John Norman (32 page)

Brenda Hamilton scrambled to the back of the cave. She put her cheek against it, the palms of her hands. It was rock. She could go no further.

She did not look over her shoulder.

She knew he crouched in the entrance, the switch in his hand.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged. “I’m sorry I ran away. I will not do it again!”

He, of course, could not understand the strange noises she made, not of the language of the Men, nor, if he could have understood, would he have listened.

She was a girl to be disciplined.

Brenda Hamilton’s fingernails scratched at the rock. The cave, for a full day now, twenty-four hours now, had been her prison. The entrance, for the caves, was a large one, though it had appeared much smaller from far below. It was some four feet in height and three feet wide, irregular. Outside it was a narrow ledge, not more than two feet in width. The fall from the ledge to the valley below, Brenda Hamilton had seen in terror, was better than some one hundred and seventy-five feet, approximately that of a seventeen-story building. Above and below the cave, and to the sides, the cliff was sheer. It was reached from a ledge above, by a knotted rawhide rope, which, when the hunter left, he drew up after him. Inside the cave there was a gourd of water, and two frayed, worn bides. There were also some pieces of fruit, and rinds. The cave, within, was much larger, like many of the caves, than one would have expected from the outside. It was roughly some eight feet in height and width, and some forty feet deep. It was lit by light from the entrance and, overhead, in the ceiling, some fifteen, feet in, by a long, narrow cleft in the rock, extending some fifty feet upward diagonally, too small to admit a body.

She had been brought to the cave blindfolded, that she might not struggle in terror. Her wrists had been tied together and placed about his neck and shoulder. He had, after lowering them both to the ledge, disengaged her arms from him and thrust her into the cave. There he had removed the blindfold and wrist thongs and left her, taking them with him, thrust in his belt, climbing the knotted rope, which he drew after him.

She had run to the cave entrance and, dropping to her hands and knees, had entered into the sunlight, and screamed, seeing the drop below her.

She heard a scrambling above her and saw the hunter attain the ledge above, some twenty feet higher. Then the rope was jerked up, following him.

“Don’t leave me here!” she screamed. “Please! Please!”

But he was gone.

Sick, she inched herself backward, timidly, and lay down inside the entrance, helpless, surrounded by the walls of stone.

She felt certain that she had been abandoned, but, in the morning, on the ledge outside, she had found the gourd of water, and some pieces of fruit.

Now the hunter crouched in the entrance. She saw the switch, and knew she was to be disciplined. She was naked.

She had scrambled to the back wall of the cave. Her fingernails scratched at the stone.

She heard him behind her.

She did not look back.

Suddenly the switch struck, wielded with a man’s strength. She screamed in pain.

She turned to face him, to plead with him, and the switch struck again.

She fell to her knees and again, this time across the shoulder, the switch fell.

She leaped to her feet, trying to escape, and ran to the entrance. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled onto the narrow ledge. She cried out with misery. By the ankle she was dragged back into the cave. Four times more fell the switch. She rolled, and scrambled again to her feet. He struck her again. Weeping she tried to escape him, but there was no escape. Twice, by the arm, he threw her against one of the walls, beating her at the foot of it. Then he took her by the hair and hurled her back to the rear of the cave. There she fell to her knees and covered her head. Ten more times the switch fell on her body. Then the hunter threw her to her back, on the hides, weeping, and swiftly raped her, after which, she moaning in terror and misery, he left her. “I won’t try to run away again,” she wept, eyes glazed, looking after him through her long dark hair. “I will not try to escape again,” she wept, “-Master!” She was startled that this word had involuntarily escaped her. She lay there in misery, wondering at what it bad meant. Could it be, she asked herself, in horror, that, subconsciously, the lean hunter had been truly, incontrovertibly, acknowledged as her literal master? “No!” she wept. “No!” But she could not forget what she had said. Not meaning to, unintentionally, in misery, she had called him “Master.” She lay in the cave, sullen, in pain, knowing she had, unconsciously, unable to help herself, called him “Master.” “He will never master me,” she wept. “Not Brenda Hamilton! No savage, no barbarian, will ever master Brenda Hamilton!” But she could not forget that she had called him master. This troubled her greatly. And, too, it made her furious. “No savage, no barbarian,” she hissed, “will ever master Brenda Hamilton!”

