Secrets of Gor Chapter Twenty Three

 

It is 2,200 pasangs from Vonda to the border of the Northern Forest, close to the city of Laura. 

 

2,200 pasangs.

 

Believe me, I felt every single one of those pasangs.

 

We averaged thirty pasangs a day, with Marissa and myself alternating between walking and riding. It took seventy five days from the afternoon when we left the walls of Vonda to reach the logging camp of Port Kar.

 

Seventy five days in a steel collar, with a kef brand on my thigh.

 

The passing of time changes a girl. 

 

I rode on the slave saddle, in front of Sadric, as we approached the Port Kar trading post built on the banks of the river Laurius, while Marissa stumbled, tired and dejected, leashed to the steel slave ring stitched into the side of the saddle

 

Seventy five days of walking and riding. 

 

Sadric thought nothing of it, of course. 

 

The trading post belonged to Port Kar, and it was named Manitoba. It straddled the banks of the Laurius, with the main fortified settlement built on the north bank, and the safer, less fortified settlement south of the river. In-between were a number of large wooden jetties stretching out into the river, to which flatbed barges would be tethered. These draught river boats were designed to carry vast quantities of cut timber further east to the coastline at the port of Lydius, where Port Kar sea going vessel would be ready to convey the logs onwards, south, to the Vosk Delta. 

 

Vast timber logging operations stretched east, west and north of the Manitoba palisade encampment, each of which were small fortified settlements of their own, but Manitoba was supposed to be the spoke that supplied and protected the wheel. 

 

We saw plumes of smoke rising from the hearth fires long before we saw the palisade of Manitoba itself. Then as we neared the town, we began to see signs of life. 

 

“In addition to the Port Kar garrison, you will see outlaws, panther girls, and itinerant workers from across the cities of Gor. Manitoba is a melting pot of life. Anyone who has a past they would rather lose, anyone who is in need of money, and anyone who wishes to build a new life, ventures out to the frontier.”

 

I leaned back into Sadric’s arms and said nothing. I felt his stubble against my shoulder and I felt his left arm about my waist. Stumbling to my left, tired and disillusioned, the Lady Marissa paced herself to the loping gait of our tharlarion.  

 

I was losing track of the passage of time. I had been in the slaver house for, what, fifty-three days? And now seventy-five days travelling across the Gorean countryside? And in all that time I had been a slave girl, subject to slave discipline.

 

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You do not need to chain me,” I said on the first night when we camped, a mere ten pasangs out from the walls of Vonda. “I won’t try and escape.”

 

“Oh?” Sadric regarded me with amusement, as I prepared our camp fire. Marissa was seeing to our dinner. 

 

“Why would I try to run? You would soon catch me, and even if you didn’t, I would be a fugitive girl with a brand and a collar. The first man I came across would claim me for his own.”

 

“Perhaps you might prefer him to me?”

 

“Secondly, with you I have the hope of one day losing the kef brand on my thigh. That is motivation to remain with you.”

 

“True.”

 

“So there is no need to chain me.”

 

That night, after we ate, I was chained.

 

“Why are you doing this!” I cried as the chain attached to my collar was locked in a loop around a tree. I touched the chain with my hands, fuming. “We talked about this!”

 

“One should not take chances in the wild,” remarked Sadric as he chained Marissa beside me. “There are dishonest men about.”

 

“I said I wouldn’t run!”

 

“And I appreciate your desire to remain as my slave. It means a lot to me,” said Sadric with a wink. “It really does. Good night, Cassie.”

 

“Oh!” I squirmed beside the tree trunk. I only had twenty horts of chain length. “The man is infuriating!”

