Blood Brothers of Gor Read online

  I smiled.

  Was this not suitable? Was this not appropriate for her, a slave?

  Winyela, kissing the pole, and caressing it, and moving about it, and rubbing her body against it, under the directions of Cancega, and guided sometimes by the tethers on her neck, continued to dance.

  I whistled softly to myself.

  "Ah," said Cuwignaka.

  "It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.

  "I think the pole will be pleased," I said.

  "I think a rock would be pleased," said Cuwignaka.

  "I agree," I said.

  Winyela, by the neck tethers, was pulled against the pole. She seized it, and writhed against it, and licked at it.

  "It is the Kaiila!" chanted the men.

  "It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.

  A transformation seemed suddenly to come over Winyela. This was evinced in her dance.

  "She is aroused," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said.

  She began, then, helplessly, to dance her servitude, her submission, her slavery. The dance, then, came helplessly from the depths of her. The tethers pulled her back from the pole and she reached forth for it. She struggled to reach it, writhing. Bit by bit she was permitted to near it, and then she embraced it. She climbed, then, upon the pole. There her dance, on her knees, her belly and back, squirming and clutching, continued.

  I looked to Canka. He was a few yards away, astride his kaiila. He rode bareback. This is common in short rides about the village, or in going out to check kaiila. The prestige of the saddle, and its dressiness, is not required in local errands or short jaunts. Similarly, in such trips its inconvenience may be dispensed with. He watched Winyela dance. His dark eyes shone. He knew he was her master.

  Winyela now knelt on the pole and bent backwards, until her hair fell about the wood, and then she slipped her legs down about the pole and lay back on it, her hands holding to the pole behind her head. She reared helplessly on the pole, and writhed upon it, almost as though she might have been chained to it, and then, she turned about and lay on the pole, on her stomach, her thighs gripping it, her hands pushing her body up, and away from the pole, and then, suddenly, moving down about the trunk, bringing her head and shoulders down. Her red hair hung about the smooth, white wood. Her lips, again and again, pressed down upon it, in helpless kisses.

  "She is quite good, the slave," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said.

  "She has not been trained to do this, has she?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "Not to my knowledge," I said. It seemed to me rather unlikely that debutantes from high society would be trained to perform the supplication and passion dances of slave girls.

  "It is instinctual in a woman," said Cuwignaka.

  "I think so," I said. It seemed to me not unlikely, for many reasons, having to do with sexual selection, in particular, that such behaviors were, at least in broad outlines, genetically coded. Behaviors can be selected for, of course, and tendencies to behaviors, as well as such things as the color of hair and eyes. This is evident from the data of ethology. A woman's acquisition of the skills of erotic dance, incidentally, like those of a child's linguistic skills, follows an unusually sharp learning curve. This suggests that the rudiments of such dance, or the readiness for it, like the capacity, at least, for the rapid and efficient acquisition of language, is genetically coded. Sex, and human nature, may not be irrelevant to biology.

  "Superb," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said.

  Winyela, helplessly, piteously, danced her obeisance to the great pole, and, in this, to her masters, and to men.

  "Look," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said. "Yes!"

  I well understood, now, why free women could not be permitted to see such a dance. It was the dance of a slave. How horrified, how scandalized, they would have been. Better that they not even know such things could exist. Such dances, that such things could be, are doubtless best kept as the secrets of masters and slaves. Too, how furious, how outraged, they would be, to see how beautiful, how exciting and desirable another woman could be, a thousand times more beautiful, exciting and desirable than themselves, and one who was naught but a slave. But then how could any free woman compete with a slave, one who is truly mastered and owned?

  I watched Winyela dance.

  It was easy to see how free women could be almost insanely jealous of slaves, and how they could hate them so, so inordinately and deeply. Too, it was little wonder that slaves, helpless in their collars, so feared and dreaded free women.

  "The slave dances well," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said.

