Hunters of Gor (19 page)

the forest itself. This is something which, perhaps surprisingly to the mind of

Earth, fills Goreans with great horror. It is not simply that there is great

danger to the slaver themselves, in the shiftings and blazings of such a

conflagration, but rather that the forest, the sheltering and beautiful forest,

is felt as being injured. Goreans care for their world. They love the sky, the

plains, the sea, the rain in the summer, the snow in the winter. They will

sometimes stand and watch clouds. The movement of grass in the wind is very

beautiful to them. More than one Gorean poet had sung of the leaf of a Tur tree.

I have known warriors who cared for the beauty of small flowers. I personally

would not care to be the man responsible for the destruction of a Gorean forest.

It is not unknown for them to be hunted down and burned alive, their ashes

scattered in expiation by mourning Goreans among the charred wood and blackened

stumps. Sometimes it takes, according to the Goreans, a generation for the

forest to forgive its injury, and return to men, gracious and forgiving, in all

its beauty.

“No”, I said, “we will not use fire.” A further consideration, of course, was

that we were now in the late summer, and the dangers of fire were maximized.

Arn and his men agreed.

One of the most delicate modes of enslavement, and requiring great skill, is to

enter the stockade of the panther girls under the cover of darkness and then,

one by one, hut by hut, following the sound of their breathing, to take them.

The slightest sound may of course, alert the entire band. One locates a sleeping

girl and then, swiftly, as she awakens squirming, forces a heavy wadding into

her mouth, fastening it in place with strips of cloth and leather. One must

then, swiftly, tie her hands behind her back and bind her ankles. One then

moves, stealthily, to the next girl. If all proceeds well, each girl, in the

light of dawn, looks about herself and sees that each of her comrades, too, is

gagged and bound as helplessly as she herself is. In the night they have been

taken slave. This procedure, however, calls for great delicacy and skill.

We had decided on a simpler mode of attack, that would utilize the first light

of day, taking the girls before they had fully awakened, or could realize what

was happening to them.

We would use sleen nets, casting them over more than one girl at a time, tieing

them together, making it impossible for them to utilize their weapons. We could

then stand over them with knives, preventing them from freeing themselves. At

our leisure, one by one, perhaps after having breakfast in their camp, we could

then remove them from the nets and chain them.

We circled the terrain of the camp with great care.

It is most important to swiftly, silently, dispose of any sentries.

But we found none in the encircling forest. We saw none within the palisade.

“They are not wise,” whispered Arn, “not to have left sentries.”

We crawled to the gate, and there, quietly, I studied the knot that held it, so,

if necessary, I could retie it. It was not a difficult know. It was not a

signature knot. Its purpose was only to hold the gate against the pushings and

shoulderings of animals.

I untied the knot and , one by one, we slipped within the palisade.

We unrolled the sleen nets and loosened the knives in our sheaths.

The ground was wet and damp from the dew. The forest was cool. I could make out

the shape of Arn’s head, near me, as he waited.

We heard the throaty warbling of a tiny horned gim.

Then we saw the first sparkle of the morning, the glistening of the dampness of

leaves and grass.

I could now, rather well, make out the features of Arn’s face. I nodded to him,

and the others. There were five huts, and ten of us. By twos, sleen nets slung

between us, we moved to the huts.

I nodded to Arn.

He gave a high whistle, shrill and sudden, and we, and the others, thrust

through the portals of the hut, casting the sleen nets to encompass whatever lie

within.

I gave a cry of rage.

We caught nothing.

In a moment other men came to our hut. “They are gone,” said one.

“The camp is empty,” said another.

We looked at one another.

Arn was furious.

“Reconnoiter,” I told two men, “and swiftly, and well.”

The men and Arn, looked at one another, apprehensively. They had only then

realized, with full awareness, that we ourselves were now penned within the

stockade, which might now serve as the same trap for us as it might have served

before for panther girls.

The two men swiftly went out to scan the surrounding forest.

I did not think that panther girls laid in wait outside, for we had made a

careful examination of the area before we had entered the stockade. Still, I did

not wish to take the chance that we might have missed them, or, even, that they

might have withdrawn before our examination of the area, intending to return

when we might be within the stockade. The most likely hypothesis was that they,

unaware of our presence in the vicinity, had, on business of their own, left the

stockade before dawn. They might have attacks, or hunts, of their own to attend

to. Perhaps they had learned of the advance of the girls of Hura toward their

territory and had gone out to make reconnaissance, or oppose them. Perhaps they

were lying in ambush, pasangs away, for a party of Hura or Marlenus, or for

other reasons, had decided to abandon their camp?

I looked about. No, there was too much left. And there was no indication of

hurried flight.

I saw spears about, and bundles of arrows.

Panther girls would not have left them. They would return.

One of the two men I had sent out to reconnoiter reentered the hut. “There is no

sign of panther girls,” he said.

Arn and his men breathed with relief.

“They will return,” I said.

“What shall we do now?” asked Arn.

“Do not yet roll the sleen nets,” I smiled.

He looked at us.

“Let us sit down and take council,” I suggested.

Two men posted as sentries in the forest, we sat down in one of the huts.

“They will probably return before dark,” said Arn.

“Perhaps sooner,” said one of his men.

“We do not know what direction they will come,” said another.

“We do not know,” said Arn, “that they will return to this place.”

The men grunted in agreement.

One of the men, glancing about the hut, said, “Ka-la-ma!” He pointed to a side

of the hut.

He went to them and looked at them, lifting them. They were in dark bottles. He

turned them about. “From the vineyards of Ar,” he whistled. It was choice

Ka-la-na.

“The panther girls were fortunate in their spoils,” said one of my men, to me.

“Put them down,” I said. Reluctantly the man did so.

