Smugglers of Gor

Smugglers of Gor - By John Norman


Chapter One



How helpless one is, when one is tied!

His foot turned me over. I was then on my back.

“A half tarsk,” he said.

I did not understand what he meant.

I had been warned that I was not to speak.

Such as I, I gathered, must be given permission before we might speak.

I did not wish to be whipped, as had the other girl, who had dared to speak. She was now quiet, absolutely so. No longer did she dare to speak.

It was hard to conjecture what the whip might feel like, on my bare body. All of us had been stripped. I gathered that such as we might be kept in such a fashion. We had been laid side by side, in four lines. There were three aisles amongst us. It was as though we were not persons, but tethered animals. We were all females. As we lay there, the size of males, and their strength, and how different we were from them, impressed me as I think it hadn’t before.

Too, the males about were standing, or walking about.

We were at their feet, literally.

I did not understand how they were dressed. They wore some sort of tunics. Their feet were shod in sandal-like boots, open somewhat, but with leather straps about the leg. Some wore headbands. Two carried whips.

I did not understand what was going on. I did know that I, as the others, were naked, and bound, hand and foot.

A fellow was moving amongst us, from one to the other. He carried a coiled whip. He would crouch down, hold the whip to one’s lips, and say, “Kiss it, and say ‘La kajira’.”

He was then close to me. I was on my back. I pulled at the bonds, futilely. Then he was beside me, and the heavy, snakelike coil of the whip was held before me. “Kiss it,” he said, “and say ‘La Kajira’.”

I lifted my head a little, and kissed the whip. “La Kajira,” I said. I did not know what it meant.

“The capsules are ready,” called a fellow.

I did not understand that either.

A second fellow was following the first, and he, in a moment, was beside me. I caught sight of a large, thick square of soft, damp, folded, white cloth. One hand was placed behind the back of my head, holding me in place, and the other hand held the cloth, firmly, over my nose and mouth. I struggled a little, but was helpless. The cloth was damp. There was an unusual odor. I did not recognize the odor. It was pungent. It was irresistible. I looked up, and saw the ceiling of the large building, like a warehouse, and the lights, not now on. The light was dim. I tried to move my face beneath the thick folds of cloth, but they were held firmly over my nose and mouth. I squirmed. I tried to struggle. My wrists were crossed and tied behind my back; my ankles were crossed, and lashed together. I tried to pull against the bonds, but was helpless. Things began to go black. There was only the odor. I lost consciousness.