"John Norman - Gor 22 - Dancer of Gor " - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

possibly be the complement in nature to these overwhelming,
undeniable, persistent things within me, which had so distressed and
troubled me, which now so obsessed me, which caused me such
anguish, these irresistible calls and cries within me, the agonizing
needs I felt, and I shuddered. I looked in the mirror. How brazen she
was to see herself in such a garment! I wondered how she might
look, so clad, or perhaps in less, to a man. Suddenly she seemed
small, and beautiful, and so vulnerable, and inutterably desirable. I
sensed then what might be the nature of the complement in nature to
my needs, what might be their flower, their sea, their carnivore, and
I stood there terrified, sensing the imperiousness of that
complement, its power, its uncompromising ferocity, what it might
be to be its object, and knowing that if it existed it would have its
way and be absolutely served.
How pleased I was, then, that surely no such complement could
exist, that I was safe. I had nothing to fear.
I continued to look at the girl in the mirror. She was exquisite, I
thought. She is beautiful, I thought, standing there in the brief silk,
in the candlelight, so softly revealed. I had not realized she was so
beautiful. I had never seen her before, it seemed, thusly, I had not
guessed how marvelous she might be. Yes, it is fortunate that men
such as those in my dreams do not exist. I thought, for what then,
beauty, would be your fate at their hands? I considered what I might
look like, with a chain on my neck. Such men, I thought, would take
few chances of losing you, Doreen. Doubtless you would be kept in
superb custody, if even the least sort of escape were remotely
conceivable. I wonder if you would learn quickly to serve them
well, according to their tiniest caprices. Yes, I thought, I would
learn quickly and well. It would not be pleasant to feel their whips. I
wept then, again, wondering if perhaps I had not been born
elsewhere, perhaps time and time again, in other times, if I had not
lived in Egypt or Sumer, or Chaldea, in rocky Hellas, or verdant
Sybaris or bustling Miletus, if I had not been kept in the great palace
in Persepolis, if I might not have seen Alexander, kneeling to him as
a Persian slave, if I might not, a barbarian girl, have entered Rome
in chains, herded before the chariot of a general, gracing with others
his triumph, if I might not, as a Moslem girl, have served Crusaders
in some remote fortress, or, as a Christian slave, found myself
shamelessly exhibited and sold in an Arab market, thence to be
taught to dance for masters.
Then I put such thoughts from my head. I did not think the



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explanation for my needs, the mysterious things within me, which
were so different from what I had been taught, could be so complex,
or simple, as racial memories, or the memories of individuals whom
I might have been in other places and times. They were rather, I
suspected, though I could not know, a simple heritage of my sex,