Barbarian of Gor Chapter Eleven

 

The fact is I was now recognised, within Corcyrus at least, as being of the caste of Slavers.

 

I had collared a woman in the wilderness where the laws of Corcyrus and Torcadino do not apply.

 

The only law pertaining to enslavement of women that applies in the wilderness is Common Capture Law. Free Women are not protected from licensed and accredited slavers under Common Capture Law.

 

Technically speaking, I had just enslaved Lady Laetitia. 

 

She was my slave now.

 

Unfortunately that fact had only dawned upon me after the fact. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Ten

 

How could I explain the intervention of the sleen?

 

Frankly, I couldn’t. By all rights it should have seen me as available prey. I should now be dead, but instead it had sniffed at the ropes and chewed through them. 

 

Were I the kind of man who believed even slightly in divine intervention I would think my wild prayer had been answered, but I am rational and I know there are no gods lording themselves over Gor or anywhere else for that matter. Prayers, sadly, are never answered. 

 

It took me half an ahn to free my bound wrists and then it was simple enough to address myself to the ankle ties. I worked carefully and I had to wait until feeling returned to my fingers, but eventually I was free of the restraints.

 

I had been gone a whole day and most of the night. It would be dawn soon. Time was not on my side, for Miss Sally Reeve would be trying to get a message to Stannis Assante. Once she did, Stannis’s soldiers would head this way and we would not be able to hide from them for long. Our only hope had been that the forces of Argentum would have to spread their resources far and wide, being ignorant of the direction Laetitia might take to reach Torcadino. Once the search area was narrowed, Stannis could concentrate all his cavalry and find us. 

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.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Eight

 

“How are my capture knots?’

 

I couldn’t feel my hands when I woke. I was naked, stripped, and tightly tied between a couple of trees. My wrists were tied together and then lashed to a trunk. My ankles were tied separately to trunks either side, so that my legs were widely spread. And, as is always the case when I wake from sleep – whether naturally induced or not – I had a stiff morning glory erection. I’ve never understood why that happens to men. It’s not as if I’m always dreaming erotic dreams.

 

Though on Gor those dreams do come a lot more frequently than they ever did on Earth.

 

“You’re actually the first man I’ve had to tie as a captive. I’m just wondering how I did?” she asked. “Please, I’m curious. Indulge me.” 

 

“They’re good knots,” I said through gritted teeth. Leda was dressed again in the simple peasant gowns belonging to Laetitia. She sat in Tower position beside me, unveiled, and bereft of the slave collar. She had found the key, then. My pouches and sword lay close by. Hidden in one of the pouches was the precious serum I had to give to Laetitia before she might be tested for slave responses by physicians in Torcadino. No doubt Leda had been through everything. I had to hope she hadn’t given the vial any due consideration.

 

“You’re not just saying that to make me happy?” asked Leda. “You can be critical if you want. Women rarely master the art of capture knots.”

State of the Nation August 2023!

 

Hello lovely readers.

 

Apologies for my recent absence. While the long term readers know I routinely take a bit of time off now and again, the circumstances this time around were a bit different.

 

I did decide to take a few weeks off after Christmas/New Year, and as always once I stopped writing for a while it grew to about three months. Not my worst absence, but I decided then to get cracking with finishing Outcast of Gor and posting the final chapters I’d received from Tracker and Arizona Wanderer. 

 

Only… no sooner had I begun than I finally came down with Covid. Yes, I’d been spared it up to that point. The Covid itself wasn’t too bad, but I seem to have what’s commonly referred to as ‘Long Covid’ following my bout with the virus. This has left me very drained – a bit like suffering from ME, I suppose, and it very much affected my ability to get much done. I had just about enough energy to deal with the day job, but not much else. I’m still suffering from the after effects, though in recent weeks have been a bit more clear headed, hence why I’ve kick started the next book, but I confess I’m writing slower than before, when I routinely knocked off a chapter a day in-between meals. 

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Seven

 

How difficult can it be to help a woman escape from a travel Inn, when in actual fact the Innkeeper would allow her to walk free anyway?

 

Not particularly difficult, it has to be said.

 

But I had to make it seem difficult. 

 

“A man has arrived,” said pretty Leda. “I think he is a metal worker.”

 

Of that there was little doubt. I saw him drop a heavy leather hold all containing all manner of tools and implements onto the flagstones of the inner courtyard. He was here to work. 

 

Leda stood before me in the corridor that connected the main room of the Inn to the kitchen. She was barefoot, wore a white tunic with light blue trim, and sported a steel collar about her throat. “Do not be overly concerned,” I reassured her. She was perhaps five feet four inches tall, with wavy light brown hair and a slightly upturned nose that was endearingly cute. Her lips were wide and expressive. Her breasts were beautifully formed and straining within the softness of the rep cloth tunic, where the plunging neckline offered an enticing vision of her bosom. “There are many reasons why a metal worker might call on this Inn at short notice.”

 

I watched as Leda looked furtively around. She was loitering beside me instead of working. A slave might be punished for such laziness. Leda, of course, wasn’t a slave, but she feared the Innkeeper might make her one.

 

“A metal worker brands women.” She flexed the toes of her left foot as she stood there.

Barbarian of Gor Chapter Six

 

“The situation is even more dire than I may have previously suggested,” I whispered through the side of my mouth as pretty Leda served breakfast to our table, on her knees.

 

When she looked up in alarm, her hands shaking slightly as she held a tray of bowls and plates, I quickly added, “do not acknowledge anything I tell you. Not a thing! The Innkeeper’s eyes may be upon us at this very moment!”

 

Pretty Leda lowered her eyes submissively, the way a slave might. She had seen the other girls do so when awaiting a master’s command. She did it quite well, even though she was a proud free woman. No doubt it would come more naturally to her if she found herself enslaved, wearing a collar, and a kef brand marked upon her thigh.

 

“Early this morning the Innkeeper sent word to the outlying village for the services of a metal worker,” I explained.

 

“Oh!” she gasped. Her hands trembled as she placed the tray on the floor beside her knees and poured black wine into a small cup beside me. A metal worker is of course skilled in branding the left thigh of a woman. The implication from my words was no doubt obvious to pretty Leda. She seemed intelligent enough to grasp the obvious.