Smugglers of Gor (43 page)

“Steady, Tiomines,” said Axel, softly. The beast, in its single-mindedness, seemed to regard the newcomers as no more than a distraction. It was ready to resume the hunt.

I knew enough of sleen to know that any well-trained animal, which I took Tiomines to be, could be set upon anyone but its master, or Use Master, with as little as a word, or gesture, whatever the “kill” command might be, usually a word, as a word need only be heard and a gesture must be seen. Whereas Tiomines could doubtless, in one savage rush, reach the leader and tear off an arm or head, it would be his last attack. He would be transfixed by more than one spear before he could feed. Axel did not wish to lose the sleen. Too, I would not have given much for our chances either, had he been foolish enough to set Tiomines on the newcomer.

There were, as I counted, eleven of the newcomers. It is well to know exact numbers in such matters. Their leader was a large, spare man, clad in the wool of the bounding hurt, stained brown and black. He was bearded, wore a dagger and sword, and carried a spear, a hunting spear. His men were similarly clad. Two carried crossbows, quarrels resting in the guide. Three others carried nets.

“How is hunting?” inquired Axel, pleasantly enough. The party, indeed, seemed to be a hunting party. On the other hand I saw no tabuk, dangling from poles, nor skins slung over the shoulders of any of the fellows.

I wondered how long they had been out.

I would not have expected to encounter hunters in this vicinity, unless they were from Shipcamp.

These did not seem to be from Shipcamp.

Indeed, we were far from Shipcamp.

“What are you doing here?” asked the newcomer.

“Hunting,” said Axel.

“And what have you taken?” inquired the newcomer.

“Nothing, as yet,” said Axel.

“Perhaps,” said the fellow, “it is you who have been taken.”

“Our friend here,” said Axel, roughly shaking the fur at the base of the neck of Tiomines, “could kill at least one of you.”

“Perhaps, more,” said the newcomer. “But it would be a shame for such a fine animal to die.”

“I would suggest,” said Axel, affably, “that you do not interfere with our hunt.”

“Nor will you with ours, I trust,” said the fellow.

“One supposes not,” said Axel. “I wish you well.”

“Tarry a bit,” said the newcomer.

“You have the spears,” said Axel.

“Aeson comes,” said one of the fellows.

Arrivals were approaching from the direction of the river, which was south of our position. I suspected the several newcomers, of which the approaching fellows were doubtless a part, had originally crossed the river to the east. None of them had the caps common with mariners, so I supposed they must have come from the south, and then crossed the river, perhaps having come from as far away as the basin of the Laurius.

I counted four more of the newcomers, also armed with spears. That would make fifteen.

On a leash, held by one of the men was a tall, striking, dark-haired woman, her neck encircled with a typical band, clad in a brief, brightly scarlet slave tunic, slit at the sides. Two tarsks, I thought, of good Brundisium silver.

The fellow who held the leash approached, and stood near the leader. The slave then knelt at the leader’s side, her head down.

“Head up,” snapped the leader.

Instantly she raised her head.

“What do you think,” asked the leader.

“Not bad,” said Axel. That seemed a tepid appraisement. I wondered if he had his mind on Asperiche.

The leader looked at me, questioningly. Clearly he was pleased with the slave, and wished to show her off.

“Excellent,” I said.

“What is on your neck, Donna,” asked the leader.

“A slave collar, Master,” she said.

“And what does that mean?” he asked.

“That I am a slave, Master,” she said.

“What is on your left thigh, Donna?” he asked.

“A slave brand, Master,” she said.

“And what does that mean?” he asked.

“That I am a slave, Master,” she said.

“And what is the nature of your garment?” he asked.

“It is the garment of a slave,” she said.

“And why are you clad in such a garment?” he asked.

“It is appropriate that I be placed in such a garment,” she said, “as I am a slave.”

“This,” said the leader, indicating the slave, “was once a Panther Girl.”

“She does not look like a Panther Girl,” said Axel.

“She has been trimmed, exercised, dieted, and such,” said the leader, “brought to prime selling condition.”

“Please do not sell me, Master,” she whispered.

