Smugglers of Gor (38 page)

“Do you beg,” she asked, “as the meaningless slave you are, to be added to the rope?”

Fervently, desperately, I made again a single, small, pleading sound.

“Put her on the rope,” said the leader, rising.

My captor took a length of the rope which fastened the other two slaves together, by the neck, and I felt it tied, and knotted, about my neck.

“Switch her,” said the leader.

Then I writhed, and squirmed, helpless and bound, on my belly, tears bursting from my eyes, muddying the dirt before me, under a lashing rain of supple leather. I could not cry out, for the cruelty of the gag, but tiny, startled, miserable sounds escaped me. I did not think they could have been heard more than a few feet away.

I was then untied.

“Kneel beside the others,” I was told.

I did so, painfully.

“Head down,” I was told.

I lowered my head.

“You are bound by the mistress’s will,” I was told.

I crossed my wrists before me.

I then knelt there, beaten, a rope on my neck, my head down, my wrists crossed.

“Welcome,” said the leader, “to the band of Darla.”

“Your beast is excited,” I said to Axel.

“She was here, last night,” said Axel.

His beast, Tiomines, was scratching at the ground.

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“Scratching up scent, releasing it, fresh, into the air.”

“Better he should be following it,” I said.

“Be patient,” said Axel.

“Still,” I said.

“Be patient,” he said. “Do not annoy him.”

I had no intention, I assured myself, of annoying a sleen.

“He is playing,” said Axel, “he is enjoying himself, he is relishing, he is reminding himself of what a bright, glowing thing it can be, he is taking it more deeply into himself.”

The beast then lifted its head, growling.

If we came upon the prey, I trusted Axel could control the beast.

“I had expected to take her last night,” I said, “before dark.”

“No,” said Axel. “She had a start of several Ahn.”

“Sometimes,” I said, “the beast seems uncertain.”

“One loses the trail, one finds it,” said Axel. “It is like script on a page, easy enough to read, but one must find the page.”

“What if one cannot find the page?” I asked.

“The page is there,” said Axel. “We know that. So it will be found, sooner or later.”

“There are beasts in the forest,” I said.

“Of course,” said Axel.

“I would that we had had her roped yesterday,” I said.

“Surely you have no interest in this slave, save for the sport of the hunt, no more than in any other, save as prey?” he said.

“Certainly not,” I said.

“I think you want her crawling at your feet, on all fours, fetching your whip to you, in her teeth, the very whip with which she may be beaten.”

“It seems you have been talking with Asperiche,” I said. It would be easy, I thought, to be annoyed with Asperiche. She seemed to have the foolish idea that I might be interested in a particular slave, which was absurd, for are they not all the same in a collar? What difference did it make, one or another?

“Asperiche,” he said, “wishes to be a preferred slave, and she fears she is not yours.”

“She is the only one I have,” I said.

“Now,” he said.

“Yes, now,” I said.

“She is pretty,” he said.

“That is why one buys them,” I said. “I see I must lash her for speaking to strange men.”

“I accosted her,” he said. “She must kneel and respond.”

“I see,” I said.

“Most are camp slaves,” he said. “I did not realize she was privately owned.”

“Doubtless you soon learned,” I said.

“It is pleasant to have her on her knees before one,” he said.

“As any woman,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“She is a forward slab of collar meat,” I said.

“I could take that out of her,” he said.

“So could I,” I said.

“What do you want for her?” he asked.

“I had hoped to have our quarry in hand by now,” I said. “The tracking seems slow.”

“The scent is not the easiest to follow,” said Axel. “The prey is furtive, and light. It is not like following clumsy, ponderous tharlarion.”

“It makes for slower tracking?” I said.

“A male is larger, heavier, easier to follow,” said Axel.

“I fear to lose the trail,” I said.

“There is no danger,” said Axel. “It is still quite fresh.”