“Old Woman,” said Tree, “I would talk with you.”

“Talk,” said Old Woman. She was sewing, poking holes through hide with a bone awl, then pulling a thread of sinew after it, through the hole. She worked carefully. Old Woman’s eyes were still sharp. It was a winter garment for one of the children, the oldest boy. He would soon be able to run with the hunters. Old Woman was fond of him. He was the son of a woman who had been her friend. She had been killed in an attack of the Weasel People, some ten years earlier, on a game camp.

Tree did not speak, for Nurse was walking by. She held at her breast one of the camp’s infants.

On a ledge nearby Tree could hear Fox and Wolf arguing. Wolf had hidden meat and now could not find it. Fox was asking him where he had hidden it. Wolf would not tell him, only that it was gone. “You should not hide meat,” Fox was telling him. “It is not good to hide meat. “Where do you hide meat?” “I will not tell you,” said Wolf. “I am your friend,” said Fox.

“Talk,” said Old Woman to Tree, regarding her sewing.

It would not have occurred to Tree to talk to the women, except to give them orders, but he did not think of Old Woman as being of the women. She was different. She was independent. She was shrewd. She was ill-tempered. She was wise.

“You know the pretty bird I brought to camp,” said Tree.

“Stupid little thing,” said Old Woman.

“Yes,” said Tree, “she is stupid.”

“But pretty,” said Old Woman, pulling the sinew tight with her teeth, still, in spite of her age, sharp and white.

“Do you think she is pretty?” asked Tree.

“Yes,” said Old Woman, “more pretty than Antelope, more pretty than Cloud.”

“But not so pretty as Flower?”

“No,” said Old Woman, “not so pretty as Flower.” Old Woman looked up. “How long are you going to keep your pretty little bird on her perch? She has been there for four days. There is work for her to do down here.”

“I will keep her there as long as I please,” said Tree.

“Poor little slave girl,” grinned Old Woman.

Tree, squatting beside Old Woman, looked out the entrance of the shelter. Fox and Wolf had gone.

“I am angry with her,” said Tree.

“Why?” asked Old Woman.

“I do not know,” said Tree.

“Does she know?” asked Old Woman.

“I do not know,” said Tree.

“She is stupid,” said Old Woman. Anyone knew that when a man was angry with a woman she would lift her body to him, to placate him, and beg to kick for him, that in the pleasures of her body, he would forget his anger. Else she might be beaten. Any woman with half a brain knew that.

“It is too bad that she does not kick well,” said Tree.

“Why?” asked Old Woman.

“She is pretty,” said Tree, “very pretty. She should be a good kicker.”

“Does this woman trouble you?” asked Old Woman.

“Yes,” said Tree.

“Do Antelope and Cloud trouble you?” asked Old Woman.

“Not like this woman,” said Tree.

“She is not of the Men,” said Old Woman. “She is a foreign female, she is a slave.”

“I know,” said Tree.

“Take her,” advised Old Woman. “Use her as much as you wish. Tire of her.” She grinned. “That is the cure for sickness over a woman,” she smiled, “use her repeatedly until you weary of her.”

Tree smiled. “I want more from this woman,” he said.

“Ah,” smiled Old Woman. “She has stung your vanity. You want to make her kick for you.”

“Perhaps,” said Tree.

“The poor little thing has been abused enough,” grinned Old Woman. “You surely would not be so cruel as to make her yield to you?”

“You area wise old woman,” said Tree.

“Poor little slave girl,” cackled Old Woman.

“It takes time,” said Tree, irritably.

Old Woman laughed. “A little patience is a small price to pay for a night of pleasure,” said Old Woman. “Be patient, great hunter,” she advised, “until you catch her.” She pointed the sewing awl at Tree. “What you catch,” she laughed, “I assure you will be well worth the wait.”

Tree rose to his feet.

“Remember all that I have taught you,” said Old Woman. “Any woman-any woman-can be made to kick.”

“I will make her kick and squeal like a rabbit,” said Tree.

“Poor little slave girl,” said Old Woman.

Tree turned about, and left Old Woman.

