After the Bighorn Chapter 21

 

After The Bighorn Chapter Twenty-One

Narrative of Patrick Masters.

Franz Rupprecht was the Chancellor of the Grand Duchy of Lutha. I had met him at the beginning of the summer here on the Fricks’ Lazy F ranch. At the time of our meeting, he had informed me that the Grand Duke was not considering any consulates. But policy changes when the ruler changes; and the ancient willful Grand Duke had been replaced by a youthful Grand Duchess, his great-granddaughter. Rightfully she took her lead and direction from the wise older men surrounding her. I had no doubt it was he who had offered me the position as honorary Consul of the Grand Duchy in San Francisco. Such a position would make my property of Drysdale House a consulate where Luthan law applied.

Lutha had never got around to abolishing slavery, particularly female slavery, and as such I could fully legally own my beloved Juli. The Frick ranch had been such a consulate for over a hundred years, which gave the Fricks the ability to operate their Gorean acquisitions under the cover of the law. I didn’t care so much about that: I just wanted legal title to Juli. I am a lawyer, it is very important to me that things be legal and aboveboard. When I was a Luthan consul, my title to Juli would be absolute.

Franz Rupprecht led me to the comfortable chairs in front of the great two story stone fireplace in the main room of the Frick ranch. Gathered there were Woodrow Frick, a young man who had recently returned from Gor, his uncle Wilson, brother of the recently murdered Willard Frick. I introduced Gerry Reiss to the group.

“Gentlemen, this is my friend Gerald Reice, he is a lawyer, he is running the San Francisco end of our defense of Frick Steel against the patent troll Vincent VanRijn. Gerry, this is Count Franz Rupprecht, the Chancellor of the Grand Duchy of Lutha, Mr Wilson Frick of the Lazy F, and Woodrow Frick, his nephew, with whom you have spoken to by telephone.”

There were handshakes all around. We seated ourselves in the comfortable leather armchairs in front of the massive fireplace. At the clap of Wilson Frick’s hands three collared women, in very short cotton tunics, which exposed a great deal of bosom and thigh appeared. They carried silver trays, one tray of glasses, one tray of an assortment of cut glass decanters, and one containing a bucket of ice, a pitcher of water, and some tongs.

They knelt before us, legs widespread. I recognized one, a girl named Bronwyn, originally from Wales with a delightful musical accent; she had the responsibility of carrying the tray with the decanters and had led the three collared girls into the room. The trays were placed on a low table. Wilson Frick took our orders which were filled by the girls.  The Count had brandy, the Fricks and I had bourbon, Gerry had scotch. His eyes grew wide, as one of the girls knelt before him, holding his glass in her hands. She filled it in one graceful movement, inquiring if he wanted any water. I saw Wilson give a nod of approval when Gerry declined water. The girl continued her graceful movements, lifting the heavy cut glass tumbler with both hands, then placing it between her breasts which where much on display; the delicately raising it to her lips and lightly, deferentially kissing it. Then head lowered, she extended the glass towards Gerry, still holding it with both hands, the other side of the lip towards him.

Gerry took the glass. My friend has very good manners. I saw he was about to thank the girl, as he would an server, but in this case, such would leave a bad impression. He caught my barely imperceptible shake of the head and refrained. Gerry was a highly observant and intelligent man.

After the rest of us had been served, conversation turned general, with the girls returning to serve bits of food, meats and cheeses. During a conversation about rebuilding ranch structures such as the horse barn and the meeting hall which had been destroyed in the raids earlier in the summer, Count Rupprecht, touched me on the arm and we walked over to a window, out of earshot of the others, if we spoke softly.

“I have brought your commission as consul with me,” the Count began. “It was not supposed to be official until the fall, but I had to make an unexpected trip to my friends the Fricks anyway, so I brought it with me.”

“I am very grateful, sir. It will allow me to fulfill my desire to fully own and brand Juli, who I believe you met earlier this summer.”

“Juli, formerly Juliet, yes I remember her. Chinese-American, if I recall, and very shapely. You haven’t branded her yet?”

“I wanted to wait until it was entirely and irrefutably legal.”

“How punctilious you are; our friends the Fricks are not as observant of your countries laws;”

“They are covered and governed as well by Gorean law, your excellency; I am not. I have no allegiance to a Gorean Home Stone.”

“Yes, I see that that makes a difference. It is good to deal with men who understand such things and are bound by honor.”  He waved me to a small table. An aide appeared with a leather legal folder.

The Count took something from the case. He slid it towards me across the table. I unfolded the thick rich paper. It was an illuminated document, with a magnificent coat of arms at the top.

“Your commission. In a second, we will have Woodrow Frick and your friend over to witness your acceptance. But there is one thing I must make clear. This commission as consul comes with certain obligations. To look after any travelling subjects of the Grand Duchy travelling in your area, to make sure nothing sullies the name of the Grand Duchy, and lastly to supply for shipping to Lutha, three female slaves each year.”