Last night had been lacerated by lightning, much thunder, and a lengthy, cold, soaking rain, to be sure, severities of a sort not that unusual in this latitude at this time of year. Axel had taken the first watch, and I the second. We had warmed ourselves with carefully measured swigs of paga, from Axel’s flask. We had both brought meat and bread, and there was always the provender of the forest itself, if one can recognize it, and, in some cases, bring oneself to eat it. We had brought with us, in our packs, camp blankets and rain blankets, and so, save for the thunder, the noise, had fared rather well. Axel had shared his camp blanket and rain blanket with the beast, sleeping beside it. I would not have cared to do so. It would have been impractical to make a fire, but even had it been practical, we would not have done so. Shipcamp was within a day’s march. One does not know with whom one shares the forest.

“There was a long, fierce rain last night,” I said.

“It was quite cold, and windy, as well,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Excellent,” said Axel.

“How excellent?” I asked.

“A slave, Relia, acts as first girl in Kennel Five,” he said. “She was the last to see our little 119 before her ill-advised departure. She informs me that she had only her tunic, nicely slave-cut, and, delightfully, only of summer rep-cloth. She had no rain blanket, not even a camp blanket. Accordingly, I expect our game, concerned that she might be pursued, well aware she was in danger from the forest, hungry and exhausted, alone, perhaps lost, lying in the cold and rain, in the mud and leaves, may not have spent a pleasant night.”

“I am more concerned,” I said, “with the trail. The rain may have washed it clean, washed away the scent.”

“You know little of sleen,” he said.

“Animals may have her by now,” I said.

“What difference does it make?” said Axel. “She is a slave.”

“Let us resume the hunt,” I said.

“There is no hurry,” he said. “Let us have breakfast first.”

“Let us not,” I said.

“I think it would be wise to assuage the hunger of Tiomines,” he said. “She may be close. Should we soon come upon her, I would prefer that Tiomines not be ravenous.”

“Yes,” I said. “Let us have breakfast first.”

The gags had been removed from our mouths, and we had been put to all fours. A sul was thrown to the ground before each of us. We might not touch it, until we had received the order to feed.

“Feed,” said Tuza, she of the green-and-brown talmit, who, I took it, was second in power in this small group of four, for the beasts do not count.

I put my head down, and fed, as did Tula and Mila.

We were not permitted to use our hands.

Such things help to remind us that we are animals.

We were then, on all fours, conducted to pools beside the river, where we were watered. We were then, on all fours, on our rope, conducted back to the clearing, where our gags were reaffixed.

I had returned inadvertently to the wands, and then fled, again. Not long after having fled from the wands, I had fallen captive to a small band of Panther Women, unaccountably in the vicinity of Shipcamp.

“We have that for which we have come,” said Darla. “Little was accomplished by the raid on Tarncamp, which was repulsed, and few desire to again encounter the sky cavalry of the enemy. It is unusual and formidable. But we, unlikely informants, unsuspected women, no army to be encountered, but a small band, invisible in the woods, as elusive as panthers, have penetrated the forest, and discovered what men had not, not only that the rumored ship exists, but its actual location, and that its departure is imminent. The blow must be struck soon, before the bird spreads its wings. No longer now is the employer blind, no longer now need he sustain the expense of maintaining large numbers of men at the mouth of the Alexandra. He may now organize and dispatch a small, chosen force, perhaps only two hundred men, to move with speed, and in secrecy, to emerge from the forest, burn the ship, and then withdraw, their task completed, no battle given. It will be a raid, unanticipated and effective, over and done with before the enemy fully comprehends what has occurred, before any defense can be mounted, after which the raiders will slip away, returning to the forest, long before any pursuit can be organized. Have no doubts. The employer will be pleased.”

“We will be well-paid,” said Tuza.

“Already, dear friend,” said Darla, “your wallet is heavy.”

“I do not trust men,” said another of the Panther Women, Hiza, whose dark hair was cut as closely as that of a metal worker.

“Let us move quickly,” said the fourth of the Panther Women, blond, broad-shouldered Emerald, looking uneasily toward the forest. It was she who had captured me, she who had easily snared the “vulo.” It surprised me that she, or any of these women, might be apprehensive. They were so different from myself, or the other slaves. It was hard to believe we were all women. We looked up at them from our knees. But we, of course, were slaves, rightful slaves. Certainly I knew myself such.

