Norman, John - Gor 08 - Hunters of Gor.txt

by Hunters of Gor [lit]

  cursive script, in the Gorean alphabet, of the expression Kajira.

  It is a beautiful letter.

  The judge looked down upon the Lady Tina of Lydius. She, fastened over the rack,

  stripped, looked up at him, in his robes, those with two borders, one of gold,

  the other of purple. Her eyes were wild.

  “Brand the Lady Tina of Lydius,” he said. “Brand her slave. Then he turned, and

  departed from the platform.

  The girl gave a terrible scream.

  There was a shout from the crowd.

  The man now, swiftly, brutally, released the girl, spinning open the vises, and

  dropping them against the rack, unfastening her wrists and ankles, and dragged

  her to her feet. Her hair was over her face. She was weeping.

  The man’s hand was strong on her arm. “Here is a nameless slave!” he cried.

  “What am I bid for her?”

  “Fourteen copper pieces!” cried a man.

  “Sixteen!” cried another.

  I spied, in the crowd, two men from my ship. I gestured that they should join

  us, Rim, Thurnock and myself. They worked their way through the crowd.

  “Twenty copper pieces!” cried a leather worker.

  The judges, I noted, had left. The musicians, those who had played the drums and

  flutes, escorting the judges and the prisoner, had also left.

  The slave girls who had drawn the wagon, stood about, watching the crowd.

  “Twenty-two copper pieces,” called a metal worker.

  The girl, stripped, stood on the platform, her arm in the grip of the man. Her

  hair, was sill over her face. But her tears were now only stains on her body.

  Her mouth was slightly parted. She seemed numb. It was as thought she scarcely

  understood that it was she, who was being bid upon. Her thigh, sill, much have

  burned with searing pain. Yes, of all her body, it was only her eyes, dull,

  glazed with pain, that acknowledged that she had been branded within the Ehn.

  She did not seem, otherwise, fully aware of what was happening to her. Then

  suddenly she threw back her head and screamed, and tried to twist away from the

  man. He threw her to her knees on the boards and she knelt there, bent over, her

  head in her hands, fully and wildly weeping. She understood now, fully, that she

  was being sold.

  “Twenty-five copper pieces,” called a pastry vendor.

  “Twenty-seven!” screamed a seaman.

  I looked about. I could now see there were more than two hundred men about, and

  women and children, as well. I saw some four or five more of my crew. And many

  others, of other crews.

  “Let us see her!” called a merchant.

  The man reached down and seized her by the hair and pulled her again to her

  feet, now bending her body back, exposing her the bow of her beauty to the

  crowd. “Let the men see you, little slave,” he laughed.

  She was indeed beautiful.

  “One silver tarsk,” I called.

  There was a silence in the crowd.

  It was not a bad price for such a girl.

  Rim and Thurnock looked at me, puzzled.

  I waited.

  This girl, I knew, was skillful. She had deft hands. Perhaps, I thought, I might

  find some use for such, a wench. Besides, I knew that she had drugged and robbed

  Arn, the outlaw. I supposed he might be pleased to have her. He might be of use,

  should matters turn out that way, in my pursuit of Talena.

  “I am bid one silver tarsk,” called the man. “One silver tarsk! Am I bid more?

  Am I bid more?”

  I asked myself why I might want her. I told myself I might find use for her

  skills. I might use her to bargain with Arn for his aid.

  “Am I bid more?” cried the man.

  Also, of course, she had stolen from me. This did not please me.

  “Am I bid more?” called the man again. He still held her, bent cruelly

  backwards, his hand in her hair.

  She was a vital, beautiful, sensuous little wench. She struggled in pain. She

  tried to reach his hand in her hair.

  “Sold to the captain!” called the man.

  I owned her.

  “Thurnock,” said I, “give him the silver tarsk.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he said.

  The crowd began to melt away, “Stay,” said to two of my men.

  As Thurnock, by her arm, led the girl down the stairs of the wagon, the other

  slave girls, who had moved the wagon, struck at her, spitting and jeering.

  “Slave!” they cried. “Slave!”

  Thurnock led the girl before me. She looked at me, with glazed eyes.

  I turned to one of the seaman with me. “Take her and chain her in the first

  hold,” I said.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said.

  He began to lead her away, by the arm. Suddenly, she stopped, and looked back

  over her shoulder. “You?” she said. “This morning.”

  “Yes,” I said. I was pleased that she remembered.

  Her head fell forward on her breast, her hair, too, forward. Then she was led

  away to her chains on the Tesephone.

  I thought I would enjoy owning her.

  “Now,” said I to Rim and Thurnock. “Shall we return to the tavern and enjoy our

  paga.

  I was much pleased.

  Rim lifted his key. It bore the number six.

  “Tendite will be waiting for me,” mentioned,” mentioned Rim.

  “I”, said Thurnock, “ wonder about that dancer. She is a juicy, fat little tabuk

  is she not?”

  “Indeed,” granted Rim.

