Hunters of Gor (38 page)

Mira, smiling, jesting and pouring wine for many of the panther girls of Hura’s

band.

The hour was late. It would be dawn in four Ahn. The drug was a strong one. It

had been intended for the bodies of men, not the smaller bodies of women. I did

not know the duration of its effect in a woman. Mira had, under Vinca’s strict

questioning, told us that it would render a man unconscious for several Ahn,

usually a half a day.

My own slave coffle, unknown to the men of Tyros and the girls of Hura, was

camped not more than two pasangs away.

It might be necessary to waken some of Hura’s girls forcibly from the drug.

We did not wish to lose too many hours.

I decided I would need sleep, and so left the vicinity of the camp of the men of

Tyros and the girls of Hura.

In examining baggage discarded along the trail, abandoned in flight, I had found

little of interest. It was mostly furs and clothing. Three furs I had brought

back to Vinca and the other two paga slaves, that they might be comforted from

the hard ground and protected from the cold forest nights. I brought no furs for

Ilene or the other slaves. The panther girls, chained together, had one another

for warmth, and the tarpaulin. Ilene had nothing. When she grew too miserable

she would creep to my side for warmth. I would then use her. Her responses were

becoming rapid, deep and organic, almost spontaneous. A slave girl is best

either when she is often used, or when she has been deliberately, for some time,

deprived. A free woman may go days or weeks without the touch of her companion.

For a slave girl, who has learned her collar, this would be almost unspeakable

misery. Two nights without a master’s touch would be agony for her. Slave pens

are often filled with girls, second and third collar girls, begging to be sold.

Sometimes their sales are even postponed that their desperation, piteous and

supplicatory, their longing to surrender their small bodies, their softness, and

beauty, to the hard, strong arms of a master, may be more evident on the block.

It is interesting to note a woman, in the process of her vending, who attempts,

out of self-hatred, or hatred of men, or pride, to conceal this deprivation,

this need. In the hands of a skilled auctioneer she is forced to reveal,

incontrovertibly, her passionate latencies, the suppressed pleadings of her

womanhood for a master’s touch. Before the auctioneer closes his hand on a price

for her, it will be clear to all in the market, including the woman, that her

beauty is truly for sale, and fully. Also among the discarded baggage I had

found some tunics of Tyros. I had selected one and taken it to my camp. I

thought that perhaps, at some time, it might prove useful.

17
   
I Add Jewels to the Slaver’s Necklace

I strode among the unconscious bodies of panther girls. They slept late. I would

not, in the future, allow them that luxury.

“Add them to the slave chain,” I told Vinca.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

From our coffle we had separated eight girls and chained them in pairs, left

ankle to right ankle, running the Harl ring chained of one to the second welded

ring on the Harl ring of the other. They were thus double chained and separated

by about a yard. Each pair was under the command of one of my slaves. Even Ilene

in her slave silk, had a switch, and was given her pair of girls to command.

She struck them with the switch. “Hurry, Slavs!” she told them.

The chained work slaves, under their switches, began to gather up the

unconscious panther girls and carry them and place them on the grass in a line,

their feet at, and vertical to, what would have been an extension of the coffle

line.

“I am glad there are more slaves,” said the blond girl, in her ankle ring. “That

way there will be less for us to carry.”

I had thoroughly scouted out the camp and surrounding area.

I looked about. Once more there was the sign of a rout. This morning the men of

Tyros had doubtless awakened pleased and confident, eager to be again on their

way to the sea. Then, to their horror, and that of the girls of Hura, it had

been impossible to rouse many of the panther girls, indeed, all who had last

night drunk of Mira’s proffered wine.

The girls would have been deeply unconscious. They would have responded to

nothing, save perhaps with a twist of their bodies and an almost fevered moan.

The men of Tyros, as I had expected, had not elected to remain at the camp, to

protect and defend the girls until they had regained consciousness. They did not

know but what this event had been the prelude to a full attack. They did not

know the number nor nature of their enemies. They desired to preserve their own

lives. Further, they did not elect to impede themselves and their chain by

carrying them. Some, I expected, perhaps high girls in Hura’s band, had been

carried by their sisters of the forests. Most, however, had been abandoned, left

behind with the tenting and baggage.

I saw two slaves dragging another girl by, under the supervision of the

dark-haired paga slave.

I heard a switch fall twice. Ilene had beaten her girls. They were dragging

another fair prisoner. “Hurry!” scolded Ilene. They did not fear her. They

feared Vinca. Accordingly they obeyed Ilene perfectly. She exulted in her

absolute control of two other girls. She struck then again. “Hurry!’ she cried.

I looked down at two of the unconscious girls. They had gone to sleep after the

wine, warmed and drowsy. They would not have known it was drugged. When they

awakened they would expect it would be morning and they would resume their

march. They doubtless would be startled, upon awakening, to find themselves

stripped, members of a slave chain, their fair ankles locked in Harl rings.

Suddenly I was alert. I detected in one of the small, narrow, open tents,

abandoned, a movement.

Giving no sign I continued as before, looking about the camp. Then, when my

presence was concealed by the side of the tent, I slipped into the brush.

In a few moments I discovered, kneeling in the tent, her back to me, with drawn

bow, a panther girl. She had been pretending to be drugged, but had not been.

she had had as yet no opportunity for a clean, favorable shot. She could not

risk a miss. Other tents, and moving women, had been between us. I admired her,

muchly. What a fine, marvelous, brave woman she was. Others had fled. She had

stayed behind, to defend her fallen sisters of the forest.

It, of course, had been her mistake.

From behind I took her by the arms. She cried out with misery.

I bound her hand and foot.

“What is your name?” I asked, as I fastened he knots on her wrists, behind her

back.

