Barbarian of Gor Chapter Nine

 

I was still tied helplessly between the tree trunks as darkness fell. I had tried for several ahn to wriggle a hand free from the binding fibre, but Sally had done a very good job of tying me up. I don’t think I could have done a better job on her, if I’m being honest. No one had found me, if anyone was even looking for me, and I had been too embarrassed to begin with to make any attempt at shouting for help. My dumb pride had surfaced. After all, I’d been captured by a woman; any man on Gor would be ashamed of that. To be a woman’s capture is humiliating in the extreme. And even if I did call out, I wasn’t sure anyone on the distant road would hear me, or if they did, would dare to venture into the deep copse of trees for fear it was a trap. Travellers do not leave the safety of the road to plunge into dense woodland, especially not to rescue a man. A woman screaming for help might inspire thoughts of a pretty captive, but who wants to risk their life because a man called for help?

 

You don’t need me to state the obvious that it's not safe to be staked out in the dark in the Gorean wilderness. The wildlife on Gor can be vicious. If there were sleen in the vicinity I was as good as dead and would never see the sun rise. Tied here, unable to flee, I would be eaten alive. Not an enticing prospect.

 

While Sally hadn’t killed me herself, she had as good as left me for dead. Or in her mind had she? She seemed to believe that my friends would look for me, even though it meant staying at the Inn for however long it took. That was Sally’s hope, anyway, for it would give her time to contact Stannis and deliver armed men for her to command. If Laetitia stayed at the Inn, ignorant of the fact that her identity had been discovered, she would be captured and taken to the Assante camp. Adamus and Felix would fight to protect her, but they were only two men. 

 

I pulled at the binding fibre again, cursing my stupidity. Why had I tried to be so clever? If I had just ignored the bratty free woman none of this would have happened. Was I going to die because of my mistake? Was I going to die because I had underestimated the potential of a free woman to bring me down with some form of neuro-toxin painted on her fingernails? And Laetitia… she had pinned all her hopes on me. I was her knight in shining armour. I still recalled her stoic face, knowing what she must do, and telling me she was prepared to pay any price to save her city, save her people, but that she couldn’t do it alone. Her sense of duty had inspired me. But would she now be taken as a captive, to be routinely stripped, branded and enslaved? Had I failed the young girl? Had I failed the Tatrix?

 

I cursed myself over and over again. Don’t come for me, Felix. Don’t look for me, Adamus. Just get Laetitia to safety. I made a mistake and I will pay the price. But of course they didn’t know that the jaws of Stannis Assante would soon be bearing down upon them at the Inn. They had no idea Laetitia had been recognised. 

 

If they were looking for me then it could only be one man at best. Someone had to remain behind to guard Laetitia at all times. She couldn’t be left alone. But who would search for me? Felix, perhaps? That worried me. That worried me because I trusted Felix – he seemed too sincere in his faith to his city and his Tatrix to be lying – but Adamus’s true motives remained unclear. I had seen him on Earth and on the streets of Argentum, and the Tatrix had given no indication she knew any of this. What if he was a traitor? What if he had schemed his way into the Tatrix’s trust? She was far too trusting, far too quickly, to my mind at least. Just consider the trust she put in me, despite hardly knowing me. She would claim she could read men and know who to trust, but that’s just brash overconfidence at play. What if Adamus couldn’t be trusted? If Felix left to look for me, then Laetitia would be alone with Adamus. If his loyalty was in question then that didn’t bear thinking of. 

 

The night was quiet, save for the sounds of animals in the distant undergrowth. With the setting of the sun it was time for the hunters to hunt, and the prey to hide. And here I was, as juicy an offering as any predator might dream of, staked out like a picnic. 

 

A more rational man, concerned for his own life, would have pleaded with Miss Sally Reeve, begged her not to leave him tied and helpless. I could have submitted before her, called her mistress, begged slavery in her collar rather than abandonment to the sleen who prowl at night. She might have kept me, amused that she could bring a strong man to his knees, amused, perhaps, to own me. I would have had my wrists tied behind my back, my ankles hobbled, a leather leash about my neck. I would have been her slave from that moment on. I think she might have liked that, at least for a time; to own a man. Other women would admire her audacity.

 

But my time of begging and pleading is in the past. I will not be the slave of a woman ever again. Those days are behind me now. Men are not natural slaves. Gor has taught me that much at least. Maybe I would die tonight, but I would at least die a free man. 

