Nomads of Gor (43 page)

        
"That is true," I said.

        
"To anyone!" she wept. "Anyone! Anyone!"

        
"Do not be distraught," I said.

        
She shook her head, and looked up at me, and through the tears smiled.

         
It seems, Master," she said, "that for the hour I am yours."

        
"It would appear so," I said.

        
"Will you carry me over your shoulder to the wagon;" she

        
asked, lightly, "like Aphris of Turia?"

        
"I'm sorry," I said.

        
I bent to the girl's shackles and removed them.

 
She stood up and faced me. "What are you going to do with

 
me?" she asked. She smiled. "Master?"

 
I smiled. "Nothing," I told her. "Do not fear."

 
"Oh?" she asked, one eyebrow rising skeptically. Then she

 
dropped her head. "Am I truly so ugly?" she asked.

 
"No," I said, "you are not ugly."

 
"But you do not want me?" she asked.

 
"No," I said.

 
She looked at me boldly, throwing back her head. "Why

 
not?" she asked.

 
What could I tell her? She was lovely, but yet in her

 
condition piteous. I felt moved on her behalf. The little

 
secretary, I thought to myself, so far from her pencils, the

 
typewriter, the desk calendars and steno pads so far from

 
her world so helpless, so much at Kamchak's mercy and

 
this night, should I choose, at mine.

 
"You are only a little barbarian," I said to her. Somehow I

 
thought of her still as the frightened girl in the yellow

 
shift caught up in games of war and intrigue beyond her

 
comprehension and, to a great extent, mine. She was to be

 
protected, sheltered, treated with kindness, reassured. I could

 
not think of her in my arms nor of her ignorant, timid lips

 
on mine for she was always and would remain only the

 
unfortunate Elizabeth Cardwell, the innocent and unwitting

 
victim of an inexplicable translocation and an unexpected,

 
unjust reduction to shameful bondage. She was of Earth and

 
knew not the flames which her words might have evoked in

 
the breast of a Gorean warrior nor did she understand

 
herself truly nor the relation in which she, slave girl, stood to

 
-a free man to whom she had been for the hour given I

 
could not tell her that another warrior might at her-very

 
glance, have dragged her helpless to the darkness between the

 
high wheels of the slave wagon itself. She was gentle, not

 
understanding, naive, in her way foolish a girl of Earth but

 
not on Earth not a woman of Gor female on her own

 
barbaric world she would always be of Earth the bright,

 
pretty girl with the stenographer's pad like many girls of

 
Earth, not men but not yet daring to be woman. "But," I

 
admitted to her, giving her head a shake, "you are a pretty

 
little barbarian."

 
She looked into my eyes for a long moment and then

 
suddenly dropped her head weeping. I gathered her into my

 
arms to comfort her but she pushed me away, and turned

 
and ran from the enclosure.

         
I looked after her, puzzled.

         
Then, shrugging, I too left the enclosure, thinking that

         
perhaps I should wander among the wagons for a few hours,

         
before returning.

         
I recalled Kamchak. I was happy for him. Never before

         
had I seen him so pleased. I was, however, confused about

         
Elizabeth, for it seemed to me she had behaved strangely this

         
night. I supposed that, on the whole, she was perhaps dis-

         
traught because she feared she might soon be supplanted as

         
first girl in the wagon; indeed, that she might soon be sold.

         
To be sure, having seen Kamchak with his Aphris, it did not

         
seem to me that either of these possibilities were actually

         
unlikely. Elizabeth had reason to fear. I might, of course, and

         
would, encourage Kamchak to sell her to a good master, but

         
Kamchak, cooperative to a point, would undoubtedly have

         
his eye fixed most decisively on the price to be obtained. I

         
might, of course, if I could find the money, buy her myself

         
and attempt to find her a kind master. I thought perhaps

         
Conrad of the Kassars might be a just Master.
 
He had,

         
however, I, knew recently won a Turian girl in the games.