 

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“Journey’s end, Cassie, for now at least,” said Sadric. He kissed me on the side of my neck and traced his left hand around my breasts. The slave portion of the war saddle is designed so that a man may touch and enjoy his kajira as he rides. I was now no stranger to being bent forward over the slave saddle and having my wrists securely fastened to the steel ring at the furthest point of the leather. Too, I would then have my slim ankles restrained either side of the saddle, in such a way that my bottom was exposed. From time to time, as Sadric rode through the quiet countryside, he would slide forward in his saddle, settling himself in place, and entering me in the traditional manner. I would gasp and wriggle in my restraints. This, then, would be no frantic coupling, but rather Sadric would take his time, enjoying the fresh air, the peace and quiet, the beauty of nature, as the great tharlarion loped along the road. The shambling gait meant Sadric merely had to hold himself inside me, and the rocking sensation of the ride was then very pleasant for him.

 

And, I confess, for me, too. 

 

After maybe ten ehn of this I would be mewling softly, which would make him harder still. In this position I was capable of exercising my vaginal muscles, contracting and rippling them, adding to my Master’s pleasure. When it became too much for him, he would slap one of my buttocks, a signal to then go easy. Taken like this, I could offer him pleasure in the saddle for at least an ahn, possibly two. 

 

The Lady Marissa was not capable of matching my skill in the saddle, and in fact she didn’t even know what I was doing. In any event, Sadric chose not to put her to use when it was her turn to ride before him. She would ride, stiff, and frightened, trembling as he occasionally touched her, but she was not lain down on her belly, her wrists tied to the far ring, and used in the way I was. 

 

“So, are you planning on speaking to me?” I whispered in the darkness as I lay next to Marissa. She had her back to me and was crying quietly. Like me, she was tethered to the same tree trunk by her own collar chain. Like me, she had to share the same cheap blanket. “You’re going to have to say something at some point.” I was curious as to how she had come to her slavery, for it seemed an unusual relationship with Sadric. Judging by the age of her brand she must have had it impressed upon her thigh long before the day I first met her in the Lady Donna’s house, but if so, how was it she was permitted to pass herself off as a Free Woman? “Really, this is childish. What is your problem?”

 

She carried on crying.

 

So be it. I rolled over, turning my back to her, took two thirds of the blanket for my own comfort, and went to sleep. 

 

She was already awake by the time I awoke. Marissa was sitting up, with her back to the tree, her knees pressed tightly together under her chin. Yes, her brand was much older than mine. I could see it clearly. It had fully healed even before I had been branded. 

 

“Good morning, kajira,” I said as I rubbed sleep from my eyes. Oh, by the Priest kings, she was crying again. Really? 

 

That next day we walked past my estate, where my villa overlooked the sweeping hills around Vonda.

 

“Help! Help me! I am being abducted!” I cried out to my slaves who toiled in my fields. They looked at me with vague interest as I paced through the grass, a long leather leash fastened to my collar and then to the saddle ring stitched into the side of the tharlarion war saddle.

 

“I am a Free Woman!” I cried. “Help me! Help me! Send for your Kennel Master! I must speak to him! I am a Free Woman of Vonda! I am being abducted! I will free you all, if you just send for your kennel master!”

 

The field slaves continued to watch with mild curiosity as I was walked past them. My wrists were tied with binding fibre behind my back. A pasang away, I could see my villa, and on the second floor the veranda on which I would often have breakfast.

 

“Help me! You have to help me! Do something! You stupid slaves! I’ll have you all whipped!”

 

Sadric shrugged his shoulders and seemed to offer the slaves an apologetic smile. “She’s often like this,” he said. “I’ll have her whipped later. I apologise if her cries have carried over to the villa and disturbed your gracious Mistress.”

 

“Stupid slave,” said a kajirus as I passed him by. “I would lash her thighs.”

 

I had no idea who he was. I owned a lot of work slaves. He could be any one of them. I noted his features, though, for future punishment. 

 

“Are you planning on doing that every time we go past some fields, Cassie?” asked Sadric, twenty ehn later. I could still see my villa in the distance, for the road wound round it for seven pasangs in length. 

 

“No…” I said quietly.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to escape?”

 

“I changed my mind,” I said, miserably. “That’s my house!” I couldn’t point at it, for my hands were bound.

 

“Really? How splendid. Did you want to stop by? I could muzzle you, and then we could call upon the men who run your property? In exchange for an ahn or so of hospitality, I could offer you to them for use?”

