by John Norman
I saw Tuza look toward me, but she did no more than smile. With her knife she cut the skins from Darla, and removed her weapons, and ornaments, one by one, with several of which she decorated her own body. She then jerked the bloody talmit from Darla’s head. She then fetched some articles from one of the packs. I heard a rustle of chain. She then knelt beside the unconscious Darla, and moving her inert body about, encircled it with a waist chain, which she drew back, snugly, about Darla’s belly. The chain, as is common with such chains, contained its associated slave bracelets, by means of which a slave’s hands may be cuffed before her body, or behind it, in both cases being held close to her body. A slave’s hands are helpless in such a constraint. For example, if she is front-cuffed, she may not even lift her hands to feed herself. But the unconscious Darla’s hands were pulled back, and cuffed closely together, at the small of her back. Tuza then snapped a pair of ankle shackles on the unconscious Darla. They would permit her ankles a play of less than a foot.
Tuza then, apparently muchly satisfied with herself, stood up, stirred the fire, and threw upon it much of the fuel we had gathered earlier in the preceding evening. Soon a hardy blaze was illuminating the clearing, brightly. It was bright enough for a man’s paga feast, the sort at which stripped free women must dance as slaves and, to their shame, though they are still legally free, will be put to use as sluts before their collaring and branding.
Hiza sat up in her blankets. Emerald rubbed her eyes.
“Awaken, slothful sisters!” cried Tuza. “Donna is avenged! Welcome to the band of Tuza.”
Hiza leaped up, drawing her knife, but Tuza faced her, her own knife drawn, and ready. Tuza crouched like a panther, the blade of her knife at her knee, blade upward.
Emerald was now on her feet as well. She, too, had drawn her knife.
“Darla is defeated,” said Tuza. “I am first. I am leader. Victory is ours. More gold for us. See the armlets, the bracelets, and anklets I have left for you. Rich booty. I share! Donna is avenged.”
Hiza and Emerald stood near the fire, uncertain.
“Do you wish to do contest?” asked Tuza. “Alone, together?”
By now Tula and Mila, too, were awake, and turned about, frightened. To be sure we, as slaves, would abide the outcome.
“What Darla did to Donna,” cried Tuza, “I have now done to Darla! Let it be so. Let the strongest, the fiercest, the mightiest, command the band.”
“Do not speak of vengeance,” said Hiza. “You had no care for Donna. You hated her, as you hated Darla. You collaborated with Darla, to oust Donna, that you should receive the gift of the lieutenancy!”
Tuza fixed her eyes on Hiza. “Do you have your blade drawn before your leader?” she asked.
Hiza thrust her dagger back into its sheath. And Tuza turned her attention to Emerald. “Well, pretty Emerald,” she said, “do you care to carry an unsheathed blade before your leader?”
“No,” said Emerald, and resheathed her weapon.
“Who is leader?” asked Tuza.
“You,” said Hiza.
“You,” said Emerald.
“Perhaps,” said Hiza, “you should have fought, in the way of the Panther Women.”
“I did not choose to do so,” said Tuza.
“No,” said Emerald. “Darla was dangerous.”
“It is not our way to kill a leader in her sleep,” said Hiza.
“Of course not,” said Tuza. “I did not kill her.”
“She lives?” said Hiza.
“Of course,” said Tuza. “Killing her would not satisfy me. I have something much better in mind.”
Hiza and Emerald exchanged puzzled glances.
“I do not understand,” said Emerald.
“You will fetch her, both of you,” said Tuza, “but first arrange the slaves. Get them up. The little beasts are already awake. Kneel the sluts, heads up, so that they see what ensues.”
Shortly thereafter we were kneeling in a line, on our neck rope. Our ankles were still bound together, and our wrists, as well, behind our back.
“Lift your heads, slaves,” said Hiza.
Tuza regarded us. “You are no longer silenced by the will of the mistress,” she said.
We took ourselves then to be in the common modality of the slave, subject to no more than the usual restraints on our speech.