         
Moreover, not every man wants to own an untrained barbarian slave,

         
for much, even if given to them, must be fed

crawl under the rope that joined them, my assailant was

 
gone. All I received for my trouble were the angry shouts of

 
the man leading the kaiila string. Indeed, one of the vicious

 
beasts even snapped at me, ripping the sleeve on my shoul-

 
der.

 
Angry I returned to the wagon and drew the quiva from

 
the boards. ~

 
By this time the owner of the wagon, who was naturally

 
curious about the matter, was beside me. He held a small

 
torch, lit from the fire bowl within the wagon. He was

 
examining, not happily, the cut in his planking. "A clumsy

 
throw," he remarked, I thought a bit ill-humoredly.

 
"Perhaps," I admitted.

 
"But," he added, turning and looking at me, "I suppose

 
under the circumstances it was just as well."

 
"Yes," I said, "I think so."

 
I found the Paga bottle: and noted that there was a bit of

 
liquid left in it, below the neck of the bottle. I wiped off the

 
neck and handed it to the man. He took about half of it and

 
then wiped his mouth and handed it back. I then finished the

 
bottle. I flung it into a refuse hole, dug and periodically

 
cleaned by male slaves.

 
"It is not bad Paga," said the man.

 
"No," I said, "I think it is pretty good."

 
"May I see the quiva?" asked the man.

 
"Yes," I said.

 
"Interesting," said he.

 
"What?" I asked.

 
"The quiva," said he.

 
"But what is interesting about it?" I asked.

 
"It is Paravaci," he said

      
In the morning, to my dismay, Elizabeth Cardwell was not

      
to be found.

      
Kamchak was beside himself with fury. Aphris, knowing

      
the ways of Gor and the temper of Tuchuks, was terrified,

      
and said almost nothing.

      
"Do not release the hunting sleep," I pleaded with

      
Kamchak.

      
"I shall keep them leashed," he responded grimly.

      
With misgivings I observed the two, six-legged, sinuous,

 
     
tawny hunting sleen on their chain leashes. Kamchak was

      
holding Elizabeth's bedding a rep-cloth blanket for them

      
to smell. Their ears began to lay back against the sides of

      
their triangular heads; their long, serpentine bodies trembled;

      
I saw claws emerge from their paws, retract, emerge again

      
and then retract; they lifted their heads, sweeping them from

      
side to side, and then thrust their snouts to the ground and

      
began to whimper excitedly; I knew they would first follow

      
the scent to the curtained enclosure within which last night

      
we had observed the dance.

      
"She would have hidden among the wagons last night,"

      
Kamchak said.

      
"I know," I said, "The herd sleep." They would have torn

      
the girl to pieces on the prairie in the light of the three

      
Gorean moons.

      
"She will not be far," said Kamchak.

      
He hoisted himself to the saddle of his kaiila, a prancing

      
and trembling hunting sleen on each side of the animal, the

      
chains running to the pommel of the saddle.

 
"What will you do to her?" I asked.

 
"Cut off her feet," said Kamchak, "and her nose and ears,

 
and blind her in one eye, then release her to live as she can

 
among the wagons."

 
Before I could remonstrate with the angry Tuchuk the

 
hunting sleen suddenly seemed to go wild, rearing on their

 
hind legs, scratching in the air, dragging against the chains. It

 
was all Kamchak's kaiila could do to brace itself against their

 
sudden madness.

 
"Hahl" cried Kamchak.

 
I spied Elizabeth Cardwell approaching the wagon, two

 
leather water buckets fastened to a wooden yoke she carried

 
over her shoulders. Some water was spilling from the buck-

 
ets.

 
Aphris cried out with delight and ran to Elizabeth, to my

 
astonishment, to kiss her and help with the water.

 
"Where have you been?" asked Kamchak.

 
Elizabeth lifted her head innocently and gazed at him

 
frankly. "Fetching water," she said.

 
The sleen were trying to get at her and she had backed

 
away against the wagon, watching them warily. "They are

 
vicious beasts," she observed.

 
Kamchak threw back his head and roared with laughter.

 
Elizabeth did not so much as look at me.

 
Then Kamchak seemed sober and he said to the girl. "Go