by John Norman
I paused amongst the trees, listening, looking back. There was no sign of pursuit.
I continued on.
I had escaped.
Chapter Forty-Five
“No!” said Axel. “Let her go!”
“No!” I said. “She cannot be far. Use Tiomines!”
“He is not ready for another hunt,” he said, “not for Ahn. Too, the kill is recent. He remembers the blood. It will be difficult to restrain him, for perhaps a day. I do not know. He would now be as likely to kill and eat the slave, as hold her for us.”
“Keep him leashed!” I said.
“I cannot hold him if he rushes upon her,” he said.
“We two together,” I said.
“We might be unable to do so,” he said. “Too, frustrated, he might turn upon us and rend us.”
“I will risk it,” I said.
“I will not,” he said.
“Axel!” I said.
“If Tiomines were leashed,” said Axel, “and all went well, she might keep ahead of us for two or more days.”
“She does not have such a start,” I said.
“It is not clear we could even give Tiomines a usable scent,” he said. “He might follow the wrong slave.”
Tula and Mila had left with Genserich’s band, and Darla, Tuza, Emerald, and Hiza, were on their way to the coast.
“We could then revise the hunt,” I said.
“We do not even know where to search for scent,” said Axel. “We do not even know what direction she went.”
“The attempt is to be made,” I said.
“Do you not understand?” he said. “We must get back. Indeed, the ship may have left by now.”
“Not yet,” I said.
“You do not know that,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“It will take days to reach Shipcamp,” he said. “We must leave immediately.”
“The slave!” I said.
“Forget her,” he said. “The forest will claim her. You left with me. Return with me. We will report on the capture of the spies.”
“Go on, without me,” I said.
“I do not choose to do so,” he said.
“What does it matter?” I asked.
“Tyrtaios would not be pleased,” he said.
“Go without me,” I said.
Behold, his blade was half drawn from the sheath. I stepped back, and mine was free of its housing.
“I could set the sleen on you,” he said.
“I know little of sleen,” I said, “but I do not think that would be practical. We have been as fellows, for days, close to Tiomines, our scents mingled. We have both fed him. Such a command would do little more than confuse him.”
“You know more of sleen than I had supposed,” he said.
He thrust his partially drawn blade back in the sheath, resignedly. I then returned mine, as well, to its housing.
“I have no wish to kill you,” he said.
“Nor I you,” I said, “friend.”
“It seems I have lost you in the forest,” he said.
“Do you think Tyrtaios will believe that?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I wish you well,” I said.
“You will never find her,” he said.
“For millennia, without sleen,” I said, “men have trailed women, the most delectable of quarries.”
“You have had some experience in this?” he said.
“It is in my caste training,” I said.
“It would be better to have a sleen,” he said.
“Much,” I said, “but I have no sleen.”
“You do find the slave attractive,” he said.
I shrugged. “Somewhat,” I said. “It might be interesting to see what I could get for her in a market.”
“That is your only interest in her?” he asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
“Fortunately for you,” he said, “she is not a Panther Girl, familiar with the forest, adept at concealing her presence, and trail.”
“True,” I said.
“She is a barbarian,” he said.
“True,” I said.
“That should make things easier,” he said.
“No more so than for a Gorean girl,” I said, “provided she is from the cities.”
“For your sake,” he said, “let us hope she is as ignorant and untutored, as clumsy and naive, as inept and foolish, as lost and helpless, as easy to follow, as she is beautiful and desirable.”
“You find her so,” I said, “beautiful and desirable?”
“Yes,” he said, “do you not?”
“Perhaps I will one day consider the matter,” I said.
“I do not think you will find her,” he said.
“Perhaps not,” I said.
“There are better trackers than you in the forest,” he said.
“Oh?” I said.
“Wild sleen, panthers,” he said. “They will find her first.”
I supposed that might well be true.
“I wish you well,” he said. He then turned about, and strode away. Tiomines looked at me, as though puzzled, and then padded softly after him.
