Barbarian of Gor Chapter Forty One

 

Note from your fabulous, but still scatter-brained, blonde storyteller: okay, so I really did misjudge how long the ‘final chapter’ would be. Chapter forty-one isn’t quite the end. There’s going to be a final ‘chapter forty-two’ after this one. What am I like? 😉

 

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I raced down the spiralling stone steps of the tarn cot towers and out onto streets that were now bedecked with garlands and fluttering fabrics in anticipation of the joyful union between the cities of Corcyrus and Torcadino. Announcements were being made throughout the city of the impending companionship, and citizens of Torcadino were being promised a blessed holiday to feast and celebrate the coming alliance between two of Gor’s city states.

 

I pushed through a growing crowd as the overhead sun warmed the flagstones beneath my feet. The streets seemed to breathe with colour. Where yesterday there was only dust and the sober grey of tufa, today the city was being dressed like a triumphant bride. Garlands of laurel and ivy were strung from column to column, looping across the narrow streets so low that the leaves brushed my hair as I passed by. Fresh flowers - roses from the public gardens, bright marigolds, and sprays of myrtle - spilled from baskets hung on doorposts, their scent thick and sweet in the air.

 

Every house seemed to be contributing to the festivities, by order of the Ubar himself. Painted cloths and woven tapestries hung from upper windows, reds and purples catching the sunlight and fluttering like banners in a victorious army. On the façades, chalked symbols and hastily painted figures proclaimed friendship and concord between the cities: clasped hands, cornucopias, the names of grand Torcadino and her new ally written side by side. Even the statues seem transformed - Gods and ancient heroes crowned with wreaths, their cold marble faces softened by abundant greenery.

 

Someone had scattered fresh sand mixed with crushed herbs along the paved street, so that each step released a clean, sharp fragrance that masked the smell of sweat from the crowd. Children darted between my legs, laughing, waving little flags of dyed cloth, and chasing each other with sticks. Musicians stood at corners, flutes and lyres answering one another across the city, until the whole street felt strung with sound as tightly as it was with garlands.

 

As I passed by the open square that housed the grand forum, the decorations grew richer. Poles wrapped in ribbons marked the way for a later procession to come, when the ‘Lady Laetitia’ would be displayed, dressed in her feasting clothes, riding an open palanquin, to the Torcadino public, and temporary wooden arches rose where no arches stood before, painted white and gold, already darkened by incense smoke. 

 

In actual fact the people of Torcadino would never set eyes on the woman I had passed off as Laetitia. There was no way that Gaius Antony was going to risk a crossbow bolt being fired from a building window as the Lady Laetitia passed by. The woman on the palanquin, veiled and robed, would be a Lady from the royal court. Gaius Antony would not risk the alliance with Corcyrus at such a late stage. He had personally assured me of that. The people would cheer the woman they thought was Laetitia, who ironically was passing herself off as a woman who wasn’t even Laetitia in the first place. Subterfuge upon subterfuge. And all the while, the slave who was once known as Laetitia would be flown out of the city in a tarn freight basket.

 

Citizens greeted one another as kin, strangers clasping forearms and shouting blessings for Torcadino and her new friends. Looking up at the web of colour and green against the blue sky, I felt the moment of shared joy, but in my heart I knew only one thing – that I had to reach the paga tavern of Rubin Clegane and buy that precious slave girl, Maia.

 

I pushed on through the growing crowds, ignoring the heartfelt cries from citizens who wished to embrace me, or offer me a holiday gift of some sticky honey cake. Time was not on my side. I could not afford any distractions. 

 

Though… my feet carried me past the series of narrowing side streets that led to the quiet alleyway where I had left Mishka hooded and bound to a slave ring. My curiosity got the better of me, and, having made better time than expected, I detoured for a few ehn to see how she was. The side streets grew narrower with each turn until the mouth of the alleyway was in sight. Here there was little enough room for two men to pass by one another. And here there were two women tied to slave rings. One was Mishka, still wearing the same makeshift hood fashioned from sackcloth. She wore nothing more than the light silk of her shortened underslip – the hem frayed where I had cut it with a knife. Beneath the hood she would still be gagged, unable to speak. Beside her, chained to another slave ring, was a brunette who seemed to be in shock. She flinched as I approached and swiftly drew her knees up to her body in some desperate fashion of principled modesty. She, too, wore a torn underslip, and it was rucked up past her hips, suggesting she had already been put to use. There was no brand site on her left thigh.

