by John Norman
Then the crown became suddenly quiet.
One last cart approached. I could hear its wheels on the stones before I could see it.
It was Verna. Beautiful, barbaric Verna!
Nothing, save her weapons, had been taken from her. She still wore her brief skins, and about her neck and on her arms, were barbaric ornaments of gold. But she was caged.
Her cage, mounted on the cart, was not of branches, but of steel. It was a circular cage, between some six and seven feet in height, flat-bottomed, with a domed top. Its diameter was no more than a yard.
And she was chained.
Her wrists were manacled behind her body, and a chain led from her confined wrists to a heavy ring set in the bottom of her cage.
Her head was in the air.
She was manacled as heavily as might have been a man. This infuriated me. Slave bracelets would hold her, as they would any women!
How arrogant and beautiful she seemed!
How I hated her!
And so, too, must have the other slave girls in the crowd, with their switches and sticks.
"Hit her!" I screamed through the canvas.
"Be quiet!" cried Ute, in horror.
"Hit her!" screamed Lana.
The crowd of slave girls swarmed forward toward the cart with their sticks and switches, some of them even leaping upon it, spitting, and striking and poking through the bars of the high narrow cage.
I saw that the domed top of Verna's cage was set with a ring, so that the cage might be, if one wished, hung from the branch of a tree, or suspended from a pole, for public viewing. Doubtless Marlenus had given orders that she be exhibited in various cities and villages on the route to Ar, his prize, that she might thus, this beautiful captive, an outlaw girl well known on Gor, considerably redound to his prestige and glory. I supposed that she would not be enslaved until she reached Ar. Then, I supposed, she would be publicly enslaved, and perhaps by the hand of Marlenus himself. The slave girls swarmed about the cage, poking, and striking with their switches, and spitting and cursing. Their abuse was endured by Verna. It seemed she chose to ignore them. This infuriated them and they redoubled their efforts. Verna now flinched with pain, and her body was cut and marked, but still she would not lower her head, nor did she deign to speak to, or recognize in any way, her foes.
Then there was a roar of anger from the crowd and, to my fury, men began to leap, too, to the cart, but to hurl the slave girls from the cage. And huntsmen, too, angrily, now leaped to the cart, striking about them with their whips. The slave girls screamed, and fled from the cart. Men seized them, and disarmed them of their sticks and switches, and them threw the girls to the stones at their feet, where they cowered, at the sandals of free men, and then the men ordered them from the street. The girls leapt up and, weeping, terrified, fled away, humiliated, chastened slaves.
I was angry. I wished that I might have had a stick or switch. How I would have beaten Verna! I was not afraid of her! I would have beaten her well, as she deserved!
How I hated Verna!
Her cart was now moving away, drawn by the small, horned tharlarion. In her cage, manacled, Verna still stood proudly. Her head was still in the air, her body straight, her gaze level and fixed. She gave no sign that she had noticed either those who had so rudely assailed her, or those who had protected her from them. How arrogant and superior she seemed!
How I hated her, and hated her!
A spear butt struck at the wood of the wagon, near where we peeped out. We drew back, frightened. The canvas was then tied down again. We were alone with ourselves again, closed in the wagon.
We heard the drums, the trumpets and clashing cymbals growing fainter, down the street, as the retinue continued on its way.
"Hereafter," said Inge, "El-in-or will address each of us in this wagon as Mistress."
I looked at her in anger. "No," said Ute, to Inge.
"Yes," said Inge.
"That is being cruel to El-in-or," said Ute.
"We shall treat El-in-or exactly as she deserves," said Inge.
The other girls, except Ute, and Lana, who perhaps feared she might be similarly treated, agreed.
"You will be treated exactly as you deserve, won't you?" asked Inge, looking at me.
I did not answer her.
"Is that not true, El-in-or?" asked Inge, sweetly.
I bit my lip.
"Is it not true?" pressed Inge. Her voice was not pleasant.
"Yes," I whispered.
"Yes, what?" asked Inge. Her voice was hard.
"Yesa€”Mistress," I said.