“Shall we return at dawn tomorrow?” asked one of my men, to me.

“Perhaps,” I said. I did not care, however, to lose the time. I did not know how

long it would take for Hura, and he band, to reach our area of the forests.

Besides, what if Verna and her band returned tonight, and then, again, departed

before dawn tomorrow?

“I have a better suggestion,” said Arn.

“You wish to remain in the camp,” I said, “concealed, and surprise them upon

their return.”

“Yes,” said Arn.

Several of the men looked at one another with pleasure. That would be delicious

sport.

We would await them, with nets, in their own camp. Then, when they had tied shut

the gate behind them, we would leap forth and take them, within their own

stockade.

“That is a splendid plan!” said one of Arn’s me.

The other nodded their agreement.

They looked at me. I did not wish to lose the time for another, perhaps futile,

dawn attack. Further, we did not know from whence the panther girls might

return. This would make it difficult to ambush them deeper in the forest. And

one might, in such an attempt, outside the stockade, lose several of the girls.

They would not expect to be ambushed in their own camp. They would not be on

their guard. They would be, by their own walls, unable to escape, entrapped.

I nodded. “We shall wait in the camp,” I said.

“Good!” said Arn.

The man, one of Arn’s, who had seen the Ka-la-na by the wall, crawled over to

it. He pulled the bottles into his lap, and began to work at the cork of one of

them.

I looked at Arn.

“Do not become drunk,” said Arn to the man.

“I shall not,” he said. With his sleen knife he had pried the cork up a bit from

the bottle. He then, slowly, with his fingers and teeth, managed to withdraw the

cork.

“Later,” I said.

He looked at Arn, and Arn nodded. The man, irritably, thrust back the cork in

the bottle.

“What if they do not return today?” asked a man.

I shrugged. “Then they do not return today,” I said.

“They will return by nightfall,” said Arn.

It was now late in the afternoon. We had eaten some foods we had brought with

us, in our pouches, and, too, taken some food, bread and dried meat, which we

had found in the huts.

I glanced out of the hut, at the sun.

The day was long. The day was hot.

I returned to the hut, and sat down.

Arn was chewing on a piece of dry Sa-Tarna bread. He washed it down with a

swallow from his flask, filled earlier at the nearby stream. We had changed he

guard twice in the forest.

“Panther girls,” said one of Arn’s men, “commonly return to their camp near

dusk.”

“That will be more than two Ahn,” grumbled another man.

“It is time to change the guard again,” said one of my men. He, and one of his

fellows, rose to their feet.

“I”, said Arn, grimacing, “have not, for more than a year, tasted Ka-la-na from

Ar.”

“Nor I,” said one of his men.

It was indeed choice Ka-la-na. My mind, more than once, had wandered to it.

“Captain,” said one of my men.

“Very well,” I said. The panther girls, in all probability, would not return for

another Ahn or two.

The fellow who had removed the cork from the bottle was first to it, and again,

withdrew the cork.

He threw it to his lips and threw back his head.

I took the bottle from him.

“That is enough,” I said.

“It is good!” he said.

“We shall open only this bottle,” I said. “The others we may enjoy later.”

They would not become drunk. One bottle of Ka-la-na among ten men is nothing.

Ka-la-na is not paga or the strong beer of the north.

I did not, on the other hand, want the entire stock of Ka-la-na emptied.

Our project must not be jeopardized.

The two men, men of mine, who were going forth to relieve the guard, had their

swallows from the bottle. They had left. Arn, then took the bottle and drank

from it, his head back, swiftly.

“Enough,” I said.

The men, his and mine, passed the bottle about. In a short time the two men who

had been relieved of guard duty in the forest re-entered the hut. They, too, had

their Ka-la-na. There was little left.

“Captain,” said one of my men, handing me the bottle.

I put back my head and finished it. It was bitter, the dregs. Bit it had in it

the warmth and flash of the fine Ka-la-na. The vineyards of Ar, as those of Cos,

were among the finest on all Gor.

I went again to the entrance to the hut, and once more looked out.

The sun was lower, but it was still bright and warm. Heat, soft and still, hung

among the branches and leaves.

It was more than an Ahn until dusk.

I turned to re-enter the hut. At the threshold I stumbled. My hand clutched the

jamb.

“We are fools!” I cried.

Arn looked up at me, blinking. The man who had opened the bottle of Ka-la-na, he

who had first drunk, and most deeply, lay at one side of the hut, his knees

drawn up to his stomach. “Get him!” I said, “and run! Run!”

The men stumbled to their feet, unsteadily. Two of them tried to lift the man

who was lying at the side of the hut. “I can’t see!” screamed one of the men.

Arn climbed to his feet, and then fell to his hands and knees, his head down.

“Run!” I screamed to them. “Run!”

We fled, stumbling, falling, from the hut. To one side, behind me and to the

left, I saw a net, swift and white, heavily corded, weighted, drop over a man. I

heard the shouts of panther girls.

Holding Arn, stumbling, by the arm, I ran toward the gate.

Trying to clear my vision, I felt, suddenly, the sharp job of one spear, and

then another. I reeled unsteadily. I shook my head. There was blood at my chest

and stomach. “Back!” I heard. “Back!” at the gate there were four panther girls,

thrusting with spears, held in their two hands, prodding us back. Arn fell to

his knees. I lifted him, and turned back toward the hut. I fell once, and then

struggled again to my feet. Half-carrying Arn I regained the darkness of the

hut. I groped for my bow. I shook my head. I must not lose consciousness. Arn

fell to his hands and knees, dazed. I found a black temwood arrow, a sheaf

arrow, and fitted it unsteadily to the string of the great bow, the yellow bow,

from the wine trees of Gor. I could find no target. I was breathing heavily,