 

“Lady,” I said, as I approached the two slave rings, for I could tell from the way she moved that she wasn’t a slave. The slave rings in this alley were often used as punishment rings for Free Women who had offended someone by their behaviour. Few questions were asked when the Free Woman was found by guardsmen early next morning, for it would be assumed that the Free Woman had been rude, spiteful, or perhaps even shameful in her behaviour and deserving of a punishment which, if not strictly legal, was certainly appropriate. Sometimes the guardsmen would make a final use of her before freeing her from the ring, slapping the cheeks of her ass, and sending her scurrying away to reach her home before her honest neighbours might wake and see her like this.

 

“Please free me, Sir,” she sobbed, twisting her body away from my sight. “I am not a slave! I have been horribly treated!”

 

I ignored her and reached down to touch the hooded Mishka. “It’s me,” I said. “How are you, Mishka?” She moaned into her gag, unable to convey how she felt. I moved her thighs apart and felt between her legs. Yes, she had been used already. “I wanted to tell you that you have lost. Laetitia passed the assessment. The companionship takes place tonight and Corcyrus has a new ally in the war against Argentum.” She moaned again and her body shook with rage. “You failed, Mishka. I gave Laetitia the drug that you tried to steal from me. Stannis will not be pleased with your failure.”

 

Now her body trembled. She had obviously been assigned a crucial mission. Stannis would have told her she had to succeed, or else. It was interesting that Stannis had chosen her, rather than Svetlana. Presumably he knew of my slight feelings for this particular huntress, more so than for any of the others. It was true I had been smitten by her back at Stannis’s camp. But that was a long time ago. A thought crossed my mind. I could take her with me. There would be room in the tarn basket for another slave. And then, once outside the city I would have Mishka branded. The thought pleased me. I pictured her in pleasure silks in my house, crawling towards me when I wanted to put her to use. Why not? She had fought men and failed. Women pay a price when that happens. 

 

“I’m flying out of the city in under two ahn,” I said to the girl as I stroked her bare legs. “My work here is done, though I’m taking you with me.” She began protesting, mewling through her gag. “Those men you have posted at the city gates won’t be able to save you when you are simply freight cargo chained inside a tarn basket, or bound across its saddle. Once outside of Torcadino I’ll have you branded,” Her cries through her gag became piteous. “This time tomorrow you’ll be a slave. My First Girl will be a barbarian from Earth and she will have switch rights over you. You will address her as mistress at all times. You’ve lost, Mishka. Think on that until I return – a former huntress, now a common slave, submitting to the authority of a barbarian kajira from Earth. How you have fallen.” She cried out again through her gag and struggled against her bound wrists. “In just under two ahn,” I said as I rose and walked away.

 

I ducked beneath the low lintel and stepped inside the, surprisingly crowded, paga tavern of Rubin Clegane. The noise hit me first - laughter slurred by the influence of paga, the clatter of cups on rough tables, a flute threading its way through the smoke like a living thing, and the clatter of pots from the adjacent kitchen. The air had the familiar heady thickness of paga vats, sweat, and roasting meat, heavy enough that I could almost taste it on my tongue.

 

Firelight flickered along the plastered walls, stained dark by years of smoke. Painted frescos of an erotic nature and faded red bands peered out from the gloom, half-lost beneath soot. Benches crowded the room, their surfaces slick with spilled drink, and men leaned close to one another, nursing their cups, shouting to be heard, their faces flushed and shining from the warmth of the cooking fires.

 

Near the centre of the tavern, the space opened wide and I caught sight of a pair of silk clad slaves who swayed in time to the music, anklets chiming softly as they turned, smiling, to tease the customers who sat watching. Their silks were bright scraps of colour against the brown and black of the tavern - saffron, deep blue, and light green - catching the light as they span on the tips of their toes. Their hair was worn loose, framing their steel collars that gleamed in the warm glow of the firelight. 