“Yes,” said Hiza.

“Soon,” said Darla, “perhaps by nightfall, we may build a fire.”

“Good,” said Hiza. “I hunger for cooked food.”

“We may then free the mouths of our little friends,” said Darla.

“But keep them silenced,” said Tuza, “by the will of the mistress.”

Tuza then, switch in hand, went to us, who were kneeling to the side, neck-roped, wrists crossed before us.

“You, Tula,” she said, jabbing her on the shoulder with the implement of discipline and instruction, “would you not like to expel the heavy, bulky wad of leather strapped in your mouth?”

Tula looked up, frightened. She made a single, tiny, pathetic, pleading sound.

The switch came down, fiercely, on her small shoulder. She almost separated her wrists, but fortunately did not do so. “How dare you speak without permission?” said Tuza.

“You inquired,” said Darla, not pleasantly.

I gathered there was ill-will between the captain of this small band and she who was, I gathered, her lieutenant.

“You saw,” snapped Tuza, “she raised her head, before a free person, without permission!”

“True,” said Darla. “Have the burdens redistributed.”

This was managed by Hiza and Emerald. One would not trust kaiila to arrange their own burdens.

“Stand up, here, in line,” said Darla.

I stood behind Tula and Mila, on the rope.

“You are no longer bound by the will of the mistress,” said Darla. We separated our hands. I would have preferred the mercy of cords, tying my hands together. Men, who are kinder, would almost always have used cords. We need not fear then that we might forget, or somehow, inadvertently, separate our wrists. It is much crueler, forcing us to be constantly vigilant, constantly in fear that we might find our wrists apart. But, too, I suppose, men like to look upon us bound. They find us attractive, constrained, helpless, at their mercy. But, too, how thrilling it is for us, as slaves, to know ourselves utterly helpless before males, our natural masters.

We steadied our burdens, on our heads, with our two hands.

“They are ready,” said Emerald.

“You are slaves,” said Darla. “Stand well.”

We did so. The slave, like the dancer, is attentive to her posture, her carriage, her grace.

She is not entitled to the prerogatives of the free woman. She is owned.

“We will sell them on the coast,” said Darla. “Ho! Move!”

The first stroke of Tuza’s switch was across the left shoulder, and the second a lashing sting across the back of the thighs. Small sounds of pain escaped us. I was last in our small coffle, and thus the first struck, and then Mila and Tula. We hurried. Tuza would not be sparing with her switch.

“Keep our pretty pack beasts moving,” said Darla.

Tuza’s switch fell again.

“Harta!” said Tuza. “Harta!”

“You see, dear Tuza,” said Darla, “how much more swiftly we can move with a third bearer.”

“Harta!” said Tuza.

“We will cover pasangs before dark,” said Darla.

“I am hungry for cooked food,” said Hiza.

“Harta!” said Tuza. “Harta!”

Gagged as we were, we could not cry out for mercy. Tears streamed down our faces. Tiny sounds of pain escaped us, scarcely audible, as we were hurried on, more and more quickly, the river to our left.

“I do not understand it,” said Axel.

“The trail is still clear,” I said.

“Yes,” said Axel.

“It turns back, toward Shipcamp,” I said. One could tell this from the sun.

“Is she of the Foresters?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“It is a bold stratagem,” he said, “doubling back, to confuse the trail, though one unlikely to succeed, given sleen.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“She is a bold one,” he said.

“How so?” I said.

“Consider the risks involved,” he said.

“True,” I said.

“I have known slaves, of course,” he said, “naive, ignorant, frightened slaves, who became confused, who knew little of woodcraft, who wandered about in the darkness, who became disoriented, who lost their way, and several who, amusingly, did little more than describe a great circle in their flight.”

“If the trail continues in this fashion,” I said, “it may reach the wands themselves.”

“I should not be surprised if it does,” he said.

“What then?” I asked.

“It will turn back, to the forest,” he said.