The other girls, even Lana, laughed.
"Move your feet," said the girl across from me.
I looked at Inge. Her eyes were hard.
"Yes, Mistress," I said. I moved my chained ankles. I hated Inge, and Lana, and Ute, and all of them!
The girls laughed.
We felt the wagon again begin to move, once again resuming its journey toward the Field Gate. Once again we were goods, female slaves, on our way to be sold in Ar.
But I had been forced to acknowledge myself most slave in the wagon. I was more slave then they!
I was forced even to address them as Mistress!
I was furious.
* * *
Angrily, in the field, in the sunlight, more than a pasang from the wagons, on the route to Ar, I picked berries, snapping them from their twigs and throwing them into the bucket.
The sun and the grass, and the breezes, were doubtless as pleasant as they had been, but I was not now in much of a mood to enjoy them. I recollected with satisfaction my witnessing of the captivity of Verna, the Panther Girl, but I recollected with much less satisfaction what had occurred in the slave wagon, when Inge had so decisively bested me; when I had learned that she could beat me, if she pleased, and would, should it please her; when I, a former bully among them, had so suddenly lost my status with them; when Inge, whom I now feared, forced me, and cruelly, to address her, and the others, with the exception of Ute, though slaves themselves, by the title of Mistress, as though it was only I among them who might be the slave! Moreover, to my fury, the other girls of the caravan, hearing of this, and thinking it a great joke, were quick to demand of me the same dignity.
"Address them as Mistress," said Inge, "or I will beat you."
I wanted to be sold in Ar, to be free of them! I wanted to be a pampered, perfumed girl, with jewels and cosmetics and silks, the pet and favorite of an indulgent master, whom I might control. I wanted the luxuries, and the sights and pleasures of Ar! I wanted to be an envied slave!
I had bowed my head to Inge.
I would have a very pleasant life, as a manipulative, kept female. The only difference between myself and the kept girl of Earth, I speculated, was that I would not be able to choose who it was that would keep me. I would be purchased. What a fool I was! I did not yet know what it was to be a Gorean slave girl. "Yes, Mistress," I had said to Inge, humbly, hating her.
"You many now kiss my feet," she informed me.
My fists clenched. Her eyes flashed.
I did so. I was afraid of her. The other girls about laughed. And so I called them Mistress. I wanted to be free of them all!
I was miserable.
But two girls I did not address as Mistress, Ute, who did not wish it, and Lana, in whose case, for reasons of her own, Inge did not insist upon it. I wanted to get swiftly to Ar, and to be sold, to be free of them all! I wanted to begin my new and pleasant life.
I looked at Ute. "Ute," I said.
Ute turned in the strap, from picking berries.
"Yes, El-in-or?" she said.
"When will we reach Ar?" I asked.
"Oh, not for many days," she said. "We have not yet even come tot he Vosk." The Vosk is a great river, which borders the claims of Ar, on the north. Ute then returned to her picking of berries. Neither she nor the guard were watching, so I stole some more of her berries for my bucket. Two I had placed in my mouth, carefully, that no sign
that I had tasted them be evident. I looked up. The sky was bright and blue, and the white clouds scudded swiftly by. I was wearing a camisk. I was out of the pens, out of the slave wagon. The air was warm and clear. I was not particularly displeased.
Moreover, I had had an opportunity to be revenged on Verna, before whom I had demonstrated my superiority and lack of fear.
It had happened five days out of Ko-ro-ba.
The Merchants have, in the past few years, on certain trade routes, between Ar and Ko-ro-ba, and between Tor and Ar, established palisaded compounds, defensible stockades. These, where they exist, tend to be placed approximately a day's caravan march apart. Sometimes, of course, and indeed, most often, the caravan must camp in the open. Still, these hostels, where they are to be found, are welcome, both to common merchants and to slavers, and even to travelers. Various cities, through their own Merchant Law, legislated and revised, and upheld, at the Sardar Fairs. The walls are double, the interior wall higher, and tarn wire is strung over the compound. These forts do not differ much, except in size, from the common border forts, which cites sometimes maintain at the peripheries of their claims. In the border forts, of course, there is little provision for the goods of merchants, their wagons, and such. There is usually room for little more than their garrisons, and their slaves. I hoped I would not be a slave girl in a distant border fort. I wanted to reside in a luxurious city, where there would be many goods, and sights and pleasures. I wanted to wear my collar in great Ar itself.
