Hunters of Gor (21 page)

“I see,” I said.

“She performed them well,” said Verna.

“Of course,” I said.

“If she had not,” said Verna, “she would have been beaten.”

“Of course,” I said.

I lay on my back and looked up at the stars.

“So now,” asked Verna, “how excellent a match do you think Talena would be?”

Talena was now nothing.

“Do you still hold her?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Verna, “do you wish her brought forth to look upon you?”

“No,” I said.

I was silent.

“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.

“She is now without much value,” said Verna. “We will take her to an exchange

point and sell her.”

I did not speak.

“Probably to one of Tyros, as a pleasure slave,” said Verna. “Tyros is an enemy

of Ar of long standing. Doubtless in Tyros there will be several who would not

be displeased to have in their pleasure gardens one who was once the daughter of

Marlenus of Ar.”

What Verna had said was undoubtedly true.

“It would be my recommendation,” said Verna, “that you put her from your mind.”

I felt the point of her dagger at the side of my neck.

“You may take my word for it,” said Verna. “Talena is no longer deserving of

your consideration.”

I was silent.

“She is only a slave girl,” said Verna. “She is only a slave girl.”

“You have taught her slavery,” I said.

“Yes,” smiled Verna, “in the forests we have well taught her the meaning of

slavery.”

I put my head to one side.

“But, too,” laughed Verna, “I do not think you would longer find her much

enjoyable.”

I looked at her.

“We have also taught her,” smiled Verna, “as only panther girls can, the

despicability of men.”

“I see,” I said.

“She now despises men,” said Verna, “and yet she knows, too, that it will be her

fate to serve them.”

“Her experiences,” said Verna, “will be exquisitely humiliating. Do you not

think so?”

“You are cruel,” I said.

I again felt the knife blade at my throat. “There are those who rule,” said

Verna, “and those who serve.” She replaced the knife in her sheath and stood up.

She looked up. The moons were now over the trees. She looked down upon me, in

her gold and brief skins. “Long ago,” she said, “I determined that it would be I

who would rule.” She laughed, and thrust her foot against the side of my waist.

“And it will be such as you,” she smiled, “who will serve.”

I tore helplessly at the thongs.

She stood over me. She looked down upon me.

“Why were you not in your camp at dawn?” I asked. “How did you know of our

presence in the forest.”

“You mean,” asked Verna, “why am I not at your feet, bound naked between the

stakes, as you are at mine, your slave?”

“Yes,” I said.

“You concealed your movements well,” she said. “You are skilled. I respect you

skill.”

“How did you know of us?” I asked.

We were following an enemy panther girl,” she said, “one less skilled then

yourself, of the band of Hura, who would take my land from me.” She smiled. “We

would have slain her. It was her good fortune that you took her slave.” She

laughed. “We saw you pin her to the tree, and bracelet her. You are skilled with

the bow.”

“You then followed me?” I asked.

“We lost you shortly,” she said. “You are skilled. And we were wary of the bow.

But we knew that, sooner or later, you would fine our camp, and you, and others

doubtless with you, would attack.”

“I found your camp that night,” I said. “Did you know?”

She smiled. “No,” she said. “But we surmised that you would find it either that

night, or the next, or the next.” She fingered the hilt of the sleen knife. “And

so we arranged not to be within our camp at dawn, but to leave for you in our

absence a gift of wine.”

“You were most thoughtful,” I said.

“What was the name of the girl you took in the forest?” asked Verna.

“Grenna,” I said.

Verna nodded. “I have heard of her,” she said. “She stands high in the band of

Hura.”

I said nothing.

“What did you do with her?” asked Verna.

“I sent her back to my ship,” I said, “to be enslaved.”

“Excellent,” said Verna. She looked down at me, and laughed. “Any panther girl,”

she said, “who falls to men deserves the collar.” She fingered the hilt of the

knife. “There is a saying among panther girls,” she said, “that any girl who

permits herself to fall to men desires in her heart to be their slave.”

“I have heard,” I said, “that panther girls, once conquered, make splendid

slaves.”

Verna kicked me suddenly, viscously, in the side. “Silence, Slave!” she cried.

“The moons are risen,” said Mira, standing behind her.

I recalled the uncontrollable movements of Sheera’s body, its wild helplessness,

the ecstatic prisoner of its slave reflexes.

“It is said,” I said, “that in the band of Hura there are more than a hundred

women.”

Verna smiled. “We shall pick them off,” she said, “one by one, and then, when

they flee, we shall again follow them, and drop them one by one. When they turn

in the forest and throw down their arms, the last of them, we shall put them in

chains and sell them to men.” There was bitterness in Verna’s face. “I would see

Hura, and her high girls,” she said, “sold as slaves to men.” She looked at me,

and laughed. “Grenna,” she said, “is already slave. It is an excellent start.”

“You hate them so?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“What is to be done with me and my men?” I asked.

“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”

I was silent.

She smiled. “You might be beaten for it,” she said.

I did not speak.

One does not inform slaves of the plans of masters. Slaves are deliberately kept

uninformed, and ignorant. It increases their dependence, their helplessness.

They do no know whence they may be herded, or what they may be forced to do.

Leave them alone, it is said, with their ignorance and their fears. It is enough

for the master to know what is to be done with them.

In time the slave will learn. That will be soon enough.

Verna then, without speaking further, turned and left me. Some of the panther

girls, at the edge of the clearing, with their spears, stood restlessly,

watching me. I looked up, and saw the bright moons, now beyond the foliage of

the Tur trees. The stars were beautiful in the black sky. My wrists and ankles

pulled at the thongs that bound them. I could not move. I was helpless.

I laughed bitterly.

