"John Norman - Gor 26 - Witness Of Gor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norman John)

brown hair, and brown eyes. My hair was now long. It was now below the small of my back. This is not
untypical. Many of the others had hair even longer.

I looked, again, at the wail, so smooth and sheer It had a lovely pattern in its marbling, but this pattern,
through the glare of the sun, could not be seen to its advantage. I looked up, again, at the lofty,
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formidable height of the wall. The wall seemed very smooth. Surely no purchase could be gained there.
And the wall was very high. And there were the knives at its summit.

Behind me, in the interior of the garden, I could hear the soft splashing of the fountain. It was set among
the trees, and its spill fed into the pool.

I looked again at the wall.

I heard voices, coming from the house. As swiftly as I could, wincing, hurting myself on the stones, I
withdrew from the wall. It was my intention to circle about, through the shrubbery, and the tiny, lovely
trees of the garden, to the vicinity of the fountain.

TWO It is difficult to comprehend such realities.

I had screamed, of course, but I had had no assurance that I would be heard.

Indeed, I suspected that I would not be heard, or, if heard, that I would be merely ignored. I suspected,
immediately, that my own will, my own feelings, and desires, were no longer of importance, at least to
others. And even more profoundly, more frighteningly, I suddenly suspected that I myself, objectively,
had now become unimportant. I realized that I might have value, of course, in some sense or other, for I
found myself, and in a certain fashion, in this place, but this is not the same sort of thing as being
important. I was no longer important. That is a strange feeling. It is not, of course, and I want you to
understand this, that I had ever been important in any of the usual senses of "important" such as being
powerful, or rich, or wellknown.

That is not it at all. No, it was rather in another sense of "important" that I suspected or, I think, better,
realized, that I was no longer important. I had now become unimportant, rather as a flower is
unimportant, or a dog.

It is difficult to comprehend such realities, the darkness, the collar, the chains.

I had screamed, of course, but, almost immediately, I stopped, more fearing that I might be heard, than
not heard.

I crouched there, shuddering. I tried to collect my wits.

My neck hurt, for I had jerked, frightened, against the collar, turning it, abrasively, on my neck.

I do not think that I had realized fully, in the first instant, or so, though I must have been aware of it on
some level, that it was on me. Perhaps I had, in that first instant, refused to admit the recognition to my