Five days out of Ko-ro-ba, we had stopped at one of these Merchant Fortresses. Inside the interior wall, girls are sometimes permitted to run free. They cannot escape, and it pleases them.
One wagon at a time, for a given interval, Targo permitted his girls, in wagon sets, to enjoy freedom of movement. How I ran inside the large fortress. Then I cried out, "Lana! Lana!"
"What?" she asked.
"Look!" I cried.
Over against one long wall of the stockade was the camp of the huntsmen of Marlenus. They had left Ko-ro-ba after us, but they had traveled more swiftly. Lana and I, and some of the other girls, ran to look at the cages of sleen and panthers, and the trophies. Lana laughed at the cages of male slaves. She and I went to them, with others, too, to taunt them.
We would come close to the cages, and when they would reach for us, we would jump back.
"Buy me!" I laughed.
"Buy me! Buy me!" laughed the others.
One of the men reached his hand for Lana. "let me touch you," he begged. She looked at him, contemptuously. "I do not permit myself to be touched by slaves," she said. She laughed scornfully. "I will belong to a free man, not a slave."
Then she walked away from him, as a slave girl, taunting him.
He shook the bars in anger.
"I, too," I informed him, "will belong to a free man, not a slave." Then I, too, walked away from him, showing him the contempt of a slave girl. I heard him cry out with rage, and I laughed. We looked, too, at the sleen and the panthers, and the skins, and the great, captive hith.
Verna's girls, the fifteen of them, stripped, were housed, crouching and kneeling, in small, metal cages. We threw dirt on them, and spat at them. I was particularly pleased to abuse the blond-haired girl, who had held my leash in the forest. I found a stick and poked her through the bars.
She snapped and snarled at me, like an animal, and reached, clawing, through the bars for me, but I was too quick for her.
I poked her again and again, and threw dirt on her, and laughed.
"Look!" said Lana.
I left the blond-haired girl.
We stopped before Verna's cage.
There were some of the huntsmen about, but neither Lana nor I feared them. They were not, we noted, much interested in what we did.
That gave us courage.
"Greetings, Verna," said I, boldly.
She was no longer manacles, but she was, I noted, securely confined in the cage. The cage itself was now hung from a pole, rather like a high trophy pole. Its floor was about six inches off the ground.
I looked up at her.
She looked down at me.
I would have preferred to have looked down upon her, but she was a taller woman than I, and, of course, the cage was suspended somewhat off the ground. "Perhaps you remember me?" I asked.
She looked at me, saying nothing.
"It was I, incidentally," I informed her, "who, in Ko-ro-ba, first cried out to the slave girls to strike you. It was I who instigated their attack." She said nothing.
"It is to me," I informed her, "that you owe that beating." Her face was expressionless.
I still held the stick with which I had poked the blond-haired girl, she who had held my leash in the forest.
I struck out with it, upsetting the pan of water in her cage, emptying it. The water ran over the small, circular floor of the cage, and some of it dripped out, falling to the ground.
Still Verna made no move.
I walked about the cage. Verna could not watch both myself and Lana. She did not turn to follow me. Behind the cage I reached in and stole the food she had in the cage, two larma fruit lying, split, on its metal floor. I bit into one and tossed the other to Lana, who, too, ate it.
When we had finished the fruit, Lana and I discarded the skin and seeds. Verna still watched us, not moving.
I was angry.
Suddenly I struck at her with the stick, and she flinched, but did not cry out. Lana threw dirt on her.
Then I seized the cage and, on its chain, spun it about. The chain twisted, and then the cage turned. Lana and I, laughing, spun the cage back and forth, and when I could I struck Verna through the bars. We struck her, and spat on her, and threw dirt on her.
