Explorers Of Gor

51
Bila Huruma

"Like this?" asked the blond girl of Janice.

"Crouch down further," said Janice. "Take the tether in both hands, one above and one below your left thigh. Hold the tether tightly against your left thigh. Feel it there. Now move your hips like this."

"Like this?" asked the blond girl.

"Yes," said Janice.

I watched the blond girl. How flushed and excited was her face, how free of tension and tightness, how free of anxiety and stress. There is an incredible, effusive release of energy and happiness when a woman stops fighting herself. It requires an inordinate amount of energy, of course, to maintain the stern rigidities of self-suppression and constriction. Self-denial, self-torture, pretense, hypocrisy and conformance to external, alien standards must exact their inevitable costs. Their damage and toll is torn not only from the heart, but from the tissues of the body as well. The laws are implacable, the consequences inexorable. The equations of misery are registered not only in the conscious annals of pain but, too, are tallied no less in the very chemistry of the body. The human being is the only animal we know who tortures itself. It need not do so. Yet how few human beings understand that, and how few believe it, truly.

"Should this not be done, really, with a chain?" asked the blond girl.

"I have done it myself only with a tether," said Janice. "A chain, however, might be nice."

"Surely this drilling in the stone at my feet," said the blond, "was for a chain."

"Probably," said Janice.

The blond stopped, and straightened up. She was covered with sweat. "If I learn to do this well," she asked, "do you think my master might permit me a garment?"

Janice shrugged. "If your performance merits it, and if you are sufficiently pleasing to him in all ways, he might deign to throw you a rag to cover your prettiness."

"I will try to be pleasing to him," said the blond.

"See that you do," said Janice, "but remember that he is my master before he is yours."

"Yes, Mistress," said the blond. The two new slaves addressed our older girls as 'Mistress. Kisu and I thought that would be useful in keeping order among them. In any training situation, of course, it is common for the girl being trained to address a female trainer, whether the trainer is bond or free, as 'Mistress. Strict discipline is essential in slave instruction.

"You are not really much larger than I," said Janice.

"No, Mistress," said the blond. The blond was about five and a half feet tall, and would have weighed, I conjecture, about twenty-nine stone, Gorean, about one hundred and sixteen pounds.

"Now sit down and cross your ankles," said Janice. "Loop the tether about them, as though they were bound. When I give the signal, unloop the tether as though it were unbound. Rise then, and stretch, as a slave girl, before your master."

"Yes, Mistress," said the blond.

I smiled to myself. Never when she was on Earth, I conjectured, had Janice thought that she would one day be giving instruction in, of all things, the arts of pleasing a man. Earth women, it is well known, are above such things, unless perhaps they are brought naked to Gor and placed in steel collars. They then, quickly enough, become desperately eager to learn the delightful and sensuous arts. This makes sense. Their lives depend on it.

"Not bad," said Janice.

"You will teach me things to do with my mouth and tongue, won't you?" begged the blond.

"Perhaps," said Janice, "if you gather wood for me, and wash clothing for me, with the exception of that of my master."

"I will, I will," said the blond. Girls seek eagerly to learn from one another.

"That is enough," said Kisu. He pulled apart Turgus and the dark-haired girl. They were still gagged, and had their hands tied behind them. Kisu then crossed and bound the ankles of each.

I looked about the great room. It was perhaps two hundred feet in width and depth, with tall columns. It was filled with great blocks of stone, which had fallen, perhaps centuries ago, from the roof. The walls were still, generally, intact. The floor, save where it was cluttered, was generally smooth, save for certain drillings, through which chain might be passed. Some chains, little more than fragile collections of rust, ready to crumble at a touch, lay about. The room was reached by a broad flight of stairs. And, in the rear of the room, there was another broad flight of stairs, leading upward to another landing and walk. On the walls, which circled about, still largely standing, there were dim mosaics. The chamber had apparently, long ago, been used in the enslavement and training of women, doubtless taken in the raids and wars of those who had built these mighty halls. Some of the mosaics showed the clothing of miserable captives being taken from them; others showed them being tied and whipped, doubtless to introduce them quickly and mercifully to the concept of being under discipline; others showed them being marked by hot irons and placed in collars; others showed them kneeling, head down, in submission, before their masters; others showed them being danced before their masters; others showed them serving the intimate pleasures of their masters.

