by John Norman
"Yes," said Arn.
Several of the men looked at one another with pleasure. That would be delicious sport.
We would await them, with nets, in their own camp. Then, when they had tied shut the gate behind them, we would leap forth and take them, within their own stockade.
"That is a splendid plan!" said one of Arn's men.
The others nodded their agreement.
They looked at me, all. I did not wish to lose the time for another, perhaps futile, dawn attack. Further, we did not know from whence the panther girls might return. This would make it difficult to ambush them deeper in the forest. And one might, in such an attempt, outside the stockade, lose several of the girls. They would not expect to be ambushed in their own camp. They would not be on their guard. They would be, by their own walls, unable to escape, entrapped.
I nodded. "We shall wait in the camp," I said.
"Good!" said Arn.
The man, one of Arn's, who had seen the Ka-la-na by the wall, crawled over to it. He pulled the bottles into his lap, and began to work at the cork of one of them.
I looked at Arn.
"Do not become drunk," said Arn to the man.
"I shall not," he said. With his sleen knife he had pried the cork up a bit from the bottle. He then, slowly, with his fingers and teeth, managed to withdraw the cork.
"Later," I said.
He looked at Arn, and Arn nodded. The man, irritably, thrust back the cork in the bottle.
* * * *
"What if they do not return today?" asked a man.
I shrugged. "Then they do not return today," I said.
"They will return by nightfall," said Arn.
"The day has been long," said one of my men.
It was now late in the afternoon. We had eaten some foods we had brought with us, in our pouches, and, too, taken some food, bread and dried meat, which we had found in the huts.
I glanced out of the hut, at the sun.
The day was long. The day was hot.
I returned to the hut, and sat down.
Arn was chewing on a piece of dry Sa-Tarna bread. He washed it down with a swallow from his flask, filled earlier at the nearby stream. We had changed the guard twice in the forest.
"Panther girls," said one of Arn's men, "commonly return to their camp near dusk."
"That will be more than two Ahn," grumbled another man.
"It is time to change the guard again," said one of my men. He, and one of his fellows, rose to their feet.
"I," said Arn, grimacing, "have not, for more than a year, tasted Ka-la-na from Ar."
"Nor I," said one of his men.
It was indeed choice Ka-la-na. My mind, more than once, had wandered to it.
"Captain," said one of my men.
"Very well," I said. The panther girls, in all probability, would not return for another Ahn or two.
The fellow who had removed the cork from the bottle was first to it, and again withdrew the cork.
He threw it to his lips and threw back his head.
I took the bottle from him.
"That is enough," I said.
"It is good!" he said.
"We shall open only this bottle," I said. "The others we may enjoy later."
They would not become drunk. One bottle of Ka-la-na among ten men is nothing. Ka-la-na is not paga or the strong beer of the north.
I did not, on the other hand, want the entire stock of Ka-la-na emptied.
Our project must not be jeopardized.
The two men, men of mine, who were going forth to relieve the guard, had their swallows from the bottle. They then left. Arn then took the bottle and drank from it, his head back, swiftly.
"Enough," I said.
The men, his and mine, passed the bottle about. In a short time the two men who had been relieved of guard duty in the forest re-entered the hut. They, too, had their Ka-la-na. There was little left.
"Captain," said one of my men, handing me the bottle.
I put back my head and finished it. It was bitter, the dregs, but it had in it the warmth and flash of the fine Ka-la-na of Ar. It was a red Ka-la-na. It was a choice Ka-la-na. The vineyards of Ar, as those of Cos, were among the finest on all Gor.
I went again to the entrance to the hut, and once more looked out.
The sun was lower, but it was still bright and warm. Heat, soft and still, hung among the branches and leaves.
It was more than an Ahn until dusk.
I turned to re-enter the hut. At the threshold I stumbled. My hand clutched the jamb.
"We are fools!" I cried.
