Hunters of Gor coc-8

by John Norman

  Her blond hair, unbound, swirled below the small of her back. Her blue eyes, regarded me, contemptuously.

  “No,” I said, “it is not difficult to look upon you.”

  She was magnificent. She might have been bred from pleasure slaves and she-panthers. She was sinuous and arrogant, desirable, dangerous, feline. I had little doubt that she was swift of mind. She was surely proud and haughty. She was lithe. She was perhaps two inched taller than the average Gorean woman, and yet, due to the perfections of her proportions, as vigorous and stunning as a girl bred deliberately in the slave pens for such qualities.

  She looked down upon me.

  “I am a free man,” I said. “I demand the rights of prisoners.”

  Idly she moved the blade of her spear along the side of my body.

  I closed my eyes.

  “You were fools to drink the wine,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  I looked up at her.

  “More than once,” she said,we have used out camp as a slave trap.” In rage I pulled at the thongs.

  “You got further than any other in the forest,” she said. “You are strong.” I again felt the blade of the spear at the side of my waist.

  She looked down upon me.

  I looked up into her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said, “you are strong.”

  In rage I again fought the thongs. I pulled at them with my feet and wrists. But I was perfectly secured. I had been bound by panther women.

  I was theirs.

  I looked up again into her eyes.

  I had little doubt but what this was Verna who now examined me.

  None but the acknowledged leader of the band, whose authority was undisputed, could have so looked upon a prisoner, dispassionately, objectively, serene in her power over his life and body.

  It was up to her, what was to be done with me.

  It was she, more than the others, to whom I belonged.

  I, and my men, were hers.

  Another girl came and stood behind her. I recognized that girl. It was Mira, who had spoken to me in my camp. She looked up at the sky. ”The moons,” she said, “ will soon be risen.” Then she looked at me, and laughed.

  Verna sat down beside me, cross-legged. ”The moons are not yet risen,” she said. “Let us converse.” She drew the sleen knife from her belt sheath. “What is your name?” she asked.

  “Where are my men?” I asked.

  “You will answer my questions,” she said.

  I felt the blade of the sleen knife at my throat.

  “I am Bosk,” I said, “of the exchange island of Tabor.”

  “You were warned,” said she, playing with the knife, “not to return to the forest.” I was silent.

  Then I turned to face her. “Where are my men?” I asked.

  “Chained,” she said.

  “What are you going to do with us?” I asked.

  “What is the woman Talena to you?” she asked.

  “Do you hold her?” I asked.

  I again felt the edge of the sleen knife on my throat.

  “Once,” said I, “long ago, we were companions.”

  “And you wished to rescue her, as a hero, and repledge the companionship?” she asked.

  “It would have been my hope,” I said, “ to have repledged the companionship.” “She would be an excellent match, would she not?” asked Verna.

  “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 n
ot,” 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 sta
red 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 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.