 

“No,” I said quickly. 

 

“Are you sure? A single ahn’s delay won’t affect our mission too much.”

 

“I would rather hurry on to our final destination, Master. I find myself now fully committed to our mission.”

 

“Excellent!”

 

We rode and walked on. 

 

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The heavy wooden gates of the outer palisade were permanently open, though they could be closed quickly enough in the event of an advance force of Cosian soldiers approaching in strength. Men streamed back and forth through the gates without much in the way of security checks, and I saw a few semi-permanent stalls set up close to the entrance, offering the chance for certain traders to make approaches before travellers might enter the main market inside. I saw a coin changer set up under a striped awning, and a couple of men selling jugs of paga. I saw a couple of slavers set up to observe the arrival of fresh coffles of slaves. No doubt they would quickly run inside and advise the senior men they worked for to make a swift approach for the choicest stock, before it might be snapped up by rival traders. One of the slavers who sat outside the gate seemed to notice me, as I rode on the slave saddle at the front of Sadric’s tharlarion. Slavers have a good eye for female flesh and they can usually pick up on small signals that might suggest quality stock. I think he noticed the way I sat, supple, graceful, beguiling, and he whispered something to his partner. If I was not mistaken, Sadric would be approached soon by men seeking to buy me. 

 

“The slavers, Master, they…”

 

“I saw them.” Sadric smiled and nibbled playfully at my ear lobe. “But don’t worry. I’m not selling you.”

 

“They will be persistent, Master.”

 

“I’m sure they will be.”

 

But of course out here on the edge of the forests, it wasn’t just men coming and going through the heavy double gates. There were women too. Some of them were Free Women, dressed in hard wearing robes of much coarser and more durable material than the shimmering gowns of a city woman. Free Women here did not enjoy the comfortable life of a Lady of the Inner cities of Central Gor. Free Women here worked hard to maintain the settlement on the edge of civilization, for this was a frontier outpost – the last tip of central Gor projecting northwards before one might plunge deep into the endless, mostly unexplored, green interior. 

 

And I saw slaves, too. They wore work tunics; not the thin rep cloth tunic that I wore; no, these thicker, woollen garments would last longer, and could be washed easily in the river. Although many of the slaves were pretty, I saw none that might be pleasure slaves. These were mostly peasant women, probably bought from farmsteads; girls used to hard work and long hours in the fields. If there were soft, silken, pleasure slaves in this encampment, they would be found in the private homes of the administrators, or perhaps in certain street brothels. 

 

And then I saw my first Panther Girls. I stared at them in disbelief, for they were dressed in the scant furs of the forest cats, their arms jingling with heavy brass and copper bangles, their necks adorned with tribal jewellery. They walked with a sense of arrogance and purpose, and they carried weapons – the long spear, the short bow, sharp sleen knives, and quivers of arrows. These women moved in small bands, often five to ten girls, depending on strength, and they seemed to be accorded the freedom of the encampment. I saw Panther girls resting on grassy banks, drinking from jugs, laughing, and in some cases wrestling. I saw two such Panther girls jousting with staves, striking hard with a clatter of wood, trying to prove which girl could send the other sprawling to the ground with a quick flick of the stave at her opponent’s ankles. I strained to watch them, for I had never seen anything of the sort before. 

 

“Panther girls,” said Sadric. “You’ve heard of them?”

 

“I have, Master. Of course I have. We’ve all heard the stories. But I’ve never seen one before.” 

 

I must have seemed fascinated by the sight of them. They seemed wild, headstrong, confident, untamed and free, in a sense that even Free Women weren’t. They had no men to tell them how they might behave. 

 

But they did have slaves.

 

“Look!” I said. I pointed at a group of sullen looking men who walked beside a band of five Panthers. These men were naked, collared, their wrists tightly bound,. Each man had been shaved with a long degradation stripe across the top of his head to signify that he had fallen to women. I had never seen the like before. 

 

“In the forests, Panther girls hunt men. We are both sport and profit to them.”