Arn looked up at me, blinking. The man who had opened the bottle of Ka-la-na, he who had first drunk, and most deeply, lay at one side of the hut, his knees drawn up to his stomach. "Get him!" I said. "And run! Run!"
The men stumbled to their feet, unsteadily. Two of them tried to lift the man who was lying at the side of the hut. "I can't see!" screamed one of the men. Arn climbed to his feet, and then fell to his hands and knees, his head down.
"Run!" I screamed to them. "Run!"
We fled, stumbling, falling, from the hut. To one side, behind me and to the left, I saw a net, swift and white, heavily corded, weighted, drop over a man. I heard the shouts of panther girls.
Holding Arn, stumbling, by the arm, I ran toward the gate.
Trying to clear my vision, I felt, suddenly, the sharp jab of one spear, and then another. I reeled unsteadily. I shook my head. There was blood at my chest and stomach. "Back!" I heard. "Back!" At the gate there were four panther girls, thrusting with spears, held in their two hands, prodding us back. Arn fell to his knees. I lifted him, and turned back toward the hut. I fell once, and then struggled again to my feet. Half-carrying Arn I regained the darkness of the hut. I groped for my bow. I shook my head. I must not lose consciousness. Arn fell to his hands and knees, dazed. I found a black temwood arrow, a sheaf arrow, and fitted it unsteadily to the string of the great bow, the yellow bow, from the wine trees of Gor. I could find no target. I was breathing heavily, sweating. I tried to draw the bow. I could not draw it. The arrow fell from the string.
I looked outside.
One of my men had fallen unconscious to the ground. Another, futilely, weakly, was fighting slave snares, held like a trapped animal in the cruel, taut cords. Then he was pulled from his feet, and I saw a panther girl, a blond girl, her hair wild, leap toward him, her spear lifted in two hands.
I saw another man lying on his belly. Two beautiful panther girls bent to him. One jerked his wrists behind his body, binding them. The other had crossed his ankles and was swiftly fastening them with binding fiber.
I saw two men, in slave manacles, chained to a post of the gate.
With a cry of rage I threw down the bow and kicked out the back of the hut.
I shook my head wildly, seized Arn by one arm, and dragged him through the break in the hut.
Outside I looked about.
At one side of the hut, where I could not see, I heard the heavy snap of slave manacles.
I stumbled to the sharpened saplings forming the wall behind the hut.
I reached down, seizing one with both hands, trying to pull it up.
We were locked within this fence. Arn, beside me, groggily, slipped to his knees. I shook him, viciously.
Together we managed to loosen one of the saplings, and then, together, we slipped through the wall.
"They are escaping!" I heard cry. "Two! They are escaping!"
Thrusting Arn along beside me, holding his arm, we found a trail among the trees. I heard more cries behind us, of panther girls in fury. We heard the sounds of pursuit. Panther girls are swift, fierce hunters.
Arn fell.
"Get up!" I cried. "Get up!" I slapped Arn fiercely, and dragged him to his feet.
Groggily he ran beside me.
An arrow swept past us. I heard the cries of pursuit, the sounds of branches being broken and rudely thrust aside.
There was suddenly
a great, heavy steel snap at my feet. Arn cried out in pain and fell forward.
Locked on his right ankle were the heavy, sharp steel teeth of a slave trap.
I fought the heavy, curved steel jaws, but they had locked shut. The Gorean slave trap is not held by a simple, heavy spring as would be the trap for a panther or sleen. Such a spring, by a strong man, with his hands, might be thrust open. This trap had sprung shut and locked. The heavy steel curved snugly about his ankle. The sharp teeth, biting deeply, fastened themselves in his flesh. It could only be opened by key.
He would be held perfectly. It was a Gorean slave trap.
I pulled at the chain, a heavy chain, concealed under leaves.
It led to a ring on a post, sunk deeply into the ground. I could not budge the post.
I heard the pursuit, almost at hand, breaking through branches.
Arn looked at me, agonized.
I put out my hand to him. Then I turned and, stumbling, sick, began to run.