  In her dance, of course, Winyela was understood to be dancing not only her personal slavery, which she surely was, but, from the point of view of the Kaiila, in the symbolism of the dance, in the medicine of the dance, that the women of enemies were fit to be no more than the slaves of the Kaiila. I did not doubt but what the Fleer and the Yellow Knives, and other peoples, too, might have similar ceremonies, in which, in one way or another, a similar profession might take place, there being danced or enacted also by a woman of another group, perhaps even, in those cases, by a maiden of the Kaiila. I, myself, saw the symbolism of the dance, and, I think, so, too, did Winyela, in a pattern far deeper than that of an ethnocentric idiosyncrasy. I saw the symbolism as being in accord with what is certainly one of the deepest and most pervasive themes of organic nature, that of dominance and submission. In the dance, as I chose to understand it, Winyela danced the glory of life and the natural order; in it she danced her submission to the might of men and the fulfillment of her own femaleness; in it she danced her desire to be owned, to feel passion, to give of herself, unstintingly, to surrender herself, rejoicing, to service and love.

  "It is the Kaiila!" shouted the men.

  "It is the Kaiila!" shouted Cuwignaka.

  Winyela was dragged back, toward the bottom of the pole, on its tripods. There she was knelt down. The two men holding her neck tethers slipped the rawhide, between their fist and the girl's neck, under their feet, the man on her left under his right foot, and the man on her right under his left foot. But already Winyela, of her own accord, breathing deeply from the exertions of her dance, and trembling, had put her head to the dirt, humbly, before the pole. Then the tension on the two tethers was increased, the rawhide on her neck being drawn tight under the feet of her keepers. I do not think Winyela desired to raise her head. But now, of course, she could not have done so had she wished. It was held in place. I think this is the way she would have wanted it. This is what she would have chosen, to be owned, to serve, to be deprived of choice.

  The men about slapped their thighs and grunted their approval. The music stopped. The tethers were removed from Winyela's neck. She then, tentatively, lifted her head. It seemed now she was forgotten. Her garments and jewelry, rolled in a bundle, were tied in what would be the lower fork of the pole. Two other objects, on long thongs, which were wrapped about the higher fork, were placed in the higher fork. Later, when the pole was set in the enclosure of the dance, the thongs would be unwrapped and the two objects would hang beside the pole. Both were of leather. One was an image of a kailiauk. The other was an image of a man. The image of the man had an exaggerated phallus, thrust forth and nearly as long as an arm, of a sort common in primitive art. I was reminded by these things of the medicine of the pole, and of the great forthcoming dance, projected to take place about it. The medicine of the pole and dance had intimately to do, obviously, with such things as hunting, fertility and manhood. To the red savage the medicine world is very real.

  "You may get up," said Cuwignaka to Winyela. She was looking about herself, bewildered, apparently forgotten. She rose up and went to the side of Canka, astride his kaiila, her master. Men were lowering the medicine pole to the ground and breaking apart the tripods. Ropes had been put on the pole. Then, preceded by Cancega, with his medicine wand, uttering formulas, followed by his two seconds, with their rattles, th
e pole, pulled on its ropes, being drawn by several kaiila, was dragged toward the camp.

  "You were very beautiful, Winyela," said Canka.

  "Thank you, Master," she said.

  He put down his hand and drew her up, before him, both her legs to the left side, to the back of the Kaiila. He then held her in place, before him. He wore only his breechclout, moccasins and knife.

  "I am so dirty," she said. "Surely you will not want me to touch your body."

  But he held her to him, possessively. One arm was about her shoulders, the other beneath her thighs. She looked small in his arms, on the kaiila.

  "I am so ashamed," she said, "how I must have looked, how I acted."

  I remembered that she was from Earth, with its foolish, irrational negativistic conditionings, largely a heritage from the teachings of celibate lunatics. How pernicious can be the infected, poisonous heirlooms of madmen.

  "In your dance," said Canka, "you were not ashamed."

  "No," she said. "It was almost as though I were another. I was sensuous, brazen, bold and free."

  "Free?" asked Canka, smiling.

  "Surely Master knows that of all women it is only a total slave who can be truly free."

  Canka smiled. In one sense, of course, the slave has no freedom whatsoever. She has no rights, and is totally and absolutely owned. In another sense, of course, she is the most free of women.

  "I am not truly ashamed," said the girl.

  "I know," said Canka.

  "Rather, I am shamelessly proud and happy," she said.

  "Good," said Canka. "That is how it should be."

  "I am only a slave," she said.

  "That is true," said Canka.

