible. I had been a prize; a prize valuable enough to spur men to kill one another in order to claim me. How could any girl not be stimulated by such a thing?

 

“Are you all right Cassie?” asked Sadric, as he wiped his blade clean.

 

“No. No I’m not. You know I’m not.” My face felt flushed with heat. I was breathing hard. I clenched my thighs tightly together. I wanted him to take me, now, on my back, in the mud, and claim his savage ownership of me for all to see.

 

Sadric smiled as he untied my throat tether. “Such a slave,” he said.