 

A serving slave brushed past me with a tray of cups, murmuring an apology without slowing. Somewhere behind the bar, the tavernkeeper shouted an order, his voice hoarse. I felt the timbers of the floor vibrate faintly under my sandals as the dancers stamped and turned, and for a moment the world outside seemed very far away.

 

“Where is Maia?” I asked, as I took hold of the upper arm of a passing blonde-haired slave. She turned in my grasp and lowered her eyes, submissively. 

 

“Forgive me, but she is serving, Master.”

 

I looked about the room but I couldn’t see her. “Where?”

 

“In one of the alcoves, Master. A master paid for paga. She served the paga. Now she serves the master’s pleasure.”

 

I didn’t have time for this. “Which alcove?” The slave pointed to one of them, where the curtains were now drawn. “Where is Rubin? I have some money for him.”

 

“He will be here shortly, Master.”

 

“WHERE is Rubin?” I shook the slave by her upper arms. 

 

“Please, Master, I do not know, but he will be back soon. May Lea bring you paga, Master? I beg to serve.”

 

“No.” I pushed the slave aside and walked quickly to the alcove that she had indicated. It would be just my luck if Maia was serving a warrior of Torcadino instead of, perhaps, a lazy, easily intimidated, fat merchant. I drew back the curtain and stood there gazing down at the alcove couch on which Maia lay. Her silks were brushed aside and her wrists were chained to a slave ring set into the wall. The man who was in the process of fucking her didn’t look like a warrior.

 

“Time’s up,” I said. “Off you get, mate.” 

 

The man looked up in surprise, as did Maia. 

 

“I paid for a cup of paga!” he exclaimed, assuming I was perhaps an employee of the tavern.

 

“What can I say? Maia’s a popular girl. Next time buy two cups of paga.” I pulled him away from the slave, and for a moment I thought he was going to hit me, but I’m a big man, and I have strong muscles due to the difference in the gravity of Gor. He took one look at me and thought better of getting into a fight. 

 

“I shall complain!” he cried as he quickly found his discarded tunic and sandals. His stiff penis was still quivering with Maia’s slave juices dripping from the tip. 

 

“You do that. Make sure it’s in writing, and put your cock away. No one wants to look at that thing.” I pushed him out of the alcove and drew the curtain shut.

 

“Master,” cried Maia. She twisted in her slave bracelets, her face flushed from partial use. She seemed very happy to see me. “I knew you were coming for me! I was told shortly after you left.” I leaned down and kissed the lovely slave full on her lips. 

 

“I hope you weren’t enjoying yourself too much, Maia,” I said as I couldn’t resist covering her breasts and nipples in more kisses. She gasped and trembled in her chains as I did so.

 

“Not as much as I will do, Master, when I wear your collar.” The look of relief in her eyes was palpable. 

 

“It’s all been arranged,” I said. I couldn’t resist stroking her body and revelling in the way she moved as I did so. I was going to own Kelly Milford! “We agreed a price. I’m here now to collect you. We’ll be flying out of the city by tarn.”

 

“By tarn?! Master!” She looked worried.

 

“Relax. Adam says he knows how to steer a tarn. If it’s any consolation, I’ll be shitting myself up there, too. But we’ll be together, Maia. For the rest of our lives. I…” I smiled as I gazed into her eyes. “I love you. I think you’re my love slave.”

 

Her face broke into a wide smile and she tried to press herself against me, as far as the chains would allow. “I love you, Master! I love you! I love you!”

 

I started to laugh, but from joy, not laughing at her. “Slave,” I said.

 

“Master,” she said. I had never seen her so happy. 

 

“A year ago, I would have freed you,” I said.

 

“And you would have been a fool to do so, Master. Why have a stale crust of bread when you can have a hot, steaming steak?”

 

“I think you would be a hot, steaming steak whether free or slave.”

 

“Do not free me, Master.”

 

“Have no fear on that score.” I traced my fingers along the surface of her collar. “You are so beautiful in a collar and silks.”

 

“Brief Encounter,” she said.

