“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 see 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.
“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, crumbled 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 to 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“I cannot believe Marlenus has withdrawn,” I said.
“Speak,” said Verna to Mira, “what else you saw, before their camp was broken
before their tarns took flight.”
“His hand on his 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.
From the most desirable woman on Gor she had suddenly become only another slave.
“Does Talena know?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Verna. “We informed her immediately.”
“That was kind of you,” said I, bitterly.
“We gagged her first,” said Verna, “that we might not be annoyed by her
outcries.”
“Did she not wish proof?” I asked.
“Anticipating such a desire,” laughed Verna, “we had written confirmation of the
enactment signed with the seal of Marlenus himself. Further, documents
proclaiming the disowning, officially notarized with the seals of Ar and
Marlenus, will soon be posted in all the major Gorean cities.”
“One, even now,” said Mira, “stands on the news board in Laura.”
She looked up at the moons. I could now see them beginning to emerge from behind
the leaves and high branches of the encircling Tur trees. Mira looked at me. Her
lips were parted. She was beginning to breathe heavily. She rubbed her hands on
her thighs.
“The moons are not yet risen,” said Verna, sharply.
Mira turned away.
In the shadows about, I could see other panther girls, ornaments of gold dully
glistening on their shapely limbs.
“What of Talena?” I asked Verna.
“The following day,” said Verna, “we ungagged her and set her about her duties.”
“I see,” I said.
“She performed them well,” said Verna.
“Of course,” I said.
“If she had not,” said Verna, “she would have been beaten.”
“Of course,” I said.
I lay on my back and looked up at the stars.
“So now,” asked Verna, “how excellent a match do you think Talena would be?”
Talena was now nothing.
“Do you still hold her?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Verna, “do you wish her brought forth to look upon you?”
“No,” I said.
I was silent.
“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.
“She is now without much value,” said Verna. “We will take her to an exchange
point and sell her.”
I did not speak.
“Probably to one of Tyros, as a pleasure slave,” said Verna. “Tyros is an enemy
of Ar of long standing. Doubtless in Tyros there will be several who would not
be displeased to have in their pleasure gardens one who was once the daughter of
Marlenus of Ar.”
What Verna had said was undoubtedly true.
“It would be my recommendation,” said Verna, “that you put her from your mind.”
I felt the point of her dagger at the side of my neck.
“You may take my word for it,” said Verna. “Talena is no longer deserving of
your consideration.”
I was silent.
“She is only a slave girl,” said Verna. “She is only a slave girl.”
“You have taught her slavery,” I said.
“Yes,” smiled Verna, “in the forests we have well taught her the meaning of
slavery.”
I put my head to one side.
“But, too,” laughed Verna, “I do not think you would longer find her much
enjoyable.”
I looked at her.
“We have also taught her,” smiled Verna, “as only panther girls can, the
despicability of men.”
“I see,” I said.
“She now despises men,” said Verna, “and yet she knows, too, that it will be her
fate to serve them.”
“Her experiences,” said Verna, “will be exquisitely humiliating. Do you not
think so?”
“You are cruel,” I said.
I again felt the knife blade at my throat. “There are those who rule,” said
Verna, “and those who serve.” She replaced the knife in her sheath and stood up.
She looked up. The moons were now over the trees. She looked down upon me, in
her gold and brief skins. “Long ago,” she said, “I determined that it would be I
who would
rule.” She laughed, and thrust her foot against the side of my waist.
“And it will be such as you,” she smiled, “who will serve.”
I tore helplessly at the thongs.
She stood over me. She looked down upon me.
“Why were you not in your camp at dawn?” I asked. “How did you know of our
presence in the forest.”
“You mean,” asked Verna, “why am I not at your feet, bound naked between the
stakes, as you are at mine, your slave?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You concealed your movements well,” she said. “You are skilled. I respect you
skill.”
“How did you know of us?” I asked.
We were following an enemy panther girl,” she said, “one less skilled then
yourself, of the band of Hura, who would take my land from me.” She smiled. “We
would have slain her. It was her good fortune that you took her slave.” She
laughed. “We saw you pin her to the tree, and bracelet her. You are skilled with
the bow.”
“You then followed me?” I asked.
“We lost you shortly,” she said. “You are skilled. And we were wary of the bow.
But we knew that, sooner or later, you would fine our camp, and you, and others
doubtless with you, would attack.”
“I found your camp that night,” I said. “Did you know?”
She smiled. “No,” she said. “But we surmised that you would find it either that
night, or the next, or the next.” She fingered the hilt of the sleen knife. “And
so we arranged not to be within our camp at dawn, but to leave for you in our
absence a gift of wine.”
“You were most thoughtful,” I said.
“What was the name of the girl you took in the forest?” asked Verna.
“Grenna,” I said.
Verna nodded. “I have heard of her,” she said. “She stands high in the band of
Hura.”
I said nothing.
“What did you do with her?” asked Verna.
“I sent her back to my ship,” I said, “to be enslaved.”
“Excellent,” said Verna. She looked down at me, and laughed. “Any panther girl,”
she said, “who falls to men deserves the collar.” She fingered the hilt of the
knife. “There is a saying among panther girls,” she said, “that any girl who
permits herself to fall to men desires in her heart to be their slave.”
“I have heard,” I said, “that panther girls, once conquered, make splendid
slaves.”
Verna kicked me suddenly, viscously, in the side. “Silence, Slave!” she cried.
“The moons are risen,” said Mira, standing behind her.
I recalled the uncontrollable movements of Sheera’s body, its wild helplessness,
the ecstatic prisoner of its slave reflexes.
“It is said,” I said, “that in the band of Hura there are more than a hundred
women.”
