Smugglers of Gor (51 page)

Read Smugglers of Gor Online

Authors: John Norman

Tags: #Gor 32

BOOK: Smugglers of Gor
4.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

After we had been fed, the prisoners were returned to the neck rope and allowed to feed themselves. I do not think there was all that much left by then, as nothing was saved for the next day. The prisoners were then taken to the edge of the camp where they relieved themselves, and then their neck rope was fastened to its tree, and they were put prone to the ground and had their hands tied behind their backs.

“What is to be done with us?” had asked Darla, shortly after her hands had been fastened behind her, trying to look up, of Genserich, who was nearby, observing the securing of the prisoners.

“You will learn tomorrow,” he had said.

I was thinking of escaping, but then the rope was looped about my left ankle.

And now it was that day, tomorrow, so to speak, the morning of the day following the capture of the Panther Women, that following my menacing at the jaws of a large sleen, and its fortunate, if somewhat belated, restraint by the sleen master. Too, of course, it was the day following the arrival in camp of another, one who had apparently accompanied the sleen master and his beast, Tiomines, in what had proved to be a successful hunt, the quarry of which had been a barbarian slave.

I wiped the slave gruel from my lips with the back of my right forearm. I held the bowl in my left hand and went to the river to rinse it. Afterwards I stood for a little time on the shore, thinking of running. But it was light, and there were men about. And at night, one is on the rope. I understood that Genserich had some interest in Tiomines, and so I did not think he would permit the sleen to hunt me, for he might then lose the beast. It would be best, of course, if Tiomines would be conducted back to Shipcamp. No other hunting sleen were about. I looked across the water. I knew little of the south shore of the Alexandra. I did know that in the vicinity of Shipcamp, across the river, there were some buildings, including a mysterious stockade, where, it was rumored, prize slaves were housed, under great security, presumably to be boarded on the great ship, shortly before its departure.

I looked back to the camp.

I had been caught.

What chance has a girl if a sleen is on her scent?

I did not think they could catch me again, as, if all went well, there would be no sleen.

My vanity had been stung by the ease with which Emerald had captured me in the forest. Surely I had been an easily snared “vulo.” How could I forget that? And she was not even a man! But I reminded myself that I, even had I wished to be so, could not have begun to be a match for her. How large, stern, severe, and powerful she had seemed, so different from myself. How formidable she had seemed, in her freedom, her pride, her size and sturdiness, in her rude skins, in her barbaric ornaments, with her dagger and spear. And I was slight, small, weak, and defenseless, and feminine, fit on this world to be only a female slave. The others, too, had seemed so large, so powerful, so forceful, so mannish, like women who were not women, but men. But then how small, weak, and female they had proved to be when compared not to me, but to actual men. Their skins gone, their ornaments removed, put to their knees, shackled, on a rope, how suddenly female they were. And now they were frightened. No longer did they seem proud Panther Women, but rather, now, only women, the captures of large and powerful men.

I must return to the camp.

It would not do, to be missed, at least not for too long.

I had been caught, first by the Panther Women, and then by the attackers, as simply one slave amongst others, as might be one kaiila amongst others, and then, I suppose, in a sense, by the sleen master and his fellow. Certainly the sleen had found me, and held me in place, doubtless expecting the hunters to be at hand, but they had not been. Happily, they had managed to arrive in time, moments before, it seemed, the sleen would feed.

I turned about, and, again, looked across the river. It was broad at this point, shimmering in the morning light. But, too, I was sure it was deep, for I knew it had been well sounded, and frequently, by the men in small boats. These had now been recalled, as the departure of the great ship was imminent, but would doubtless precede her in the voyage downstream. The channel of a river can be treacherous, in its turns and depths. Debris can accumulate. Bars can be formed overnight. I knew charts had been prepared. Following a false channel one can run aground.

A bird skimmed its surface, fishing. The forest looked small, on the other side.

I recalled the serving of yesterday’s evening.

I had ignored him. Let him be stung by that, ignored by a slave! But he had not interjected his will, summoning me to him. I should have had to obey. The lash is not pleasant. But he had not summoned me to him!

Why had he not done so?

Could it be that he, truly, did not want me, that I was nothing to him, only another slave?

Had he truly pursued me only for pleasure, only for the hunt, as one might pursue any animal, a verr, a tabuk?

