Free Plunder of Gor by John Norman Page B

supposed she was acceptable, but what could one see in her beyond that? She was far removed from the linear, svelte ideals presented to us by costumers and designers. Even I fell far short of such an ideal, though much could be done with clothing and carriage.
    â€œI am afraid,” I said.
    â€œAt least it is warm in the cell,” she said.
    She had opened her sweater.
    â€œAre you not afraid?” I asked.
    â€œA little,” she said.
    â€œI should hope so,” I said.
    â€œI am more excited, and thrilled, than afraid,” she said.
    â€œHow is that?” I asked, skeptically.
    â€œI know something of Gor,” she said, “from my reading.”
    â€œSurely we are in danger,” I said.
    â€œI do not think so,” she said. “We are in the hands of Goreans, or, more likely, men much like Goreans. Such men relish, celebrate, and desire women, so much so that they will possess them, will own and master them, will have them in the way of nature, uncompromisingly.”
    â€œI am afraid,” I said.
    â€œWe are in no danger,” she said, “if we are diligent, devoted, earnest, pleasing, and obedient.”
    â€œThat we should be so to men!” I cried, indignantly.
    â€œWe are theirs,” she said. “We are women.”
    â€œPaula!” I cried.
    â€œThey are men,” she said.
    â€œNot like the men we know!” I said.
    â€œNo,” she said, “not like the men we know, or knew. They are different. They will not be content with a smile, or a crumb. They will want, and will expect, and will have, everything from a woman, and the woman herself.”
    â€œA chain was spoken of,” I said, “a collar, a whip!”
    â€œWe are slaves,” she said. “Of course we must expect to be collared, as other beasts. We must expect to be suitably identified as what we are. We are not free women. And surely we must expect to know the shackles and chains which are our due as slaves. And we must expect to be branded.”
    â€œâ€˜Branded’,” I said.
    â€œCertainly,” she said, “we are beasts. A collar might be removed.”
    â€œThey spoke of a whip,” I said.
    â€œSurely,” she said. “As slaves we will be subject to the whip. And, Phyllis,” she said, “you may rest assured it will be used on your pretty skin if you are in the least bit displeasing.”
    â€œYou find that amusing?” I said.
    â€œKnowing you,” she said, “yes. But strive to be pleasing to your master. Slaves are seldom whipped. Occasionally they might be whipped just to remind them that they are slaves.”
    â€œI am still afraid,” I said.
    â€œYou are much safer than a free woman,” she said. “It could be death for a free woman to fall into the hands of an enemy, unsated, wild, hot with killing, thirsting for blood, carrying fire and sword into a village, town, or city. You are a beast. Understood loot. You would simply be roped or leashed, put in a coffle, herded into a pen, to change collars or chains.”
    Paula put back her head, and laughed.
    â€œWhy do you laugh?” I asked, annoyed.
    â€œI was thinking of the apartment,” she said, “and your threats, that you would hold a part of me over me, that you would threaten, if I were not cooperative, if I would not stay with you, to reveal my secret, that I longed for a master.”
    â€œI would not have done so,” I said.
    â€œNo,” she said, “you would have done so. It would be too juicy a tidbit of gossip to let languish. You could not have resisted the temptation, sooner or later, to shine before the others, to be the center of attention, as you so often were, they hanging on your words.”
    â€œNo,” I said, angrily.
    â€œBut,” she said, “I think your small revelation might have proved less appealing to others than you had anticipated. It is not unusual for a woman to long