John Norman (37 page)

He permitted her to open her mouth, and he removed the pistol from her mouth.

“Perfectly,” said Hamilton. “May I rise?”

“Get up,” said Gunther.

Hamilton got to her feet.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

Gunther seemed angry. “We entered this time, this place, at coordinates similar to yours. We then assumed you would travel south. We followed, for two days, certain natural geodesics. We saw, from a distance, cliffs. We made our way toward them. We found a trail, a woman’s trail, in the snow. We followed it. It was yours.”

“We were incredibly lucky,” said William.

“I hope so,” said Hamilton.

“Lead us to your masters, Slave,” sneered Gunther. He covered her with the pistol.

Hamilton did not respond to him but bent down, and, stick by stick, picked up the scattered wood, that which had spilled from her bundle when she had been seized.

“What are you doing?” asked Gunther.

“I was sent for wood,” said Hamilton. “If I do not return with it, I will be beaten.”

She reconstructed the bundle and threw it to her shoulder. She staggered slightly under it.

“Let me help you,” said William.

“No,” said Gunther.

Hamilton smiled at William. “Gunther is right,” she said. “Manual labor, I discover, is for females. Men hunt and play.”

“Hurry,” said Gunther.

“The wood is heavy,” she said. “If you do not carry it, you will have to make my pace yours.”

“Bitch!” said Gunther.

She faced him, carrying the wood. She wore deerskin tied on her feet, wrapped and thonged about her ankles and calves; and deerskin leggings and a tunic of deerskin, and, over the tunic, a jacket, furred, belted, which fell to her knees. Her long dark hair was bound behind the back of her head by a string of rawhide, threaded through shells. Her eyes were saucy, alive and bright; her cheeks were red; her breath, like smoke, clung about the fire of her luscious lips, bruised and swollen from Tree’s kissing of her last night.

“You find me different now, don’t you, Gunther,” she asked, “from when you knew me before?”

“Yes,” said Gunther.

“And now you find me attractive,” she said.

“Yes,” said Gunther. He would not tell her but, suddenly, it seemed to him he had never before seen so attractive a female. She seemed so different. So primitive. So marvelous. So deep. So sexual. She seemed to him now so completely other than a modern woman, pinched, hostile, envious, constricted, tight, competitive, neuter, petty. She seemed to him deep and exciting, and intelligent and beautiful, joyously different from a man, completely free and happy in her femaleness, unapologetically, exultantly female.

“Your hunters,” said Gunther, “have improved you.”

“Perhaps, Gunther,” she said, “you will have an opportunity to see just how well.”

“I do not understand,” said Gunther.

“You want me, do you not?” asked Hamilton.

“Yes,” said Gunther.

“Then it seems not unlikely that you will have me,” said Hamilton.

“How is that?” asked Gunther.

“A month ago,” said Hamilton, “a trader from another group, the Bear People, came to my group. He was known and welcomed.”

“I see,” said Gunther.

“Yes,” said Hamilton. “The males of my group are hospitable, and generous. While he stayed with us, he had his pick of the females.”

“Did he pick you?” asked Gunther.

“No,” said Hamilton. “There is one more beautiful than I in the group. Her name, in English, would be Flower. She it was whom the trader selected.”

“Perhaps I shall pick her over you,” said Gunther.

“Why not take us both?” asked Hamilton.

William gasped.

“And if I should choose you,” asked Gunther, “in what way must you serve us?”

“In any way you wish,” smiled Hamilton. “I am a slave.” Then she turned and, carrying the wood, trudging through the snow, led the way toward the shelters.

Gunther sheathed the Luger.

“Of course,” said Hamilton, “they might not welcome you. You would then be killed.”

William moaned.

Gunther left open the flap on his holster.

“Have no fear,” said Gunther, “my dear, if we are not killed, you at least will be chosen.”

“Very well,” said Hamilton. “You are the master.”

Hamilton entered the cave, a log on her left shoulder.

William was sitting in the cave, leaning against his pack, his back to the wall. He was stripped to the waist. Against him, curled, her head on his thigh, lay Flower, stripped save for the collar of strands of leather and shells knotted about her throat. William had his hand on the side of her head.

“I shall want you later,” said William to Hamilton.

