Read Magicians of Gor for Free Online Page B

asked.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “You think she might be of interest to others?” he asked.
    “Undoubtedly,” I said.
    “On your feet,” he said to the girl.
    Groaning, scarcely able to stand straight, so wrought with need she was, she
    stood.
    “There will be darkness and crowds,” mused Marcus. “Do you think you will try to
    escape?” he asked the girl.
    “No, Master,” she said.
    “Straighten up,” he said, “put your shoulders back, pull in your belly, thrust
    forth your breasts.”
    “She is a delicacy,” I said, “worth at least two silver tarsks, in any market.”
    “I will try not to escape, Master,” said the girl.
    “I wonder,” mused Marcus.
    “I am collared,” she said. “I am branded.”
    “True,” said Marcus.
    In this way she had suggested that even if she might desire to escape such a
    hope would be forlorn for her. She was reminding him of the categoricality of
    her condition, of its absoluteness, of the hopelessness of escape for such as
    she, a female held in Gorean bondage. For example, there are not only such
    obvious things as the brand and collar, and the distinctive (pg. 33) garbing of
    the slave, or the lack of garbing, but, far more significantly, the extreme
    closeness of the society, with its scrutiny of strangers, and the general nature
    of an uncompromising and inflexible enforcement of, her condition. There is,
    accordingly, for all practical purposes, no escape for the Gorean slave girl. At
    best she might, at great risk to her own life, succeed in obtaining a new
    chaining, a new master, and one who, in view of her flight, will undoubtedly see
    to it that she is incarcerated in a harsher bondage that from which she fled, to
    which now, under her new strictures, she is likely to look back upon longingly.
    Similarly the penalties for attempted escape, particularly for a second attempt,
    are severe, usually involving hamstringing. Only the most stupid of women dares
    to even think of escape, and then seldom more than once.
    “Will it be necessary to bind you?” asked Marcus.
    “No, Master,” she said.
    “Turn about, and put your hands, wrists crossed, behind you,” he said.
    He then, whipping a short length of binding fiber from his pouch, with two
    single loops, and a double knot, a warrior’s capture knot, tied her hands
    together.
    “Will it be necessary to leash you?” he asked.
    “No, Master,” she said.
    He then turned her about and put a leather leash collar, with its attached lead,
    now dangling before her, on her neck.
    Although I did not think that Phoebe, who was a highly intelligent girl, would
    be likely to attempt an escape, even if she were not bound to Marcus by chains a
    thousand times stronger than those of iron, the chains of love, she might be
    stolen. Slave girls are lovely properties, and slave theft, the stealing of
    beautiful female slaves, is not unknown on Gor.
    She tried to press against him, but he pressed her back, with one hand.
    “Yes, Master,” she sobbed. She was not now, without his permission, to so much
    as touch him.
    “Let us be on our way,” said Marcus.
    The girl moaned with need.
    “Very well,” I said.
    “Outside,” said Marcus to the girl, “stand and walk well.”
    “Yes, Master,” she said.
    She was flushed, and needful, but I did not know if this would be readily
    apparent outside, among the moving bodies, in the darkness, in the wayward
    shadows, in the uncertain light of campfires.
    “You are sure you do not wish to remain in the tent for a bit?” I asked.
    “Please, Master!” begged Phoebe.
    “No,” said Marcus.
    Phoebe was quite beautiful in the tunic. It was adjusted on her by a slave
    girdle, in one of its common ties.
    The girl looked at her master, piteously.
    “Let us be on our way,” said Marcus.
    We left the tent, the girl following, bound, on the leash. She whimpered once,
    softly, piteously, beggingly, to which sound, however, her master, if he heard
    it, paid no heed.
    3