Gor 26 - Witness Of Gor by John Norman

Author:John Norman [Norman, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thrillers, Fantasy, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9780759283824
Google: 8jqVO1vJEEsC
Amazon: 0759283826
Publisher: e-reads.com
Published: 2007-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Beneath it the lineaments of my features might be subtly discerned. The girl who was to be introduced into his apartments was not a free woman, but a meticulously adorned, exquisitely veiled slave.

I could see him within, reclining on a divan.

“Welcome, my dear,” he called, and, with a gesture, invited me within.

The two slave girls closed the doors behind me, and slipped away. I was not followed into the room by the guards. I would suppose that they turned about, and returned to their duties, perhaps by the outer doors, those at the end of the hall.

Before the divan, but a bit to the right, as I faced it, was a low table, on which there were beverages and fruits, and tiny bowls and plates, filled with an assortment of viands. I felt momentarily giddy with the smell of the roasted meats, the breads and pastry.

We were not wholly alone in the room together for, to my right, back, near the divan, but not so close to it as the table, sitting on cushions, crosslegged. were three musicians.

I approached the figure on the divan, which wore lounging robes, and knelt before him, my head down.

“Kneel with your knees closed,” he said, kindly. This seemed fitting, as I was dressed.

I closed my knees. I kept my head down.

He must have given some signal to the musicians, for they began to play, softly, in the background.

“You may serve,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I then began, in the manners of this world, as I had learned them in the pens, to serve, deferentially selfeffacingly, proffering drink and food, sensitive to, and obedient to, his least inclination, his least word or glance. How different these things were from the provender of the pens, of the pits! There was no gruel here, no dried mush, no pellets.

And I had not been fed since morning. I hated the silken veil then, despite its beauty, for it sealed my lips from food. I would have preferred, I assure you, primitivisms more typical of this world, such as the barbaric banquets of soldiers and guards, in which we must serve naked.

There, at least, we might kneel and whimper, begging food. There, at least, we might hope, at least if we were found sufficiently pleasing, to be fed by hand or thrown scraps. But here I was ravening, and I dared not speak.

He dropped a tiny bone, sucked free of meat, onto a small, golden plate.

“You serve well, Earth woman.” he said.

I handed him, at his gesture, a glistening napkin and he touched it to his lips.

I felt almost faint with hunger.

But these men, of course, do not spoil their slaves.

At his indication I held forth the tiny golden finger bowl, and he dipped his fingers within it, and then dried them on the napkin.

I replaced the finger bowl and the napkin on the small table. I then knelt before him.

The music was very soft, unobtrusive, in the background. The melodies of this world tend to be barbarically sensuous.

I sensed his eyes upon me, but did not look up.

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