 

“Before Sunrise,” I said, smiling down at her. I reached for the alcove keys and swiftly released her from the slave bracelets. And then we kissed again, tracing our hands over each other’s bodies. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” cried Maia as she lay in my arms. 

 

“You will be my First Girl,” I said. “No other slave will ever come close to you in my furs or my affection.”

 

“There will be other slaves?” She pouted, but in a light hearted way, for she could expect little else from a wealthy master on Gor. Such men are rarely monogamous and a slave has no say in the matter. “I will be jealous of your other slaves, Master. Aren’t you afraid I’ll be cruel to them?”

 

“I will tolerate no pettiness in my coffle. You will have switch rights, but nothing more than that. And there had better be a genuine reason if you switch them, otherwise I will let them switch you.”

 

“They had better be pleasing, Master, to both you and I. I will correct their slightest imperfections,” she said. 

 

“Good. It’ll make them better slaves.” I kissed her again. “I really do love you, Maia. But we have to go. There isn’t much time.” My fingers touched a small metal token that hung from a ring from her collar. There were some notations engraved upon it. “What’s this?”

 

“It states that you have bought me, Master. It was attached to my collar soon after you left this morning. It marks me as sold, pending collection by you.”

 

A cold shiver ran down my spine. “Sold?”

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

“But I haven’t paid Rubin yet.”

 

We looked at one another and neither of us said anything for a few ihn. “It is you, Master. You bought me. I know you did.”

 

“And Rubin told you this? He explicitly told you this?”

 

“I…” there was a trace of fear now in Maia’s eyes. “I didn’t ask. Curiosity is not becoming in a kajira. I might be whipped for it. But it is you? It must be you?!”

 

I led Maia out of the alcove and over to the counter where slaves refilled cups from the paga vats. “I’m here to settle up for this slave,” I said, tossing a pouch of coins onto the wet surface of the counter for the tavernkeeper to pick up. “Ten silver tarsks, as agreed.” There was a half stifled gasp from Maia as she learned her sale price for the first time. Ten silver tarsks wasn’t a cheap price. 

 

“This slave?” The tavernkeeper indicated Maia.

 

“Yes, this slave.”

 

“She was sold a few ahn ago,” said the Tavernkeeper.

 

I felt, rather than heard Maia’a anguish. “No,” I said. “That was a mistake. I had an arrangement with Rubin Clegane. He accepted my offer.”

 

The tavernkeeper shrugged. “Until coin is exchanged, nothing is final. She was sold a few ahn ago.”

 

“No!” cried Maia. She grasped my open hand. 

 

“Quiet, slave,” I said, sharply. I turned back to the innkeeper. “I’m buying this slave. Whatever you sold her for, I’ll pay more. How many extra silver?”

 

The tavernkeeper smiled. “We sold her for ten gold tarns.”

 

My head began spinning. No paga slave is worth even a small fraction of ten gold tarns. “This is ridiculous. No one will have paid…”

 

“Is there a problem?” A huge man rose from one behind one of the tables in the tavern where he had been quietly sipping paga and watching the events unfold. Now he walked casually towards the counter, and I could tell instantly that he was a warrior. 

 

“I’m buying a slave,” I said. “It’s none of your business.” I felt Maia shrink close to me.

 

“It is my business as I’m here to collect the slave for her new mistress.”

 

“Mistress?” I blinked.

 

“The Lady Svetlana of Turia,” said the powerfully built warrior. “And she’s waiting to speak to you outside, Roland of Corcyrus.” And with that he simply seized Maia by the hair and pulled her from me.

 

My hand reached for the hilt of my sword.

 

“The Lady Svetlana is waiting to speak to you,” said the warrior. He didn’t seem concerned that I might try to draw a blade inside this tavern. If I did that was a very serious matter indeed, and it would negate my diplomatic immunity in an instant.

 

Maia was sobbing as the warrior backed away, never taking his eyes from me, as he headed purposefully to the main door.

