by John Norman
One of the girls scrambled up a nearby tree. In a moment, in the moonlight, she was throwing down water gourds and strips of meat.
Sitting cross-legged on the leaves, the girls passed about the gourds and began to chew on the meat.
When they had drunk and eaten, they sat about in a half circle, looking at me. "Untie her ankles," said Verna.
The girl did. This released the pressure of the choke leash.
My head fell forward.
When I lifted it, Verna stood before me, her knife at my face.
"Scar her," said the girl who had held my leash.
I looked at Verna in terror.
"Are you afraid you will not be so pretty?" asked Verna. "That men will not like you?"
I closed my eyes.
I felt the blade move between my cheek and the gag, cutting the gag free. I almost fainted. With my tongue I forced the packing from my mouth. I almost vomited.
Verna's knife was again in its sheath.
When I could look at her, I said, as evenly as I could, "I am hungry, and thirsty."
"Your masters fed you!" said Verna.
"Indeed she was fed!" cried one of the girls. "She was fed by hand, like a beast." The girl snorted. "She even, bound, leaped to catch meat with her teeth."
"Men must find you very pleasing," said Verna.
"I am not a slave girl," I told them. "You wear a man's brand," said Verna.
I blushed. It was true that I wore the brand of a man.
"She even had Ka-la-na wine," sneered one of the girls.
"Fortunate slave," said Verna.
I said nothing. I was furious.
"It is said," said Verna, "that Ka-la-na wine makes any woman a slave, if but for an hour." She looked at me. "Is it true?"
I said nothing. I recalled with shame how I had, near the fire, placing my guard's hand in my binding fiber, encouraged by my own ravishment as a slave girl, and how I had knelt, my hair falling about his face, to kiss him. I knew that I had provoked him, and then that I had fought him.
"I fought him!" I cried.
The girls laughed.
"Thank you for saving me," I said.
They laughed.
"I am not a slave," I repeated.
"You wore a camisk," said one of the girls. "You were in the girl cage. You served as a slave!"
"You want to belong to a man!" cried Verna.
"No! No! No!" I wept. "I am not a slave! I am not!"
The girls, and I, were quiet.
"You saw that I struggled," I whispered, desperately.
"You struggled prettily," said Verna.
"I want to join you," I said.
There was a silence.
"We do not accept slave girls among the women of the forest," said Verna proudly.
"I am not a slave girl! I cried.
Verna regarded me. "How many of us do you count?" she asked.
"Fifteen," I told her.
"My band," said Verna, "consists of fifteen. This, it seems to me, is a suitable number, for protection, for feeding, for concealment in the forest." She looked at me. "Some groups are smaller, some larger, but my band," she said, "as I wish, numbers fifteen."
I said nothing.
"Would you like to be one of us?" she asked.
"Yes!" I cried. "Yes!"
"Untie her," said Verna.
The choke leash was removed from my throat. My wrists were unbound. "Stand," said Verna.
I did so, and so, too, did the other girls. I stood, rubbing my wrists. The girls put down their spears, unslung the bows and quivers from their shoulders.
The light of the three moons filtered through the trees, speckling the glade. Verna removed her sleen knife from her belt. She handed it to me.
I stood there, holding the knife.
The other girls stood ready, some half crouching. All had removed their knives from their sheaths.
"The place of which of these," said Verna, "will you take?"
"I do not understand," I said.
"One of these," said Verna, "or myself, you will fight to the death." I shook my head, No.
"I will fight you, if you wish," said Verna, "without my knife."
"No," I whispered.
"Fight me, Kajira!" hissed the girl who had held my leash. Her knife was ready. "Me!" cried another.
"Me!" cried yet another.
One of the girls cried out and leaped toward me, the knife flashing in her hand. I screamed and threw the knife from me, and fell to my knees, my head in my hands.
"No, no!" I cried.
"Bind her," said Verna.
I felt my hands pulled again behind my back. The girl who had held my leash lashed them together, mercilessly. I felt again the snap of the choke collar on my throat.
"We have rested," said Verna. "Let us continue our journey."
The girl, clad like the others in the skins of forest panthers, who had held my leash, and now again held it, she who had bound me, her sleen knife again in its sheath, thrust her face toward mine. It was she who had leaped at me with her knife. She twisted her hand in the metal and leather choke collar. "Kajira!" she said, with contempt. I gasped, choking. I was terrified of her.
Verna regarded me. She wiped the dirt and crumbled leaves from her sleen knife, which I had thrown from me, on the skins of her brief garments, and then replaced it in her sheath. She slung again about her shoulders her bow and quiver, and took up again her light spear. The other girls similarly armed themselves preparing to depart. Some gathered up the water gourds and what meat was left from their meal.
Verna approached me.
I knelt.
"What are you?" she asked.
"Kajira, Mistress," I whispered.
I looked up at her.
"May I speak?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
I knew I was not as these other women. I was not as they were.
"Why," I asked, "was I taken?"
Verna looked at me, for a long time. And then she said, "There is a man." I looked up at her, helplessly.
"He has bought you."
