Hunters of Gor coc-8

by John Norman

  “No”, I said, “we will not use fire.” A further consideration, of course, was that we were now in the late summer, and the dangers of fire were maximized. Arn and his men agreed.

  One of the most delicate modes of enslavement, and requiring great skill, is to enter the stockade of the panther girls under the cover of darkness and then, one by one, hut by hut, following the sound of their breathing, to take them. The slightest sound may of course, alert the entire band. One locates a sleeping girl and then, swiftly, as she awakens squirming, forces a heavy wadding into her mouth, fastening it in place with strips of cloth and leather. One must then, swiftly, tie her hands behind her back and bind her ankles. One then moves, stealthily, to the next girl. If all proceeds well, each girl, in the light of dawn, looks about herself and sees that each of her comrades, too, is gagged and bound as helplessly as she herself is. In the night they have been taken slave. This procedure, however, calls for great delicacy and skill. We had decided on a simpler mode of attack, that would utilize the first light of day, taking the girls before they had fully awakened, or could realize what was happening to them.

  We would use sleen nets, casting them over more than one girl at a time, tieing them together, making it impossible for them to utilize their weapons. We could then stand over them with knives, preventing them from freeing themselves. At our leisure, one by one, perhaps after having breakfast in their camp, we could then remove them from the nets and chain them.

  We circled the terrain of the camp with great care.

  It is most important to swiftly, silently, dispose of any sentries. But we found none in the encircling forest. We saw none within the palisade. “They are not wise,” whispered Arn, “not to have left sentries.” We crawled to the gate, and there, quietly, I studied the knot that held it, so, if necessary, I could retie it. It was not a difficult know. It was not a signature knot. Its purpose was only to hold the gate against the pushings and shoulderings of animals.

  I untied the knot and, one by one, we slipped within the palisade.

  We unrolled the sleen nets and loosened the knives in our sheaths.

  The ground was wet and damp from the dew. The forest was cool. I could make out the shape of Arn’s head, near me, as he waited.

  We heard the throaty warbling of a tiny horned gim.

  Then we saw the first sparkle of the morning, the glistening of the dampness of leaves and grass.

  I could now, rather well, make out the features of Arn’s face. I nodded to him, and the others. There were five huts, and ten of us. By twos, sleen nets slung between us, we moved to the huts.

  I nodded to Arn.

  He gave a high whistle, shrill and sudden, and we, and the others, thrust through the portals of the hut, casting the sleen nets to encompass whatever lie within.

  I gave a cry of rage.

  We caught nothing.

  In a moment other men came to our hut. “They are gone,” said one.

  “The camp is empty,” said another.

  We looked at one another.

  Arn was furious.

  “Reconnoiter,” I told two men, “and swiftly, and well.”

  The men and Arn, looked at one another, apprehensively. They had only then realized, with full awareness, that we ourselves were now penned within the stockade, which might now serve as the same trap for us as it might have served before for panther girls.

  The two men swiftly went out to scan the surrounding forest.

  I did not think that panther girls laid in wait outside, for we had made a careful examination of the area before we had entered the stockade. Still, I did not wish to take the chance that we might have missed them, or, even, that they might have withdrawn before our examination of the area, intending to return when we might be within the stockade. The most likely hypothesis was that they, unaware of our presence in the vicinity, had, on business of their own, left the stockade before dawn. They might have attacks, or hunts, of their own to attend to. Perhaps they had learned of the advance of the girls of Hura toward their territory and had gone out to make reconnaissance, or oppose them. Perhaps they were lying in ambush, pasangs away, for a party of Hura or Marlenus, or for other reasons, had decided to abandon their camp?

  I looked about. No, there was too much left. And there was no indication of hurried flight.

  I saw spears about, and bundles of arrows.

  Panther girls would not have left them. They would return.

  One of the two men I had sent out to reconnoiter reentered the hut. “There is no sign of panther girls,” he said.

