It was late in the afternoon, only an ahn or two before the sun would set, as I walked through the streets of Vonda beside Mikos. I no longer wore the collar of House Andronicus. Men had removed it from my throat, but had then quickly replaced it with another collar.
“What does it say?” I had asked. I could feel there was an inscription.
“Be quiet, kajira,” said the man.
Asha seemed to be the strongest girl in this pen. Certainly all the other girls were intimidated by her, and she swaggered around at meal times with a confrontational gaze that made the other kajirae look away for fear of challenging her. So when Asha and Caelie pulled my hair together, laughing, it was Asha I hit moments later. I hit her three times, hard, one blow after another, and I broke her nose in the process and, I think, a few teeth. As she lay on the floor, stunned, I took hold of her right hand and quickly snapped two of the fingers on it. All this happened before a guard could intervene. When he did, he slapped me to the ground, angry that I had disfigured Asha in the short fight. As a lesson to me, he uncoiled his whip and lashed me five times.
I lurked around the corner, anxiously, waiting for Mikos to create a distraction that would give me time to reach the staircase unobserved.
To be honest I hadn’t see any need for us to sneak around like this. “I have a better idea,” I had said to him earlier that evening when he had outlined his plan to me.
“Oh?” he replied. His hands had reached under the short skirt of my slave tunic, which was very distracting. How was I supposed to think clearly when he did that?
“Stop that. This is serious. I have something to say.”
He withdrew his hand and allowed me to settle down from being flustered. “I suppose I should permit you to speak then, Cassie.”
I knelt beside the light from the loft window and applied slave cosmetics to my face while Mikos watched me like some keen eyed tarn. Free women sometimes use subtle cosmetics of their own, exclusively a light and very natural foundation to smooth out skin blemishes and tasteful eyeliner, but nothing more than that. What I had been given from Mikos’s small sack was a full array of vulgar cosmetics crafted for a kajira.
I woke at dawn as the first rays of bright sunlight came through the loft space window and into my face. I groaned, turned on the makeshift straw bedding, and heard the clink of chain as I moved. My hands reached out and grasped the chain links that ran from my collar ring through the straw, across the wooden decking and terminated at an iron slave ring.
Of course. I was chained. I lifted my head and felt the chain move with me, slithering along the surface of the floor boards. Mikos had chained me before he had descended the ladder. He said it was so no one could steal me during the night while I slept. Gorean men tend to take that precaution with their slaves, at least. It is not unknown for a thief to enter through a window and abduct a girl while the man of the household sleeps in another room. And this was, as he had pointed out, a rough neighbourhood.
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 cycled through feelings of shock, disbelief and rage in a matter of ihn, and then my emotions changed to that of fear and abandonment. Simon had dressed himself and then left me here, alone! I tried to think of a motive, why he could possibly have done this to me.
“Well?” said the huge woman as she stood behind me.
“There was a man…”
“Your Master?” she asked.
Cassandra Assante
I paused for a moment on the darkened landing and gazed down the stairwell to the floor below where the café room was dimly illuminated by dimmed lamps. With the door to my bedroom now shut, the landing was quiet, save for the steady beating of my heart and my breathing which sounded pronounced and obvious to me.
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.
And then I took another deep breath.
And then I tried to make sense of my feelings.
Always assess the facts, Lady Donna had once said to me. Unless you have the facts, solutions will not become apparent.
Cassandra was a little unsteady on her feet at first. As is often the case, you don’t realise how much you have had to drink until the first time you try to stand up.
“Oh!”
I caught hold of her arm as she nearly fell.
“Careful, beloved. The wine has really gone to your head.”
“I could use some water,” she said as she steadied herself with the palm of one hand against a wall.
The kajira who had been serving our table stood close by, watching keenly. She gave Cassandra a strange look, but I couldn’t imagine why.
“Simon, why are we walking through this city quarter? I can’t imagine any fine dining establishment can be found hereabouts. This is the sort of quarter where I would send Ramon to hire common ruffians without any scruples, if I wished work done that I could conveniently disavow.”
