Smugglers of Gor

Chapter Thirty-Nine



“Prepare to trek,” had said Tuza, and she had lifted her hand.

We had steadied our bundles. When she lowered her hand, we would move, making the first step with the left foot.

We had then heard a wild cry from our right, from amongst the trees. Tuza had not even lowered her hand. “Seize them!” we had heard, a woman’s voice.

She appeared to be a slave, but there were men behind her, seemingly several men.

“Seize them!” she had cried again, standing, pointing to our group. What exultancy, what triumph, had there been in that voice!

“Donna!” had cried Tuza.

Darla turned about, in her shackles, and fell. I saw a fellow bending over her, quickly lacing her ankles together. Emerald turned about and fled toward the river. Hiza sped down the back trail. A large fellow followed Emerald. I saw nothing of Hiza. Turning about I saw Tuza standing, stupefied. Her hands were raised, over her head. A hunting spear was at her breast. Her weapon belt was being cut from her. Emerald was now in the river, in the water to her waist, facing back toward the shore, facing her pursuer, so close to her. Her dagger had been drawn. She struck at the fellow but he seized her wrist, and disarmed her. They stood facing one another, apart. She rubbed her wrist, which must have been painful. He slipped her dagger in his own belt. She then, wildly, tried to throw herself upon him, striking him with her small fists. But both her wrists were caught. She struggled, squirming, held, pitting her woman’s strength against his. I feared for her. Did she not know the danger in which she stood? What if the master found her behavior displeasing? He held her until she stopped struggling, knowing herself helpless. He then released her, and indicated that she should precede him to the shore. But she disobeyed. She spun about, suddenly, to plunge away, into the river, to swim, but her pursuer was too close to her. He seized her by an ankle, and drew her to him, and then seized her hair and forced her head under the water. Her small hands were helpless on his wrist. I feared he would drown her. Then, after a time, he pulled her head up, out of the water, and she looked at him, turning her head as she could, sputtering, coughing, water in her eyes, his hand tight in her hair, gasping for breath. “No!” she begged, as her head was again forced under the water. Again, I feared she would be drowned. The next time he drew her head up, free of the water, he released her hair. They stood in the water, she half bent over, looking at one another. He then gestured toward the shore, as he had before, and this time she, head down, frightened, obedient, waded to the shore. Shortly thereafter, approaching from the east, I saw Hiza, the upper part of her body wrapped in a slave net, stumbling toward the camp. Behind her there were two men, one of whom was prodding her to greater haste with the butt of a hunting spear. Mila, Tula, and I had been, I am sure, in the first moment or two, as startled, and frightened as the mistresses, the woman’s cries, the men like rapid shadows amongst the trees, moving toward us. Two of us had screamed. I fear I was one of these. The other may have been unable to make a sound. We had spun about, to our right, confused, in alarm, trying to discern what was occurring, our burdens tumbled away. Surely it was natural for us, then, desperate and frightened, in our consternation, to wish to withdraw from what it might be, not clearly understood, so menacing, that was rushing upon us, but we were in our neck rope. Tula tried to dart away, but was held to us. Mila and I were jerked from our feet, and Tula, too, fell. We were tangled with one another. I feared I might be choked. Tula sprang to her feet. Mila and I, too, leaped to our feet. All of us were looking about, wildly. The rope was on our neck. How could we run? Which direction might we run? Where could we run? Confused, frightened, looking about, we knew not what to do. Our first impulse had been to run, but we had impeded our own efforts. Did we think we could slip the neck loops? But how foolish it would have been, too, to try to flee. Did we not know what we were, that we were kajirae, only kajirae, roped domestic animals? But when things occur suddenly one has no time to reflect. I doubt that any animal would have behaved much differently from how we did. But then, almost immediately, Tula, wild-eyed, looking about, a rope burn on her neck, turned to us. “We are fools,” she said, falling to her knees. “Kneel!” she hissed. We then knelt, as befitted what we were. “It is not Panther Women,” said Mila, observing the pandemonium in the camp about us. “It is men!” “Yes, men, men!” said Tula. “They will know what to do with us!” “We must obey with perfection,” said Mila. “They will have it so,” said Tula, joyfully. I was frightened, seeing strange men in the camp. Yet I knew that as slaves we belonged to men; it was men who were our appropriate masters.