 

“They would hunt you?”

 

“They would hunt any man.” Sadric turned his tharlarion and began to approach the main gates. “They also hunt slave girls who run away and find themselves lost, deep in the Green.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“You would not want to fall to them, Cassie. They despise softness in women. They especially despise pretty little Pleasure Slaves who are trained to submit to men.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“They would be cruel to you, before they sold you.”

 

“Where do these women come from”?

 

“Who knows. Some are Free Women who wish a different life from what they are permitted to live in the Inner cities. Some are runaway slaves who prove themselves with a knife, for a woman is only accepted by a Panther band if she is strong enough to win in single combat against a Panther.”

 

“They fight with knives?” I asked.

 

“Yes. In a circle. They tend to be fast and skilled with a short blade.”

 

A blonde haired Panther girl had been trying to force a candy between the lips of another such girl, but as she gave up, she turned and looked at me. I gazed back, out of curiosity, and saw a sly smile curl upon her lips. I had been noticed.

 

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On the second day of our journey we camped beside a stream as the sun set on the horizon. Sadric watched Marissa and I as we washed ourselves in the cold, swiftly flowing water. He had taken the precaution of chaining our left ankles together, but gave us fifty horts in length of chain to move around with.

 

Marissa’s naked body seemed fit, suggesting again that she had been enslaved some time ago. 

 

“Do you want me to wash your back?” I asked. It was something we did for one another in the slave pens; that and groom one another’s hair in the evenings.

 

“Why don’t you hate me?” she said, without turning to face me.

 

“Why should I hate you?”

 

“I was horrible to you in Vonda.”

 

I shrugged. “I have a reasonably long list of people who have treated me badly – people deserving of my carefully contrived revenge, and I will work through that list eventually, but you are so low down that list that I really can’t be bothered. If I killed everyone who spoke to me that way, since I wore a collar, Gor would be littered with bodies by now. Why did you speak to me like that, anyway? You had a brand even then?”

 

Marissa sobbed and nodded, but still didn’t turn around. “I was over compensating, for fear something I did, or something I said, or the way I moved, might make it obvious I was a slave, too.”

 

“And you are a slave?”

 

“Not in my heart! No, of course not! But, legally, yes, I am. But I have been permitted to masquerade as a Free Woman for many months now.”

 

I was surprised by this. Most Goreans would be very angry if they found a slave acting in such a way, even with the permission of her Master. “Why the change?”

 

“I thought I would be travelling as a Free Woman. I would never have spoken to you the way I had, had I known. Sadric said it is more convenient for me to travel as a slave. I will attract less attention. A free woman would stand out on the road, and be considered sport for outlaws, and a Free Woman would require a different form of travel. Sadric wants to move quickly.”

 

“Does he put you to use?”

 

“No!” She seemed horrified by the suggestion. “Of course not!”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“Because…” her voice trailed off.

 

“You’re a slave. Why doesn’t he put you to use?”

 

“I… I don’t know. I really don’t.” She wrapped her arms about herself as she stood in the stream. “He has permitted me to act as if I were free.”

 

“For the mission?”

 

“I suppose.” She seemed uncertain. “Perhaps he respects me? We are both agents of the Sardar.”

 

“I don’t think you count as an agent of the Sardar anymore,” I said. I touched her kef brand. “This says you are just a slave.”

 

“As are you!” she said, angrily. Now she turned round. “I hate you!”

 

“Why?” I regarded the girl, and considered dunking her head under the water for thirty ihn to teach her some manners.

 

“Because I know!”

 

“Know what?”

 

“You’re special! You’re going to have the brand on your thigh erased! You will return to your robes and veils!” Marissa’s eyes welled up with tears again. “Why you? Why not me? Why you?!”

 

“I don’t know. Perhaps because I can do what he wants done. I can kill a man and sleep easily the next night. Can you?”

 

“I… I don’t know…”

 

“No, you probably can’t, then. So, yes, we’re different, you and I. I don’t hate you, Marissa, and you are a fool if you want to hate me. Try and understand that.”