Smugglers of Gor (36 page)

I touched the collar on my neck. It was cold and wet. It was locked on me. I was a collared slave girl. I had heard there was no escape for the slave girl on this world, no escape for the Gorean slave girl, and I knew myself a Gorean slave girl.

But I have escaped, I told myself.

My hair was sopped, and hung about my face and neck. I brushed it back, away from my face. We are to keep ourselves well-groomed, I recalled. The masters might not be pleased, I thought. Perhaps I would be beaten.

They will never catch me, I thought.

But how could I elude the masters? I was a slave girl, a Gorean slave girl.

I stood there in the darkness, my feet in the water and leaves, cold and miserable, and now, again, hungry, very hungry, the rain streaming from my body.

I had no idea where I was.

I was fearfully disoriented.

I was frightened.

Then I thought to myself it is foolish to be afraid. Who would know where they were in this dark, cold, fearful place? I was not so lost, really.

It was foolish to be concerned.

I had escaped!

That was what counted.

I had made good my escape!

One need not know exactly where one was. It was not that important. All that was necessary was to continue to move west, away from Shipcamp. To be sure, I was now uncertain of my distance from the Alexandra, and I did hope to return to the river, sooner or later, to cross it, and thence to make my way south.

Things were going well.

I had escaped.

I put my hands out, and, in a moment, felt the bark of a tree, a Tur tree. I wanted the rain to stop, but it gave no sign of doing so.

I was sure that I was now beyond the range of the larls. Too, before I had crossed the wands, I had determined they were securely caged. That had given me an excellent start, as I had planned. I had eluded them. I had planned well. I had been clever, extremely clever. I had even placed my blanket in the laundering vat. There were many dangers in the forest, of course. A branch might break free in the storm. A boulder might slip, dislodged in the rain, and tumble down an incline. One might even fall, unaware of a ledge. But what I most feared, the animals, I had even glimpsed a sleen, would not be likely to be about in such a night. I was sure of that. Prey would be quiescent, withdrawn, unstirring, not venturing out; sign would be little deposited, if at all. If there were scent the rain would confuse it, or wash it away. Surely a long, deep burrow, or a sheltered lair, would be preferable on such a night to prowling about, futilely searching for absent quarry.

So, in the darkness, as I could, I continued my flight. I moved carefully, often putting my hands out before me. Lightning occasionally gashed the darkness, turning the night for an instant into a bright, cold, frightening noon, but then again, as quickly as a door might close, I found myself once again in darkness, as though shut in a room, the room of the forest, with no light, only rain, wind, cold, darkness, and thunder.

Once I screamed with fear when lightning, like an ax of light, split half a tree from its trunk, not yards away. Briefly there was a sudden coat of fire on the sundered wood, narrow, diagonal, to my right, but it was extinguished by the rain, only an Ihn or two after its appearance.

I continued on my way.

Though I was weary, and hungry, so hungry that I was almost faint with hunger, I forced myself to go further, and further, to put every tenth of a pasang I could between myself and the kennels and chains of Shipcamp, and the great, fearful, mysterious ship restless at its cables, the purpose of which seemed obscure, and which for some reason so many feared to board. I had escaped in time, shortly before her departure. I would not be aboard when she descended the Alexandra, and would open the wings of her canvas to the winds of Thassa, capricious, vast, turbulent Thassa, the sea.

The rain stopped after a time, I supposed somewhere in the vicinity of the twentieth Ahn.

The cloud cover was still heavy.

The moons were obscured.

I continued on, and on, in the mud, stumbling in the darkness.

Surely I walked for a very long time, and then, exhausted, unable to continue, but content with my progress, I lay down to rest, I think a little before dawn, and must have slept for better than two Ahn.

It was light when I awakened, and I drank, as might have a tabuk doe, from a puddle of clear, gathered water in a hollow, in the wet grass. Then I found a Sul plant, the golden Sul, and dug out the tuber, washed it clean in the water, and consumed it, I fear voraciously. Looking about, gathering my bearings, I noted Tur-Pah clinging about nearby Tur trees. The Tur tree is tall and hardy, and the common host to Tur-Pah, but Tur-Pah, interestingly, does not thrive on all Tur trees. The difference apparently has to do with the grades and natures of the soil in which the tree is rooted.

