Smugglers of Gor (46 page)

“But,” said Donna, “you have not earned a tunic.”

“We are free women,” said Darla.

“I think it is time for us to be about our work,” said Donna. “I think the first thing for us to do will be to gather soft boughs for the masters, that they may the better rest upon retiring. Then we may draw water, and fetch wood.”

“Never!” said Tuza.

Then she cried out with pain as Donna savagely struck her, four times, with the switch she carried. Tuza bent down, low, her body trembling, her hands over her head, her hair to the dirt, and began to cry.

Two or three of the men about looked over, but none made any attempt to interfere.

Donna gave Tuza two more strokes.

I was in consternation. I was frightened. A slave is not to strike a free person. A slave’s hands, and ears, and nose may be cut off. It is often regarded as a capital offense.

“A free woman has been struck!” Darla shouted to the men about. “A free woman has been struck by a slave, by a slave!”

The leader, who was in converse with two of his men, turned about, annoyed. “Beat her,” he said.

“Bend over,” said Donna to Darla, “grasp your right wrist with your left hand, head to the dirt!”

“Please, no,” said Darla.

Donna then struck her four times, with measured strokes.

“But we are free women,” wept Darla.

“Perhaps you are not free women,” said Donna.

“But we are free women!” cried Tuza.

“If you are free women,” said Donna, “you are captures, and, if so, you will not be the first free women to have felt the switch of a slave. It will help you to learn discipline, and prepare you for the collar.”

“I will not be collared,” cried Tuza. “I will never wear the collar!”

“You may not have the opportunity,” said Donna.

“What?” said Tuza.

“Well, Mistresses,” said Donna, turning to Emerald and Hiza, “do you wish to feel the switch?”

“No,” said Emerald.

“No,” said Hiza.

“Then kiss it,” said Donna, “to show your fear of it, and your respect for it.”

“Never!” said Hiza.

The switch was then thrust to her lips, and Hiza, sullenly, kissed it. “Lick it, as well,” said Donna, not pleasantly.

I then watched the small, soft tongue of Hiza applying itself reluctantly, but obediently, to the supple instrument of discipline and authority.

The switch was then held a few inches before the face of Emerald, who bent forward and kissed it, and then, unbidden, licked it, carefully, delicately, tenderly. Emerald, I thought, is already in the collar.

How she might have driven a man mad with passion.

What a fine price she might bring!

“Like slaves!” said Tuza, regarding Hiza and Emerald with contempt.

“You, next,” said Donna to Tuza, and the switch was thrust against her lips.

“No!” said Tuza.

“Now,” said Donna.

Tuza then, as had Hiza and Emerald, kissed the switch. She was not required to do more. Perhaps it was felt that a tongue such as hers was unworthy of the switch.

“Mistress,” said Donna, to Darla, and Darla, then, as had Tuza, kissed the switch. She, too, was not required to do more.

“Suppose,” said Donna to the prisoners, “it had been not I, but a male who had held the switch.”

I saw from the reaction of Tuza and Darla that they had some sense of what the difference would have been. Are not men the natural masters? Too, men are seldom patient with us. Emerald trembled, and the knees of Hiza moved, uneasily in the dirt.

Memories flooded back upon me, as I had witnessed the preceding ritual. I recalled a warehouse, on a far world, when not a switch, but a whip, had been held before me, as I had lain on my back, bound helplessly, and I had lifted my head a little, and kissed it. “
La Kajira
,” I had said, as I had been bidden. At the time I did not know what it meant. I would soon learn. Those are commonly the first Gorean words a barbarian must utter. She will later learn their meaning. “I am a kajira,” “I am a female slave,” “I am a slave girl.” Let us suppose a city has fallen, buildings are roaring with flame, blood is in the streets, walls collapse, the air is thick with choking, stinging smoke. Perhaps a free woman flings herself to her knees, before the reddened sword of a helmeted enemy, ready to strike, drunk with the lust of killing and looting. The blade is poised. She throws back her hood and tears away her veils, and her mouth is exposed to the conqueror. “
La kajira
!” she cries. “I am a slave girl!” This formula, once spoken, is irrevocable. She is then a self-pronounced slave. A quick, abrupt gesture of the sword and she must disrobe, immediately, completely. Her hands are then tied behind her, and she must hurry behind her captor, struggling to keep up, later to be penned with other slaves amongst whom, as she lacks the brand and collar, she is unlikely to be well treated. Her first sale, as her captor may wish to put her up for sale, might occur that very night, following her marking and collaring. Her life has changed.

