Read Online Magicians of Gor by John Norman - Free Book Online Page B

the light, into the darkness outside the circle. We
    heard a tearing of silk. There was much laughter.
    “He did not know what he owned!” laughed a man.
    “No!” agreed another.
    I guessed that the possession of such a wench might not, after all, even in my
    situation, have been too burdensome. After all, one could always have gotten a
    great deal of good out of her, and a great deal of work. On the other hand, she
    was no longer for sale.
    “I can do that, Master,” said Phoebe.
    “Nonsense,” said Marcus.
    “I can!” she said.
    Marcus and I watched the women in the circle. I think perhaps about two Ihn
    passed. Perhaps one might have wiped one’s nose, quickly, in the interval.
    “Well,” said Marcus, wearily, “it is getting late.”
    “It is still early, Master,” said Phoebe.
    “I think that I shall return to the tent,” said Marcus.
    “A good idea,” I said. “But I think, I shall dally a bit outside.”
    “Oh?” said Marcus, concerned, but, I think, not excessively disappointed.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Perhaps we will return to the tent now,” said Marcus to Phoebe.
    “As Master wishes,” she said, lightly. I thought she had carried that off rather
    well.
    “I thought you wished to return to the tent,” said Marcus.
    “I am a slave,” she said. “I must obey my master.”
    “Do you not want my touch?” asked Marcus.
    “I am a slave,” she said. “I must submit to the will of my master.”
    “I see,” said Marcus.
    Phoebe moved her lovely little head in the leash and collar, (pg. 48) and looked
    off into the distance. “I am at your disposal,” she said.
    “I am well aware of that,” said Marcus.
    “Yes, Master,” she said.
    Phoebe’s mistake, of course, was to look away. In this fashion she did not
    anticipate Marcus’ touch. Too, it was firm, uncompromising, and not soon
    released. “Ohh!” she cried.
    Marcus regarded her.
    She, eyes wide, looked at him, startled, reproachfully, unbelievingly. She was
    half bent over. The leash dangled down from her collar.
    She then began to tremble. Her small wrists pulled at the binding fiber,
    pinioning her hands behind her. Then, not even daring to move, she stood, partly
    bent from the waist, before him.
    “Please,” she whispered. “Please, my Master!”
    “Perhaps you can move interestingly on your knees?” he said.
    “Yes!” she said. “Anything! Anything!”
    “And on your back and stomach?” he asked.
    “Yes!” she said.
    “And your sides?” he asked.
    “Yes!” she said.
    “Perhaps you desire to do these things,” he said.
    “Yes!” she said. “Yes!”
    “Perhaps you will be bound,” he said.
    “Yes, Master!” she said. “Bind me!”
    It is common to bind slave girls.
    “Do you have any petitions, any supplications?” inquired Marcus.
    “Take me to the tent!” she begged. “Take me to the tent!”
    He regarded her.
    “I beg your touch, my Master!” she gasped.
    “Oh?” he said.
    “I beg it! I beg it, my Master,” she wept.
    “Slut of Cos!” snarled Marcus suddenly.
    “Your slave, only your slave, Master!” she wept.
    He then, angrily, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, her head to the
    rear. It is in this fashion that slaves are commonly carried. I saw her eyes for
    a moment, wild, but frightened, and grateful. Then he had sped with her from the
    place.
    “A hot little vulo,” said a man.
    “Quite so,” said a man.
    “She could light a fire,” said another.
    (pg. 49) “I wonder what he wants for her,” said another.
    “I do not think she if for sale,” I said.
    We then returned our attention to the dancing circle. New women entered it upon
    occasion, as others were withdrawn. There were now some ten to fifteen slaves in
    the circle. How beautiful women are!
    “How disgusting,” said a free woman, nearby. I had not noticed her standing
    there until now.
    “Begone, slut!” said a peasant.
    The free woman gasped, and hurried away. Peasants are not always tolerant