How brave and noble I had been to enter the forests, to rescue the beautiful

Talena, daughter of Marlenus of Ar.

How grateful she would have been, the loving, high-born beauty, in my arms, when

I had brought her glorious and safe from shameful bondage, her former captors

now stripped and at our feet in the chains of slaves. Perhaps, if it had pleased

me, I would have given her Verna, as her personal serving slave, a souvenir of

her ordeal in the forest and the glorious triumph which culminated that ordeal.

How beautiful she would have looked as we had, arms interlocked, drunk the wines

of a renewed, repledged companionship.

How splendid she would have looked at my side, my beautiful consort in P Port

Kar. Together, in our curule chairs, raised above those of others, we might in

the house of Bosk have held court.

With my wealth and power we might have been as Ubar and Ubara.

The jewels and robes which I would have given her would have been the finest in

Port Kar, the finest in all Gor.

But now it did not seem that she would stand beside me among falling flowers on

the bow of the Tesephone, on some great holiday declared in Port Kar, as we

returned in triumph to that city, making our way through its flower-strewn

canals, beneath the windows and rooftops of cheering throngs.

She was now only a slave, no more than Sheera, or Grenna, or any other.

She, while slave, could not even stand in companionship. She, even if freed,

without family, and, by the same act, without caste, would have a status beneath

the dignity of the meanest peasant wench, secure in the rights of her caste.

Even if freed, Talena would be among the lowest women on Gor. Even a slave girl

has at least a collar.

I stared up at the sky, the stars. Again I laughed bitterly. How foolish had

been my dreams.

The glory that was to have been Marlenus’ would have been mine.

I might then, when it had pleased me, have had official word sent to Ar, that

his daughter now sat safe at my side, my consort, the consort of Bosk, Admiral

of Port Kar, jewel of gleaming Thassa.

We would have made a splendid couple. The companionship would have been an

excellent one, a superb one.

Talena was a rich and powerful woman, high born and influential.

It would have been an excellent match.

Who knew how high might have been raised the chair of Bosk?

Perhaps there might even, in time, have been a Ubar in Port Kar, sovereign over

even the Council of Captains.

And there might, in time, have been an alliance, in virtue of the companionship,

between Port Kar and Ar, and other cities.

And who knew, in time, there might have been but one throne of one Ubar of this

unprecedented empire.

Who knew to what heights might have been raised the chair of Bosk?

But Talena had now been disowned. She no longer could claim family. No longer

was she the daughter of Marlenus. She now was only another slave, that and that

alone. She now was nothing, only another beautiful slave girl, that and that

alone.

She could no longer, with fitness, sit by the side of a free man.

Even if freed, she would have no caste, no family. She would be among the lowest

women on Gor.

She would no longer be acceptable.

It would probably be kinder to her to keep her in bondage. She would then have

at least her collar.

I threw back my head and laughed. Talena was no longer acceptable.

And I, a fool of my dreams, had come into the forest, to rescue her, to best

Marlenus, and improve my fortunes, to rescue the beautiful Talena and improve

the fortunes of the house of Bosk.

I looked up.

Once again Verna stood over me. She looked down upon me. There was incredible

pride and superiority in her gaze and carriage. She was barbaric, a panther

girl, a beauty. She carried a spear. She wore at her belt a sleen knife. She

wore the skins of forest panthers, primitive ornaments of beaten gold.

“The moons are now risen,” said another panther girl, edging closer to Verna.

She was looking at me.

“There is not much time,” said Mira. “Soon the moons will be at their full.”

“Let it begin,” said another girl.

Verna looked down upon me. “You wished to take us as slaves,” she said, “it is

you who have been taken slave.”

I looked up at her in horror. I pulled at the thongs.

“Shave him,” she said.

I fought, but two girls held my head, and Mira, laughing, with a small bowl of

lather and a shaving knife, shave the two-and-one-half-inch degradation stripe

on my head, from the forehead to the back of my neck.

“You are now well marked,” said Verna, “as a man who has fallen to women.”

I pulled helplessly at the thongs.

“Bring a whip,” said Verna.

Mira leaped to her feet.

“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”

Mira returned with the whip, a five-strap Gorean slave whip.

“Beat him,” said Verna.

She beat me. My body, in the thongs, twisted and leaped under the lash.

“It is enough,” said Verna.

I closed my eyes. I did not question Verna further. I did not wish to be again

beaten.

Mira laughed, and folded the lash.

It had been a brief beating, lasting only a few seconds. She had been permitted

to strike me only some eight or nine times. I was breathing heavily, in pain.

They had not wished to injure me. Verna had only wished to administer a sharp.

Not-soon-to-be-forgotten, lesson to her slave.

I had learned it. I pulled at the thongs, helplessly.

The girls now knelt about me, in a circle. They were silent. I looked up at the

large, white, swift moons. There were three of them, a larger, and two smaller,

looming, dominating.

The girls were breathing heavily. They had set aside their weapons.

They knelt, their hands on their thighs, occasionally lifting their eyes to the

moons. Their eyes began to blaze. They put back their heads. Their lips parted.

Their hair fell behind their heads, their faces lifted to the rays of the moons.

Then, together, they began to moan and sway from side to side. Then they lifted

their arms and hands to the moons, still swaying from side to side, moaning. I

pulled at the thongs that bound me. Then their moaning became more intense and

the swaying swifter and more savage, and, crying out and whimpering, they began

to claw at the moons.

Mira leaped to her feet and tore her skins to the waist exposing her breasts to

the wild light of the flooding moons. She shrieked and tore at the moons with

her fingernails. In an instant another girl, and then another, and another, had

followed her example. Only Verna still knelt, her hands on her thighs, looking