I washed my body with wet grass and leaves, wiping away dirt. I brushed back my hair, and, as I could, combed it with my fingers. My tunic was muchly soiled, and rent in more than one place. I had a scratch on my side, and my right calf was sore, where it had been punctured by the thorns of the leech plant.

My body ached but I was not displeased, with yesterday, and the night.

I had done well, quite well.

I located a pool of water and, kneeling and bending down, examined my reflection.

I did not think I was bad-looking, for a common slave. I thought I might even be such that some might consider me beautiful. Certainly, when permitted access to mirrors, I had thought I had become much better looking on Gor than I had been on Earth, more relaxed, more vital, glossier haired, smoother skinned, trimmer, better-postured, and more excitingly curved. In any event, I was far from Shipcamp. I had escaped. I congratulated myself on my boldness, and with the success of my flight. Surely I was not only beautiful, or, say, at least quite good looking, but I was more clever than the others, and perhaps more clever than most. Perhaps they could learn from a mere barbarian! Then, in my generally contented, admiring scrutiny of my own reflection, I stopped, suddenly, my attention arrested. Surely I could not ignore a patent feature obvious in the surface which I beheld, the reflection of an encircling metal band fastened about my neck. I was collared! I smiled in the reflection, however, and, carefully adjusted the collar, that the lock would be properly placed, at the back of my neck. I lifted my chin a bit. Yes, I thought, for whatever reason, the collar is quite attractive on a woman. Indeed, there are Gorean sayings pertinent to this sort of thing. “With the collar comes beauty,” “Put her in a collar and see her become beautiful,” and so on. I suspect such sayings are not popular with free women.

When I stood up, to continue my journey, I suddenly stopped, confused, and frightened.

I suddenly felt sick, very sick.

I was facing Tor-tu-Gor. It should have been behind me. Further, far off, through the trees, I could see a river which must be the Alexandra, but it was to my right, and it should have been to my left! I ran forward a little bit and saw, anchored in the soil, supple, clearly visible, easily marked in the vegetation, a path on one side of it, about a yard high, a wand, and, along that path, others, as well.

Lying in the brush to my left, not far from the wands, was a basket, apparently discarded.

I turned about with misery, and fled away, back into the forest.

“Your little vulo has flown far,” said Axel.

“She is not my vulo,” I said, “merely a little beast, pursued for pleasure.”

“What will you do with her, when you apprehend her?” inquired Axel.

“I assume her tunic has a disrobing loop,” I said.

“I gather she will learn what it is to be caught, her neck enclasped in a collar,” he said.

“Beware,” I said, “there are leech plants.”

“I see them,” he said. “There is little danger if one is aware of them.”

“Hold your sleen,” I said.

“Steady, steady, Tiomines,” he said. The chain leash was taut.

“Do not let him proceed,” I said.

“He will not do so,” said Axel. “Sleen find such things aversive.”

“The trail leads here?” I said.

“Apparently,” he said.

There was a rustling in the growth, and two strands, thick and fibrous, began to inch toward us, pods lifted, swaying, like the heads of snakes.

Axel backed away a little, shortening the leash.

“They are ugly things,” he said.

I drew out my sword and slashed down at the vine to the right, severing it a hort behind its pod. Immediately the vine shook, and began to withdraw, trailing a fresh, light, green exudate, concealing itself amidst the leaves of its fellows.

I sheathed the sword and pried open the pod, revealing the two curved thorns.

“Blood,” observed Axel.

“Steady your beast,” I urged, for the sleen had lifted its head and gathered its legs under it. I feared it might lunge at me.

Axel took the opened pod, and held it near the snout of the sleen, which began to growl, and lash its tail.

“Your beast seems pleased,” I said.

“The blood,” he said, “is like paga, like sunrise.”

“The trail leads away,” I said.

“Proceed, Tiomines,” said Axel, and the beast, tugging at the leash, snout to the ground, with renewed zest, addressed himself once more to his work.

How stupid, I thought, was the meaningless quarry. It did not even know enough to avoid leech plants. It was, of course, only a barbarian. But its eyes were deep, its lips soft, and its flanks of interest.

I recalled it from an emporium on another world, from long ago, where I had first seen it, arrayed in its clumsy, barbarous garments. It looked much better in a collar and slave tunic.