Tuza, weaponless, had been put to her belly in the center of the camp. Soon, in virtue of the keys surrendered by Tuza, Darla, now relieved of her impediments, and her ankles freed of the ankle shackling, lay beside her. Then Emerald, at a gesture from her captor, put herself in place, prone, beside Tuza and Darla. Hiza next, now freed of the capture netting, was flung to the ground, belly down, to Emerald’s left. All were women, disarmed, prone, before men.

Two of the raiders then strode toward us, who were aligned, kneeling. We quickly straightened our bodies, and lowered our heads. Our hands, palm down, were on our thighs. It is a lovely position, and, of course, a common submission posture. We kept our knees tightly closed. We dared not be taken as pleasure slaves. How much we would then be at men’s mercy! To be sure, a portion of my training, and doubtless of that of Tula and Mila, as well, had been that of the pleasure slave. It is assumed that any woman sold off the block is, or may be expected to make, a suitable pleasure slave. Even laundresses, mill girls, water bearers in the fields, and such, are not likely to be unfamiliar with what is expected of a pleasure slave. Certainly in the slave house I had served as such a slave. Some of the men, in assessing my promise, had even had me kneel before them in the position of the pleasure slave, my knees spread invitingly before them. How I had sensed then, even before being so commanded, sometimes to my embarrassment, my receptivity. Soon, sometimes to my shame, I had wanted their arms about me. Many times they made me beg. Men are cruel. I was changed, I knew, after my time in the slave house. How much I was then a slave! Not every slave, I knew, is sent to the slave house.

“Look up,” said the large, bearded fellow, whom I took to be the leader of the intruders.

“What do you think, Aeson?” he asked.

“My original conjecture is confirmed,” he said. “Acceptable, all of them.”

“And as kajirae?” asked the bearded fellow.

“Yes,” said Aeson.

He did not know, of course, that I was a barbarian. Yet, what difference should that make? Certainly many barbarians were taken for the markets, and thus deemed suitable for kajirae. I recalled a given master, perhaps the first who had ever looked upon me, though I could not be sure of that. What woman knows if the man who looks upon her, perhaps casually, perhaps appraisingly, is a master? How I hated the brute who had first discerned me in the aisle of the large emporium, he who had brought me to the degradation of the collar, for which I had yearned, he at whose feet I longed to lie, a submitted, nude, and collared slave.

“You may lower your heads,” said the bearded fellow, the leader.

We lowered our heads.

I felt a boot-like sandal, with its high, wide thongs, thrust between my knees, and then they were forced apart. I kept my head down. I did not dare meet the eyes of a master.

I did not know what man had forced my knees apart. I thought it likely that it had been the leader, but it may have been the other, perhaps prompted by a cursory glance or gesture.

The two men then turned away.

I knew in what position I now knelt. Only I had had my position so adjusted. I wondered if I were attractive. I had not thought myself particularly so on Earth. I had not regarded myself much different from other women. Could it be, I wondered, that I possessed attractions of which I was unaware? Perhaps I was not as plain as I had thought. But I had been, I realized, chosen for the collar. Certainly not all women were. What had slavers seen in me, which I had not been aware of in myself? Perhaps I was more attractive than I thought, with all the attendant dangers that that might mean on Gor, a world on which men were masters and some women were their slaves. Had it been thought, long ago, that I might, at least eventually, do well off the block? In any event, I had apparently been favorably assessed. Certainly I had been brought to Gor. I had been put in the collar. I was both thrilled, and terrified. I had been found acceptable for a Gorean slave girl. I had been administered the stabilization serums which on Gor, of course, are administered even to slaves. It is desired by the masters that we retain our energy and vitality, our needs and passion, our attractiveness and desirability, our helplessness and responsiveness, our youth and beauty, doubtless not for our sake, as we are only slaves, but for their sake, that we may be more pleasing to them. On my world I supposed this might count as a gift beyond price, concerning which murders might be done, and wars fought. Here, as we were not free, it was little more in our case than a procedure or device to improve slave stock. I wondered what would be the case if a woman, say one of my world, had a choice in such matters. Certainly I knew what the political and ideological prescriptions would be on my old world. She would be expected to prefer decrepitude, withering, aging, and death to a collar on her neck, and a master in whose arms she would be no more than a begging, enraptured chattel. Let other women see these things as they will. Let them make what choice they would. I had had no choice. It was put on my neck. But it belonged there. I had known since puberty, even before I knew of collars, that one belonged on my neck. And when I learned of collars, stunned, startled, and almost fainting, almost losing consciousness, in my junior year in high school, that there should even be such things, I knew that I belonged in one, and wanted one. I wanted to love and serve, selflessly and choicelessly, to belong, to be owned, to be possessed, to be subject to the rope and chain, to be subject to the whip, to be mastered. I wanted to be a slave at my master’s feet! How such thoughts tormented me! How I tried to fight them, and thrust them from me! How terrible I must be! Could I be so degraded a creature? Surely I was alone, terribly alone. Surely I was utterly different from tens of millions of other women? I must fight myself. I must not be myself, but another self, an external, dissatisfying, foreign self demanded of me! How I struggled to fulfill stereotypes alien to my deepest heart, to accept values which were not my own, to comply with rules and commands which would deny me to myself! Then I had found myself lying on a warehouse floor, with others, naked, bound hand and foot. Then a fellow’s foot had turned me over, and I looked up at him, bound, helpless at his feet. I was to be taken to the markets of Gor.