Chapter Forty-Six
By evening I was quite sure I was not followed.
A loose tracking sleen, if preceding its hunters, would have found me by now. I had also lingered twice to determine if a leashed sleen, in the keeping of a hunter, or hunters, might be seeking me. It seemed reasonably clear, given the intervals involved, that that was not the case. My conjectures concerning the urgency of a return to Shipcamp, the great ship poised for departure, seemed well warranted.
I found it hard to grasp my feelings.
In one sense I was muchly pleased to have escaped the camp and be, as far as I could tell, without pursuers. My original flight, disrupted by Panther Women, and fearfully terminated by the foiling arrival of a menacing hunting beast, had now been resumed. I was now successful. I was now muchly relieved. In particular, I had escaped a fearsome man, a large, impatient, powerful brute before whom I doubted I could now find the strength to stand upright, before whom I would now tremble in terror. Originally it seemed I might have been unimportant to him. I had been merely scorned and ignored, and, to my chagrin and fury, treated with contempt and indifference. But now, matters had muchly changed. Now, whereas he might continue to view me with contempt and scorn, as a worthless and meaningless slave, no longer would he be likely to ignore me, or treat me with indifference. Things were now muchly different. It was he on whom I had, in the way of a slave, well avenged myself. But then, soon after, he was no more at my mercy, helplessly roped by the strength of men. I had not anticipated that. What a transformation of fortune was there! He was then free, and armed. I had seen his eyes on me in the camp, those of a master who looks upon a slave who has been less than pleasing. He well remembered what I had done, how I had treated him, how I had humiliated him and made a fool of him. I had been profoundly alarmed. I must run! I must escape! And now I had run, and had escaped. Surely I must be overjoyed. Was I not now safe? Yet, strangely, I did not feel elated. How pleased I should be that I had escaped from the brute I hated, and now so terribly feared, but, too, strangely, and piercingly, I felt alone and incomplete, even lost, with each step, apart from him, apart from his attention, his size, power, and presence, almost as might, I supposed, a kajira separated from her master. Could it be I was somehow his, I asked myself, that I belonged to him as an object to its owner, as a slave to her master? Had I not sensed such things before, of this callous, uncompromising, dominant brute, many times? Could I return, somehow, retrace my steps, seek him out, put myself to his feet, begging forgiveness as a penitent slave? Then I cried out in fury that such thoughts could even occur to me. I hated him, hated him! Was he not the monster who had brought me to the marking iron and collar, the longed-for, ecstatic degradation of bondage, and had then dismissed me, as he must have a thousand others, processed like cattle for the
girl markets of Gor? How I hated him, but even on Earth I had sensed, in the profound female of me, that I belonged in a man’s collar. Then I did my best to thrust such thoughts from my mind.
How different were the men of Gor from so many of the men I had known on Earth! So many of the men of Earth had disappointed me; so many seemed pathetically devirilized, so reduced and robbed of their masculinity. Did they not know they were men? Did they think we longed for “persons,” neuters, identicals, or imitation women? Were they ashamed of their blood? Did they fear it? Why did so many strive to diminish and betray themselves in order to please and satisfy those pathological ideologues who feared and hated them? What rewards, I wondered, could repay them for this reductive, stunting, biological treason? On the other hand, I had met many Gorean men, masculine, powerful, and formidable, before whom a woman knew herself as, and could be but, a slave. On Earth it was hard for a woman to be a woman. On Gor, collared, and put to her knees, she had no choice, nor wanted any. How could we be happy, if not in our place, at the feet of our masters? I hated him, yes, but I had wanted, too, to be owned by him. Even from the first time our eyes had met, on a far world, I had sensed I was appropriately a rightless belonging, and wanted to be his. I think women understand what I am saying. Perhaps so, perhaps not. Perhaps some have dreamed of the man who will look upon them, find them acceptable, and put them in his collar.
