Dancer of Gor

"I shall be forever grateful to him for that," I said. "Had it not been for him, I would have been killed."

"Beware of him," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why do you think he saved your life?" she asked.

"For caring for me," I said.

"No," she said.

"Then for pity," I said.

"No," she said.

"For desire?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"I do not understand," I said.

"He did not want the others to kill you," she said.

"Of course not," I said.

"He is Gorean," she said. "I do not know if you truly understand such men. Too, he has a long memory. Too, where you are concerned, he is not himself. Where you are concerned I think he is half crazy."

"I do not understand," I whispered.

"Stay away from him," she said.

"I would not try to take him from you," I said.

"He is a determined, intelligent man," she said. "He is biding his time." "Do not fear," I said.

"I speak to you for your own sake," she said, "not mine."

"He did not let them kill me," I said.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"I do," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"It is his intention to kill you himself," she said.

"Surely you are mistaken," I whispered.

"Did he accept water from you?" she asked.

"No," I said. "He poured it out, on the ground."

"Did you not see that he would not even look upon you as you danced?" she asked. "Did you not note that he, of all of them, did not put you to use?" "Why?" I asked.

"He did not wish to risk being softened, or mollified."

I looked at her, frightened.

"That is why he did not want others to kill you," she said, "because it is his intention to do so himself."

I nearly collapsed in the sand.

"But his is in chains," she said. "I do not think you really have anything to fear. Just do not fall into his hands."

I nodded, shuddering.

"I do not really understand what you have done to him," she said, "how you have changed him so. He is very different from Brundisium."

"Yes," I said, "if what you say is true."

"I loved him in Brundisium," she said, "but I did not know how much I moved him until we were separated."

"We are slaves," I said. "We can be bought and sold, and taken, and done with, as masters please. Our disposition need not be in accord with our own wills. Our desires, our feelings, matter not."

"Then I found he was on the black chain," she said. "How pained I was to discover his fate! Yes, too, how my heart leapt to know him near! He was so close, and yet so far! I love him so. Yet I can do little but bring him water. I cannot so much as kiss his feet without the permission of a guard. If I were to put myself within his grasp, he might be whipped, or slain. Too, I now find him to my sorrow other than he was. He is now a bitter man, one so driven with the desire for vengeance, his thirst for the blood of the girl who betrayed him, that he has little time to consider another, one who would gladly die for him." I regarded her.

"Yes," she said. "He is my love master."

"Does he know that?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"When the guard is not looking," I said, "you must tell him. Throw yourself on your belly before him, where we belong before such men. Lick and kiss his feet, with tears in your eyes. Confess that you have acknowledged him in your heart as your love master. He can do little more than kick you from his feet." Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Do so," I urged.

"No," she whispered. "He is now in chains. He cannot now own me. He is not now free. It is not as though he could take me in his arms, if he were so inclined, and claim me by his rape. He is a prisoner of the black chain. He might even think it a trick of the guards. Perhaps in rage he would break my neck with his foot. Perhaps he would understand the whole matter as no more than some deliberate insult or mockery."

"I would do so, if I were you," I said.

"You are not Gorean," she said.

"I would risk all, for a love master," I said.

"You are crying," she said.

"No," I said. "No."

"You have a love master!" she said.

"No," I said. "No! No!" I had recalled Teibar, who long ago, had brought me into bondage. I had never forgotten him.

"How piteous we are, so helpless, only slaves!" wept Tupita.

"Would you be other than you are?" I asked.

She looked at me, startled. "No," she said. "And you?"

"No," I said.

"It is getting dark," said Tupita, smiling through her tears. "We do not wish to miss our gruel."

But I stood quietly on the ridge, looking down into the trough. I was barefoot. There were shackles on my ankles. They were joined by chain, the chain half submerged in the sand. There were manacles on my wrists, hammered shut about them. These, too, were joined with chain. I wore a parted work tunic. I carried a metal cup on a string about my neck, and the water bag, on its strap, over my shoulder. It was half full. I could feel the water move in it, shifting, and shaping itself to my back. I looked up into the sky, and saw the three Gorean moons.

"You are a very beautiful, and desirable, slave, Tuka," said Tupita. I did not respond.