Old Woman looked after Tree. She was old and wise. She had not come on this sort of thing often, but she knew of its existence. She remembered Drawer, whom, when he had become Old Man, and when he had gone blind, Spear had killed. She continued her sewing, crooning to herself a little song.

Old Woman was happy.

It was noon, and the sunlight was hot on the cliff, when Tree slipped down the knotted rawhide rope to the ledge outside the cave where the lovely slave girl was kept.

He dropped to the ledge.

She moved back further, within the cave. She put out her hand, and shook her head. Her eyes showed fear. She said something in her barbarous tongue, unintelligible to the Men.

Naked, defenseless, slight, the stone wall at her back, she was quite beautiful.

Tree leapt forward and thrust her, standing, stomach to the stone, against the wall.

Then, with a length of rawhide, he fastened her wrists behind her back, and turned her about to face him.

Her back was now against the stone. She looked up at him, frightened. He touched her hair. She said something in her barbarous tongue. He lifted her from her feet and put her, bound, on the two hides.

Though the sun outside was hot, the cave was cool. Tree went to the water gourd and took a drink. He ate one of the pieces of hard fruit at the side of the cave. Twice a day he had fed and watered the slave.

He then turned and looked at her, hands tied behind her back, sitting on the hides, looking at him.

He approached her, and sat, cross-legged, beside her. She tried to edge back, but the wall prevented her retreat. The stone was at her back.

She spoke again in the barbarous tongue, questioningly, fearfully.

He made no move toward her. For a long time he looked at her, carefully, relishing the delicious, captive curves of her slave body.

She said something to him, pleading, obviously begging him to go away.

He spoke to her in the language of the Men. “I am going to make you kick,” he told her. “I will teach you what it is for a female to kick for a man. I will teach you to kick as you have never kicked before. I am going to make you kick superbly.”

Then he reached down and took her right ankle in his hand.

The lovely slave looked at him with horror.

“Go away!” cried Brenda Hamilton. “Go away!”

She tried to free her hands, but she, tied by a hunter, could not do so. She moaned. She was defenseless. Her entire body, each inch of it, curved and vulnerable, lay open to his tongue, his teeth, his fingers, his hands, his forces and pressures, his touch.

She tried to pull her ankle away but could not do so.

He seemed amused that she, with only the slightness of the female, should try to pit her strength against his.

She saw the dilation of his pupils, and knew that she was beautiful to him.

A tremor of sensation coursed from her ankle up her leg. She shuddered.

“Rape me swiftly, you beast,” she begged. “Be done with it!”

His hand still on her ankle, he reached to her hair and pulled her head forward, exposing the back of her neck. She felt his teeth, gently, biting at the back of her neck. Once she felt his jaws half close about the back of her neck. She knew he could, if he wished, with those strong jaws and white teeth, that large head, bite through the neck, breaking it. Then she was on her side, his hands moving on her body, with the full liberty of those of a master on the body of his female slave, in long, possessive, stimulating caresses. She moaned, and tried to pull away, but his hands held her. Then she was put on her back. He delighted himself with her breasts. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. For a long time Tree, slowly, tenderly almost, but with the underlying hardness of a master who, ultimately, will permit no compromise, and this the girl knows, kissed and touched her. He avoided only the delicacies of her delta, which she feared most, shuddering, he might touch. Should he do so, could she resist him?

Brenda Hamilton lay miserably on two hides, on the stone floor of a primeval cave, her hands tied behind her with a rawhide thong.

She looked up at her master.

Her body was helpless. In it stirred tumults of sensation. But he had not yet even touched her most intimately.

He was the most magnificent man she had ever seen, and she was helplessly his. But he was only a savage, a barbarian! She was a thousand worlds and times his superior. She was sensitive, intelligent, educated, civilized! She jerked at her wrists, trying to free them. But she looked up into his eyes. She saw that he was mighty; she sensed, too, in his eyes that his intelligence, in its raw, untutored power, was far greater than even hers, greater even, she suspected, than that of Gunther, who had been the most brilliant man, saving Herjellsen, she had ever known. She looked up at him, and knew that he was her superior in every way. She turned her head miserably to one side. And this was his world, not hers. She was not a thousand worlds and times his superior. No. He was a thousand worlds and times her superior! She, in this world, naked, bound, lying at his mercy on hides in a primeval cave, was no more than a slave, only a slave.