One such city is Corcyrus. Witness of Gor. Ar, defeated, shamed, and systematically looted, is occupied by Cosian forces. Perhaps Marlenus of Ar alone, the great ubar, could remind the men of their Home Stone and its meaning. But it is thought that he perished in the Voltai. Then he swiftly loosened the belt at his waist.
He slipped it free from the sheath and dagger, and doubled it. He struck it once in the palm of his hand. I could not see him. I lay before him, turned away from him, on the grass. Then I heard it whistle through the air. I cried out with pain. Again and again, viciously, he struck me.
Once he stopped. Again he struck, and again and again. I writhed before him, lashed, squirming on my belly in the grass, weeping,' clutching at the grass. In the pain I could scarcely comprehend it. I was being beaten! Did he not know I was a girl! I lay with my head down. I shuddered with each blow. I would do anything if he would stop!
But I did not know what he wanted! Then he stopped, angrily. I did not even lift my head, but lay, weeping, my hands still over my head, the chain running between my legs, and under my body, to the collar. I heard him replace the sheath and dagger on his belt, and put on the belt. I heard him lift the shoulder belt and regard himself with the blade. I did not look up, but lay weeping, chained, trembling. I would do anything he wanted, anything.
I rose to my hands and knees. I felt the chain on my collar. Again I was prodded with the butt of his spear. Red-eyed, my cheeks and body stained with tears, in pain, my back and sides, and legs, stinging, I adjusted the chain and knelt again as I had originally. There was blood at my mouth. Little had changed. I knelt precisely as I had before. Little had changed, save that I had been struck and beaten. The two men conferred.
Then, to my horror, the bearded one approached me. He crouched before me. He took from his dagger sheath the steel blade, narrow, about seven inches long, double-edged, evenly sharpened. He held this up before my face. He did not speak. The other man crouched down behind me. With his left hand, fastened in my hair, he drew my head back; with his right hand he thrust up, high on my neck, under my chin, the heavy iron collar I wore. My jugular vein was, held as I was, prominent and, beneath the clasping, circular iron, prominent and exposed.
I gathered that I was of no use to these men. I felt the delicate, razor-sharp edge of the dagger on my throat. I would have done anything. I would have told them anything, done anything, but I knew nothing.
I could not give them what information they desired. Keep me! Keep me for yourselves! Keep me as your captive, your prisoner! Keep me as anything you want! Am I not beautiful? Could I not serve you? Could I not please you? I am willing even to be. I am willing even to be your slave. Your slave! Do not kill me! I will be your slave! Let me be your slave! I beg to be your slave! I shook with the horror, the scandal, the wickedness, of what I had said. But then, boldly, desperately, determinedly, resolutely, repudiating nothing, I whispered, clearly and firmly, my head back, held back, his hand in my hair, "Do not kill me, please.
Yes, I will be even your slave. Yes, I, Judy Thornton, will be your slave. I, Judy Thornton, beg to be your slave. Please, let me be a slave! I moaned with misery. I did not know but they, rich and powerful masters, had access to many women as beautiful, or more beautiful, than I.
On Earth I had been noted as a beauty, an unusual, even ravishingly beautiful girl, but on Gor, as I would come to understand, I, and others like me, could be acquired and disposed of for a handful of copper tarsks.
There was little special about us. In many houses we would be kept with the kettles, as scullery and kitchen girls.
I had been the most beautiful girl in the junior class at my elite girls' college. In all the school, there had been only one more lovely than I, or so some said, the lovely Elicia Nevina, who was in anthropology, in the senior class. How I had hated her. What rivals we had been! I felt the edge of the dagger anchor itself in the outer layer of skin on my throat, preparing for its slash.
I felt the man's hand and arm, through the steel of the dagger, flex for the movement of his arm. My throat was to be cut. But the blade paused. It withdrew from my throat. Ebook Free Pdf Romance by the Book. Ebook Free Pdf Technical Communication. Ebook Free Pdf Ten on the Sled. What It Means. What It Means for You. And His Descendants Classic Reprint. Free Download Lord Emsworth and Others.
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