I fell against a tree, and again struggled to my feet. An arrow struck near me.
I plunged into the underbrush, hearing the sounds of pursuit.
I began to grow dizzy. It was hard to see. I fell again, and again stumbled to my feet and, unsteadily, attempted to run.
I do not know how far I ran. I do not think it was far. I fell in the brush.
I must get up, I screamed to myself, I must get up!
But I could not get up.
"Here he is," I heard.
I opened my eyes and saw about me the ankles of several panther girls.
My hands were dragged behind me. I felt slave steel locked on my wrists.
I fell unconscious.
9
There is a Meeting of the Hunters
I awakened with a start.
I could not move.
I lay in the center of a clearing. I could see lofty Tur trees surrounding the clearing. We were deep in the forest, somewhere within one of the stands of the mighty Tur trees. I could see them, on all sides, at the edges of the clearing, rising beautifully a hundred, two hundred feet toward the blackness of the Gorean night, the brightness of the stars, and then, almost at the top, exploding into a broad canopying of interlaced branches. I could see the stars overhead. But through the leafed branches of the trees I could catch only glimpses of them. There was grass in the clearing. I could feel it beneath my back. I saw, to one side of the clearing, a short, stout slave post, with two rings. No slave was bound to it.
"He is awake," said a girl's voice.
I saw a woman, in the brief skins of the panther women, turn and approach me.
She wore ornaments of gold, an armlet, and anklet, a long string of tiny, pierced, golden cylinders looped four times about her neck.
At her belt was a sleen knife.
She stood over me. She looked down upon me. Her legs were shapely. She was marvelously figured.
I pulled at the thongs on my wrists and ankles. My feet and arms had been tied separately, widely apart. I was stretched between four stakes. Several bands of binding fiber fastened each limb to its heavy stake. The stakes were notched to prevent the fiber from slipping. I could scarcely feel my hands and feet. I was well secured. I had been stripped.
She looked down upon me.
She carried a light spear.
I turned my head to one side.
With the blade of her spear she turned my head so that I must again face her.
"Greetings, Slave," she said.
I did not speak to her.
She looked down upon me, and laughed.
I, her captive, hated her.
Yet she did not permit me to take my eyes from her. The blade of her spear made me face her.
"Am I so difficult to look upon?" she asked.
She was one of the most excitingly beautiful women I had ever seen.
I resented the brief, tight skins, which concealed her from me.
Her blond hair, unbound, swirled below the small of her back. Her blue eyes regarded me, contemptuously.
"No," I said, "it is not difficult to look upon you."
She was magnificent. She might have been bred from pleasure slaves and she-panthers. She was sinuous and arrogant, desirable, dangerous, feline. I had little doubt that she was swift of mind. She was surely proud and haughty. She was tall and strong, but yet, in her height, graceful and incredibly lithe. She was perhaps two inches taller than the average Gorean woman, and yet due to the perfections of her proportions, she seemed as exquisitely sensual, as healthy and vital, as vigorous and stunning as a girl bred deliberately in the slave pens for such qualities.
She looked down upon me.
"I am a free man," I said. "I demand the rights of prisoners."
Idly she moved the blade of her spear along the side of my body.
I closed my eyes.
"You were fools to drink the wine," she said.
"Yes," I said.
I looked up at her.
"More than once," she said, "we have used our camp as a slave trap."
In rage I pulled at the thongs.
"You got farther than any other in the forest," she said. "You are strong."
I again felt the blade of the spear at the side of my waist.
She looked down upon me.
I looked up into her eyes.
"Yes," she said, "you are strong."
In rage I again fought the thongs. I pulled at them with my feet and wrists. But I was perfectly secured. I had been bound by panther women.
I was theirs.
I looked up again into her eyes.
I had little doubt but what this was Verna who now examined me.
None but the acknowledged leader of the band, whose authority was undisputed, could have so looked upon a prisoner, dispassionately, objectively, serene in her power over his life and body.
It was up to her, what was to be done with me.