“Yes, Master,” said Hamilton, in English.

Hamilton knelt beside the fire and thrust the log in place. With a stick she thrust small, burning branches about it. The firelight was reflected in her face, redly. She was stripped save for the brief skirt of deerskin, knotted at the left hip, and the collar, that proclaiming her a female of the Men. She did her work well. Fire was precious. One of the first things she had been taught among the Men was the keeping of fires. A girl who let a fire go out, whose responsibility it was, would be mercilessly beaten. This had happened once to Hamilton. Tree had beaten her. Never again had the girl let a fire which she was tending go out, until it was no longer needed. Although it was cold outside, and snowy, the white flakes falling through the winter moon’s light, she had not donned her skins, nor wrapped the hide about her feet. She had gone only to the wood shelter, and returned.

“I shall want you later,” had said William to Hamilton.

“Yes, Master,” she had responded.

Beside William, on his left, lay his rifle. Hamilton sat beside the fire, her feet toward it, rubbing them with her hands. They were cold from the snow.

She looked up and saw Gunther, sitting on a large rock, his rifle across his knees.

“Fetch me water,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said. She went to a crevice in the cave, in which was fitted a sewn, leather bucket in a wooden frame. With a gourd she dipped water. She carried it to the male. “Give it to me,” he said. She held the gourd while he drank. Then he said, “Return the gourd.” She did so. When she had returned the gourd, she returned to stand before him. “Remove your garment,” said he, “Slave.” She tugged it loose and dropped it to one side. “Kneel,” he said, “and put your head to my feet.” She did so.

“It is pleasant to have you as a slave, Brenda,” said Gunther.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

William chuckled, fondling Flower. “These savages are most hospitable,” he said. “They even give us women.” Flower began to kiss him.

Hamilton did not dare lift her head. She had not been given permission.

“Perhaps,” said William, lightly, “we shall elect to remain in this place.”

“Your needs here,” said Gunther, “for the first time, have been satisfied.”

William thrust Flower away, holding her from him by the arms. Her eyes were startled, suddenly bright with tearing. He thrust her down to the stone beside him, his hand in her hair. She waited there, held. He looked at Gunther. “-Perhaps,” he said.

“Surely.” said Gunther. “Never before this have you truly had a female. You have only participated in what are, biologically, distortions of, and perversions of, the instinctual, psychosexual conquest. Nature knows not equality in conjugation but only dominance and submission, conqueror and conquered, owner and owned.”

“But what of love?” asked William.

“There are a variety of emotions which are indiscriminately designated by that vague expression,” said Gunther. “But love and sex are not identical. One may have sex without love, as your little savage has taught you; and you may have love without sex, as you well know, as this slut kneeling before me taught you so painfully in Rhodesia.”

Hamilton, her head down, was startled. Had William loved her? Was that why, now, remembering his frustrations, be had used her with such ruthlessness? Surely he did not love her now. Now that she lay open to him as a mere slave he no longer respected her. He used her often, and insolently, and with power. Contemptuously he made her scream with pleasure, scorning her in her helplessness. If she had frustrated him in Rhodesia, he had now taken his vengeance on her, many times. She, as a slave, her use given to him and Gunther by the men, had repaid him many fold for Rhodesia. When she had been inaccessible, frigid, a lady, he had stood in awe of her, and had perhaps loved her. She smiled to herself. Now that she was fully alive, arousable, impassioned, and his at a word, a glance, a snapping of his fingers, his as a helpless, yielding slave, he no longer loved her, no longer respected her. And it was not that he was content to use her as a mere instrument of his pleasure; he was not so kind; when he ravished her, it was to devastate her complete person; he would call her by name, tenderly, and, she held in his arms, remind her of their experiences in Rhodesia, how she had looked, what she had said, what he had said, and then, when he was ready, he would inform her, “Now I am going to have you, Miss Hamilton, use you, use you as the slut and slave you are,” and then he would do so; sometimes he would stop, cruelly, making her beg, in tears, for him to continue. “Please fuck me, William,” she would whisper. “Please fuck me, William!” she would beg, crying out. Then he would laugh, and give her pleasure. It was interesting. Before she had diminished him, and he had stood in awe of her. Now that her helplessness, her humiliation, his success, exalted him, he scorned her. He was far kinder to Flower. Once when she had not obeyed him promptly enough, he had beaten her with a switch. No one had interfered, even Tree. He, William, as a male, had had this right. She was only a woman. After the beating, she feared him, knowing him then, as she had not before, as being capable of disciplining her; moreover, she now knew he was willing to discipline her, and would, if he thought it necessary, or it pleased him to do so. After the beating she, for the first time, profoundly respected him as a male. And after the beating he no longer respected her, as anything. She was then only an imbonded wench to him. From a lady she had become only a slave. As a lady she had been admired and respected, perhaps even loved; as a slave she found herself relished with the delight of a master in his property, ravaged with the joy of a conqueror amidst the daughters of his enemies, and scorned as no more. She found herself tempted to love William, but her heart belonged to Tree.

