Prize of Gor by John Norman Page A

chemicals. The bread might have been an hour from the oven. She had been given only water to drink, but it had seemed to her water such as might have gushed forth from secret woodland springs in classic groves or might in remote days have been dipped by kilted herdsmen from rushing mountain streams.
    “Are you still aware of the difference in the gravity?” he asked.
    “No longer,” she said. “I was aware of it at first. Now I am no longer aware of it.”
    “Good,” he said, rising from the chair.
    “When am I to be returned to Earth?” she asked.
    “What were the first words you were taught to say on this world?” he asked.
    “‘La kajira’,” she said. “But I was not told what they meant.”
    “Say them, clearly,” he said.
    “La kajira,” she said. “What do they mean?”
    “This is the last time I will visit you in these quarters,” he said. “Your treatment will begin within the hour. Hereafter, as your treatment progresses, it is you who will be brought before me.”
    “That seems rather arrogant,” she said.
    “Not arrogant,” he said, “— fitting.”
    “What is the nature of this treatment?” she inquired.
    “You will learn,” he said.
    “What is its purpose?” she asked.
    “You will learn,” he said.
    “How long does the treatment take?” she asked.
    “It varies,” he said. “But it will take several days. Such things take time. Indeed, much of the time, while the changes take place, you will be unconscious. It is best that way. I have decided, in your case, incidentally, that we will think of the treatment as consisting of four major phases, and each will be clearly demarcated for you, for your edification and my amusement. To be sure, the division is somewhat arbitrary.”
    “I think you are mad!” she said.
    “Let us hope the treatment goes well,” he said. “Sometimes it does not.”
    She shuddered.
    “Look into the mirror, deeply, and well,” he said.
    She regarded her image in the mirror.
    “It may be the last time you see yourself,” he said.
    “I do not understand,” she said.
    “It is not necessary that you do,” he said.
    “Please stay! Do not leave!” she begged.
    She watched him in the mirror.
    He went to the door, and called to the man outside. The door opened. When he took his leave, another man entered, one she had not seen before, who wore a green robe. He carried a small case, as of implements.
    She turned to face him, frightened.
    “Injection position,” he said.
     
     

Chapter 6
    SHE IS PRESENTED BEFORE THE YOUNG MAN,
    FOLLOWING THE FIRST PHASE OF HER TRANSFORMATION
     
    “The female,” said the man, indicating that she should stand within the yellow circle, on the marble floor, in the lofty room, before the curule chair.
    Light fell upon her, from a high window.
    The young man, in a robe, she had never seen him before in such garb, leaned forward in the curule chair.
    Then he leaned back, continuing to regard her.
    She was angry.
    The curule chair was the only furniture in the room, and it was on a dais. There was no place for her to sit.
    He had not, as he had warned her earlier, come to see her, but, rather, it was she who was brought to him.
    She had recalled awakening, some days ago, slowly, groggily, on some hard, narrow, tablelike surface. But she had scarcely had time to orient herself, to understand where she was, to understand the white walls, the shelves of instruments and vials, before a dark, heavy, efficient leather hood was thrust over her head, pulled down, fully, and buckled shut, beneath her chin. She then, within the hood, was in utter discomfiting, confusing, helpless darkness. She was then drawn from the tablelike platform, apparently by two men, placed on her feet, and, between them, taken from the room, each grasping an arm. She surmised she was being hurried down a corridor. Abruptly the men halted her, and turned her, rudely, to her right. The hood was then unbuckled, and, as it was jerked away, she was