But still we did not speak, not daring to do so, not even to request permission to speak.
Masters and mistresses do not always care to hear the speech of slaves.
“Changes have occurred in the camp,” said Tuza. “There is a new leader. It is Tuza. You will find her less indulgent than the former leader, who was weak. It is a long trek to the coast. You will be expected to work well for your gruel. If you are found unsatisfactory, you will be tied in the forest, and left for the beasts. If all goes well, you will be stripped and sold on the coast. Is this understood?”
“Yes, Mistress,” we whispered.
Our voices trembled. It had been long since we had been permitted to speak. It seemed strange to enunciate sounds. I feared momentarily I might not be able to say words. But I had heard myself whisper, “Yes, Mistress.”
“You are poor stock,” said Tuza. “I am thinking of being displeased with you. What shall I do with you?” She glared at each of us, in turn. “Please do not beat us, Mistress,” said Tula. “Please be kind, Mistress,” said Mila. “Please be merciful, Mistress,” I said. “You, Vulo,” she said. “Mistress?” I said. “You writhe nicely under the switch,” she said. “Men will like that.” “Please be merciful, Mistress,” I said. Surely we all responded similarly under the switch, for we were all slaves. Tuza, I feared, bore me some particular animosity. That was probably, I surmised, because I had been captured by Emerald, who expected to sell me.
Tuza then spun about, and faced Hiza. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.
“No,” said Hiza.
She then faced Emerald. “Do you question the will of the leader?” she asked.
“No,” said Emerald.
She then faced us, and said, “Do you question the will of the mistresses?”
“No, Mistress,” we said.
“Good,” said Tuza. She turned back to Hiza and Emerald, and gestured to the side of the camp, contemptuously, where Darla lay, unconscious and chained. “Fetch the garbage,” said Tuza. “Both of you! Now!”
“She is not dead?” asked Hiza.
“No,” said Tuza. “Be quick!”
Hiza and Emerald went to the side of the clearing where Darla lay. It was now morning, and fully light. It was easy to see why Hiza had been uncertain as to whether Darla was alive or not. The body was inert, and there was a considerable amount of blood about the head. The blanket, too, was dark with blood. Hiza and Emerald, half lifting, half dragging, brought the inert body of Darla to the center of the camp, and put it where Tuza indicated, at her feet. I saw a tiny movement of Darla’s hands, clasped behind her back in the steel of slave bracelets, the slight opening and closing of fingers. A small sound escaped her, as though she might be stirring in her sleep.
“See,” said Tuza, “she is alive. I planned it so. I want you to see her as she is, and should be. And I want her to understand what she is, and should be.”
“She may die,” said Hiza.
“No,” said Tuza. “More is planned for her.”
“Should we not wash the blood from her head and body?” asked Emerald.
“That is work for slaves,” said Tuza.
“But she is free,” said Hiza.
“Let her be washed by slaves, as a slave,” said Tuza. “Yes, yes! Excellent! Unbind our tunic girls; have them wash the chained she-tarsk, that she be less offensive to our eyes. Then set our little beasts about their tasks, let them sweep and clean the camp, let them tidy things, let used boughs be cast aside, let them fetch water and wood, and berries, let them serve us, let us have a fine breakfast. I want our former leader to see that even tunic sluts are f
reer than she!”
“The rope?” inquired Emerald.
“Remove it from Tula, but put her in rope shackles,” said Tuza. “She is an excellent cook. Let the other two address themselves to less demanding tasks.”
“But on the rope?” said Emerald.
“Certainly,” said Tuza, “for one would not wish them to stray, to be eaten by panthers.”
“We shall have a splendid time,” said Tuza, “before we begin the trek.”
“What will be done with Darla?” inquired Hiza.
“You will see,” said Tuza. “Quickly now, unbind the sluts, that they may be put to work!”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“How many are there?” I had asked.
“Not many,” said Axel. “I would guess six or seven altogether.”