The girls, led by Verna, again began to make their way through the dark, moonlit forest. Again the metal and leather collar slid shut on my throat, and with a gasp of anguish, wrists bound behind my back, not permitted clothing, I followed at my tether, not as they, the proud women of the forest, but only as I could be among them, Kajira.
* * *
We continued on, for perhaps another hour. Once Verna lifted her hand, and we stopped.
"Sleen" she said.
The girls looked about.
She had smelled the animal, somewhere.
One of the other girls said, "Yes."
Most of them merely looked about, their spears ready. I gathered few could smell the animal. I could not. The wind was moving softly from my right.
After a time the girl who had said, "Yes," said, "It is gone now." She looked at Verna.
Verna nodded.
We again continued on out way.
I had sensed nothing, and I gathered that most of the other girls had not either.
* * *
As we continued our journey, we could see the bright moons above.
The girls seemed restless, short-tempered, irritable. I saw more than one looking at the moons.
"Verna," said one of them.
"Quiet," said Verna.
The file continued its journey through the trees and brush, threading its way through the darkness and branches.
"We have seen men," said one of the girls, insistently.
"Be silent," said Verna.
"We should have taken slaves," said another, irritably.
"No," said Verna.
"The circle," said another. "We must go to the circle!"
Verna stopped and turned.
"It is on our way," said another.
"Please, Verna," said another, her voice pleading. Verna regarded the girls. "Very well," she said, "we shall stop at the circle."
The girls relaxed visibly.
Irritably, Verna turned, and again we continued on our way.
I understood nothing of this.
I was miserable. I cried out, suddenly, when a branch, unexpectedly struck me across the belly. With a cry of rage the girl who held my leash expertly, with a twist of her wrist, threw me choking from my feet. Then her foot was on the leash a few inches from my neck, pinning me, choking, to the ground. With the free end of the leash she struck me five times across my back.
"Silence, Kajira!" she hissed.
Then I was pulled again to my feet, and we continued our journey. Again branches struck me, but I did not cry out. My feet and legs were bleeding; my body was lashed, and scratched.
I was nothing with these proud, free, dangerous, brave women, these independent, superb, unfearing, resourceful, fierce felines, panther girls of the northern forests of Gor. They were swift, and beautiful and arrogant, like Verna. They were armed, and could protect themselves, and did not need men. They could make men slaves, if they wished, and sell them later, if they were displeased with them or wearied of them. And they could fight with knives and knew the trails and trees of the vast forests. They feared nothing, and needed nothing. They were so different from myself.
They were strong, and unfearing. I was weak, and frightened.
It seemed they were of a sex, or breed, other than, and superior to my own. Among such women I could be but the object of their scorn, what they despised most, only Kajira.
And among them I felt myself to be only Kajira, one fit to be tethered and led, scorned as an insult to the beauty and magnificence of their sex.
I was other than, and less than, they. "Hurry, Kajira!" snapped the girl who dragged in my leash. "Yes, Mistress," I whispered.
She laughed.
I was being taken at night through the forest, a bound slave. Verna had told me that there was a man. I had been told that I had been bought. I was being delivered by women, another woman, but a weakling, one who was only a piece of merchandise, one who, on this harsh world, could be only merchandise, to my master.
I wept.
* * *
Then, after perhaps another hour, we came, almost abruptly, suddenly, to a stand of the high trees, the Tur trees, of the northern forests.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
The girls stopped.
I looked about myself. The forests of the northern temperate latitudes of Gor are countries in themselves, covering hundreds of thousands of square pasangs of area. They contain great numbers of various species of trees, and different portions of the forests may differ considerably among themselves. The most typical and famous tree of these forests is the lofty, reddish Tur tree, some varieties of which grow more than two hundred feet high. It is not known how far these forests extend. It is not impossible that they belt the land surfaces of the planet. They begin near the shores of Thassa, the Sea, in the west. How far they extend to the east is not known. They do extend beyond the most northern ridges of the Thentis Mountains.
We found ourselves now in a stand of the lofty Tur trees. I could see broadly spreading branches some two hundred feet or more above my head. The trunks of the trees were almost bare of branches until, so far above, branches seemed to explode in an interlacing blanket of foliage, almost obliterating the sky. I could see glimpses of the three moons high above. The floor of the forest was almost bare. Between the lofty, widely spaced trees there was little but a carpeting of leaves. I saw two of the girls looking up at the moons. Their lips were parted, their fists clenched. There seemed to be pain in their eyes. "Verna," said one of them.
"Silence," said their leader.
It was no accident that we had stopped at this place.
One of the girls whimpered.
"All right," said Verna, "go to the circle."
The girl turned and sped across the carpeting of leaves.
"Me, Verna!" cried another.
"To the circle," said Verna, irritably.
The girl turned and sped after the first.
One by one, with her eyes, Verna released the girls, and each ran lightly, eagerly, through the trees.
Then Verna came to me and took my leash from the hand of the girl who had held it. "Go to the circle," she told the girl.
Swiftly, not speaking, the girl ran after the others.
Verna looked after them.
