"John Norman - Gor 12 - Beasts of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

"Bertram of Lydius has fled," cried Publius, the kitchen master.
I had thought this would be true.
I had looked into the blood, cupped in my hands. It is said that if one sees oneself black and
wasted in the blood, one will perish of disease; if one sees oneself torn and bloody, one will
perish in battle; if one sees oneself old and gray one will die in peace and leave children.
But the sleen did not speak to me.
I had looked into the blood, cupped in my hands, but had seen nothing, only the blood of a beast.
It did not choose to speak to me, or could not.
I rose to my feet.
I did not think I would again look into the blood of a sleen. I would look rather into the eyes of
men.


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I wiped the blood from my hands on my thighs.
I turned and looked at the naked girl on the furs, half tangled in her chain, it running about her
ankle and leg, looped, and lifting to the ring on the heavy collar. She shrank back, her hand
before her mouth.
"Bertram of Lydius approached a guardsman," said Publius, "who suspected nothing, Bertram of
Lydius being guest in the house. He struck him unconscious. With a rope and hook he descended the
delta wall."
"The tharlarion will have him," said a man.
"No," I said. "There would be a boat waiting."
"Ho cannot have gotten far," said Thurnock.
"There will be a tarn in the city," I said. "Do not pursue him."
I regarded the circle of men about. "Return to your rest," I said.
They moved from the room.
"The beast?" asked Clitus.
"Leave it," I said. "And leave me now."
Then I and the slave were alone. I closed the door. I slid shut the bolts, and turned to face her.
She looked very small and frightened, chained on my couch.
"So, my dear," I said, "you labor still in the service of Kurii."
"No, Master," she cried, "no!"
"Who tended my chamber afore this morning?' I asked.
"It was I, Master," she said. It is common to let the girl who is to spend the night at your feet
tend your chamber the preceding day. She scrubs and cleans it, and tidies it. It is not a full
day's work and she has hours in it in which she has little to do but wait for the master. She
readies herself. She plans. She anticipates. When the master arrives, and she kneels before him,
she is eager and anxious, vulnerable and stimulated, well ready both physically and
psychologically for the mastery to which she will have no choice but to be joyfully subjected.
Even the performance of small servile tasks, such as the polishing of his tarn boats, which she
must perform, plays its role in her preparation for the night. The performance of such small tasks
teaches her, incontrovertibly, in the depths of her beauty, that she truly belongs to him, and
that he is truly her master. She is then well ready when he gestures her to the furs to perform
for him exquisitely the most delicious and intimate of her assigned tasks, her most important
tasks, those of the helpless love slave.
"Kneel on the tiles," I told her.
She slipped from the couch and knelt on the tiles before me. She knelt in the blood of the sleen.