I kept my eyes down.

Well was I aware of the position in which I knelt.

I was uneasy.

I could not help how I felt. I feared my belly had become the belly of a slave.

The leader, with some of his men, was now by the four prone prisoners.

“Remove their necklaces, the armlets, bracelets, and such,” said the leader, “all ornaments.”

Some of the armlets and bracelets, I was sure, were of gold.

Then, at another word from the leader, the hands of the prisoners were pulled behind their back, and their wrists were laced together. So slender a bond would hold them helpless, as it would me. A man, I was confident, might have torn apart such a feeble restraint. Was this, I wondered, a mere convenience, such lacing being at hand, or was it intended to be informative, as well, reminding the proud Panther Women that they, too, were women.

“No, please, no!” whimpered Tuza, as her skins were cut away. Darla needed not be subjected to this attention, of course, as she had been similarly served, following Tuza’s victorious usurpation of leadership. Then the knife continued its rude work and Emerald and Hiza lay at men’s feet, no different from other free women, perhaps more refined, gentler creatures, who might, say, have been driven from sacked, burning cities, snared on bridges by soaring tarnsmen, netted on outings, lured into taverns, seized from caravans, gagged and abducted in darkness from inns, taken in raids on the baths.

“Neck-rope them,” said the leader.

“We will need rope,” said a fellow.

“It is at hand,” said the leader, nodding toward us with his head.

In a moment, Tula, Mila, and I had been freed of the neck rope, which had for so long held us together, like tied kaiila.

Freed of the rope I was suddenly excited and elated. What now might prevent my escape? I must strive mightily not to convey the least inkling of the ferment within me. I continued to kneel, docilely, though my heart was pounding, and my blood racing. How stupid they were! They did not know, of course, that I was from Earth. Put my knees apart, would they! I was not within walls, I was not chained. Few were about; the forest was dark, and wide. It would be easier to slip amongst the trees here than at Shipcamp.

It was with satisfaction, I am sure, that Tula and Mila, as well as I, observed our rope being knotted about the necks of the prone prisoners.

“Get them on their knees, as is appropriate for such,” said the leader.

The Panther Women whimpered and wept as they were dragged by their hair to their knees before the leader. Tears coursed their cheeks, their lips trembled. Then they were kneeling before the men, their wrists bound behind them, in coffle.

“Behold,” said the leader, “Panther Girls!”

“They look like slaves to me,” said a fellow.

“Where now,” said the leader, “are your pride, your weapons, your golden ornaments?”

“They are not in evidence,” said a fellow.

“Nor will they be,” said another.

“Behold Panther Girls,” said the leader, “as is appropriate for them, as they should be, helpless, naked, and bound.”

“Release us,” said Tuza. “You are ignorant, you would grasp lightning. We are in the employ of others, numerous and dangerous others. We have our mission. We must return to the Laurius. Free us, immediately!”

“You see, Master,” said Donna, who was standing to the side, in the background, in her scarlet tunic, “it is the very group you seek. I thought so. It is admitted! I found them for you. We have been successful.”