We stood alone, she in her skins, I unclothed, she free, I bound, my leash in her grasp.
Verna regarded me, for some time, in the moonlight.
I could not meet her eyes. I dropped my head.
"Yes," said Verna. "You would be pleasing to men. You are a pretty little Kajira."
I could not lift my head.
"I despise you," she said.
I said nothing.
"Are you a docile slave?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," I whispered. "I am docile."
Then, to my amazement, Verna unsnapped the choke leash from my throat and then unbound my wrists.
She looked at me, and still I could not meet her eyes.
"Follow the others," she said. "You will come to a clearing. At the edge of the clearing, you will find a post. Wait there to be bound."
"Yes, Mistress," I said.
Verna laughed, and stood behind me. I could imagine her, straight in her skins and golden ornaments, with her spear and weapons, watching me. Each step was torture.
"Posture!" snapped Verna, from yards behind me.
I straightened my body and, tears in my eyes, walked between the trees, in the moonlight.
After some hundred yards I came to the edge of a clearing. It was some twenty-five to thirty yards in diameter, ringed by the lofty trunks of Tur trees. The floor of the clearing was lovely grass, thick and some inches in height, soft and beautiful. I looked up. Bright in the dark, star strewn Gorean sky, large, dominating, seemingly close enough to touch, loomed the three moons of Gor.
The girls of Verna's band stood about the edge of the circle. They did not speak. They were breathing deeply. They seemed restless. Several had their eyes closed, their fists clenched. Their weapons had been discarded.
I saw, at one side of the clearing, the post.
It was about five feet high, and seven inches thick, sturdy, sunk deep in the ground. In its back, there were two heavy metal rings, one about two feet from the ground, the other about three and a half feet from the ground. It was a rough post, barked. On its front, near the top, carved, cut into the bark with the point of a sleen knife, was a crude representation of opened slave bracelets. It was a slave post.
I went and stood before it, Elinor Brinton, the slave.
Briefly, through my mind flashed the memory of my former riches, of the penthouse, the Maserati, my luxuries, and education and travels, my former status and power, and then of my capture and my transportation to this rude world.
"Kneel," snapped Verna.
I did so.
Verna resnapped the leather and metal choke collar on my throat. She then threaded the leash through the ring, about three and half feet high, behind the post, brought the leash about and looped it, from the left to the right, about my neck and then rethreaded it through the ring, pulling it tight. I was bound by the neck to the post. Then she threaded the free end of the leash through the lower of the two rings, passes it about my belly, and rethreaded it tight, fastening me at the waist to the post. With the free end of the leash, keeping it taut, she then lashed my ankles together behind the post. I was bound, save that my hands were free.
Verna took the length of binding fiber from her skins, that which had formerly bound my wrist.
"Place you hands above your head," she said.
I did so.
She tied the binding fiber securely about my left wrist, took the fiber behind the post, threaded it through the highest of the two metal rings, and then, jerking my right wrist back, bound it, too, fastening me to the post. I knelt, secured.
"Docile sla
ve," sneered Verna.
"Verna!" spoke one of the girls.
"Very well!" said Verna, irritably. "Very well!"
The first girl to leap to the center of the circle was she who had first held my leash.
She had blond hair. Her head was don, and shaking. Then she threw back her head, moaning, and reached up, clawing for the moons of Gor. The other girls too, responded to her, whimpering and moaning, clenching and unclenching their fists. The first girl began to writhe, crying out, stamping in the circle. Then another girl joined her, and another, and another. And then another! Stamping, turning, crying out, moaning, clawing at the moons, they danced. Then there were none who had not entered that savage circle, save Verna, the band's leader, proud and superb, armed and disdainful, and Elinor Brinton, a bound slave.
The first girl, throwing back her head to the moons, screamed and tore her skins to the waist, writhing.
Then, for the first time I noticed, in the center of the circle, there were four heavy stakes, about six inches in height, dark in the grass. They formed a small, but ample, square. I shuddered. They were notched, that binding fiber might not slip from them.
The first girl began to dance before the square.
I looked up into the sky. In the dark sky the moons were vast and bright. Another girl, crying out, tore her own skins to the waist and clawing, moaning, writhing, approached the square. Then another, and another!
I did not even look upon Verna, so horrified I was at the barbaric spectacle. I had not believed that women could be like this.
And then the first girl tore away her skins and danced in her golden ornaments beneath the huge, wild moons, on the grass of the circle, before the square. I could not believe my eyes. I shuddered, fearing such women.
Then suddenly, to my amazement, Verna cried out in anguish, a wild, moaning, anguished cry, and threw from herself her weapons and tore away her own skins and leaped into the circle, turning and clawing and crying out like the others. She was not other than they, but first among them! She danced savagely, clad only in her gold and beauty, beneath the moons. She cried out and clawed. Sometimes she bit at another girl or struck at her, if she dared approach the square more closely than she, writhing, enraged, but fearful, eyes blazing, dancing, they fell back from her.
She danced first among them, their leader.
Then, throwing her head back, she screamed, shaking her clenched fists at the moons.
