Plunder of Gor Read Online Free PDF

opaque,” she said.
    â€œWhat does it feel like?” I asked.
    â€œI am not sure,” she said.
    â€œA key?” I said.
    â€œI am not sure,” she said.
    â€œI lost a key,” I said.
    â€œIt might be a key,” she said.
    â€œâ€”to the lock on my suitcase,” I said.
    â€œIt’s not a flat key,” she said.
    â€œPlease open the envelope,” I said.
    A minute or two later, Paula spoke again. “It is a key,” she said. “I do not think it is a suitcase key.”
    â€œBring it to my apartment, please, and hurry!” I begged.
    â€œAre you all right?” Paula asked, again.
    â€œYes, yes!” I said. “Please hurry.” I gave her my address.
    â€œWhy should someone give it to me, if it is yours?” asked Paula.
    â€œJust bring it!” I pleaded.
    â€œYou are not all right,” said Paula. “Something is wrong.”
    â€œBring it,” I said. “I will tell you all I know. I must speak to someone. I am afraid. I do not know what is going on!”
    â€œTell me, tell me, please,” said Paula.
    â€œYou must tell no one,” I said.
    â€œYou are afraid,” said Paula.
    â€œHurry,” I said. “I understand little of this, but I will tell you what I can.”
    â€œShould I call a doctor, an ambulance?” asked Paula, frightened.
    â€œNo, just hurry!” I said.

Chapter Two
    â€œI fear,” said Paula, “it is not all nonsense.”
    â€œIt must be!” I demanded.
    â€œThose are not nonsense,” said Paula, pointing to the opened handcuffs lying on the kitchen counter.
    We were sitting about the kitchen table.
    â€œYou believe me?” I asked, plaintively.
    â€œMany would not,” said Paula, “but I do.”
    â€œBut surely you do not believe all this about another world, another planet, one secretly in our own system, shielded by the sun, concealed by gravitational adjustments, an Antichthon, a Counter-Earth?”
    â€œIt is hard to know what to believe,” said Paula. “But the claims of a Counter-Earth have been familiar for millennia. There are difficult-to-explain signals, and many sightings, perhaps of ships harboring in unknown ports, not those of Terra, not those of Earth.”
    â€œSuch things are mythical,” I said.
    â€œPerhaps,” said Paula. “But who knows from what seeds myths might first have sprung? Perhaps the smoke of legend hints at the fire of distant, forgotten fact. Data is real. It may be diversely understood.”
    I had recounted to Paula, who had almost immediately freed me of the homely devices in which I was so helpless, the incident in the office, and the talk of slaves, of “pot girls,” of “kettle-and-mat girls,” and such. I had not, of course, recounted to Paula that I had been so characterized by the surly, uncouth ruffian I had encountered in the office. She had listened intently, even breathlessly, her eyes shining. “It may be so,” she had whispered. “How lovely, how meaningful, how glorious!” she whispered. “How fearful, how frightful, how horrifying!” I had exclaimed. “No, no,” she had whispered. I had then recounted to her the incident on the beach, the rude conversation, the photographing, it done without my permission, I unwilling to be photographed, the speculation as to measurements, the use of the word ‘kajira’. “Are you sure of the word?” she inquired, eagerly. “Yes,” I said, “they mistook me for someone else. I told them my name was not ‘Kajira’ but ‘Phyllis’.”
    â€œOh, dear Phyllis,” she said, “how I envy you! You may be amongst the kajirae and, as yet, know nothing of it.”
    â€œI told them my name was ‘Phyllis’,” I said.
    â€œWhy do you think you were put in handcuffs?” she asked.
    â€œI do not know,” I said.
    â€œPerhaps to