Darla turned angrily to Tuza. “You stupid she-tarsk,” she said.

“There are forces involved,” said the leader to Tuza and Darla, “which you do not understand, nor, fully, do we. But somewhere, perhaps faraway, there is to be a contest, one on which the fate of worlds may hang.”

“They were certainly well-paid,” said a fellow. “Their purses were heavy with gold.”

“No heavier than ours, I wager,” said the leader.

“You were hired to seek us out?” said Darla.

“Yes,” said the leader. He then turned to Tuza. “You spoke of a mission,” he said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, sullenly.

“Kill her,” said the leader. A knife leapt from its sheath.

“No!” said Tuza. “I speak, I speak! We were sent to the forest to discover if rumors concerning a great ship being secretly built high on the Alexandra might be true, and, if true, to determine the location of this ship and its state of readiness to depart. It was planned then to dispatch a small, but swift, terrible force, perhaps only two hundred men, to destroy this ship before it could reach Thassa.”

“I have heard such rumors, of such a ship,” said the leader, “but I know nothing of such a ship.”

“We have seen it,” said Tuza. “Release us, you will be well paid.”

“We are already well-paid,” said the leader.

“What is to be our fate?” asked Darla.

“It is to be taken under consideration,” said the leader.

“I do not understand,” she said.

“Donna,” called the leader.

The dark-haired, striking, scarlet-tunicked slave approached, and stood before the prisoners. She carried Tuza’s switch.

“I trust you remember me,” said Donna, tapping the blade of the switch in the palm of her left hand. “You, Darla and Tuza, set upon me, bound me, and took me to the coast, where you sold me.”

Neither Darla nor Tuza responded. They did not meet her eyes. Both, I think, were angry, to be addressed by a slave.

“But,” said Donna, “I saw Darla stripped, and belly-braceleted, and shackled. I gather then that loyal Tuza betrayed her new leader, as she and Darla did Donna, their former leader.” She then turned to Emerald and Hiza. “And you,” she said, “stood by while I was deposed, just as, I would suppose, you did when noble Tuza put noble Darla aside, even to chains.”

“We could not interfere,” said Emerald. “Darla and Tuza are stronger, quicker. They would kill us.”

“Tuza drugged Darla,” said Hiza.

“What a brave way to challenge for leadership,” said Donna. “Are javelins in the forest no longer in order; are sticks no longer available to draw a killing circle, a circle of decision, in the camp?”

“Away, slave!” said Tuza.

“You are in the presence of free persons,” screamed Darla. “Kneel, as befits a slave!”

But Donna remained on her feet. “This is Tuza’s switch,” she said. “I remember it well. I felt it often enough on the trek to the selling poles.”

“She does not kneel,” said Tuza, frightened.

“She is to be freed, for finding us,” Darla whispered.

“It is her reward,” said Tuza.

“Of course,” said Darla.

At that point the leader gave a great laugh, and stepped forward. He put out his hand and Donna immediately surrendered the switch to him, and knelt at his side.

“Do you wish to be freed?” he asked, looking down at her, possessively.

“No, Master,” she said. “Please do not free me!”

“Have no fear,” he said.

“Would you free me, Master,” she asked, “if I begged to be freed?”

“No,” he said.

“Good,” she said.

“You are too beautiful, too exciting, too desirable, to be freed,” he said.

“I hope to please my master,” she said.

She then held his leg, and licked his thigh.

“Slave!” said Tuza.

“Disgusting!” said Darla.

“I am a slave,” she said. “It fulfills me to lick my master’s thigh.”

“Yes,” whispered Emerald, softly.

“Who knows,” said Donna to Tuza and Darla, “the time may come when you two will beg to lick a master’s thigh.”

Emerald moaned, softly.

“What is wrong with you?” Hiza asked Emerald.

“Do not be concerned, Hiza,” said Donna. “There is a nice turn to your belly, and, in time, your hair will grow out.”

“I cut it short!” she said.

“Who knows?” said Donna. “A master might not permit that.”

Hiza shrank back a bit in her bonds, and pulled at the laces confining her wrists behind her back.

“Perhaps,” said Donna, “you will long for longer hair, that you may be more pleasing to him.”

The leader then motioned that Donna should rise. She did so. He then returned the switch to her.