Donna then stepped back.

“On your feet, dear, noble Mistresses,” she said. “There is work to be done. First you will gather boughs, to make soft beds for the masters. I have seen promising boughs near the edge of the camp. That will make things easy for you. You will not even need a guard.”

The prisoners rose to their feet, in their rope coffle. Then, following a gesture of the switch, they began to move toward the side of the camp, away from the river. I saw, with some satisfaction, they did not know how to move in coffle. Even slaves know that, especially, I supposed, slaves. “Stop, stupid Mistresses!” called Donna. “Left foot, the first step is with the left foot! Do you know nothing? You are being marched. Later, in gathering boughs, you may move independently. We will begin again. Now, move!”

The four prisoners then, with short steps, and a rustle of shackle chains, began to move again, carefully, slowly, toward the edge of the camp.

“Better,” said Donna.

They must pass amongst the men to exit the camp. I saw their bodies tighten. Their heads were up, and they looked straight ahead. This is common in coffle. The attention of coffle beasts is not to rove about. They are not free persons. Too, in this way they are less likely to make eye contact with a free person. With the prisoners, however, I expected that this behavior was less to be attributed to the customs and decorum of the coffle, instilled in coffle beasts, than an apprehension of the gauntlet through which they, coffled, were passing. Certainly they knew they were under the scrutiny of men, though the scrutiny, for the most part, seemed to be relatively casual. It was not as though they were prize kajirae, four-or-five-silver-tarsk girls, perhaps even some gold-piece girls, say, being disembarked from slave wagons, whose arrival in a city had been long awaited, perhaps even having been heralded by a great number of wall bills.

“Oh!” cried Emerald, startled. She almost fell. “Ai!” gasped Hiza, the last in the line. Kajirae, of course, are familiar with such attentions, and may not object. Emerald and Hiza, on the other hand, were free women. I supposed Emerald and Hiza would be the first to be put upon the block, if that were the fate in store for them.

“
Harta
, faster,” said Donna.

The prisoners, with their short steps, tried to hasten.

Tula, Mila, and I exchanged pleased glances. It gave us great pleasure to see our former mistresses so discomfited.

“Let them do our work,” whispered Tula.

Yes, I thought, “our work,” the work which befits such as we, the work which is ours, fit for Tula, Mila, and myself, the work of slaves.

I hoped the mistresses would also be made to bear burdens. Such may be done in coffle. I trusted that Tula, Mila, and myself would not be the only pack animals in camp.

I noted that the coffle had now exited the camp. It was from that direction that the earlier attack had sprung.

I looked about.

The men paid us little attention.

No longer neck-roped, there was nothing to keep me from slipping away into the forest. How much the masters took us for granted. Did they not know we might bolt as quickly as graceful tabuk, disappearing amongst the trees? I must wait my chance. I did suppose that, as in the march to Tarncamp, we might be secured at night. Still, it should be easy, sooner or later, preferably sooner, for me to complete the escape I had planned, and boldly ventured upon. The masters did not know me. They did not even know I was a barbarian. Had they known that they would doubtless not take me so much for granted. That was their mistake. I was not a Gorean girl. I was from Earth. I would escape!

At this point we heard the screams of women from the forest, the prisoners, I supposed, these coming from the direction they had exited the camp. Some sort of commotion was there. I did not know what was going on. Men rose up, seizing weapons, turning to face the sound. We heard a breaking through branches, cries of fear and misery, these again, I supposed, from the prisoners. “Slower, go slowly!” cried Donna. “Together, move together, step, step!” I saw the shackled prisoners then, on their neck rope. It seemed they could not move quickly enough to regain the camp, perhaps the protection of the men’s spears. How helpless they were, how distressed, frightened, and frantic, trying to hurry, impeded by their closely chained ankles. Then near the edge of the camp they fell, tangled together, weeping. Donna stood between them and the forest. “Get up,” she said. “Move slowly, to the center of the camp.” I did not know what was in the forest. I took it Donna could see it. She kept herself between the forest and the prisoners. How brave she was. The leader went to her, with his spear, and thrust her behind him, and to the side. Then he, too, backed away, slowly.

