Assassin of Gor by John Norman Page B
Authors: John Norman
Tags: Fiction, General, Erótica, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Epic, Fantasy Fiction; American, Gor (Imaginary Place), Outer Space, Slaves
Ads: Link
the joy of our meeting, that we, none of us, knew the whereabouts of Talena, once the companion, though she the daughter of a Ubar, of a simple Warrior of Ko-ro-ba.
I remember the days in Ko-ro-ba fondly, though there were certain problems.
Or perhaps one should say, simply, there was Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, besides speaking boldly out on a large number of delicate civic, social and political issues, usually not regarded as the province of the fairer sex, categorically refused to wear the cumbersome Robes of Concealment traditionally expected of the free woman. She still wore the brief, exciting leather of a Tuchuk wagon girl and, when striding the high bridges, her hair in the wind, she attracted much attention, not only, obviously, from the men, but from women, both slave and free.
Once a slave girl bumped into her on one of the bridges and struck at her, thinking she was only slave, but Elizabeth, with a swift blow of her small fist, downed the girl, and managed to seize one ankle and prevent her from tumbling from the bridge. "Slave!" cried the girl. At this point Elizabeth hit her again, almost knocking her once more from the bridge. Then, when they had their hands in one another's hair, kicking, the slave girl suddenly stopped, terrified, not seeing the gleaming, narrow band of steel locked on Elizabeth's throat. "Where is your collar?" she stammered.
"What collar?" asked Elizabeth, her fists clenched in the girl's hair.
"The collar," repeated the girl numbly.
"I'm free," said Elizabeth.
Suddenly the girl howled and fell to her knees before Elizabeth, kneeling trembling to the whip. "Forgive me, Mistress," she cried. "Forgive me!"
When one who is slave strikes a free person the penalty is not infrequently death by impalement, preceded by lengthy torture.
"Oh get up!" said Elizabeth irritably, jerking the poor girl to her feet.
They stood there looking at one another.
"After all," said Elizabeth, "why should it be only slave girls who are comfortable and can move freely?"
"Aren't you slave?" asked one the men nearby, a Warrior, looking closely.
Elizabeth slapped him rather hard and he staggered back. "No, I am not," she informed him.
He stood there rubbing his face, puzzled. A number of people had gathered about, among them several free women.
"If you are free," said one of them, "you should be ashamed of yourself, being seen on the bridges so clad."
"Well," said Elizabeth, "if you like walking around wrapped up in blankets, you are free to do so."
"Shameless!" cried the free girl.
"You probably have ugly legs," said Elizabeth.
"I do not!" retorted the girl.
"Don't choke on your veil," advised Elizabeth.
"I am really beautiful!" cried the free girl.
"I doubt it," said Elizabeth.
"I am!" she cried.
"Well then," said Elizabeth, "what are you ashamed of?" Then Elizabeth strode to her, and, to the girl's horror, on the of the public high bridges, face-stripped her. The girl screamed but no one came to her aid, and Elizabeth spun her about, peeling off layers of Robes of Concealment until, in a heavy pile of silk, brocade, satin and starched muslin the girl stood in a sleeveless, rather brief orange tunic, attractive, of a sort sometimes worn by free women in the privacy of their own quarters.
The girl stood there, wringing her hands and wailing. The slave girl had backed off, looking as though she might topple off the bridge in sheer terror.
Elizabeth regarded the free woman. "Well," she said, "you are rather beautiful, aren't you?"
The free woman stopped wailing. "Do you think so?" she asked.
"Twenty gold pieces, I'd say," appraised Elizabeth.
"I'd give twenty-three," said one of the men watching, the same fellow whom Elizabeth had slapped.
In fury the free woman turned about and slapped him again, it not being his day in Ko-ro-ba.
"What do you think?" asked Elizabeth
I remember the days in Ko-ro-ba fondly, though there were certain problems.
Or perhaps one should say, simply, there was Elizabeth.
Elizabeth, besides speaking boldly out on a large number of delicate civic, social and political issues, usually not regarded as the province of the fairer sex, categorically refused to wear the cumbersome Robes of Concealment traditionally expected of the free woman. She still wore the brief, exciting leather of a Tuchuk wagon girl and, when striding the high bridges, her hair in the wind, she attracted much attention, not only, obviously, from the men, but from women, both slave and free.
Once a slave girl bumped into her on one of the bridges and struck at her, thinking she was only slave, but Elizabeth, with a swift blow of her small fist, downed the girl, and managed to seize one ankle and prevent her from tumbling from the bridge. "Slave!" cried the girl. At this point Elizabeth hit her again, almost knocking her once more from the bridge. Then, when they had their hands in one another's hair, kicking, the slave girl suddenly stopped, terrified, not seeing the gleaming, narrow band of steel locked on Elizabeth's throat. "Where is your collar?" she stammered.
"What collar?" asked Elizabeth, her fists clenched in the girl's hair.
"The collar," repeated the girl numbly.
"I'm free," said Elizabeth.
Suddenly the girl howled and fell to her knees before Elizabeth, kneeling trembling to the whip. "Forgive me, Mistress," she cried. "Forgive me!"
When one who is slave strikes a free person the penalty is not infrequently death by impalement, preceded by lengthy torture.
"Oh get up!" said Elizabeth irritably, jerking the poor girl to her feet.
They stood there looking at one another.
"After all," said Elizabeth, "why should it be only slave girls who are comfortable and can move freely?"
"Aren't you slave?" asked one the men nearby, a Warrior, looking closely.
Elizabeth slapped him rather hard and he staggered back. "No, I am not," she informed him.
He stood there rubbing his face, puzzled. A number of people had gathered about, among them several free women.
"If you are free," said one of them, "you should be ashamed of yourself, being seen on the bridges so clad."
"Well," said Elizabeth, "if you like walking around wrapped up in blankets, you are free to do so."
"Shameless!" cried the free girl.
"You probably have ugly legs," said Elizabeth.
"I do not!" retorted the girl.
"Don't choke on your veil," advised Elizabeth.
"I am really beautiful!" cried the free girl.
"I doubt it," said Elizabeth.
"I am!" she cried.
"Well then," said Elizabeth, "what are you ashamed of?" Then Elizabeth strode to her, and, to the girl's horror, on the of the public high bridges, face-stripped her. The girl screamed but no one came to her aid, and Elizabeth spun her about, peeling off layers of Robes of Concealment until, in a heavy pile of silk, brocade, satin and starched muslin the girl stood in a sleeveless, rather brief orange tunic, attractive, of a sort sometimes worn by free women in the privacy of their own quarters.
The girl stood there, wringing her hands and wailing. The slave girl had backed off, looking as though she might topple off the bridge in sheer terror.
Elizabeth regarded the free woman. "Well," she said, "you are rather beautiful, aren't you?"
The free woman stopped wailing. "Do you think so?" she asked.
"Twenty gold pieces, I'd say," appraised Elizabeth.
"I'd give twenty-three," said one of the men watching, the same fellow whom Elizabeth had slapped.
In fury the free woman turned about and slapped him again, it not being his day in Ko-ro-ba.
"What do you think?" asked Elizabeth
Similar Books