I did not think so.

Not at all.

I think he wanted me.

He would not have me. If he scorned me, I would scorn him, by flight, by departing. Next time there would be no sleen.

I would have my revenge. Let him hunger for a slave who was indifferent to him, one he might desire but who did not desire him, one who would be forever beyond his grasp, one whom he would never have, one who loathed him, who despised him, who found him repulsive, who hated him, who scorned him, whose most dreaded fate would be to fall into his hands.

Yes, Master, I thought, want me, dream of me, long to own me, long to have your name on my collar, your bracelets on my wrists, long to fling me as a rightless chattel to your slave ring, but it will not be!

I hate you, I hate you!

I must get back, I thought.

There was a stirring in the camp above, and so I turned about, and, carrying my now-rinsed gruel bowl, climbed up the slope to the camp.

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Three

 

“Something is going on,” I said to Axel.

“Yes,” said Axel.

“Let us inquire,” I said.

“Apparently it has to do with the Panther Girls,” he said.

“I think so,” I said.

The Panther Girls had been knelt near the center of the camp. Men were gathered about. We saw Genserich. Even the camp slaves, Tula, Mila, and the other, were present, kneeling to the side.

“Is it true,” I asked, “that you can set a sleen on any quarry?”

“Most sleen,” he said, “with the ‘Kill Command’.”

“Tiomines?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Bring Tiomines,” I suggested.

“Why?” he said.

“He is our only weapon,” I said.

“It is not ours to interfere,” he said.

“Bring him,” I said.

Axel slapped his right thigh, sharply. “With us, fellow,” he said. The sleen immediately sprang up, and, a moment later, rubbed his muzzle against the side of Axel’s leg.

“What are you going to do with us?” begged Darla.

She and the three other prisoners, Tuza, Emerald, and Hiza had been knelt, as noted, near the center of the camp. As before they were stripped, shackled, and on their neck rope. Too, now, though it was well into the morning, their hands were still tied behind their backs.

They were frightened. They had not been fed.

Perhaps, I thought, uneasily, their captors did not wish to waste food.

Genserich stood before them, regarding them, his arms folded across his chest. Most of his men were gathered about, save for one or two on guard. His slave, Donna, was behind him, kneeling, on his left, a common position in which a slave heels her master.

“Welcome,” said Genserich to Axel and myself, acknowledging our presence. “Tal,” we responded.

“We are free women,” said Darla. “Remove from our bodies these hideous impediments, return to us our clothing, feed us, give us our weapons, let us go on our way.”

Clearly, I supposed, they were still free. Certainly she had spoken without permission. A free woman, of course, may speak when, and how, she wishes, as she is not a slave.

“You were carrying gold,” said Genserich, “and doubtless expected to acquire more. You were spying in the forest. You admitted learning of a great ship, its apparent readiness for departure, and your intention to inform others of this, with the expectation that a small force, say, some two hundred men or so, would be soon dispatched to attack and destroy this ship, withdrawing almost immediately.”

“Yes,” said Darla. “We have told you so much. Now let us go.”

“Who is your employer?” inquired Genserich.

“We do not know,” said Darla. “We did not need to know his name. Gold was enough.”

“I am sure that is true, Master,” said Donna.

“And who is your employer?” asked Darla boldly, looking up.

Genserich laughed, and slapped his thigh. “Gold was enough,” he said.

I was puzzled by these things, though I had gathered, long ago, from Tyrtaios, that titanic forces might be involved in these matters, and that one, or more, worlds, in their way, might hang in some delicate balance. Certainly there had been an attack on Tarncamp some weeks ago, when I and others had been on timber duty in the forest. It had been beaten away. Some force, obviously, was interested in the ship, and concerned, for some reason, that it reach the sea, whence it might embark on some mysterious venture, perhaps even seeking, as some feared, the World’s End. Some other force, apparently, wished to destroy the ship, thus precluding its voyage and any possible influence it, and its complement, troops, or such, might eventually bring to bear on certain distant, critical events.

“You may keep the gold,” said Darla. “Free us, that we may make our report.”

“We already have the gold,” said Genserich.

“Free us, then,” she said, ‘that we may make our report.”

“There is some urgency in this?” he said.