  "It is your collar which is on my neck, Master," she said.

  "Yes," said Canka.

  "I am your slave," she said.

  "Yes," said Canka.

  "I love you, Master," she said. "Do you care for me, perhaps, just a little?"

  "Perhaps," said Canka.

  She nestled back, in his arms.

  "What are you going to do with me now, Master?" she asked.

  "I am going to take you to my lodge," said Canka. "There I will use you, many times."

  "Ho, Itancanka," she said. "Yes, Master."

  Canka then moved his heels back into the flanks of the kaiila and, guiding it with his knees, turned it back towards the village.

  4

  The Kaiila Will Go Forth for the Hunt

  "It is nearly time. Awaken!" said Cuwignaka, shaking my shoulder. "Soon we will be going out."

  I rolled over in the robes and opened my eyes. I could see the poles sloping together over my head, the encircling hides. The sky was still almost dark, visible through the smoke hole.

  "Hurry," said Cuwignaka.

  I thrust back the robes, and sat up. In the half darkness I saw Cuwignaka pull his dress over his head. He stood up, then, and straightened it on his body, and pulled down the hem. He had, a few days ago, torn away the sleeves. Prior to that, even on the field of battle, weeks ago, he had shortened it, and ripped it at the left thigh, to give himself greater freedom of movement. Males of the red savages, incidentally, commonly sleep naked. I, too, was naked, save that I wore Canka's collar. As a slave I was not permitted to remove it. It must stay on me. Collars are, of course, sometimes removed from slaves. This is often the case, for example, when they are sold or given away. Too, however, they may be removed at other times, for other purposes. It can be done, of course, solely on the decision, and will, of free persons. A given individual may, for example, for one reason or another, not want others to know that a given woman is his slave. Accordingly, she may wear her collar only in his lodge.

  This is analogous to the secret slaveries which sometimes exist on Earth, where a woman, returning home, kneels and waits to be collared. How startled would be the fellows in the office to discover that that trimly figured, luscious co-worker of theirs, to them seemingly so cool, aloof and inaccessible, is at home another man's slave. Too, how startled would be the women in certain neighborhoods, or in certain organizations and groups, to discover that one of their most popular neighbors, or prominent members, is, in the privacy of her own dwelling, a slave. Alerted by a code word in a seemingly innocent phone call, she prepares herself for her master. She bathes herself and combs herself. She makes herself up. She applies perfume. When he arrives home she is awaiting him, naked, kneeling, on the slave mat, at the foot of his bed, her collar before her. "Greetings, Master," she says. She then lifts the collar in her teeth, that he may put it on her.

  "Wakapapi," said Cuwignaka to me. This is the Kaiila word for pemmican. A soft cake of this substance was pressed into my hands. I crumbled it. In the winter, of course, such cakes can be frozen solid. One then breaks them into smaller pieces, warms them in one's hands and mouth, and eats them bit by bit. I lifted the crumbled pemmican to my mouth and ate of it. There are various ways in which pemmican may be prepared, depending primarily on what one adds into the mixture, in the way of herbs, seasonings and fruit. A common way of preparing it is as follows. Strips of kailiauk meat, thinly sliced and dried on poles in the sun, are pounded fine, almost to a powder. Crushed fruit, usually chokecherries, is then added to the meat. The whole, then, is mixed with, and fixed by, kailiauk fat, subsequently, usually, being divided into small, flattish, rounded cakes. The fruit sugars make this, in its way, a quick-energy food, while the meat, of course, supplies valuable, long-lasting stamina protein. This, like the dried meat, or jerky, from which it is made, can be eaten either raw or cooked. It is not uncommon for both to be carried in hunting or on war parties. Children will also carry it in their play. The thin slicing of the meat not only abets its preservation, effected by time, the wind and sun, but makes it impractical for flies to lay their eggs in it. Jerky and pemmican, which is usually eaten cooked in the villages, is generally boiled. In these days a trade pot or kettle is normally used. In the old days it was prepared by stone-boiling. In this technique a hole is used. This hole, dug either within the lodge or outside of it, is lined with hide and filled with water. Fire-heated stones would then be placed in the water, heating it, eventually, to boiling. As the stones cooled, of course, they would be removed from the hide pot and replaced with hot stones, the first stones meanwhile, if needed, being reheated.