  Arn and his men breathed with relief.

  “They will return,” I said.

  “What shall we do now?” asked Arn.

  “Do not yet roll the sleen nets,” I smiled.

  He looked at us.

  “Let us sit down and take council,” I suggested.

  Two men posted as sentries in the forest, we sat down in one of the huts. “They will probably return before dark,” said Arn.

  “Perhaps sooner,” said one of his men.

  “We do not know what direction they will come,” said another.

  “We do not know,” said Arn, “that they will return to this place.”

  The men grunted in agreement.

  One of the men, glancing about the hut, said, “Ka-la-ma!” He pointed to a side of the hut.

  He went to them and looked at them, lifting them. They were in dark bottles. He turned them about. “From the vineyards of Ar,” he whistled. It was choice Ka-la-na.

  “The panther girls were fortunate in their spoils,” said one of my men, to me. “Put them down,” I said. Reluctantly the man did so.

  “Shall we return at dawn tomorrow?” asked one of my men, to me.

  “Perhaps,” I said. I did not care, however, to lose the time. I did not know how long it would take for Hura, and he band, to reach our area of the forests. Besides, what if Verna and her band returned tonight, and then, again, departed before dawn tomorrow? “I have a better suggestion,” said Arn.

  “You wish to remain in the camp,” I said, “concealed, and surprise them upon their return.” “Yes,” said Arn.

  Several of the men looked at one another with pleasure. That would be delicious sport.

  We would await them, with nets, in their own camp. Then, when they had tied shut the gate behind them, we would leap forth and take them, within their own stockade.

  “That is a splendid plan!” said one of Arn’s me.

  The other nodded their agreement.

  They looked at me. I did not wish to lose the time for another, perhaps futile, dawn attack. Further, we did not know from whence the panther girls might return. This would make it difficult to ambush them deeper in the forest. And one might, in such an attempt, outside the stockade, lose several of the girls. They would not expect to be ambushed in their own camp. They would not be on their guard. They would be, by their own walls, unable to escape, entrapped. I nodded. “We shall wait in the camp,” I said.

  “Good!” said Arn.

  The man, one of Arn’s, who had seen the Ka-la-na by the wall, crawled over to it. He pulled the bottles into his lap, and began to work at the cork of one of them.

  I looked at Arn.

  “Do not become drunk,” said Arn to the man.

  “I shall not,” he said. With his sleen knife he had pried the cork up a bit from the bottle. He then, slowly, with his fingers and teeth, managed to withdraw the cork.

  “Later,” I said.

  He looked at Arn, and Arn nodded. The man, irritably, thrust back the cork in the bottle.

  “What if they do not return today?” asked a man.

  I shrugged. “Then they do not return today,” I said.

  “They will return by nightfall,” said Arn.

  It was now late in the afternoon. We had eaten some foods we had brought with us, in our pouches, and, too, taken some food, bread and dried meat, which we had found in the huts.

  I glanced o
ut of the hut, at the sun.

  The day was long. The day was hot.

  I returned to the hut, and sat down.

  Arn was chewing on a piece of dry Sa-Tarna bread. He washed it down with a swallow from his flask, filled earlier at the nearby stream. We had changed he guard twice in the forest.

  “Panther girls,” said one of Arn’s men, “commonly return to their camp near dusk.” “That will be more than two Ahn,” grumbled another man.

  “It is time to change the guard again,” said one of my men. He, and one of his fellows, rose to their feet.

  “I”, said Arn, grimacing, “have not, for more than a year, tasted Ka-la-na from Ar.” “Nor I,” said one of his men.

  It was indeed choice Ka-la-na. My mind, more than once, had wandered to it. “Captain,” said one of my men.

  “Very well,” I said. The panther girls, in all probability, would not return for another Ahn or two.

  The fellow who had removed the cork from the bottle was first to it, and again, withdrew the cork.