This was regarded with some apprehension by the prisoners, as the switch may easily be taken not simply as an instrument of improvement, and such, but a symbol of authority.

“Put them in close shackles,” said the leader, “and then free their hands. Keep the rope on their necks. If they attempt to remove it, cut off their hands.”

Shortly thereafter the ankles of each prisoner had been shackled. The play of chain would allow them only small steps. Their hands were then freed. They remained kneeling, in coffle.

Donna stood over them, switch in hand.

“Do you think it wise,” said Tuza, rubbing her wrists, “that we should be granted such freedom? We are Panther Women.”

“Do you still think you are Panther Women?” asked Donna.

“Of course,” said Tuza.

“Interesting,” said Donna.

“Are we not?” asked Tuza.

“No,” said Donna.

“You would dare to grant us the freedom of our hands?” said Tuza.

“Yes,” said Donna.

“But why?” asked Tuza.

“That you might busy yourselves about the camp,” she said.

“I do not understand,” said Tuza.

“There are many things to do,” said Donna. “Water is to be fetched, berries are to be picked, wood is to be gathered, the fire is to be tended, meals are to be prepared, the camp is to be tidied, soft boughs are to be gathered for the men to recline upon, many things.”

“You cannot be serious,” said Tuza.

“We are free women,” said Darla.

“We dare not go into the forest shackled, naked, and unarmed,” said Tuza. “There are wild tarsk, sleen, forest bosk, panthers!”

“A man will accompany you,” said Donna. “He will protect you. Your lives will be in his hands, completely.”

“Give us clothing,” said Tuza. “Men look upon us with impunity.”

“It is much like being a slave, is it not?” asked Donna.

“Give us back at least the shreds of our forest raiment, that it be resewn, that we may be covered,” said Darla.

“You would be again presumptuously and arrogantly garmented in the skins of beasts, as though you were men, proud hunters and rovers?” said Donna.

“Please,” said Tuza.

“You are no longer entitled to such pretenses and posturings,” said Donna. “Your garmenture henceforth, if garmenture is permitted to you, will be in accord with your sex.”

“Not the bundling absurdities inflicted on allegedly free women!” said Tuza.

“No!” cried Darla. “You would not dare to put us in such degrading garments, so enveloping, so cumbersome, so abundant, so hobbling, so layered, with hoods and veils, the garments of small, soft creatures of interest to men, educated, perfumed, pampered, and refined, meaningless, weak little animals, conforming little animals, mindlessly trapped in the cages of convention.”

“When such come to us, we sell them,” scoffed Tuza.

“Men like them,” said Darla. “They crawl nicely under the whip. They are pretty in chains.”

“They are not large, strong, hard, and coarse,” said Tuza.

“Do you think me hard and coarse?” asked Donna.

“No longer,” said Tuza, scornfully. “Now you are soft!”

“I like being soft,” said Donna.

“Slave!” said Tuza.

“And you, too, are soft,” said Donna.

“No!” said Tuza and Darla.

“Regard yourself in a mirror, your reflection in still water,” said Donna.

“Do not put us in the garmenture of the women of the cities,” said Tuza.

“We will not wear such degrading, colorful, cumbersome, lengthy, inhibiting, silken things, the vanities and affectations of weak, meaningless women,” said Darla.

“Then, go naked,” said Donna.

“No!” wept Tuza.

“We might wear such things, perhaps for a time!” said Darla.

“Surely,” laughed Donna, “you do not think we carry about the wardrobes of free women in the forest.”

“Cruel slave!” said Tuza.

“Such things were never an option,” wept Darla.

“Certainly not,” said Donna.

“You are clothed!” said Tuza.

“If you can call it that,” said Darla.

“My master has permitted it,” said Donna. “Do you like it? Is it not attractive? It is easy to move in such a garment.”

“It is scarcely a scrap of cloth,” said Tuza.

“It is enough for me,” said Donna. “It is appropriate for me. I am a slave.”

“Clothe us!” begged Tuza.

“With what?” asked Donna.

Tuza, turning, on her knees, pointed to us. “There!” she said.

“But there are only three tunics there,” she said.

“One for me,” said Tuza, “one for Darla, and let Emerald and Hiza cast a moistened pebble for the last.”

“You would be willing to wear the rags of slaves?” asked Donna.