 

I followed him outside with blood pounding in the side temples of my head. And there she stood – Svetlana of Turia, standing in the open market square as if she had simply paused from shopping. Flanking her either side were two more enormous warriors. All three had to be riders from Stannis’s company. I stood there as the first man threw Maia down to lie at Svetlana’s slipperd feet. I watched ss Maia raised herself to her knees, eyes wet with tears, as Svetlana took hold of her by the hair.

 

“Roland of Corcyrus,” she said. “I told you this day would come.”

 

“Svetlana, please, you don’t need to do this.” I took a couple of steps forward, and, as I did, the men flanking her swept back their cloaks to reveal blades in well-oiled leather scabbards.

 

“Tch-tch, don’t be so hasty, Roland,” said Svetlana. “Do you like my new slave?” Maia screamed as she twisted the slave’s hair in her fist, lifting her head up so that our eyes met. “Just a worthless slut, really, but I’m informed you love her.”

 

“Svetlana, what do you want? Whatever it is, we can talk, and we can make a deal.”

 

“You took away the only man I’ve ever loved,” she said. “I would have paid any price to save his life. Any price.”

 

“Okay, and you must know I felt the loss of Rolfe as badly as you did. He was my sword brother. I loved him, too, in my own way. I never wanted him to die.”

 

“LIAR!” screamed Svetlana. “YOU TURNED ON HIM, ON US! YOU are responsible for his death, Roland of Corcyrus!” Suddenly, Svetlana drew a knife and placed it at Maia’s throat, just above her slave collar. I heard Maia scream as she felt the keen edge of the blade against her soft skin. 

 

“Svetlana! No! Whatever you want… just tell me what you want. Please.”

 

“Are you happy, Roland?” she asked. A chill ran down my spine. “Have you found happiness at last?”

 

“She is innocent, Svetlana. She has nothing to do with this. She’s just a slave. Please. I freed you. I freed Mishka. I never meant to hurt any of you.”

 

“Are you happy, Roland of Corcyrus?” She twisted Maia’s hair and once again the slave screamed. “It’s a simple question.”

 

“Please, Svetlana, please. It’s over. Nothing will stop the companionship taking place now. Not this, not anything.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” snarled Svetlana. There was a savagery in her eyes that frankly scared me. “But I swore revenge against you, Roland of Corcyrus. Your last chance to answer my question – are you happy?”

 

“Yes I am. Please don’t hurt her. Please. I’m begging you. I love her. She is innocent. Whatever you want – just ask. Please. I’ll give it to you. I will pay any price. Just don’t hurt Maia.”

 

Svetlana smiled. “I would have paid any price to save my man. Any price at all. The question is, will you, or are your words just hollow?”

 

“Master,” cried Maia, “I love you!”

 

“How very heart warming,” said Svetlana. “The slave loves her master. Here is my offer. We know you were once a Lady’s silk slave. When our sister, Kulai, was in love with you we did our best to bring you both together. We spied on you in the camp in the hope of helping our sister, and we heard you talking to your slave, Kelsee. She had been your mistress once, it seems. We kept this news from Kulai, but we knew. So here is my offer. Declare yourself a slave again and beg my collar. Do this and you will be my silk slave. I will treat you fairly. Any punishments you will receive will be for mistakes made, nothing else. You will serve me on your knees, and I will keep this love slave of yours. And I swear to you on the Priest Kings and on all the Gods of the Turian steppes, that once each month I will kennel the two of you together for a single night. You will both be hooded, for I will deny you the right to gaze upon each other’s faces ever again, but you will be together for one night each and every month with no restrictions. You say you would pay any price to save her life? What is your answer?”

 

“Svetlana, please, you know I can’t do that. Let us talk rationally, let us find something that is acceptable to both of us, and…”

 

There was a sharp scream that terminated abruptly as Svetlana simply slit Maia’s throat open in front of me. The slave fell to the floor, choking on blood as her life flashed past her eyes. And then and there, lying at Svetlana’s feet, the former Kelly Milford died, her eyes closing with her final sight of me.

 

“Such a waste of ten gold tarns,” said Svetlana. 

 

I ran at them, screaming Maia’s name, drawing my blade from its scabbard. 

 

I was no longer concerned for my own life. I would simply kill as many of them as I could before I died. 

 

Beginning with Svetlana.