 

And I would die a free man who had feasted one last time on the pleasure found between the legs of a beautiful woman. I smiled and recalled the trim figure of Miss Sally Reeve as she had bucked wildly as her free woman orgasm had fast approached. I had enjoyed a spectacular view of those firm, ripe breasts as she had ridden me. There are worse ways to spend your last hours on Gor. 

 

My wrists were bleeding from my futile attempts to work myself free. I lay back on the soft carpet of moss and considered my looming fate. Felix would not find me now, not before the sleen might. Any search for me would resume at dawn, which meant they would spend another night at the same Inn. I had truly fucked up.

 

I’m sorry, Laetitia. I seem to fail every woman I care about. 

 

And then I heard the sound that froze my blood. Out there in the darkness, some distance away, the low snuffling sound of a wild sleen. I had seen sleen once in Argentum. A group of hunters had paraded them through the streets, apparently intent on locating prey – that prey being two-legged and amply curved – a runaway kajira. I have no idea whether they found the kajira. I assume if she was hiding in the city then the answer is yes. Sleen are notoriously good trackers.

 

And there was one, possibly even two, close by. I recognised their distinctive sound.

 

Now that the danger was close by and not simply imaginary, I began to tremble in my binding fibre ties. This wasn’t fair. I was a man. I should at least be allowed to fight, barehanded if necessary, rather than be some sacrificial offering. But life is not fair, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise.

The beast was still some way away, and I prayed to gods I didn’t actually believe in that it might be following a trail and be less inclined to deviate when it noticed my scent. A sleen is single minded when it comes to following its original prey. I could but hope that would be the case now.

 

Ridiculous thoughts flew through my head. I imagined a soft rustling in the bushes close by, and then the shapely figure of Sally Reeve appearing, knife in hand.

 

“I couldn’t leave you to the sleen,” she said in my thoughts. “Not after what we…” 

 

She blushes.

 

I know she found rapture as she rode me. 

 

“You will think me a fool,” she says as she cuts quickly at the binding fibre around my wrists. “I have changed my mind. Take me with you.”

 

“As a free woman? I do not need a free woman.”

 

I am pulling away the severed strands of the binding fibre still around my separated wrists, and now as I take the knife from her fingers, I cut away at the strands holding my ankles apart.

 

“If not as a free woman, then under your terms, Roland. Whatever they might be. You were right. I have fantasies. Forbidden fantasies. Things that I am ashamed of. But I know you will teach me what it is to be female.”

 

The snuffling of the sleen was closer now, and my ludicrous thoughts of rescue vanished as I tried to discern the direction in which it was moving.

 

Sally was long gone. She would not be coming back for me. Not ever. 

 

I had spent several ahn alone with my thoughts, with nothing to distract me from them and it occurred to me that many weeks had gone by since I had last thought of Felicity. My life had taken on the aspect of a fast flowing river, sweeping headlong towards the rocks and the steep waterfall beyond. She would still be in a collar, sleeping in her pen in the cellar of the paga tavern, soon to wake up, don her serving silks and begin another day serving the pleasures of men. So much time had gone by since we had been taken to Gor, and since I had last seen her, provocatively displayed on an alcove shelf, chained there to entice men inside. How long had I been on Gor now, by Earth standards? A year? Possibly. I had lost track of time. Long enough, surely, for her to have grown used to her slavery. Or did she still hold out a faint hope that I might return to buy and free her? I had promised as much. And if I did somehow return to Argentum, to that paga tavern, what would I find? A delicious slave girl, now accustomed to serving men, and relishing the sense of abandonment that came with each and every slave orgasm? Possibly. Would I even recognise her anymore as the free woman she had once been? 

 

I hoped she was happy to some degree. Gor is a beautiful world, and many women find a freedom of sorts from the collar and brand – the freedom to be truly female, without shame or self-loathing. I wanted her to be happy in her collar.

 

The rustling was close now, and before I saw the sleen, I caught its scent. For what is supposed to be a fearsome tracker, it does nothing to conceal the tell-tale signs of its presence through its musky smell. 

 

I saw its head first: a long weasel-like whiskered snout waying from side to side as it followed some scent of its own. It was reptile-like in shape, with six powerful legs, but thickly furred, again, like some hybrid lizard/weasel. 

 

I held myself very still and tried to control the pounding of my heart. Animals can sense fear, through pheromones in a man’s sweat and I was undoubtedly reeking of fear now, but I tried to control the way I sounded and looked. All I could do was try to throw out mixed signals. I could do nothing about the fear I felt, but I had to at least try to seem confident, despite my helpless position.