“Yes, noble Genserich,” said Darla. “An army is being maintained, at great expense, at the mouth of the Alexandra, to prevent the ship from reaching the sea. If the ship can be located and destroyed before its departure, this force need no longer be maintained in the field.”

“But, I take it,” said Genserich, “funds have already been allotted to maintain this force for some time, if not indefinitely, at the mouth of the Alexandra.”

“One supposes so,” said Darla.

Genserich laughed, and so, too, did the men about him.

“And such funds,” he said, “devoted to, but not expended on, the closure of the Alexandra, might then find their way into diverse wallets.”

“Perhaps,” said Darla.

“I now see the urgency,” said Genserich.

“Free us,” said Darla, “and you might share in the employer’s good fortune.”

“He is a thief,” said Genserich.

“Perhaps not,” said Darla.

“A thief,” said Genserich.

“He may only wish to conserve the funds which have been entrusted to him.”

“For himself,” said Genserich.

“Free us,” said Darla.

“I do not know your employer,” said Genserich, “or who, or what, stands behind him, but I doubt he would happily welcome us into his confidence. Rather, with such intelligence at our disposal, and our possible use of it, I suspect our lives might stand in some jeopardy.”

“Allow us to make our report,” said Darla. “We will be well paid. We will share our gains with you.”

“You are generous,” said Genserich. “What do you think those on whom you have spied would pay for you?”

“Surely not as much!” she said.

“I fear,” said Genserich, “that your employer must continue to maintain, presumably at considerable expense, his men in the field, at the mouth of the Alexandra.”

“Not if we make our report!” she said.

“No,” said Genserich, “not if you make your report.”

“Free us!” demanded Darla, pulling at her bound wrists, fastened behind her.

“But,” said Genserich, “you will not make your report.”

“I do not understand,” said Darla.

“For what do you think we were hired?” asked Genserich.

“I do not know,” said Darla.

“That your report not be made,” he said.

“Free us, free us!” cried Tuza.

“Be silent, girl,” said Genserich. “Another is speaking for the prisoners. Not you.”

Tuza drew back, angrily.

I noted she had not been cuffed. To be sure, she was free.

“And it was for that purpose,” he said, briefly glancing behind him, and to his left, where Donna knelt, in her scarlet tunic, “that a given slave, a former Panther Girl, indeed, one once of your own band, was obtained, that she might abet our search.”

“I found them for you, Master,” said Donna. “I was sure I could.”

“We found her in a low market, for cheap, inferior slaves,” said Genserich. “She still thought herself a Panther Girl, despite being neck-ringed, and pretended to angry resistance, and defiance. The whip quickly took that out of her, and she understood, trembling and weeping, that she was now a slave. After that, well-worked and, when it amused us, lengthily caressed, she began to learn her collar. Soon enough she was at my knee, whimpering.”

“Disgusting slut!” exclaimed Darla.

“But she was quite pleased when she learned the reason for her purchase, and eagerly led us in our quest to intercept the now-so-called ‘band of Darla’, which had been hired to conduct its secret reconnaissance in the northern forests.

“Slut!” screamed Darla. “You betrayed us!”

“It was I who was betrayed,” she said, “— Mistress.”

“You have had your revenge!” said Darla. “We are now stripped and shackled, kneeling and helpless, bound, in the power of men!”

“We are women,” said Donna. “We should be in the power of men.”

“I hate men!” screamed Darla.

“Because you are not a man,” said Donna.

“I do not understand,” said Darla.

“Be what you are,” said Donna. “You will then know the joys of being the surrendered slave of your master.”

“No, no, no!” screamed Darla.

“Yes,” breathed Emerald, pulling at her bound wrists.

“We put her in the scarlet tunic,” said Genserich. “A former Panther Girl, she well understood how this would mark her out, how conspicuous it would make her, and how it would make clear that although she might be in the forest she was no longer of the forest.”

Other books

A Portrait of Emily by J.P. Bowie
The Steam Mole by Dave Freer
My Glimpse of Eternity by Malz, Betty
Gregory Curtis by Disarmed: The Story of the Venus De Milo
A Matter of Destiny by Bonnie Drury
The Printmaker's Daughter by Katherine Govier
The Silent History: A Novel by Eli Horowitz, Matthew Derby, Kevin Moffett