I gathered she had a standing permission to speak, as she had not been cuffed. This is not uncommon, that a slave might have a standing permission to speak. To be sure, such a permission is easily revoked, and then the slave will be expected to ask permission before speaking.

“She is too soft, too feminine, too attractive, too desirable, too beautiful to be a Panther Girl,” said Axel.

“They learn the collar,” he said.

“Of course,” said Axel.

“They want it,” said the leader.

“True,” said Axel.

“We have here,” said the leader, indicating the slave and Tiomines, “two beautiful animals.”

“The sleen is on a scent,” said Axel. “He is restless.”

“You can cancel the hunt,” said the leader.

“It would not be wise without meat,” said Axel.

“Would you be interested in a trade?” asked the leader.

“Please, no, Master!” whispered the slave, who dared not raise her voice.

I was surprised at the remark of the leader, as a sleen, a trained sleen, is commonly worth several slaves, just as a tarn is commonly worth several more. To be sure the slave was unusually beautiful. She now, head down, trembled at her master’s thigh. I thought of another world, one on which beauty was seldom for sale, except on its own terms. I wondered if there was all that much difference, between a woman selling herself for her own profit, or being sold by another, for another’s profit. In both cases she was sold. In the first case, she was her own merchant. In the second case, the merchant was another. Perhaps it was a prejudice of my caste, but it seemed to me that in the second case the transaction was less hypocritical, less deceitful, more open, and honest. So let her be openly put up, and openly bid upon. Surely the leader of the strangers could not be serious, if he were suggesting a straight exchange, a single, kneeling, scarlet-clad beauty for a trained sleen. On Gor beauty is cheap. It is well within the means of most.

“The sleen is on a hunt,” said Axel.

“Perhaps he is hungry,” said the leader.

“He may eat later,” said Axel. “I wish you well.”

“Remain where you are,” said the leader. He then pointed to the sleen, and gestured to one of his men, a gesture of which Axel and I took uneasy note, and then turned to the fellow, Aeson, who had come from the direction of the river.

“She has located them for us,” said Aeson. “They are only yards from the river. An altercation of sorts has apparently taken place in their camp. There are only three Panther Girls. Other than this there are only a single, shackled prisoner, a stripped female, and three kajirae, tunicked, coffled in rope.

“Who, Donna, is the prisoner?” asked the leader of his slave.

“I do not know, Master,” she said. “Please do not rid yourself of me, Master.”

“I thought,” said he, “you said there would be two kajirae with the band.”

“They must have acquired another,” she said.

I did not react to this remark, but had little doubt as to the likely identity of the unexpected kajira in the coffle.

“Here, friend,” said one of the leader’s men, returned to the group, and cast a large slab of meat, it looked like bosk meat, before Tiomines.

“No!” said Axel.

But Tiomines had snapped it up, and gorged it down. In feeding, there is little difference between a domestic and a wild sleen.

Spears pressed against Axel’s tensed body.

“Surely you do not wish your beast to go hungry,” said the leader.

Whatever marked stick we might have had to cast in this game, I feared, was no longer within our grasp.

Tiomines looked up at Axel, expectantly, ready to resume the hunt.

“Your beast is not in danger,” said the leader.

“You are hunters,” I said, “but it does not seem that you are after tabuk, tarsk, bosk, or panther.”

“Perhaps not,” said the leader.

“What then?” I asked.

“Perhaps women,” he said.

“I know something of such matters,” I said. “One hunts women where there are women, where game is plentiful, in cities, towns, even peasant villages, on traversed roads, on caravan routes, on pilgrimages to the Sardar, and such, not in the wilderness of the northern forests, not on the scattered, rocky skerries of Torvaldsland, not in the frozen expanses of Ax Glacier, not in the scalding wastes of the Tahari, far from caravan routes and oases.”

The leader smiled.

“Perhaps you search for a Ubar’s daughter, one fugitive, perhaps from Ar herself?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“I find it hard to believe that you have come this far, surely at the cost of time and coin, for a handful of Panther Girls who, as they are Panther Girls, are likely to be less appealing than your average she-tarsk.”

The kneeling slave stiffened.

“What of Donna?” he asked.

“She is beautiful,” I admitted.

The slave subsided.