I doubt that Tula and Mila, any more than I, were pleased at this turn of discourse. Perhaps slaves are not permitted modesty, but few of us are without it. It is perhaps a bit like curiosity, which is supposedly unbecoming to a kajira, but who of us is without it? Certainly few of us would relish public nudity. Indeed, that is sometimes used as a discipline, sending us on errands so, and such. Our garmenture is precious to us, and we strive to be worthy of it. Indeed, Gorean slaves, even pleasure slaves, are often clothed far more modestly than many free women of my former world. Much of this is cultural, of course. A simple example would be veiling. Statistically, few women on my former world veil their features, but, on Gor, free women, particularly of upper caste, commonly veil themselves in public. On Gor a woman’s lips are commonly regarded as sexually stimulatory. Thus veiling is common. On the other hand, slaves are not permitted veiling. They may not conceal their lips. Their lips, in all their erotic provocativeness, are to be publicly visible. They are slaves. Interestingly, nudity is not that unusual on Gor amongst manual laborers on hot days. It is more familiar than, and one thinks less of it than, the occasional, usually rare, public nudity of female slaves. Even paga girls are normally clothed, save in the alcoves. In private, in the confines of her master’s domicile, of course, the slave may or may not be clothed. Some masters like to have a slave clothed, and others not. If she is clothed, of course, then the master may have the pleasure of removing the clothing. My own tunic, for example, like many, had a disrobing loop at its left shoulder. This is convenient for most men, as they are right-handed. Others, it seems, enjoy seeing their property about, clad only in its collar.

“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.”

“The hunt is done,” said a man.

“It always feeds at the end of the hunt,” said a fellow.

“Blood will tip the scale,” said a man.

“How long does she have?” asked Genak.

“It depends on the animal,” said the leader.

The beast had turned away from me. It could not see me. Was this not my opportunity? Would there be another? I turned about, and fled toward the river. I heard a scrambling in the dirt behind me, and stopped suddenly, almost falling, for the beast was now before me, between me and the river, head down, snarling.

“It is going to feed!” I heard.

Someone screamed, perhaps Tula.

“Back away, slowly,” called the leader, soothingly. “Return to where the sleen found you, where you were before, exactly. I recommend you kneel there, and remain extremely quiet.”

“It is fortunate he did not stop her by cutting or tearing her, and smell or taste blood,” said Genak.

“That would have been the end of things,” said a man.

I now knelt where, and as, I had been told.

“You disobeyed,” said the leader.

“Forgive me, Master,” I whispered.

“What you did was stupid and foolish,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I whispered.

“She is a barbarian, Master,” said Tula. “She knows no better.”

“If you try to rise to your feet now,” said the leader to me, “the beast may well attack.”

“How much time does she have?” asked a man.

“Very little, I would suppose,” said the leader.

“There is one way to make sure of one’s prey,” said a man.

“Certainly, kill it,” said another.

“See the beast,” said a fellow.

It was crouched down, trembling, ears back, the tail lashing back and forth. Clearly it was growing excited. My bolting had apparently ignited or stirred the whole animal.

“She should not have run,” said a man.

“See the beast,” said another. “It will not be long now.”

“The hunt is done, it wants to feed,” said another.

“Training is fragile,” said a man. “Blood will have its way.”

“Kill it, Master, I beg of you!” called Donna.

“Be silent,” he said.

“Please, Master!” she wept.

“This beast is a prize animal,” he said. “It is worth five, perhaps ten, of her.”

“Please,” she cried.

“This is a worthless piece of collar meat,” he said, “sleen prey, thus a fled kajira. To see her torn to pieces will be an excellent example for other slaves.”

She sank to her knees, weeping.

Did I think I was still on Earth? I was only a Gorean slave girl. In the market I would be worth far less than such a beast.

“It tenses!” whispered a man.

I bent down quickly and put my head down to the dirt, and my hands on my head. How can one prepare oneself for the claws, anchored in one’s body, holding one, and then the fangs, mounted in that massive jaw, the tearing and feeding?

Then I heard a man’s voice. I did not recognize it. It spoke softly. “Gently, gently, noble friend,” it said. “Well done, well done! Easy, easy, fellow, the hunt is done. It is over. It is finished, well finished. Are you hungry, friend? Here is meat, much meat!”