There were huntsmen nearby but they did not restrain us. We had much sport. Then we let the cage hang still. Verna had her eyes closed. She held the bars. She swallowed.
After a time she opened her eyes.
We, for some minutes more, continued to abuse her, with sticks and dirt, and our spittle and our insults. She made no response.
I was not afraid of her. I had never been afraid of her.
Then we heard one of Targo's guards calling us. It was time for us to be returned to our wagon, and for another set of girls to be freed, to enjoy the liberty of the compound. I gave Verna another blow with the stick.
"Can't you say anything?" I screamed. I was infuriated that she had not cried out, that she had not groveled, that she had not wept for mercy.
We heard the guard call again.
"Hurry," said Lana, "or we will be beaten!"
I gave Verna one last blow, a stinging stripe across the shoulder, with the stick.
"Can't you say anything?" I screamed at her.
"You have pierced ears," she said.
I cried out in anger, and turned, throwing away the stick, and ran back to the wagon.
* * *
I threw another berry into the bucket.
"Ute," I said.
Ute turned again, to regard me.
"Speak to Inge," I said to her. "Tell her not to be cruel to me." I did not wish to address the girls of the chain as Mistress.
"Why do you not speak to her yourself?" asked Ute.
"She doesn't like me," I said. "She would beat me."
Ute shrugged.
"She likes you, Ute," I pressed. "Speak to her for me. Ask her not to make me call the other girls Mistress. I do not wish to do so. They are only slaves!" "We are all slaves," said Ute.
"Please, Ute," I begged.
"All right," said Ute. "I will ask her."
Ute then turned away, and continued to pick berries. It was now late in the afternoon. We were perhaps a pasang and a half from the distant wagons. From the hill on which we now picked berries I could see them. It would be time for the evening meal soon.
I looked about to see if the guard was watching. He was not.
My bucket was no more than half full.
Ute had put her buck
et behind her and was picking berries about a yard ahead of it. Her back was to me. Ute was such a stupid little thing. I put my finger under the wide strap knotted about my throat, which tethered me to her. Then I crept close and took two handfuls of berries from her bucket and put them in mine.
I kept some to put in my mouth.
Then, as I put the berries in my mouth, I thought I heard something. I looked up, and back. Ute, too, and the guard, at the same time, heard it. He cried out and, angrily, began to run back toward the wagon.
Ute saw them before I did, in the distance. I had heard only sound, vague, from far off, like a myriad snappings, and shrill, wind-borne screams.
"Look!" cried Ute. "Tarns!"
In the distance, in a set of four, long, narrow, extended "V's", there came a flight of tarnsmen. The first «V» was lowest in altitude, and in advance of the other three; the second was second lowest, and in advance of the other two, and similarly for the third and fourth. There were no tarn drums beating. This was not a military formation.
"Raiders!" cried Ute.
I was stunned. What seemed most clear to me, and most incomprehensible, was that our guard left us. He had run back toward the wagons. We were alone! "There must be more than a hundred of them!" cried Ute.
I looked up.
"Down!" she cried, and dragged me by the arms to a kneeling position on the grass.
We watched them strike the caravan, in waves, and turn and wheel again, discharging their bolts.
The bosk were being cut loose and stampeded. There was no effort to turn the wagons in a single defensive perimeter. Such a perimeter had little meaning when the enemy can strike from above. Rather, men, hauling on the wagon tongues and thrusting with their shoulders, were putting the wagons in a dense square, with spaces between them. This formation permits men to conceal themselves under the wagons, the floors of the wagons providing some protection above them. The spaces between the wagons provides opportunity at the attackers, and gives some protection against the spreading of fire, wagon to wagon. In many of the wagons there were still girls chained, screaming. Men there tore back the covering of blue and yellow canvas, that they might be seen.
"Unchain them!" cried Ute, as though someone might here. "Unchain them!" But they would not be unchained, unless the day went badly for the caravan, in which case they would be freed and, like the bosk, stampeded.
