Captive of Gor Read Free Page A

foot of the bed turned and left the room, going
    to the living room to join the others.
    I struggled fiercely.
    My ankles had been bound together with light, silken cords. My wrists had also
    been bound together, but behind my back. a loop of the silken cord had been
    fastened about my neck, and by it I was bound to the head of the bed.
    I could see myself in the mirror. The strange mark, drawn in lipstick, was still
    on the mirror’s surface.
    I tried to scream again, but I could not. My eyes, I could see in the mirror,
    were wild over the gag.
    I continued to struggle, but after some moments, hearing men returning to the
    room, stopped. Through the open door, I saw the backs of two men, in police
    uniforms. I could not see their faces. The two men with masks re-entered the
    room.
    (pg. 13) They looked upon me.
    I wanted to plead with them, but I could make no sound.
    I drew up my legs and turned to my side, to cover myself as well as I might.
    One of the men touched me.
    The other uttered a brief sound, abrupt. The other man turned away. The sound
    had been a word, doubtless of negation. I did not know the language.
    The men had not ransacked the penthouse. The paintings remained on the walls,
    the oriental rugs on the floors. Nothing was touched.
    I saw the man who had turned away, who seemed to be a subordinate, remove what
    appeared to be a fountain pen from a leather holder in his pocket. He unscrewed
    it, and I was startled. It was a syringe.
    I shook my head wildly, no!
    He entered the needle on my right side, in the back between my waist and hip.
    It was painful. I felt no ill effects.
    I watched him replace the syringe in its holder, and the holder in his inside
    jacket pocket.
    The larger man looked at his watch. He spoke this time in English to the smaller
    man, he who had had the syringe. The larger man spoke with a definite accent,
    but I could not place the accent.
    “We will return after midnight,” he said, “It will be easier then. We can reach
    point P in five hours with less traffic. And I have other business to attend to
    this evening.
    “All right,” said the smaller man. “We’ll be ready then.” There had not been the
    slightest trace of an accent in the smaller man’s response. I had no doubt that
    his native tongue was English. He perhaps had difficulty following the natural
    speech of the other. But when the other had spoken to him, curtly, in the
    strange tongue, he had obeyed, and promptly. I gathered he feared the larger
    man.
    The room began to grow a bit dark at the edges.
    The larger man came behind me and felt the pulse of one of my bound wrists.
    (pg. 14) Then he released me.
    The room seemed to grow darker, and warmer. I tried to keep my eyes open.
    The larger man left the room. The smaller lingered. He went to the night table
    and took one of my cigarettes and with one of my tiny, fine matches, imported
    from Paris, lit it.
    He threw the match into the ash tray. He touched me again, this time intimately,
    but I could not cry out. I began to lose consciousness. He blew smoke into my
    eyes and noes, leaning over me. I struggled weakly against the bonds, fighting
    to stay conscious.
    I heard the larger man’s voice, from the doorway it seem, but it seemed, too,
    from far away.
    The smaller man hurriedly left my side.
    The larger man entered the room, and I turned my head weakly to regard him. I
    saw the two men in the uniforms of police leaving the penthouse, followed by the
    smaller man, who, as he left the house, was drawing the mask from his head. I
    did not see his face.
    The larger man was looking down at me. I looked up at him, weakly, almost
    unconscious.
    He spoke to me matter-of-factly. “We will return after midnight,” he told me.
    I struggled weakly to speak, fighting the gag, the drug. I only wanted to sleep.
    “You would like to know,” he asked, “what will happen to you then?”
    I nodded.
    “Curiosity,” he said, “is not becoming in a Kajira.”
    I did not