Then I struggled again to put such thoughts from me.
I was pleased. I had escaped. I was at last safe. But the forest seemed dark, lonely, and cold. How could one be safe within it, unarmed, and unprotected? I did not even know how to make a fire. Amongst those dark trees and shadows might lurk life forms, prowling and hungry. I had escaped, yes, but into what had I escaped?
Had something moved, in the darkness to my right?
I hurried on.
Suppose I managed to cross the river, and make my way south, what then? Had I then escaped, truly?
Could I escape? I was even a barbarian, who might still be betrayed by her accent, and doubtless, indefinitely, by her ignorance of any number of things, such as customs, sayings, legends, stories, histories, festivals, and heroes.
I touched the disrobing loop at my left shoulder, all that kept the tiny garment on me. I touched my collar, which I could not remove. And seared into my left thigh, just beneath the hip, was a small, lovely mark, a kef, which, to any who might gaze upon it, would show me kajira.
It is said that there is no escape for the Gorean slave girl. She is marked, collared, and distinctively garbed. There is no refuge for her, no safe haven, nowhere for her to run. Her nature, condition, and status are unquestioned in custom and institutionalized in law. Society accepts her with the same unquestioned equanimity that it accepts other domestic animals. She is a familiar, recognized, sanctioned, accepted, welcomed, desired, even treasured, component in the culture. Certainly there is no doubt that she is an attractive and valued commodity, a vendible convenience and delight, surely a decorative and useful article of commerce. The culture and society wants its kajirae, and will have them. And the kajira herself well knows what she is, and what is expected of her, how she must behave, act, speak, and be. She has her place in society, and well understands it. It is as clear and fixed as the collar on her neck, the mark on her thigh.
How lonely it was in the forest!
Is it an escape, I wondered, to be dragged down by beasts, and eaten? Is it an escape, I wondered, if one starves, or freezes to death? Is it an escape, I wondered, if one manages to do nothing but change collars?
I no longer feared being captured by Panther Women. I now understood they seldom ranged this far to the north. Those whom I had earlier encountered were unusual, a small group bent on the business of espionage.
Too, what if I should encounter Panther Women, others, south of the river? I was not such a woman. I lacked their size, their power, their skills, their hatred, their masculinity, their ferocity. They would see me as worthless and despicable, as no more than another of the smaller, weaker, softer, more feminine women they despised, women whose wrists seemed made for slave bracelets, whose necks seemed made for the collar. Men do not hate women such as I, but Panther Women, for some reason, do. Why should that be? It is not our fault if men prefer us to women who are large, ill-tempered, cruel, belligerent, and gross, whose bodies might not interest a tharlarion. Were we the less women for our needs, our passion, our attractiveness, our beauty, our desire to love, and serve? I did not think so. Surely we had a right to exist, even though we were the sort men would buy and sell, the sort men fought to bring to the block. No, I knew enough now of Panther Women to avoid them. If I were not killed, I would be beaten for my beauty, if it were that, and then sold, if only for a sack of arrow points.
It was growing dark.
In my haste to escape the camp, I had stolen no food. Much had happened suddenly. In the confusion, I had darted away, precipitously. Who knew when such an opportunity might again present itself? Even a handful of gruel, softened in a pool, would have been more than welcome. It is not as though a girl who is not shopping can simply carry a basket or sack about with her. As is well known, the slave is a belonging, and can own nothing. She is not entitled to a free person’s accouterments, say, a purse or wallet. The slave tunic, like most Gorean garments, lacks pockets. Tunics are inspected occasionally, and, if an internal pocket is discovered, or an open hem, where, say, a candy, let alone a tarsk-bit, might be concealed, the girl must expect to be punished, and, quite likely, severely. Few slaves are so stupid as to expect patience or indulgence from a master. They are, after all, slaves.
I carefully avoided a patch of leech plants.
I was wiser now in the ways of the forest.