“Rissia,” she said.

I carried her to where the other girls lay and put her on the grass among them.

I then looked again about the camp. I found a girl over whom a blanket had been

thrown. I had her, too, carried to a place in the line.

“Return the work slaves to the coffle,” I said.

The paga slaves and Ilene brought their work slaves back to the coffle.

“Stand there to be chained!” said Ilene.

“Yes, Mistress,” they said. Ilene laughed.

I fastened them again in the coffle, and moved the coffle forward, so that its

last girl now stood where the first of the unconscious girls, lying on the

grass, might now be conveniently shackled to her.

Vinca came toward the line. She was leading, by the arm, a stumbling,

half-conscious panther girl.

“Where am I? Who are you?” the girl was asking.

“You are at your camp,” said Vinca. “And I am Vinca.”

“Where are you taking me?” asked the girl.

“To be enslaved,” said Vinca.

“Lie here,” said Vinca.

The girl lay on the grass, tried to get up, and then fell unconscious.

“Remove their clothing,” I told Vinca and her girls. Their clothing, weapons,

pouches, everything was removed from the panther girls. It was thrown to one

side and burned. It is customary on Gor to strip a woman before shackling her.

Why I do not know.

I then, Harl ring by Harl ring, ankle by ankle, began to fasten the girls in the

slave coffle. There were not, however, enough Harl rings. With a long length of

slave chain, however, and several sets of slave bracelets I completed the

coffle. I snapped one bracelet on the left wrist of the last girl and snapped

its matching bracelet through one of the heavy links in the slave chain.

The remaining girls, eleven of them, I had placed on their stomachs, head toward

the chain and their left arms extended, their wrists lying over the chain. Then,

snapping one bracelet through a convenient link of the chain, I fastened them in

the coffle. One of the girls began to stir, moaning. Another twisted, uttering a

tiny noise.

I took the uninscribed slave collars and, girl by girl, collared them.

When I cam to Rissia our eyes met. Then she dropped her head. I thrust her hair

to one side. I collared her. Then I smoothed her hair over the collar. She was

lovely. Her ankle was already locked in a Harl ring. Then I cut the binding

fiber with which I had fastened her hands and feet.

When I came to one girl she opened her eyes and looked at me, lost in her

stupor, not comprehending. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am putting you in a slave collar,” I told her.

“No,” she said, “weakly, and then put her head to one side, and was again

unconscious.

I surveyed the entire line.

Mira had done her work superbly. She had then, apparently, fled with the others.

It was possible they had not understood her part in the treachery. Perhaps she

had not known the wine was drugged? Perhaps it had not been the wine, but other

food with which someone had tampered?

I looked at the slaves. They were a splendid lot.

I had had, before the morning, twenty-five girls, captured, in the coffle. That

had left, by my count, not including Hura, seventy-nine panther girls.

“It is an excellent catch,” said Vinca, looking down the long line.

It was indeed.

Fifty-eight new slaves lay at the chain.

Mira had done her work well. We had taken them as easily as flowers.

Hura had had, by my count, one hundred and four girls. She now retained

twenty-one, including Mira. The remaining eighty-four could be accounted for by

reference to the jewels fastened on the slave chain of Bosk, a merchant of Port

Kar.

Sarus, leader of the men of Tyros, by my count, when the march had begun had had

one hundred and twenty-five men. I had reduced that number, over several days,

to fifty-six. Sarus himself, yesterday morning, had slain one. He now had

fifty-five men.

I expected that he would soon begin to abandon slaves. I expected he would fear

to slay them.

Doubtless his main concern would be to reach the sea, for his rendezvous with

the Rhoda and the Tesephone. If necessary he might abandon all slaves with the

exception of Marlenus of Ar.

I looked down the trail. It was time I visited, once more, the caravan of Sarus

of Tyros.

“No! No! No! No!” I heard.

I looked back. One of the panther girls was on her feet, wild, hysterically

trying to force the slave bracelet from her left wrist. The chain was moved, the

bodies of other girls, still unconscious, like inanimate, beautiful weights,

their left wrist imprisoned by the bracelet and chain, jerked to and fro.

Instantly Vinca was on the girl with her switch, striking. “Kneel as a pleasure

slave, head down, and be silent!” she cried.

“Yes, Mistress,” wept the girl. “Yes, Mistress!”

I saw other girls beginning to move about, to show signs of restlessness. Some

had been disturbed by the crying of the hysterical panther girl, which had

doubtless seemed to hem far off, and something having little to do with them.

Other girls, shielded their eyes with their arms from the overhead sun, pouring

down on them.

Another girl then began to scream and Vinca, too, was on her in an instant.

Almost immediately she had her kneeling as a pleasure slave, with her head to

the ground. Her hair was spread on the grass. She was shuddering, but silent.

“The slaves have slept long enough,” I told Vinca. “Bring water and awaken

them.”

“Yes, Master,” said Vinca.

“Then follow as before,” I told her.

“Yes, Master,” said Vinca.

I then left the chain, and took up again the trail of the men of Tyros, and that

of the girls of Hura, who were now of the number of twenty-one.

18
   
The Shore of Thassa

“The sea! The sea!” cried the man. “The sea!”

He stumbled forth from the thickets, and, behind them, the lofty trees of the

forest.

He stood alone, high on the beach, his sandals on its pebbles, a lonely figure.

He was unshaven. The tunic of Tyros, once a bright yellow, was now stained and

tattered.

He had then stumbled down the beach, falling twice, until he came to the

shallows and the sand, among driftwood, stones and damp weed, washed ashore in

the morning tide. He stumbled into the water, and then fell to his knees, in

some six inches of water. In the morning wind, and the fresh cut of the salt