“At least one is a slave,” I said.
“Most likely more,” said Axel. “Panther Women, who tend to be large and fierce for women, often hold smaller, weaker women as slaves.”
“Feminine women?” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “they despise feminine women, and enjoy holding them as slaves.”
“How many would be armed then?” I asked.
“Four or five,” he said.
“I trust we would make a determination on this matter before doing anything precipitate,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said. “While you seize one Panther Girl, binding her helplessly, another might drive her javelin into the back of your neck.”
“It seems they touch weapons,” I said.
“Certainly,” he said, “until they are collared, and then it might mean their death to touch one, even inadvertently.”
“Are there men with them?” I asked.
“It seems unlikely,” he said, “for Panther Girls seldom league themselves with men, for before men their bravado fades, its fraudulence becomes transparent. They no longer find themselves dominant, but find themselves before the truly dominant, and then must fight their blood, as other women who long for the raptures of submission, the fulfillments of being owned and mastered.”
“Still,” I said, “might there not be men in the party, if only temporarily?”
“I think not,” he said, “the size and depth of the prints do not suggest that.”
“Some of the prints are those of small, bared feet,” I said.
“Three are with bared feet,” he said, “and they are probably slaves. Still, one cannot be sure. Sometimes Panther Girls trod the forest barefoot. Too, a ruse might be in play, to suggest fewer Panther Girls than are actually with the party.”
“But no men,” I said.
“I think not,” he said, “but we shall soon know.”
“How soon?” I asked.
“Quite soon,” he said.
It was late in the afternoon. There were many shadows. It was hard to see the tracks. It would soon be night.
Axel held Tiomines back. “No, fellow,” he said.
“You pause,” I said.
“We will camp here,” said Axel. “It is growing dark. The forest is dangerous.”
“Panthers might lurk,” I said.
“And knives, and javelins,” he said.
“I see,” I said.
“It would be most unwise to come upon our friends inadvertently, suddenly,” he said.
“You seem to think they are quite close,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “can you not smell it?”
“What?” I said.
“A campfire,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Mila and I, with dampened cloths were wiping the blood from the head, face, neck, and left shoulder of Darla.
She opened her eyes, suddenly, wildly, and jerked at her cuffed hands, held behind her, the two, narrow, snug, circular restraints attached to her waist chain. Mila and I, alarmed, leaped back. Darla struggled to her feet, crying out with rage, as a storm might rise. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, jerking at the restraints.
“Behold!” called Tuza, from across the site. “The mighty Darla wakes!”
“Remove these chains!” cried Darla.
“Or is it,” said Tuza, approaching, “merely an escaped slave, wandered in from the forest?”
“Release me!” demanded Darla. She struggled wildly in the bracelets, linked to the snug waist chain. Did she not know her efforts were useless? Had she not, often enough, put captured free women, or free women hoping to join her band, in just such impediments, before delivering them naked to buyers? “Where are my garments!” she cried. “Give them to me! I demand to be released! I demand my clothing! Remove these constraints! Give me my weapons! Where are my ornaments?”
“Some are here,” said Tuza, lifting her left arm, with its armlets and several bracelets, while, with her right hand, she lifted and fingered, exhibiting them, the strings of claws which she had looped about her throat.
Darla took an angry stride toward Tuza but, beside herself with rage, had either failed to notice, or had forgotten, the shackles which bound her ankles, and she fell into the dirt, before Tuza.
“Get up,” said Tuza.
Darla struggled to her feet, and stood facing Tuza, shaking with fury.
“I wonder if men would like her,” said Tuza, regarding her former leader.
“She-tarsk!” cried Darla.
“She is still filthy,” said Tuza. “Mila, Vulo, clean her. I find her appearance offensive.”
“Slaves!” cried. Darla. “How dare you touch me?”
Mila and I stepped back.
“Clean her,” said Tuza. “As you might a shackled slave, waiting to be put upon the block.”