  “What do you think they would charge for her pelt for an hour?”

  “Perhaps tow copper pieces,” I suggested. The other girls, the common slaves,

  like Tendite, went with the price of a cup of paga.

  “let us go to the tavern,” said Thurnock, licking his lips.

  Together, we went to the tavern. It was not long past noon, and there would be

  time, later, to begin the purchase of supplies.

  I did not wish to deny Rim his lovely Tendite, nor Thurnock his Ahn with the

  luscious wench, chained, who had writhed before us on the sand.

  I myself expected, at that time, to be content with a cup of paga.

  But I found more in the tavern, which I did not expect to find.

  4 An Acquaintance is Briefly Renewed

  Rim went to Tendite, whom he had left in the paga tavern.

  She looked at him, in her yellow silk, kneeling in the darkness by the low wall,

  her hands braceleted above and behind her head.

  “Thank you for waiting, my little talender,” he said.

  He unfastened her, and she preceded him across the floor, between the tables. As

  Rim passed the proprietor, in his apron behind the paga-stained counter, he

  tossed him the key. The girl climbed the narrow, iron ladder to the sixth

  alcove. Rim followed her.

  Thurnock then began to negotiate with the proprietor. I had had Thurnock give me

  some coins, which I had placed in my tunic. I did not wish to be embarrassed by

  not having the price of a cup of paga. The coins were from the profit taken on

  Tana and Ela. The proprietor slopped out from behind the counter, and Thurnock,

  impatiently, stamped about. In a few moments, I saw the luscious, short-bodied

  dancer, in pleasure silk, hurry from the kitchen and climb to the eighth alcove.

  In a moment, Thurnock had leaped to the ladder, following her. I saw him draw

  tight the curta
ins of the alcove behind him.

  I expect she would have more than she bargained for with great Thurnock, of the

  Peasants.

  I looked about myself.

  There were the men at the tables, the girls, in slave bells, and yellow silks,

  serving them.

  The proprietor had now returned behind his counter, and was polishing paga

  goblets.

  I smiled.

  To one side, the Player and the fellow from Torvaldsland, with the ax, were

  still engaged in their game. Neither had left the board to investigate the

  commotion which had, shortly before, taken place outside. They, perhaps, had

  been oblivious of it.

  I was served a cup of paga, and I drank it slowly, waiting for Rim and Thurnock.

  They would not hurry. Gorean men do not.

  I looked down into the paga cup, and swirled the liquid slowly, and again drank.

  In the next few days, in Lydius, we would lay in supplies. We would then make

  our way upriver to Laura.

  I was content. Things were going well.

  It was then I saw her.

  She came through the kitchen door, in the tiny slip of diaphanous yellow silk

  allotted to paga slaves, bells locked on her left ankle. She was doubtless

  returning to the floor after her rest, to freshen her for further service. I had

  not seen her before. She carried a vessel of paga. She was barefoot on the

  tiles.

  She saw me, and gasped. Her hand fled before her mouth. She turned, and ran back

  into the kitchen.

  I smiled.

  I snapped my fingers for the proprietor to come to my table. He did so.

  “One of your slaves,’ I said, “just stepped from the kitchen, and then returned

  to it.”

  He looked at me.

  “Send that slave to me,” I said.

  “Yes, Master,” he said.

  I waited.

  In moments, the girl approached, carrying her vessel of paga.

  She knelt before me.

  “Paga,” I said.

  Elizabeth Cardwell poured me paga.

  We looked at one another. We did not speak.

  I well remember Elizabeth Cardwell. Once we had cared for one another. Together,

  we had served Priest-Kings. I had brought her, in such service, into much

  danger. Then, in the Sardar, I had decided what was best for her. She would be

  returned to Earth. She would be freed of the perils of Gor. There she might

  contract a desirable marriage. There she might be safe. There she might own a

  large house, and have the convenience of labor-saving devices.

  She had dared to protest.

  What place was Gor for a woman?

  I had made up my mind.

  I knew what was in her best interest, and I would see to that interest.

  I knew what was best for her.

  But that night she had fled the Sardar. Ubar of the Skies, my great war tarn,

  for some reason, though, he had slain men for this attempt, permitted her, only

  a girl, to saddle him and fly.

  I had seen what was best for her. But she had refused to accept my will.

  Ubar of the Skies returned, four day later. In fury I had driven him from the

  Sardar.

  I had not seen him since.

  I had seen what was best for Elizabeth Caldwell. But she had not seen fit to

  accept my will.

  “Tarl,” said the girl, now, whispering it.

  “Go to the wall,” I said.

  She put down her vessel of paga, and rose lightly, I saw the beauty of her body

  beneath the silk. She went to the wall, where Tendite had been chained.

  I went to the proprietor. “Key,” I said, handing him a copper tarn disk.

  It was number ten.

  I went to the wall, and indicated that the girl should kneel before ring ten.

  It, like the others, had, strung through it, a short length of chain, some five

  inches, each end of the chain terminating in an opened slave bracelet.