“You change them,” he said. “You put them in a collar, and they learn they are women.” He then looked down at the scarlet-tunicked slave. “Are you a woman?” he asked.

“Certainly, Master,” she said, puzzled.

“Do you like being a woman?” he asked.

“At one time I dreaded it, and hated it, and loathed it, and did my best not to be a woman, but a sort of man, one who hated men, and pretended not to want to be a man, but yet wanted to be a man, but then in my deepest heart I knew I was a woman, and wanted to be a woman.”

“And now?” he asked.

“Now,” she said, “I am a woman, and want to be a woman, and am fulfilled as a woman, and rejoice in being a woman. I would not want it otherwise, even if it could be so. If it were not so, I could not be what I am, and should be, in the order of nature, the slave of a master.”

“It seems,” said he, “you are helpless in the grasp of your hereditary coils.”

“I have been given to myself,” she said.

“But it is I who own you,” he said.

“It is in being owned,” she said, “that I am given to myself. It is in being owned that I am myself.”

Many chains bind a slave, of course, and not all are of iron.

“Surely you know, Master,” she said, “that we are your slaves, and want your collars.”

“Be silent,” he said, “and put your head down.”

“Yes, Master,” she said.

I noted that Tiomines had now gone to his belly, and put his snout on his forepaws. This, too, was doubtless noted by Axel.

“But the others,” I said, “surely they are not like this one.”

“What of that, Aeson?” inquired the leader.

“There are three,” he said.

“Pot girls?” asked the leader.

Aeson shrugged, noncommittally.

After all, one man’s pot girl may be another man’s pleasure slave.

“The prisoner?” he asked.

“She looks well, shackled,” said Aeson.

“What of the slaves?” asked the leader.

“They are all acceptable as kajirae,” said Aeson, licking his lips.

“Excellent,” said the leader.

“May I speak, Master?” asked the slave.

“Yes,” he said.

“Two will sell well,” she said. “The prettiest is a blonde, Emerald. A brunette, Hiza, would look well on the block, but her hair is too short.”

“It will grow out,” said the leader.

A slave’s hair, like every particle of her body, belongs to the master. Most masters prefer hair “slave long” on their properties. Much may be done with it in the furs. It may also figure in their discipline, as in being tied to a ring, and such. As slaves are commonly vain of their beauty, as other women, even extraordinarily so, a grievous discipline, which most girls will attempt to evade at almost any cost, is shaving their head. Their hair, of course, is not discarded. The wigs of many free women are often from the hair of slaves, though it is certified as having had a free origin. Too, woman’s hair is excellent for catapult cordage, as it retains its strength and tensility indefinitely, and that under a variety of weather conditions and temperatures.

“There should be two others,” said the slave, “Darla and Tuza. Let them be pot girls.”

“It is they who deposed you,” said the leader.

“Pot girls,” she said.

“That is for men to decide,” said the leader.

“Yes, Master,” she said. “The two slaves would be Tula and Mila.”

“There is a third,” said Aeson.

“I do not know her,” said Donna.

I was reasonably sure I knew her, particularly as Tiomines had brought us to this point.

“Is the sleen dead?” asked Axel.

Tiomines now lay at his feet.

“Look closely,” said the leader. “You can see him breathe.”

“The meat was drugged,” said Axel.

“We have work to do,” said the leader. “We cannot have him rushing amongst the prey, nor either of you, as well.”

“We are also interested in this group,” I said. “Let us join forces.”

“That would be an excellent idea,” said the leader, “if we needed you. But we do not need you.”

“I am sure,” I said, “you did not venture this far north merely to snare three or four Panther Girls, perhaps poor ones, for the slave block.”

“Perhaps not,” he said.

“The prey,” said Aeson, “seems overconfident. We noted no guards, or scouts.”

“Good,” said the leader, “it was then not necessary to subdue, or kill, them. There is always some risk in that, particularly in daylight hours.”

“It is my impression.” said Aeson, “that they will soon be breaking camp.”

“Good,” said the leader.

Doubtless this intelligence was welcomed, particularly given the absence of guards or scouts in the area. Let them then be busy, thonging their sandals, checking their weapons, packing their gear, covering their fire, lading their slaves, and such. They would then be less likely to anticipate visitors.