The Lady Cassandra had a point. Our City Walker was leading us down streets that frankly had seen better days. Since coming to Vonda I had frequented the fine dining establishments in the centre of the city, where we ate and drank in ornate gardens with painted wall frescos and the pleasing sound of caged song birds, not to mention demure kajirae in modest white tunics who served delicious food amongst the colonnades. Now however, we were walking down, well, shall we say dangerous, seedy streets?
It didn’t help that Cassandra looked fabulous in scintillating gowns of radiant colours, as she always did when we went out for the evening. She was obviously incredibly wealthy and important. She stood out like a neon sign and would attract unwanted attention from criminals.
Anya was of course quick to point out to me that night what hadn’t been immediately obvious.
“Master, a word in private?” She touched my arm as I stood there observing the sight of my beloved free companion lying on our bed, her wrists still tied to the slave ring. She seemed peaceful, relaxed, content, as women do when they have experienced a healthy orgasm. Her knees were curled slightly to her stomach in a foetal position and her breathing was the female equivalent of a gentle purr.
The sex with Cassandra had been acceptable. Not good. Not superb. Simply acceptable. But that was a big step up from our previous occasions.
“Can’t it wait?” I said, barely turning to view my lovely slave. I was very happy that I had bought Anya. Could a man have ever made a better investment than this striking dark haired slut? She was a marvel in the furs and her advice had guided me well so far in the behaviour of women. And she was smitten with me. It was obvious enough. I think she saw in me her true master.
The estate was impressive, and, like many of the properties surrounding Vonda, was essentially a self-sufficient and fortified farmstead or, in this case, country house with landscaped gardens, set in the centre of hundreds of acres of land on which crops were grown, animals were pastured and most importantly, vines were cultivated. The wines of the Vonda region are quite remarkable, and a personal favourite of mine.
We rode on down through the vineyards belonging to my Lady, observing men and women tending to the vines under the watchful eye of overseers with whips. To the right I could see a river which was the source of the irrigation for the fields. The main building up ahead was essentially a large open rectangle, with porticos enclosing gardens entered through another portico, but decades of expansion had resulted in adjoining buildings with independent courtyards. These were then organically linked by their own porticos or extended as a colonnade, with a roof structure over a walkway, supported by columns or enclosed by walls.
I was in a great mood that morning as I rode through the countryside surrounding the walls of Vonda.
A great mood.
I must have been an impressive sight as I rode like the important man I now was, with my personal banner men who sat with rigid spines on their tharlarions. We flew the serpent banner of Cassandra’s house and from time to time we passed travellers on foot going to or from Vonda.
“Tal, friend,” I would say, offering them a cheery wave. They were mostly poor people of low castes, though we also rode past a few wagons and carts on which sat men and women of the scribes and merchants. I wanted them to feel a little of my benevolence and good mood, and once they realised my banner men weren’t going to rob or kill them, they responded back with polite greetings of their own.
((Something to help tide my faithful readers over while Chloe and I are working hard on the new book, ‘Gods of Gor’. This is a three part short story focussing on Simon and Cassandra, following on from their return to the Sardar after the events of Ubara of Gor))
And so, farewell to the bloodstained coast of the Black Kingdoms, and that bitch, Yishana!
It was a relief when Cassandra and I finally left the Sardar estate, that wet morning. It had been uncomfortable enough on the long voyage home on the ship, Waverider, surrounded by Brinn’s warriors, none of whom seemed to have anything good to say about me. Their grim, silent hostility hung over the vessel like a toxic cloud as the ship sailed north, and the way they stared at me as I passed by on the main deck beggared belief. When I would mention this to Cassandra, she would smile and simply reassure me that ‘my brother’s men can be surly at times. Ignore them, my beloved. We will be home soon.” Her gentle arms would embrace me and we would share a chaste kiss away from the gazes of the men. Cassandra Assante was a rich prize, indeed, and I basked in the raised status that companionship with her bestowed.