I did not show my shock on my face. I am far too experienced a lawyer for that. I had not, somehow, considered that I would be expected to become an acquirer of slaves for others. I had just expected to have Juli, and perhaps a couple of others for variety and as something to offer guests. But to be actively acquiring women for the collar to pass on had not occurred to me. Foolish not to have considered, I know, and that is not usually one of my weaknesses. I had been so occupied with the patent case and with making my possession of Juli one hundred percent legal that I had ignored the obvious. And likely the Fricks would want their pounds of flesh as well. I guess I will have to have some parties at Drysdale House to acquire some women for the collar. I had asked Juli to keep an eye out for women who might suit, but that was just to add a couple for domestic use. Now I was to become an exporter!

I let none of this show, and answered the Count, “Absolutely, that is most agreeable.”

Woodrow Frick came over to join us. The aide had already discreetly faded away before the Count and I had started discussing shipping collared slave meat to Lutha.

“When will you brand Juli, I know you have been wanting to do that since the spring.”

“As soon as I can return to San Francisco and have a special brand made. With my initial P for Patrick. It will be special for Juli; any others can have the common kef.”

“For the girls destined to Lutha, we use a simple crown brand; I will send you a few”, interjected the Count.

I nodded.

Woodrow grinned. “No need to wait to mark the delectable Juli. I knew about your monogram when you inscribed her thigh with ink. I ordered a couple of brands with your monogram from our supply company in Pittsburgh a few weeks ago. You can brand her tonight.”

“That is great news, Woodrow, thank you so much.”

“We also have the two slaves who tried to escape from Pittsburgh, Seventeen and Nineteen, they need to be marked as well. You can brand them first, for practice.”

“No thank you Woodrow. I promised myself that Juli would be the first girl I place a brand on. I will not make a mistake. I will mark her, then your other straying beasts.”

From the look on Woodrow’s face, I had made the right decision. They would not respect a man who needed practice as much as one who just got on with the job. However amiable these people, I must never forget that in my desire to own Juli, I had become enmeshed with some very dangerous people. Gor was not a tame planet, like Earth.

From the Narrative of Slave Nineteen, formerly Janey Anstruther of the University of Michigan.

It is one of the curses of being short that when people are ordered by height, you always end up bringing up the rear. In this line of naked girls being led across the prairie from that strange Greek Temple place where we had been displayed, I was of course put last. Last to be picked for sports, overlooked in class, I had found I needed to be assertive. But being assertive is not a quality that is allowed in slaves, and I was a girl in a collar. Our line was led by a Master Hawkins, a cruel bitter man, who pulled us along at a fast pace. The pace was fine for the first girl in the queue, a tall Chinese American girl who had said her name was Juli. Great skin, fine breast, lovely thighs; I notice things about other women more now I am enslaved.

Of course, women are always in competition with other women for male attention, even when we deny that we are. It is just that as a slave whether you eat and how much, your entire life really, revolves around what a man thinks of your body. As a free woman you can also compete on clothes, on intelligence, on conversation; but as a slave, with very little in the way of clothing, it is mainly on the body and how one moves. It is very basic and elemental.

I could see I was not quite on a par with Juli, with her long, toned legs, but I was sure I was better looking, hotter, than my friend Seventeen, and of the other slave, Jade. The Gorean girl Keilieka, who somehow seemed to glide with such grace, I was sure I could equal once I had more training. After all, hadn’t I heard Jimmy Klein, the boyfriend of my deputy at the Michigan New Feminist, Amanda Sloan, say that I was too beautiful to be free? I had overheard that and hadn’t understood that at the time. I was sorrowed that I could not warn Amanda about her boyfriend. I was sure he was one of the three who had recommended me for acquisition to Gor. I hope she does not share my fate.

We hurried on, our bare feet raising dust as we walked, five women, collared, with chains connecting our collars towards a big building on a slight rise. We were led by a cruel man. How demanding men are of girls in collars! We do not receive the deference which women on Earth are used to receiving. These men are such cruel beasts to a poor collared girl.

The cruel man led us past a huge log house, actually a mansion, a place of two and half stories. But that was not our destination. We stopped at a small structure beside a corral in which some horses were confined. We arrived just in time to hear some chilling works.

“Of course, slaves are usually branded down by the female holding pens, but we can do it as well up here in the farrier’s shop.”

I knew a farrier was a kind of blacksmith, who tended mostly to horses and horseshoes. I bet Jimmy Klein does not know that. It was approaching dusk, I could see the hot coals of fire. Suddenly I was very afraid of what was to come next.