It was she, more than to the others, to whom I belonged.
I, and my men, were hers.
Another girl came and stood behind her. I recognized that girl. It was Mira, who had spoken to me in my camp. She looked up at the sky. "The moons," she said, "will soon be risen." Then she looked at me, and laughed.
Verna sat down beside me, cross-legged. "The moons are not yet risen," she said. "Let us converse." She drew the sleen knife from her belt sheath. "What is your name?" she asked.
"Where are my men?" I asked.
"You will answer my questions," she said.
I felt the blade of the sleen knife at my throat.
"I am Bosk," I said, "of the exchange island of Tabor."
"You were warned," said she, playing with the knife, "not to return to the forest."
I was silent.
Then I turned to face her. "Where are my men?" I asked.
"Chained," she said.
"What are you going to do with us?" I asked.
"What is the woman Talena to you?" she asked.
"Do you hold her?" I asked.
I again felt the edge of the sleen knife on my throat.
"Once," said I, "long ago, we were companions."
"And you wished to rescue her, as a hero, and repledge the companionship?" she asked.
"It would have been my hope," I said, "to have repledged the companionship."
"She would be an excellent match, would she not?" asked Verna.
"Yes," I said. "That is true."
Verna laughed. "She is only a slave girl," she said.
"She is the daughter of a Ubar!" I cried.
"We have taught her slavery," said Verna. "I have seen to that."
I struggled against the thongs.
"You would find her, I think," said Verna, "rather changed from when you knew her."
"What have you done to her?" I cried.
"Human beings change," said Verna. "Little is constant. Doubtless you have an image of her. You are a fool. It is a myth."
"What have you done to her?" I begged.
&
nbsp; "It is my recommendation," said Verna, "that you forget about her." She smiled. She played with the knife, putting her fingertip to its point. "You may accept my word for it," she said. "She is no longer worthy of your efforts."
I fought the thongs, growling like an animal, fighting to free myself. I could not do so.
"How fierce the slave is," exclaimed Verna, in mock fear.
I lay back, bound.
Verna, idly, began to play at the side of my throat with the sleen knife. I could feel its point.
"Talena," she said, "by my permission, by one of my women, sent a missive in her own handwriting to Marlenus, her father, the great Ubar."
I was silent.
"Are you not curious," she asked, "to know the import of the message?"
I could feel the point of the knife.
"In it," said Verna, "she begged that he purchase her freedom."
I lay back, my eyes closed.
"Only slaves beg to be purchased," said Verna.
It was true, what she said. I recalled that in the paga tavern the girl Tana had begged to be purchased. In so doing she had acknowledged herself a slave.
"Marlenus," she said, "in his great fist, crumpled this note, and discarded it, throwing it in the fire."
I looked at her.
"He then withdrew his men from the forests."
"Marlenus is gone?" I asked.
"He has returned to Ar," she said.
"It is true," said Mira, who stood to one side, and now turned toward us. "I myself took the missive to Marlenus. I myself saw them break camp. I myself saw them take flight for Ar."
Mira, too, like several of the other panther girls, was beautiful, but her beauty was hard, and there was a cruelty in it.
"I cannot believe Marlenus has withdrawn," I said.
"With my own eyes," said Mira, "I saw them take flight."
"Speak," said Verna to Mira, "what else you saw, before their camp was broken, before their tarns took flight."
"His hand on the hilt of his sword," said Mira, "and his other hand on the medallion of Ar, his daughter was disowned."
I gasped, stunned.
"Yes," laughed Verna, "according to the codes of the warriors and by the rites of the city of Ar, no longer is Talena kin or daughter of Marlenus of Ar."
I lay, stunned. According to irreversible ceremonies, both of the warriors and of the city of Ar, Talena was no longer the daughter of Marlenus. In her shame she had been put outside his house. She was cut off. In law, and in the eyes of Goreans, Talena was now without family. No longer did she have kin. She was now, in her shame, alone, completely. She was now only slave, that and nothing more.