Verna smiled. “We shall pick them off,” she said, “one by one, and then, when
they flee, we shall again follow them, and drop them one by one. When they turn
in the forest and throw down their arms, the last of them, we shall put them in
chains and sell them to men.” There was bitterness in Verna’s face. “I would see
Hura, and her high girls,” she said, “sold as slaves to men.” She looked at me,
and laughed. “Grenna,” she said, “is already slave. It is an excellent start.”
“You hate them so?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What is to be done with me and my men?” I asked.
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”
I was silent.
She smiled. “You might be beaten for it,” she said.
I did not speak.
One does not inform slaves of the plans of masters. Slaves are deliberately kept
uninformed, and ignorant. It increases their dependence, their helplessness.
They do no know whence they may be herded, or what they may be forced to do.
Leave them alone, it is said, with their ignorance and their fears. It is enough
for the master to know what is to be done with them.
In time the slave will learn. That will be soon enough.
Verna then, without speaking further, turned and left me. Some of the panther
girls, at the edge of the clearing, with their spears, stood restlessly,
watching me. I looked up, and saw the bright moons, now beyond the foliage of
the Tur trees. The stars were beautiful in the black sky. My wrists and ankles
pulled at the thongs that bound them. I could not move. I was helpless.
I laughed bitterly.
How brave and noble I had been to enter the forests, to rescue the beautiful
Talena, daughter of Marlenus of Ar.
How grateful she would have been, the loving, high-born beauty, in my arms, when
I had brought her glorious and safe from shameful bondage, her former captors
now stripped and at our feet in the chains of slaves. Perhaps, if it had pleased
me, I would have given her Verna, as her personal serving slave, a souvenir of
her ordeal in the forest and the glorious triumph which culminated that ordeal.
How beautiful she would have looked as we had, arms interlocked, drunk the wines
of a renewed, repledged companionship.
How splendid she would have looked at my side, my beautiful consort in P Port
Kar. Together, in our curule chairs, raised above those of others, we might in
the house of Bosk have held court.
With my wealth and power we might have been as Ubar and Ubara.
The jewels and robes which I would have given her would have been the finest in
Port Kar, the finest in all Gor.
But now it did not seem that she would stand beside me among falling flowers on
the bow of the Tesephone, on some great holiday declared in Port Kar, as we
returned in triumph to that city, making our way through its flower-strewn
canals, beneath the windows and rooftops of cheering throngs.
She was now only a slave, no more than Sheera, or Grenna, or any other.
She, while slave, could not even stand in companionship. She, even if freed,
without family, and, by the same act, without caste, would have a status beneath
the dignity of the meanest peasant wench, secure in the rights of her caste.
Even if freed, Talena would be among the lowest women on Gor. Even a slave girl
has at least a collar.
I stared up at the sky, the stars. Again I laughed bitterly. How foolish had
been my dreams.
The glory that was to have been Marlenus’ would have been mine.
I might then, when it had pleased me, have had official word sent to Ar, that
his daughter now sat safe at my side, my consort, the consort of Bosk, Admiral
of Port Kar, jewel of gleaming Thassa.
We would have made a splendid couple. The companionship would have been an
excellent one, a superb one.
Talena was a rich and powerful woman, high born and influential.
It would have been an excellent match.
Who knew how high might have been raised the chair of Bosk?
Perhaps there might even, in time, have been a Ubar in Port Kar, sovereign over
even the Council of Captains.
And there might, in time, have been an alliance, in virtue of the companionship,
between Port Kar and Ar, and other cities.
And who knew, in time, there might have been but one throne of one Ubar of this
<
br /> unprecedented empire.
Who knew to what heights might have been raised the chair of Bosk?
But Talena had now been disowned. She no longer could claim family. No longer
was she the daughter of Marlenus. She now was only another slave, that and that
alone. She now was nothing, only another beautiful slave girl, that and that
alone.
She could no longer, with fitness, sit by the side of a free man.
Even if freed, she would have no caste, no family. She would be among the lowest
women on Gor.
She would no longer be acceptable.
It would probably be kinder to her to keep her in bondage. She would then have
at least her collar.
I threw back my head and laughed. Talena was no longer acceptable.
And I, a fool of my dreams, had come into the forest, to rescue her, to best
Marlenus, and improve my fortunes, to rescue the beautiful Talena and improve
the fortunes of the house of Bosk.
I looked up.
Once again Verna stood over me. She looked down upon me. There was incredible
pride and superiority in her gaze and carriage. She was barbaric, a panther
girl, a beauty. She carried a spear. She wore at her belt a sleen knife. She
wore the skins of forest panthers, primitive ornaments of beaten gold.
“The moons are now risen,” said another panther girl, edging closer to Verna.
She was looking at me.
“There is not much time,” said Mira. “Soon the moons will be at their full.”
“Let it begin,” said another girl.
Verna looked down upon me. “You wished to take us as slaves,” she said, “it is
you who have been taken slave.”
I looked up at her in horror. I pulled at the thongs.
“Shave him,” she said.
I fought, but two girls held my head, and Mira, laughing, with a small bowl of
lather and a shaving knife, shave the two-and-one-half-inch degradation stripe
on my head, from the forehead to the back of my neck.
“You are now well marked,” said Verna, “as a man who has fallen to women.”
I pulled helplessly at the thongs.
“Bring a whip,” said Verna.
Mira leaped to her feet.
“Curiosity,” she said, “is not becoming in a Kajirus.”
Mira returned with the whip, a five-strap Gorean slave whip.
“Beat him,” said Verna.
She beat me. My body, in the thongs, twisted and leaped under the lash.
“It is enough,” said Verna.
Norman, John - Gor 08 - Hunters of Gor.txt Page 17