The front of the little farrier’s shop was open, the two large barn doors that formed the front wall were open. Inside I saw a group of men. Since I was kidnapped and collared I have learned to fear men. When the line of chained girls was led into the shop I saw two men I recognized: the cowboy looking man who had been present at my processing. He looked more at home here than in Pittsburgh. I also recognized the lawyer looking man whom I had pleasured with my mouth in the garden and had then captured Seventeen and I when we had escaped, He had been cruel then, I could look for no mercy from him. Hawkins removed the two slaves Jade and Keilieka from our coffle. They knelt against one of the side walls out of the way. The other three of us he pulled into the centre of the shed, under a kerosine lamp.

Besides Master Hawkins there were four men, the lawyer, the cowboy and two others. One of the others looked like someone used to power and obedience: you can just tell by the way they carry themselves. The other looked like the lawyer who had used and recaptured me.

The lawyer, the one I knew walked up to Juli and kissed her hard. Watching I understood the term ‘raped her lips’ that Keilieka had used in my training.

He spoke to her.

“I have received my commission as consul, it is now legal for me to brand you.”

Juli looked scared. She squared her shoulders. She knelt in front of him.

“I understand Master. I am ready. I will be your slave always.”

I thought her very foolish. This was something I did not want to observe: a women being marked like an animal, branded like a beast with a red hot iron.

The cowboy poked at the charcoal fire. There were wooden handled rods heating in the coals.

“The irons are almost ready. Time to secure Juli to the branding rack.”

Hawkins and the Lawyer led Juli to a metal contraption against the other side wall, the one opposite where Keilieka and Jade knelt. I glanced at them. They were pale, even the mocha colored Jade. This is going to worse than I feared, I thought.

Juli was backed against the upright metal rack. Her hands were secured above her head. A leather belt was cinched around her waist securing her tightly to the contraption.

“Left thigh?”, the Cowboy asked.

“Yes, you can see the faint marks where she temporarily marked with the indelible ink. It wore off, this mark will not.” The Lawyer’s face was grim.

Curved pieces of metal which fit the front and back of Juli’s left thigh were secured in place. Now the could not move her thigh in any direction. I was almost sick to my stomach. I held Seventeen’s hand.

The Cowboy spoke, “In Ar and Koroba, and other places we use the iron clamps to hold the leg. In some other cities, carved wooden blocks are used. Trakker, the slave theoretician believes that iron or steel is better. The metal is the same material as the rod that will mark her; symbolically it is more uniform. Besides iron is a male material.”

Juli took a deep breath, she looked deadly afraid. The Lawyer took a piece of cold coal, he marked a horizontal line on Juli’s thigh, then two vertical marks.

“Why are you making those marks?” The Cowboy sounded puzzled.

“I have felt Juli’s thigh many times. I know exactly where I want the mark to be.”

The Cowboy nodded, “Very precise of you. I knew a man on Gor whom you would like very much. He is a member of the Slaver’s Caste named Scipio Metellus. A hard working and painstaking man.”

The Cowboy picked up a can of something. He was putting it on the site where the brand was to go.

“A little bit of oil. For the same reason you use oil in cooking. On a pan, it makes for better contact between the pan and food, and helps the food release. Here it will help conduct the heat from the iron onto her thigh, and help the iron release.”

I would have fallen sideways had not Seventeen supported me. I think we held each other up. This was such a terrible thing to watch.

The Lawyer looked at the two irons in the fire. He picked one up and advanced towards poor Juli. I wanted to but could not look away.

He stopped for an instant, the iron just above her skin, then having lined up the glowing piece of metal he pushed it firmly into her flesh.

“One, two, three.”

He counted slowly, then removed the iron. Juli was screaming from shock and pain. There was a smell of burned meat. It was terrible.

The Cowboy spoke. “Shock will shut down some of her pain in a bit. I will place some of this healing salve on the site, then cover it with a bandage so she does not pick at it. Her hands should be restrained for the next three days.”

Almost tenderly, the Lawyer removed Juli from the rack. He picked her up and laid her down in some straw beside the instrument of torture. At last, this ordeal was done and we could leave this place of horror.

The Cowboy asked, “which one do you want next?”

Oh my God, he means Seventeen and me, we are going to have the same done to us! I never thought it would come so soon; the day we were marked.

The Lawyer pointed to Seventeen. I was never so glad to be picked last for something in my life.

“We’ll take her first. The rack will have to adjusted afterward for Shorty there. The common Kef, I presume?”

Seventeen fought them as she was pulled towards the rack. But the men were too strong for her. Watching her be marked was even worse than watching Juli’s branding. I knew Seventeen. And I knew I would be next.

“Well, Shorty.” The Lawyer addressed me as Seventeen was laid, crying, in the straw beside Juli. I could not rid myself of the smell of burned flesh.

“What about the Dina, the slave flower for the short one?” asked the Lawyer and the Cowboy agreed. And that is about the last thing I remember about my own branding. I have mostly blocked it from my mind. I remember screaming though, and pain.

But worse was to come.

The kef brand of Seventeen.

The Dina (the slave flower) brand of Nineteen.