I wondered how it had come about, once, that I had inadvertently returned to Shipcamp. That still struck me as incomprehensible. In any event I was not likely to repeat that mistake. I was wiser now in the ways of the forest.
I lay on my belly and drank from a small stream. Its current told me the direction of the Alexandra. By such simple things one may orient oneself. I was wiser now in the ways of the forest.
Too, now that I was sure I was not followed, I might look about, to assuage my hunger.
Soon, about the trunk of a tree, one of two so adorned, or afflicted, I saw, at a height I could reach, thick and coiling, a nest of Tur-Pah. I tore a length of it from the trunk about which it clung, its tiny, sharp roots anchored in the bark, and pulled away several of the heavy fleshy leaves. One would prefer Tur-Pah, certainly on a cool night, boiled in Sullage, or in some stew, or even fried, salted, and honeyed, but, too, it is often, perhaps most often, eaten raw. It is the basic ingredient in most Gorean salads.
I fed well.
I suppose a man, such gross beasts, would have wanted a great deal more, hot food, meat, and such, but I was content. Why should I not be? The fleet, graceful tabuk, for example, is not the ponderous, clumsy, lumbering, shaggy bosk, not the gigantic, tearing, voracious larl.
I now had no fear, at least at present, at least until winter, of starving in the forest. Other than Tur-Pah, I could recognize the leafage which betokened Suls, usually found in the open, in drier, sandier soils, and was familiar with a number of edible nuts and berries, such as ram berries and gim berries, the latter common at this time of year. Even the horrid sip root was edible, despite its bitterness.
I looked about.
I knew I must, even if I crossed the river, avoid villages, and certainly cities. I could not well walk into a village clearing, or through the gates of a town or city, and say, “Tal, I am a female slave. Who will put a chain on me?”
Escaped slaves I knew were commonly returned to their masters, as a courtesy, but sometimes there would be some negotiations having to do with a capture fee. My collar, of course, was a plain collar. I might then invent a master, and claim that I was attempting to return to him, not that that would keep the ropes off me. In problematical situations, escaped slaves are comm
only publicly exhibited for a time, chained under a pertinent notice and then, if not claimed, auctioned, or delivered to the finder. Sometimes a slave is tortured and, in this case, she is likely to acknowledge herself the slave of anyone whom the magistrate might suggest, perhaps a relative in another village. To be sure, a slave is seldom subjected to any grievous torture, as it might lower her value. An exception is when her testimony is to be taken in a court of law. Then any slave, male or female, will be placed on the rack, the theory being that this will guarantee a veracious testimony, even from the lips of a slave. What it commonly guarantees is that the slave, howling in misery or screaming through tears, will tell the judge whatever he wishes to hear.
I stopped, suddenly, in the dusk. Something was moving, nearby. I remained perfectly still. Then I heard it no more.
I wondered if it had been with me for some time.
But perhaps I had not heard it, at all.
I was now familiar enough with the forest, of course, to realize I should seek shelter before the fall of darkness. Though both sleen and panthers hunt when hungry, they prowl most frequently in darkness.
Both the sleen and the panther can leap well over their length, and may be found on stout branches several feet above the ground, but neither is a climbing animal, as one commonly thinks of climbing animals, probably because of their weight, which would render many branches precarious, either because of a bending, wavering instability or the possibility of breakage.
But it was not practical for me to climb in this area.
The trees about were like lofty, isolated, living columns, separated by wide corridors of leaves. They foliaged in canopies high above the ground. It had been similar, often enough, on the march from the coast to Tarncamp. This arrangement is a consequence, one supposes, of a competition for light, a contest possibly spanning centuries of seasons. Yet, as noted earlier, a forest is not uniform, and there are forests within forests. Nor is the terrain itself uniform, for there may be streams and basins, and clearings, and meadows, elevations, canyons, and depressions, brush, thickets, even jumbles of rocks, from ancient glaciers, and weathered, winter-and-ice-cracked hills of stone.