Then I saw it.

Tula screamed.

“Sleen, sleen!” she cried.

It was a large, long, agile, sinuous, six-legged thing, brown with patches of black, massive, like an immense furred lizard, low to the ground for its size, its belly almost in the leaves, a large, broad, triangular head.

“Do not strike it,” called the leader. “It is not wild. See the collar, the leash!” Then he cried out, in alarm. “Do not touch the leash, Aeson. You are not the use master. Let it alone.”

“Is it hunting?” said a fellow.

“It was,” said the leader.

The huge beast crouched there, at the edge of the camp, looking about. Then it shook its head, vigorously, as though to rid himself of some clinging parasite. It rose up a bit, and then sank down again. For such a large animal, seemingly agile, and sinuous, it had seemed momentarily unsteady.

I did not understand this.

“Kill it!” cried Tuza.

“It is a beautiful beast, do not harm it,” said the leader.

“It is recovering,” said one of the leader’s men.

“How much did you give it?” asked the leader of one of his men.

“Enough to hold a sleen until morning,” said the fellow.

“I think not this sleen,” said the leader.

“It is a wondrous and mighty beast,” said the fellow who had been addressed as Aeson.

The muzzle of that broad head then lay upon the leaves.

Its eyes were half closed.

“Let it alone,” said the leader.

“Look at the nostrils,” whispered Aeson.

“Yes,” said the leader.

“It is taking scent,” said Genak.

I then saw the round eyes of the beast open widely. A low sound, a growl of sorts came from that monstrous form.

“It has taken scent,” said a fellow.

The long, pointed ears of the beast then lay back against the sides of its head.

“Kill it!” begged Tuza.

Suddenly Tula and Mila, who were with me, withdrew from my side, backing away. I did not understand this. I suddenly found myself alone, no one within several feet of me.

“Is it hunting?” asked the fellow who had asked this before.

“It is, now,” said the leader.

I saw the eyes of the beast fasten upon me. It crouched down. “No!” I said.

“Do not move!” said the leader to me.

“She was a runaway!” screamed Tuza. “Kill her, before the beast goes mad in the camp.”

“Remain perfectly still,” said the leader to me.

The beast now crouched down, eyeing me, just a few feet from me. It began to growl. It scratched dirt, deeply furrowing it. Clearly it was becoming excited. Its tail began to lash.

“It is going to attack,” said a man.

“Do not move,” said the leader. “Remain perfectly still.”

Suddenly the beast, with a spattering of dirt behind it, rushed forward and I screamed and felt that broad snout thrusting against me, excitedly, prodding and rubbing. I put my hands before my eyes, and the snout, pushing here and there, explored me. My tunic was ripped on the side. There was saliva from its jaws on my thigh, and under the softness of its jaw’s fur, the jaws rubbing against me, I felt the curved knives of fangs.

The beast then, as though satisfied, circled me twice, and then crouched down, eyeing me, clearly ready to spring.

“Do not move,” the leader cautioned me. Then he turned to Aeson. “The beast is impatient,” he said. “Free and bring the guests from our camp. Hurry!” The leader then turned again to me. “The sleen is uncertain what to do,” he said. “This is dangerous, very dangerous. The use master is not present. It is he who must restrain the beast. Only he will know the signals. Only he can handle the leash with impunity.”

“In the wild,” said a fellow, “when the hunt is done, the sleen attacks, kills, and feeds.”

“The use master is being fetched,” said a man.

“How much time is there?” asked a fellow.

“I do not know,” said the leader. Then he said to me, “Do not move.”

Then the sleen turned about, and faced the edge of the camp, the direction from which he had emerged from the forest, put back his head, and howled.

“It is announcing the end of the hunt?” said a fellow.

“No,” said the leader. “That is not in the training.”

“What then?” asked a man.

“It does not understand the absence of the use master,” said the leader. “It has not encountered this situation before. It does not know what to do. It is puzzled, and frustrated.”