We had chosen this room in which to camp, because of the girls. They had been thrilled with the mosaics. Almost fainting they had begged to dance and be used. Women learn from example. If one presents them only with masculine images, presented in approval contexts, they will often attempt dutifully to conform to these alien models. If one, on the other hand, permits them to be aware of genuine female images, presented within contexts of honesty, openness and permissibility, it is natural for them to feel deep biological affinities for what is portrayed. For what it is worth women tend on the whole to be unsuccessful in conforming to masculine images, and tend to take gracefully and naturally to feminine images, toward which they seem to have genetic predispositions. Perhaps that is because that is what they really are, not men but women. Sex is not superficial. Not one cell in the body of a woman is the same as that in the body of a man.

I saw Tende in the arms of Kisu. He had not tied her at night since we had seen the forces of the river peoples pass the island on which we had hidden, those forces of incredible numbers which had doubtless wiped out Bila Huruma, his flotilla and his battalions of askaris.

I approached the blond and she knelt, swiftly, head down.

I had her stand and lashed her wrists behind her back. She was already tethered.

"Lie down," I told her. She lay down on the stone floor.

"Are you going to tie me?" asked Alice.

I tied her hands behind her back. Then I tied her neck to the neck of the dark-haired girl, using the collie strap. "Lie down," I told her. She lay down.

"Prepare to be bound," I told Janice.

"Please do not bind me," wheedled Janice, approaching me, looking up at me running her finger on the left shoulder of my tunic.

"Do you question my will?" I asked.

Swiftly she knelt, her head to my feet. "No, Master," she said. "Please do not whip me." She lifted her head, and held to my legs. "Please, Master, let me serve your pleasure instead."

"You have already this evening," I said, "as the others, danced and served well."

"I have only begun to be aroused, Master," she said.

I took her by the hair and pulled her, she half crawling, then half crouching and walking, to where lay the dark-haired girl and Alice. I put her on her knees there and tied her hands behind her back. I then added her to the coffle strap.

She looked up at me, the coffle strap dangling from her throat, attaching her to Alice, and then to the dark-haired girl. "Please, Master," she said.

"Lie down," I told her. She lay down, first on her left shoulder and then on her back.

I looked down upon her, and considered putting her under the whip.

"Let me placate you," she begged. She lifted her body to me. "Please, Master," she begged.

I looked down at her. "You are a beautiful slave," I said.

"Please, Master," she begged.

"Very well," I said. Her offense, that of questioning my will, required discipline. But the whip of the furs, I decided would be sufficient.

"You made her moan well," said Kisu.

"She is a sweetly hipped, hot slave," I said. I joined Kisu at the small fire in the ruins of the great building. He was sitting near it, cross-legged. Tende lay beside him, unbound, her head on her hands.

I looked back at Janice who, hands tied behind her back, fastened in the coffle, lay on her side. I smiled. I think there is no music more pleasing to a man's ears than the moans of a yielding slave girl.

"You see, Tende," asked Kisu, "you are the only slave here who is not bound."

"Yes, Master," she smiled. "Thank you, Master."

"Put wood on the fire," said Kisu.

She laughed. "You are a beast, Master," she said. She rose to her feet and fetched wood, which she placed on the fire. Then she lay as before, beside Kisu.

"May I face my master?" asked Janice, who lay, as I had placed her, facing away from us.

There were bruises on her body, for I had taken her on the stones.

"Yes," I said.

She struggled about, that she might face us. Her eyes were moist. She pursed her lips, and then, delicately, kissed with them, as though her mouth might be upon my body. I blew her a kiss, brushing it from the side of my face towards her in the Gorean fashion. I then looked away from her. "Master," she said, "I love you." "Be silent, Slave Girl, " I said, not looking at her. "Yes, Master," she said, sobbing. She was an excellent slave, and would doubtless know many loves, until she, a superb love slave, might at last find herself fallen helplessly and totally into the absolute power of such a man as she had never dreamed might exist, he who to her, in the personal and intricate chemistry of couples, would be her ideal master, one powerful, and uncompromising and strict, one capable of seeing that she served well, one capable of whipping her, if need be, but yet one loving and tender, one who would be to her the perfect love master. It did not seem likely that she would be again sold. What would be the point of it?

"The city is large," said Kisu. "It is quite possible that we will never find Shaba within it."

"We must continue the search," I said. "I am certain he is here somewhere."

Suddenly Janice screamed and we leaped to our feet. Askaris had entered the room, perhaps two hundred of them, armed. Msaliti was with them. And with them, too, at their head, was an unmistakable figure, black and huge, with shield and spear.

"Bila Huruma!" cried Kisu.