  "I am going to check the kaiila," said Cuwignaka. "I am going to hitch up the travois."

  I nodded.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm. He had been crouching near me, in the half darkness, the white dress marking his position, partaking, too, of the pemmican.

  I smiled to myself. Both kaiila, one given to him by his brother, Canka, and the black kaiila, which had been mine, put at my disposal, with the permission of Canka, my master, by my friend, Grunt, the trader, were picketed but a few feet from the threshold of the lodge. Similarly the two travois, fashioned for the morning, were not more than feet away. Cuwignaka was eager.

  I sat on the robes, in the half darkness, eating of the pemmican, in Canka's collar.

  Outside I could hear the stirrings of the camp. I thought of various slaves I had owned, when I was free, wenches such as Constance, Arlene and Sandra, and Vella and Elicia. They were all hot and looked well in their collars. There was not one there whose lips and tongue, in eager, submissive obedience, a man would not have welcomed on his body. All now knew that on Gor they were naught, and could be naught, but slaves. Too I thought of another woman, olive-skinned, green-eyed, black-haired Talena, once, until disowned, the daughter of Marlenus, the Ubar of Ar. How proud she had been. How she had scorned me when she had thought me helpless! Anger, even in the lodge of Cuwignaka, suffused me. I wondered what she would look like, stripped, in close chains, lying on her side, terrified, at my feet. The common Gorean slave whip has five soft, broad strands. It punishes a woman, terribly. On the other hand it does not mark her. It does not, thus, lower her value.

  I sat on the robes, eating the crumbled cake of
pemmican. I thought of Talena. Once she had been owned by Rask of Treve. Doubtless he had taught her her slavery well. I thought I might teach it to her better. She lived now, free, but sequestered and dishonored, in the city of Ar, in the Central Cylinder itself, perhaps the most fortified, best-defended tower or keep in that huge city. It would be impossible, or almost so, to even think of extracting her from such a place. No, I must put it from my mind. I recalled her vanity, her arrogance and pride. In the Central Cylinder, if nowhere else, she was surely safe from the bracelets and nooses of marauding tarnsmen. No one, surely, could get at her there. There she was surely safe. I recalled her scorn, her contempt.

  One day, I thought, perhaps, I might try chain-luck in the city of Ar. It is said there are some good-looking women there. I wondered if a place for such a woman might be found in my own holding, say, in my kitchens. Too, of course, I could always give her, as a worthless trinket, one in which I was not personally interested, to one of the lowest and meanest of the taverners of Port Kar. This thought amused me. But I would have to choose the taverner and tavern well. The taverner must be harsh and exacting, petty, avaricious and uncompromising. And his place of business must be one of the worst in the city; it must be in the area of the lower canals; it must be stinking, dingy, squalid and cheap; and it must be busy, crowded often with boisterous ruffians, some just in from the sea, who are impatient with slaves. There, in such a place, let the proud Talena, once the daughter of a Ubar, wear the collar of her master. Let her there, stripped, or silked, as he might choose, serve and please his customers.

  I chewed the last of the pemmican. Too, I thought I would, before giving her to such a taverner, have her ears pierced. This would, in effect, guarantee that she would remain always only a slave on Gor. Gorean men find pierced ears, as do many men of Earth, stimulatory. To the Gorean such ear-piercing speaks blatantly of bondage. Penetration of a woman's flesh is publicly symbolized, in her very body; the wounds inflicted on her were intended and deliberate; and her body has now been prepared to bear, fastened in its very flesh, barbaric ornamentation. These things all speak to the Gorean of the female slave. In a woman who is truly free such things, of course, would be unthinkable. Many free women, knowing how such things are viewed by Gorean men, fear them more than the brand and collar. Slave girls, of course, once they have begun to learn their collars, and once they have begun to learn that they are truly slaves, and what it might mean, become very vain and proud over the piercing of their ears. They know that it makes them more attractive to men, and significantly so, and, too, they relish being able, with earrings, to make themselves even more beautiful and exciting. Slave girls tend to be very proud and happy in their sexuality. This type of pleasure, commonly denied to the free woman, is probably an additional reason why they tend to hate their helplessly embonded sisters.