Carefully, frightened, with our cloths, dampened in the Alexandra, we wiped away the blood and dirt which adhered to the body of the former leader. We were much afraid to do this, for she was free, and did not wish it. We trusted she would understand that we did not do this of our will, but as slaves. It is common for a slave, in her training, to be taught the bathing of masters, the sponging, the oils, the strigil, the rinsings, the towelings, and such. To be sure, we are also instructed in various ways we may please the master while bathing him, and in the manner of the slave. On the other hand, as I understand it, the matter is commonly quite different with free women. Certainly Darla did not wish to sustain our ministrations. Contact with a slave may be regarded as sullying by a free woman. She is, after all, free. In the case of the bath of a free woman, as I understand it, the slave commonly does little more than prepare the bath, test the temperature, for this may vary from mistress to mistress, place the oils, and such, scent the water, ready the towelings, lay out the after-bath gowns, and such. To be sure, she may assist her in and out of the bath, as well. Whereas I suppose a woman might have a personal serving slave of whom she is fond, being a woman’s serving slave is commonly regarded as the most dreaded of bondages. Most free women despise, and hate, female slaves, and own, and treat them, accordingly. Often they will not allow them to so much as cast a glance on a male. A good female serving slave, of course, particularly one of taste and discretion, may be invaluable to a free woman. There are some free women of the upper castes, wealthy women, who from childhood have never dressed themselves, who do not even know the intricate clasps and closures of the robes of concealment they wear, let alone their blendings and drapings, the best colors for the time of day and the season, the arrangements ideally in order for receivings, visitings, promenades, attendance at the readings, the theater, the song drama, and so on. In any event, few of us are trained as women’s slaves. Perhaps there are other schools, or courses, in this sort of thing. I have heard that free women, if they have a serving slave, or slaves, often purchase pretty ones, ones of a sort they particularly hate, in this way denying such a slave a master, which gratifies the free woman, and denying a master the slave, which, I suppose, gratifies her as well. It is also rumored that some free women purchase beautiful slaves in order to attract men to themselves, the fellow hoping to see mo
re of the slave. But woe to the slave should she so much as dare to meet the eyes of the visitor. It is then, afterwards, the lash for her. The female serving slave, too, is apparently useful in the affairs of her mistress, carrying messages, arranging meetings, standing watch, and so on. Given the common loathing of the free woman for the slave, Darla’s reluctance to be washed, and publicly, by two slaves, was understandable. Clearly it was intended by Tuza as an insult. Similarly, a captured free woman may be profoundly insulted by her captor, if he has her stripped and exhibited in his presence by female slaves, while he ponders her value. Is she to be kept for a time, or sold? Is she a pot girl, or a kettle-and-mat girl, or does she have the makings, suitably trained, of a pleasure slave? Perhaps, if nothing better, she might be used for sleen feed. In any event, I knew nothing of being a woman’s slave. I had been trained for men.
“Get away from me!” screamed Darla, and Mila and I, disconcerted, drew back.
“Continue,” said Tuza, and we resumed our ministrations, however reluctantly. Darla held her head up, angrily, proudly, and stared out, toward the Alexandra.
“Good,” said Tuza. “Much better. Now brush and comb her hair.”
Hiza located a brush and comb, and I brushed Darla’s hair, and Mila combed it.
“Good,” said Tuza, “you are almost as presentable as a naked slave.”
“Free my hands, free my ankles,” cried Darla, “and give me a dagger, a javelin!”
“I like you as you are,” said Tuza.
“Let us do contest,” cried Darla, “in the manner of the Panther Women!”
“I would not soil my javelin on you,” said Tuza, “pretty Darla.”
“‘Pretty’!” screamed Darla.
“Now that I look upon you, better groomed,” said Tuza, “I think men might find you of some interest.”
“She-sleen!” cried Darla.
“If you had a collar on your neck,” she said.
“She-tarsk!” cried Darla, pulling at the bracelets, with a rattle of metal.