“And, of course,” said Gunther, “at times sex and love may coexist, though commonly briefly, infrequently, and sometimes incompatibly.” Gunther grinned. “And, of course, one might have neither love nor sex. This, I submit, is the endemic condition of our much-vaunted civilization, constructed according to agricultural values, shaped by the fanatic, diseased brains of celibates, battening, not working, on the increase of the land, those with a vested interest in the perpetuation of superstition, misery and fear.”

“These matters are rather above me,” said William. “I am only a lowly physician.”

“Make men miserable in this world,” said Gunther, “then promise them a better one somewhere else, a promise on which you are never required to pay off. Tell them to behave themselves and roof the temples with gold. Control sex. Exploit the fear of death, invent terrors, and ring up the proceeds on the cash registers. Tell them you have secret magic. Cultivate their fears, their ignorance, carefully. It is valuable to you. Claim to hold the keys to the mystery. But the mystery mocks them. The mystery mocks us all.”

“What are you speaking of?” asked William.

“Tyranny, despotism,” said Gunther. “Existence, life, the world.”

The fire in the cave crackled; there was silence otherwise; shadows flickered on the walls of stone.

“Let us speak of simpler things,” said Gunther. He looked at Hamilton, who still knelt before him, her head and hair to the stone floor of the cave. He regarded her for some time, as did William. She did not move.

“Every male, from time to time,” said Gunther, “desires absolute power over a female.”

“Yes,” said William.

“One who admits to this desire,” said Gunther, “in our familiar world, is characterized as peculiar or perverted, or weak, or timid or sick, and usually characterized as such with a belying hysterical intensity, for here some obscure nerve is touched. On the other hand, since this desire, from time to time, is universal in males, it seems that an entire sex, literally billions of human beings, must be then characterized as we have suggested. In a different reality, the tiger, wanting meat; in a world of antelope, would be characterized similarly. It is a way the antelope have of trying to protect themselves from tigers. Program the tiger’s brain in such a way as to conflict with its instincts. Let the tigers die in misery, starving. But when the tiger has taken meat he no longer starves; he is then determined to feed. You, William, for the first time, have fed.”

William turned Flower’s head to face him. His hand was still in her hair. Then he turned her about again, holding her face to the stone.

“How do you feel, William?” asked Gunther.

William released Flower, who rolled against his leg, her lips to his thigh. “I feel strong, and powerful,” said William.

“Are you happy here?” asked Gunther.

“I have been more than happy here,” said William. “I have been joyful.”

“That is interesting, is it not?” asked Gunther.

“Perhaps,” said William.

Flower had lifted her eyes timidly to those of William. “Look into the eyes of your pretty little blond sow,” said Gunther. “She adores you.”

William smiled.

“That pleases your vanity, does it not?” asked Gunther.

“It does not displease me,” said William, grinning.

“The important point,” said Gunther, “is to note that it does please you.”

“Certain weaknesses, I suppose,” said William, “are natural.”

“That it is a weakness is a value judgment, automatically generated from your conditioning program,” said Gunther. “All we know is that it is natural. What if feelings of power, of pleasure, of dominance, were not weaknesses, but strengths? The tiger’s ability to tear flesh, to break a heifer’s back with one blow, is not weakness.” Gunther grinned. “One need not claim the natures of men are either weaknesses or strengths. One need only recognize them as realities, which, thwarted, produce miseries, diseases, deaths.”