Captive of Gor Read Free

as I reached the wardrobe there was a heavy, firm knocking on the door.
    I turned, grasping the knife.
    The knocking was repeated, more insistently.
    “Open the door,” commanded a voice. “This is the police.”
    I almost fainted with relief. I ran toward the door, still holding the knife.
    At the door I stopped, clutching the knife, terrified.
    I had not called the police. In the penthouse it was not likely anyone had heard
    me scream. I had not tried to signal anyone when I had found the phones had been
    destroyed. I had only wanted to escape.
    Whoever was on the other side of that door could not be the police.
    The knocking repeated again.
    My head swam.
    Then the knocking became even louder. “Open the door!” I heard. “Open the door.
    This is the police!”
    I controlled myself. “Just a moment,” I called, as calmly as I could. “I’ll open
    the door in a moment. I’m dressing.”
    The knocking stopped.
    (pg. 10) “All right,” said a voice. ”Hurry.”
    “Yes,” I called sweetly, sweating. “Just a moment!”
    I ran into the bedroom and looked wildly about. I seized some sheets from a
    linen closet, feverishly knotting them together. I ran to the terrace. I felt
    sick, looking over the ledge. But some fifteen feet below me was a small
    terrace, one of hundreds projecting from the sides of the building. It opened
    into the apartment below me. In the sun, the air stinging my eyes, particles of
    soot and ash falling on me, I knotted one end of the rope of sheets securely
    about a small iron railing that surmounted a waist-high wall around the patio
    and terrace. The other end fell well down to the small terrace below. Had I not
    been terrified I would never have had the courage to do what I intended.
    The knocking had now began again on the door. I could sense the impatience in
    the sound.
    I ran back into the bedroom to seize something to wear but as I entered the room
    I heard a man’s shoulder strike at the heavy door.
    I had seen on the patio that I could not carry the knife down the rope of sheets
    with me, for I would have to use both hands. Perhaps I should have held it
    between my teeth but, in my panic, I did not think of it. I was in the bedroom
    when I heard the door begin to splinter in, away from the hinges and the lock.
    Wildly I thrust the knife beneath the pillow on my bed and ran back to the
    patio. Not looking down, terrified, I seized the rope of sheets and, scarcely
    breathing, sick to my stomach, hand over hand, began to lower myself. I had
    disappeared over the ledge when I heard the door splinter fully away and heard
    men enter the apartment. As soon as I reached the terrace below, only a few feet
    away, I would be safe. I could attract the attention of the individuals in the
    apartment below or, if necessary, with a chair, or implement, or whatever might
    be found, break through the glass of their apartment.
    Above me from within the penthouse, I heard an angry cry.
    I could hear noises from the street, far below. I did not dare look down.
    (pg. 11) Then my feet touched the tiles of the terrace below.
    I was safe!
    Something soft, folded and white slipped over my head, before my eyes. It was
    shoved deeply into my mouth. Another folded piece of cloth passed over my head.
    It was knotted tightly behind the back of my neck.
    I tried to cry out but could not do so.
    “We have her,” I heard a voice say.
    3       Silken Cords
    (pg. 12) I stirred uneasily, shaking my head. It was a bad dream. “No, no,” I
    murmured, twisting, wanting to awaken. “No, no.”
    It seemed as though I could not move as I wished. I did not like it. I was
    displeased. Angry.
    Then, suddenly, I was awake. I screamed, but there was no sound.
    I tried to sit upright, but I nearly strangled, and fell back. I struggled
    wildly.
    “She’s awake,” said a voice.
    Two men, masked, stood at the foot of the bed, facing me. I heard two others
    speaking in the living room.
    The two men who had been at the