Nomads of Gor (76 page)

 
slave?"

  
"It was a joker" she laughed. "A joker"

 
"Perhaps," I said.

 
She looked down, confused.

  
"And so," I said, "that is why I think Kamchak gave you

  
She looked up, startled. "Why?" she asked.

 
"That in my arms you would learn the meaning of a slave

 
collar, that you would learn the meaning of being a woman."

  
She looked at me, astonished, her eyes wide with disbelief.

 
"You see," I said, "he thought well of you. He was truly

 
fond of his Little Barbarian."

 
I stood up and threw the wine bowl to the side of the

 
room. It shattered against the wine chest.

   
I turned away.
                               

   
She leaped to her feet. "Where are you going?" she asked.
 

  
"I am going to the public slave wagon," I said.

  
"But why?" she asked.

  
I looked at her frankly. "I want a woman," I said.

  
She looked at me. "I am a woman, Tart Cabot," she said.

  
I said nothing.

  
"Am I not as beautiful as the girls in the public slave
   

  
wagon?" she asked.
                            

  
"Yes," I said, "you are.

   
"Then why do you not remain with me?"
        

   
"Tomorrow," I said, "I think there will be heavy fighting."
  

   
"I can please you as well as any girl in the slave wagon,"

  
she said.
                                     

  
"You are free," I told her.
                  

   
"I will give you more," she said.

   
"Please, do not speak so, Elizabeth," I said.

   
She straightened herself. "I suppose," she said, "you have

      
seen girls in slave markets, betrayed as I was by the touch of

     
the whip."

         
I did not speak. It was true that I had seen this.

         
"You saw how I moved," she challenged. "Would it not

         
have added a dozen gold pieces to my price?"

         
"Yes," I said, "it would have."

         
I approached her and gently held her by the waist, and

         
looked down into her eyes.

         
"I love you, Tarl Cabot," she whispered. "Do not leave

         
me."

         
"Do not love me," I said. "You know little of my life and

         
what I must do."

         
"I do not care," she said, putting her head to my shoulder.

         
"I must leave," I said, "if only because you care for me. It

         
would be cruel for me to remain."

         
"Have me, Tart Cabot," she said, "if not as a free woman

       
as a slave."

         
"Beautiful Elizabeth," I said, "I can have you as neither."

         
"You will have me," she cried, "as one or the other!"

         
"No," I said gently. "No."

         
Suddenly she drew back in fury and struck me with the flat

         
of her hand, a vicious slap, and then again and again, and

         
again.

       
"No," I said.

      
Again she slapped me. My face burned. "I hate you," she

      
said. "I hate your"

         
"No," I said.

         
"You know your codes, do you not?" she challenged. "The

        
codes of the warrior of Gor?"

         
"Do not," I said.

      
Again she slapped me and my head leaped to the side,

      
burning. "I hate you," she hissed.

     
And then, as I knew she would, she suddenly knelt before

      
me, in fury, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, sub"

       
milting as a Gorean female.

       
"Now," she said, looking up, her eyes blazing with anger,

         
"You must either slay me or enslave me."

         
"You are free," I said sternly.

       
"Then slay me," she demanded.

       
"I could not do that," I said.

       
"Collar me," she said.

         
"I have no wish to do so," I said.

         
"Then acknowledge your codes betrayed," she said.

     
"Fetch the collar," I said.

 
She leaped up to fetch the collar and handed it to me,

 
again kneeling before me.

 
I encircled her lovely throat with the steel and she looked

 
up at me, angrily.

 
I snapped it shut.

 
She began to rise to her feet.

 
But my hand on her shoulder prevented her from rising. 'I

 
did not give you permission to rise, slave," I said.

 
Her shoulders shook with anger. Then she said, "Of

 
course, I am sorry, master," and dropped her head.

 
I removed the two pins from the yellow silken sheet, and it

 
fell from her, revealing her clad Kajir.

 
She stiffened in anger.

 
"I would see my slave girl," I said.

 
"Perhaps," she said, acidly, "you wish your girl to remove

 
her remaining garments?"

  
"No," I said.

  
She tossed her head.

  
"I shall do it," I told her.

  
She gasped.

 
As she knelt on the rug, head down, in the position of the

 
Pleasure Slave, I took from her the Koora, loosening her

 
hair, and then the leather Kalmak, and then I drew from her

 
the Curia and Chatka.

  
"If you would be a slave," I said, "be a slave."

 
She did not raise her head but glared savagely down at the

 
rug, her small fists clenched.

 
I went across the rug and sat down cross-legged near the

 
fire bowl, and looked at the girl.

  
"Approach me, slave girl," I said, "and kneel."

 
She lifted her head and looked at me, angrily, proudly, for

 
a moment, but then she said, "Yes, master," and did as she

 
was commanded.

 
I looked at Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, kneeling before me,

 
head down, clad only in the collar of a slave.

  
"What are you?" I asked.

  
"A slave," she said bitterly, not raising her head.

  
"Serve me wine," I said.

She did so, kneeling before me, head down, handing me

the black, red-trimmed wine crater, that of the master, as

 
had Aphris to Kamchak. I drank.

 
When I had finished I set the wine crater aside and looked

 
on the girl.

  
"Why have you done this, Elizabeth?" I asked.

              
She looked down sullenly. "I am Vella," she said, a Gorean slave."

              
"Elizabeth" I said.

              
"Vella," she said angrily.

   
     
"Vella," I agreed, and she looked up. Our eyes met and we ~

             
looked at one another for a long time. Then, she smiled, and I

           
looked down.

             
I laughed. "It seems," I said, "that I will not make it to the

           
  
public slave wagon tonight."

          
Elizabeth looked up, shyly. "It seems not, master."

              
"You are a vixen, Vella," said I.

             
She shrugged. Then, kneeling before me in the position of

           
the Pleasure Slave, she stretched indolently, with feline grace,

             
lifting her hands behind the back of her neck and throwing

             
her dark hair forward. She knelt so for a languorous mo-

             
ment, her hands over her head holding her hair, looking at I

             
me.

             
"Do you think," she asked, "that the girls in the public

             
slave wagon are as beautiful as Vella?"

              
"No," I said, "they are not."

              
"Or as desirable?" she asked.

              
"No," I said, "none is as desirable as Vella."

             
Then, her back still arched, with a half-smile, she stretched

             
even more, and, as though weary, she slowly turned her head

             
to one side, with her eyes closed, and then opened them and

             
with a small, lazy motion of her hands threw her hair back

             
over her head, and with a tiny motion of her head shook it

             
into place.

         
"It seems Vella wishes to please her master," I said.

             
"No," said the girl, "Vella hates her master." She looked at

             
me with feigned hatred. "He has humiliated Vella. He has

             
stripped her and put her in the collar of a slaver"

               
'0f course," I said.

             
"But," said the girl, "perhaps she might be forced to please

             
him. After all she is only a slave."

              
I laughed.

            
"It is said," remarked the girl, "that Vella, whether she

           
  
knows it or not, longs to be a slave the utter slave of a

             
man if but for an hour."

             
I slapped my knee with amusement. "That sounds to me,"

             
I said, "like a silly theory."

              
The girl shrugged in her collar. "Perhaps," she said, "Vella

         
does not know."

          
'Perhaps," I said, "Vella will find out."

  
"Perhaps," said the girl, smiling.

 
"Are you ready, Slave Girl," I asked, "to give pleasure to a