Fighting Slave of Gor (coc-1) by John Norman

Author:John Norman [Norman, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy
Published: 1980-03-19T05:00:00+00:00

14 A MISTRESS EXPRESSES CURIOSITY AS TO THE TOUCH OF MEN; A MISTRESS COMMANDS HER SILK SLAVE TO TAKE HER IN HIS ARMS

"Is that you, Jason?" she asked, not turning to look.

"Yes, Mistress," I said. She knew that it was I. She stood on the wide balcony, with its low balustrade, outside her chamber. I stood within the chamber. We were within her house in the resort city of Venna, noted for its baths and tharlarion races. It was early evening.

She turned, and entered the chamber. I knelt, in silk.

"Am I pretty?" she asked. She turned before me, the gown of sheer, scarlet silk, almost diaphanous, like slave silk, swirling about her.

"Yes, Mistress," I said. She was indeed pretty, even beautiful. She was some five feet five inches in height and sweetly figured. Her face was rounded, rather oval. Her eyes were blue; her hair, which was long, and now unbound, was auburn.

"You are even beautiful, Mistress," I said.

"How obsequious are silk slaves," she laughed, but was pleased.

"It is true, Mistress." I said. It was true.

"Do you like the gown?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"I thought you might like it," she said. "I purchased it at the shop of Philebus, in Ar."

I thought that might be true. I had not seen it before.

"Do you think it is too much like-like slave silk?" she asked.

"I do not know, Mistress," I said.

She laughed.

We had been in Venna now for five days. Two of these days I had spent in close chains, being punished for my behavior in Ar. I was still somewhat sore. This was the first night, since our return to Venna, that she had commanded me to her chamber. My relationship with the mistress, interestingly, was now somewhat different than it had been before our trip to Ar. Though she had professed distress at my actions and had subjected me to appropriate discipline, I sensed that she was not entirely displeased with me. She was rather proud, I think, though she would not have admitted this, to be the mistress of a possibly unruly slave. That I had been a bit forward and rowdy, I think, had pleased her. She did not fear me, personally, of course, for I was her slave. Once, after our return to Venna, I had heard her discussing me with some of her women friends. "Are you not afraid to own such a slave?" asked one. She had laughed. "I keep him on his knees," she had said. Another time, in the halls, she had passed me while I was polishing a large, brass vase. Two slave girls, too, owned by my mistress, barefoot, in collars and tunics, had been in the vicinity, chatting, balancing wicker laundry baskets on their heads. "Better keep the slave girls away from this one," she had said to a nearby keeper, indicating me. They had laughed. It had been a joke, of course. To so much as touch one of the mistress' slave girls without her permission could be punishable by death.

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