I fled back, away from the wands, frantically, sobbing, keeping the Alexandra on my left. I had not run more than fifteen or twenty Ehn when I stopped, suddenly, almost falling. I heard the sound of a switch, falling on a body. It was an unmistakable sound, not unfamiliar to kajirae. I myself had seldom been switched, nor are most kajirae. There is no point in switching us. We strive to be to be pleasing to our masters. Still we know we can be switched. We are kajirae. Something was to my left in the forest, behind me, between myself and the broad ribbon of the Alexandra, now some half pasang distant. I could see four or five bodies through the trees, approaching, afoot. Shielding myself in the trees I remained absolutely still. I did not want this group, which seemed small, either behind me, following me, nor ahead of me, impeding my flight. I decided I would move north, and then west, taking care not to lose my relation to the Alexandra again. I moved back in the trees. The group was coming closer. There should be no one here, I thought, not this close to the wands. This must be something, I thought, independent of Shipcamp. I then heard, again, the stroke of the switch, this time twice. But I heard no cry of pain, no begging for forgiveness, no pleading to a master for mercy. This surprised me, for the switch is unpleasant and one will do much to avoid it, and the whip, of course, is worse. We are not free women. We strive to please our masters. It is no wonder we are so seldom punished. We do not wish to be punished. Still it is thrilling to know that one is owned, and will be punished, if one is not pleasing.

I could now see the group, clearly, some seventy to eighty feet from me. There were five in the group. To my astonishment there were no men in the group. Had I not heard the stroke of a switch? Each individual in the group, rather, was a woman, though there the similarity amongst them stopped. It was almost as if one were dealing with two different sorts of life.

The switch fell again, twice again, first on the second slave, and then on the first, hurrying them forward. “Harta!” I heard. “Hasten!” “Faster!” The two slaves were slight, and lovely, briefly tunicked, very briefly, and clearly collared. Both were such as might be well bid upon by men. Both were such, so female, so desirable, that they might expect the contempt and hatred of free women. Both, despite their beauty, were burdened, and, I suspected, excessively so. Marketable beauties, they were being utilized here as common draft slaves, as mere beasts of burden. How they must be hated, I thought. Each, in a common Gorean fashion, balanced her load, a large, canvas-covered, squarish, roped bundle, on her head. I thought they were overburdened. Their size and strength did not seem well proportioned to what they were given to bear. Each was serving as might a pack kaiila. I did not think masters would burden them so, unless as a discipline. They were roped together by the neck. And each, for some reason, was gagged. It was then obvious why I had heard no response to the striking of the switch.

The other women, there were three I saw, were quite different. The differences between the two sorts were radical, fearful, and unmistakable. The others were not burdened. They were large, strong, sturdy women. I was afraid of them for they reminded me, a little, in their stature, and power, of men. And I feared men, at least the men of this world, for they were masters, and I was not only a woman, but goods, a slave. In some respects they seemed neither male nor female, or, perhaps better, discontentedly, unwillingly, or unhappily female. Certainly they were very unlike Gorean free women. Surely they were dressed very differently. There was nothing here of layered, shimmering veils, of golden sandals, of cloaks, hoods and scarves, of jeweled purses, of the rich, flowing, colorful, intricately draped robes of concealment, common to the Gorean free woman. Too, there was nothing here of the grace, and beauty, and femininity, of the provocative softness, of the promise of secret delights, of the implicit, whispered needs, of the typical Gorean free woman, obvious even in, and perhaps even enhanced by, the robes of concealment. Yet I had little doubt that these unusual, different women, or creatures, I now looked upon were both Gorean and free. Certainly they carried themselves much as free men might, but, I thought, pretentiously so. Did they think they were men? They carried knives on a loop slung about their shoulder. They carried light spears. Their hair was bound back in talmits. On their necks there were no collars, but barbaric strings of claws. On their arms and wrists were golden bands. Two had a golden anklet. Clearly then they were women. Did they not have their vanity? They were clothed briefly, and not that differently from slaves, but they wore not rep-cloth, the wool of the bounding hurt, or silk, work silk or pleasure silk, but the skins of animals, of forest panthers. They were not dressed by men for the pleasure of men, but, perhaps, should the occasion arise, to torment and taunt men. But, too, would not such light garb be ideal for moving easily and swiftly in natural, difficult terrains, in the woods, in the jungles, in evading, hunting, attacking, and perhaps, I thought, in reconnoitering.