 

“Greetings, noble sleen,” I said, loudly and clearly. It raised its snout and gazed at me with two deep set eyes that burned with a copper glow. There was a hiss as its mouth opened to reveal a set of sharp teeth and then it slid sinuously forwards on its six legs into the clearing, having judged for itself that I was alone. As it moved fully into the clearing, I could see it was possibly fourteen feet in length. Not fully grown, but not young, either.  

 

“I hope your hunting has been good tonight, and that you have caught the scent of a tasty fat tabuk, noble sleen. I myself would make for poor prey. I am all gristle and bile – a poor meal for such a fine beast.”

 

I was babbling and the words themselves were pointless, but I had to project some air of confidence to overcome the fear that the sleen would be able to smell.  

 

My body tensed in the way it might if I was about to run, but of course I was incapable of running. 

 

I am not, by nature, a religious man, though my mother was. But my thoughts turned now to the Gorean gods – the Priest Kings. While no doubt fanciful, the Goreans believed in them and unlike the various gods of Earth, claimed impressive displays of Priest Kings power in living contemporary memory. Most religions conveniently prescribe the miracles of their divine beings to ancient times; not so the people of Gor who claim new miracles witnessed by thousands on a seemingly regular basis.

 

If you believe the witness statements, the Priest Kings apparently levelled an entire city in the late 1960s and scattered its population to the four winds. Goreans call it the Flame Death. From what I can tell, the city of Ko-Ro-Ba was flattened by some sort of orbital weapon of mass destruction. Whether that implies evidence of a God, or a sophisticated technology, is a matter of conjecture. And yet, when faced with death, a man grasps for any possible salvation.

 

“Gods of Gor,” I thought to myself. “I’ve never really believed in you, but everyone I’ve met does. If you want to give me a sign of your existence, then now’s as good a time as any.”

 

The sleen began to pace slowly towards me, its head moving from side to side, cautious, for my helpless appearance here had every sign of being a trap. Perhaps I was just bait?

 

“When I was a kid I saw Arnie in that Conan film, and he called out to his God, Crom, before his final battle. He didn’t expect anything, but he called out anyway. And he said, if Crom wasn’t going to help, then to Hell with him. I don’t want to die. Laetitia is depending on me. She believes in you. She believes with all her heart. I’ve seen her pray, every night. She is yours. So don’t save me because I’m worth it. Save me because Laetitia is worth it. And without me, she is going to be a slave in Argentum. Kill me afterwards, if that amuses you, Gods of Gor. But give me life just long enough to see her safe. That’s all I’m asking. Laetitia tells me you know every thought in every mind. Perhaps you do. If so, you know what I’m thinking now. Laetitia’s life is in your hands. That girl is prepared to sacrifice everything for her city and her people. If anyone is worthy of a miracle, she is. So help me save her. Or, if you won’t, then as Arnie said, to Hell with you!”

 

The sleen seemed confident now that there were no hunters lurking nearby. It slid through the shin-high grass towards me, sniffing the air, taking my scent.

 

My instincts were to close my eyes, and not witness the jaws as they opened and struck, but I knew better than that. I held the creature’s gaze. I looked it square in the face. “What’s it to be, noble sleen?” I said through gritted teeth. 

 

It came closer still. And then it turned its head and gazed at the binding fibre that stretched out from my bound wrists, securing me to the tree trunk. It seemed curious. Perhaps it understood that I was an animal with its paws caught in a trap. Perhaps a sleen could recognise such a thing for what it seemed to be. Perhaps it had seen its own kind caught in the equivalent of a bear trap. I held myself very still as it moved to circle me, once, twice, and then a third time. It hissed close to my face and I recoiled, but held my composure. It sniffed at my body, its snout moving with interest. It could sense I was helpless. My paw was caught in a trap.

 

And then the creature turned its snout to the length of binding fibre that reached the tree, and, to my amazement, began to first lick the fibre and then bite it. 

 

The sleen chewed through the fibre with ease. It turned its head once again to look at me, but now with a bored expression. There was a sound from a thicket to the north, and I watched as it raised its snout again, sniffed the air, and considered this new distraction.

 

My wrists were still bound, but now they were no longer secured past my head to the tree trunk. I held my breath, not daring to move while the sleen was present. 

 

Go on, I thought. There’s probably a tasty tabuk moving around to the north. Better be quick, or it’ll get away, noble sleen.

 

It sniffed the air again, seemingly unsure what it should do. And then, reacting to another sound from the same location, it slipped back through the trees and disappeared from sight.

 

I lay there for a moment, just appreciating the fact I was still alive. And then I brought my bound wrists forward and began to quickly gnaw at the tight knot with my teeth.