  He threw it to his lips and threw back his head.

  I took the bottle from him.

  “That is enough,” I said.

  “It is good!” he said.

  “We shall open only this bottle,” I said. “The others we may enjoy later.” They would not become drunk. One bottle of Ka-la-na among ten men is nothing. Ka-la-na is not paga or the strong beer of the north.

  I did not, on the other hand, want the entire stock of Ka-la-na emptied. Our project must not be jeopardized.

  The two men, men of mine, who were going forth to relieve the guard, had their swallows from the bottle. They had left. Arn, then took the bottle and drank from it, his head back, swiftly.

  “Enough,” I said.

  The men, his and mine, passed the bottle about. In a short time the two men who had been relieved of guard duty in the forest re-entered the hut. They, too, had their Ka-la-na. There was little left.

  “Captain,” said one of my men, handing me the bottle.

  I put back my head and finished it. It was bitter, the dregs. Bit it had in it the warmth and flash of the fine Ka-la-na. The vineyards of Ar, as those of Cos, were among the finest on all Gor.

  I went again to the entrance to the hut, and once more looked out.

  The sun was lower, but it was still bright and warm. Heat, soft and still, hung among the branches and leaves.

  It was more than an Ahn until dusk.

  I turned to re-enter the hut. At the threshold I stumbled. My hand clutched the jamb.

  “We are fools!” I cried.

  Arn looked up at me, blinking. The man who had opened the bottle of Ka-la-na, he who had first drunk, and most deeply, lay at one side of the hut, his knees drawn up to his stomach. “Get him!” I said, “and run! Run!” The men stumbled to their feet, unsteadily. Two of them tried to lift the man who was lying at the side of the hut. “I can’t see!” screamed one of the men. Arn climbed to his feet, and then fell to his hands and knees, his head down. “Run!” I screamed to them. “Run!” We fled, stumbling, falling, from the hut. To one side, behind me and to the left, I saw a net, swift and white, heavily corded, weighted, drop over a man. I heard the shouts of panther girls.

  Holding Arn, stumbling, by the arm, I ran toward the gate.

  Trying to clear my vision, I felt, suddenly, the sharp job of one spear, and then another. I reeled unsteadily. I shook my head. There was blood at my chest and stomach. “Back!” I heard. “Back!” at the gate there were four panther girls, thrusting with spears, held in their two hands, prodding us back. Arn fell to his knees. I lifted him, and turned back toward the hut. I fell once, and then struggled again to my feet. Half-carrying Arn I regained the darkness of the hut. I groped for my bow. I shook my head. I must not lose consciousness. Arn fell to his hands and knees, dazed. I found a black temwood arrow, a sheaf arrow, and fitted it unsteadily to the string of the great bow, the yellow bow, from the wine trees of Gor. I could find no target. I was breathing heavily, sweating. I tried to draw the bow. I could not draw it. The arrow fell from the string.

  I looked outside.

  One of my men had fallen unconscious to the ground. Another, futilely, weakly, was fighting slave snares, held like a trapped animal in the cruel taut cords. Then he was pulled from his feet, and I saw a panther girl, a blond girl, her hair wild, leap toward him, her spear lifted in two hands.

  I saw another man lying on his belly. Two beautiful panther girls bent to him. One jerked his wrists behind his body, binding them. The other had crossed his ankles and was swiftly fastening them with binding fiber.

  I saw two men, in slave manacles, chained to a post of the gate.

  With a cry of rage I threw down the bow and kicked out the back of the hut. Outside I looked about.

  At one side of the hut, where I could not see, I heard the heavy snap of slave manacles.

  I stumbled to the sharpened saplings forming the wall behind the hut. I reached down, seizing one with both hands, trying to pull it up.

  We were locked within this fence. Arn, beside me, groggily, slipped to his knees. I shook him, viscously.

  Together we managed to loosen one of the saplings, and then, together, we slipped through the wall.