  She put her hands above and behind her head, and I snapped her wrists into the

  slave bracelets.’

  I sat down, cross-legged, across from her.

  She smiles. “Tarl,” she whispered.

  “I am Bosk,” I said.

  She moved her wrists in the slave bracelets. She smiled. “It seems you have

  found me,” she said.

  “Where did you go?” I asked.

  “I sought the northern forests,” she said. “I knew that girls, sometimes are

  free in them.”

  She put down her head.

  “So you arrived at the edge of the forests,” I said, “and released the tarn.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And you entered the forests?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I lived for some days in the forest, but poorly, on berries and nuts, I tried

  to make snares. I caught nothing. Then, one morning, when I was lying on my

  stomach beside a stream, drinking, I lifted my head to find myself surrounded by

  armed panther girls. There were eleven of them. How pleased I was to see them!

  They seemed so proud, and strong, and were armed,”

  “Did they permit you to join their band?” I asked.

  “They had not been satisfied with me,” said the girl.

  “What happened then?” I asked.

  “They told me to remove my clothing. Then they tied my hands behind my back and

  put a leash to my throat. They took me to the banks of the Laurius, where they

  tied me to a pole set in the stones, my hands over my head, my neck, belly and

  ankles, too, bound to it. A river craft passed. I was sold for one hundred arrow

  points. I was purchased by Sarpedon, master of this tavern, who occasionally

  scouts the river, to pick up such girls.

  I looked at her. “You were foolish,” I said.

  Her fists clenched in the slave bracelets. Her collar, yellow and enameled,

  shone in the darkness, at her throat. Her hair, a black sheen, loose, fell over

  her shoulders, and to the small of her back. She was beautiful in the bit of

  yellow silk. She pulled at the bracelets. Then she relaxed.

  She smiled. “It seems,” she said, “you have found me, Tarl.”

  “I am Bosk,” I said.

  She shrugged.

  “What has happened to you, since we parted?” she asked.

  “I have become rich,” I told her.

  “And what of Priest-Kings?” she asked.

  “I no longer serve Priest-Kings,” I told her.

  She looked at me, troubled.

  “I serve myself,” I said, “and do what I wish.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  Then she looked up at me.

  “Are you angry,” she asked, “that I fled the Sardar?”

  “No,” I said. “It was a brave act.”

  She smiled at me.

  “I now seek Talena,” I said. “I will hunt for her in the green forests.”

  “Do you not remember me?” she asked.

  “I seek Talena,” I told her.

  She put down her head. Then she lifted it. “I did not want to be returned to

  Earth,” she said. “You will not return me to Earth, will you?”

  I regarded her. “No,” I said. “ I will not return you to Earth.”

  “Thank you, Tarl,” she whispered.

  For a time we said nothing.

  “You are now rich?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Rich enough to buy me?” she asked.

  “Ten thousand times over,” I to
ld her, and truly.

  She relaxed visibly in the chains, and smiled. “Tarl—“ she said.

  “Bosk” I corrected her, sharply.

  “I would hear my name on your lips once more,” she whispered. “Speak my name.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Elizabeth Cardwell,” she said. “Vella of Gor!”

  “What is locked on your left ankle?” I asked.

  “Slave bells,” she said.

  I put my hand in the bit of silk. “What is this?” I asked.

  “Slave silk,” she whispered.

  I pointed to the yellow collar on her throat. “And that?” I asked.

  “The collar of Sarpedon,” she whispered, “my master.”

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  “I see,” she said coldly.

  “Your name?” I asked.

  “Tana,” she said.

  I smiled. It was the same name which had been that of one of the girls I had had

  Thurnock sell this morning, one of the two panther girls. It is a fairly common

  Gorean name, but no heard of that often. It was something of a coincidence that

  the two girls had both that name, the one sold this morning, the other now

  chained before me.

  “Your name is Tana,” I told her. You are simply Tana, the slave girl.”

  Her fists clenched in the slave bracelets. She was indeed that now, simply an

  unimportant, lowly paga slave in Lydius.

  I regarded her beauty.

  “What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

  “I have paid the price of a cup of paga,” I told her.

  I regarded her in the shadows of the small alcove, lit by the tiny lamp, its

  draft carried by the tiny, ventilating hole above it.

  She still wore the chains I had put her in. the bit of yellow silk, crumpled,

  soaked with sweat, lay to one side.

  “How does it feel to be a paga slave?” I asked.

  She turned her head to one side.

  I had exacted the full performance of the paga slave from her.

  “You are angry,” she said, “because I fled from you. Now you take your vengeance

  on me.”

  “I merely used you as the paga slave you are,” I told her. It was true. I had

  treated her no worse, or better, than such slaves are commonly treated.

  Moreover, she knew that. She knew I had forced her to serve precisely as a paga

  slave, no more nor less.

  I had not taken vengeance on her. I had simply treated her exactly as what she

  was.

  In my use of her I had, of course, addressed her only as Tana. That was the name

  of the slave.