  “They are escaping!” I heard cry. “Two! They are escaping!”

  Thrusting Arn along beside me, holding his arm, we found a trail among the trees. I heard more cries behind us, of panther girls in fury. W heard the sounds of pursuit. Panther girls are swift, fierce hunters.

  Arn fell.

  “Get up!” I cried. “Get up!” I slapped Arn fiercely, and dragged him to his feet.

  Groggily he ran beside me.

  An arrow swept past us. I heard the cries of pursuit, the sounds of branches being broken and rudely thrust aside.

  There was suddenly a great, heavy steel snap at my feet. Arn cried out in pain and fell forward.

  Locked on his right ankle were the heavy, sharp steel teeth of a slave trap. I fought the heavy, curved steel jaws, but they had locked shut. The Gorean slave trap is not held by a simple, heavy spring as would be the trap for a panther or sleen. Such a spring, by a strong man, with his hands, might be thrust open. This trap had sprung shut and locked. The heavy steel curved snugly about his ankle. The sharp teeth, biting deeply, fastened themselves in his flesh. It could only be opened by key.

  He would be held perfectly. It was a Gorean slave trap.

  I pulled at the chain, a heavy chain, concealed under leaves.

  It led to a ring on a post, sunk deeply into the ground. I could not budge the post.

  I heard the pursuit, almost at hand, breaking through branches.

  Arn looked at me, agonized.

  I put out my hand to him. Then I turned and, stumbling sick, began to run. I fell against a tree, and again struggled to my feet. An arrow struck near me. I plunged into the underbrush, hearing the sounds of pursuit.

  I began to grow dizzy. It was hard to see. I fell again, and again stumbled to my feet and, unsteadily, attempted to run.

  I do not know how far I ran. I do not think it was far. I fell in the brush. I must get up. I screamed to myself, I must get up!

  But I could not get up.

  “Here he is,” I heard.

  I opened my eyes and saw about me the ankles of several panther girls. My hands were dragged behind me. I felt slave steel locked on my wrists, I fell unconscious.

  9 There is a Meeting of Hunters

  I awakened with a start.

  I could not move.

  I lay in the center of a clearing. I could see lofty Tur trees surrounding the clearing. We were deep in the forest, somewhere within one of the stands of the mighty Tur trees. I could see them, on all sides, at the edges of the clearing, rising beautifully a hundred, two hundred feet toward the blackness of the Gorean night, the brightness of the stars, and then, almost at the top, exploding into a broad canopying of interlaced branches. I could see the stars overhead. But through th
e leafed branches of the trees I could catch only glimpses of them. There was grass in the clearing. I could feel it beneath my back. I saw, to one side of the clearing, a short, stout slave post, with two rings. No slave was bound to it.

  “He is awake,” said a girl’s voice.

  I saw a woman, in the brief skins of the panther women, turn and approach me. She wore ornaments of gold, an armlet, and anklet, a long string of tiny, pierced, golden cylinders looped four times about her neck.

  At her belt was a sleen knife.

  She stood over me. She looked down upon me. Her legs were shapely. She was marvelously figured.

  I pulled at the thongs on my wrists and ankles. My feet and arms had been tied separately, widely apart. I was stretched between four stakes. Several bands of binding fiber fastened each limb to its heavy stake. The stakes were notched to prevent the fiber from slipping. I could scarcely feel my hands and feet. I was well secured. I had been stripped.

  She looked down upon me.

  She carried a light spear.

  I turned my head to one side.

  With the blade of her spear she turned my head so that I must again face her. “Greetings, Slave,” she said.

  I did not speak to her.

  She looked down upon me, and laughed.

  I, her captive, hated her.

  Yet she did not permit me to take my eyes from her. The blade of her spear made me face her.

  “Am I so difficult to look upon?” she asked.

  She was one of the most exciting beautiful women I had ever seen.

  I resented the brief, tight skins which concealed her from me.