by John Norman
There had been five men who had come to acquire slaves. Of these two survived, including the bearded man, who had been their leader. The other fellow, not the bearded man, had been lacerated, probably in an attempt to interfere in the tangle of fighting beasts. Indeed, he may even have struck, perhaps with an uncertain blow, not Borko, but the other beast, who had perhaps then, or the leader, turned on him, biting at him, forcing him back. He had not cared, it seemed, the unwisdom of such a project perhaps now clearer to him, to approach the beasts a second time. Three men had been in league with the beasts. Of these only one survived, the small fellow. There had been three beasts. Of these two were dead, one by Borko, the other by Hendow. The leader of the beasts, too, was bloody, but I think his wounds were not grievous. He had been probably protected by the width of his body, affording little place for the closing of jaws, and the sturdiness of his ribs.
"It is a bloody afternoon," said the bearded man.
"My beautiful friends are dead," said the small man, looking at the beasts.
The leader of the beasts growled at him.
"Who were these two?" asked the fellow with the torn arm, indicating Hendow and Mirus.
"That one," said the bearded man, indicating Hendow, "was a fine swordsman."
"But what was he doing here?" asked the small man.
"He had a sleen," said the bearded man. "He was doubtless a slave hunter."
"The other one may still be alive," said the fellow with the injured arm. The blood was slow on it now, as he had his hand clasped over the wound. Blood, as he held the wound, was between his fingers, and was visible also in rivulets, running to his wrist and the back of his hand.
Tupita looked up, frightened, from where she crouched over Mirus. His eyes were now open. Her hair and hands were covered with blood. She had stopped the bleeding. I did not think, however, he could rise.
"Kill him," said the bearded man to his cohort.
"No!" protested Tupita.
"No," said the man.
"He is helpless," said the bearded fellow.
"Do it yourself, if you wish," said the wounded man.
"Very well," said the bearded man.
"No, please!" begged Tupita.
The bearded man regarded her, amused.
"Please, no," she wept.
"And what is he to you?" he inquired.
"I am his love slave!" she wept.
"Ah, yes," he said, amused.
"Do not hurt him," she wept. "I will do anything for you!"
"Do you think you are a free woman," he asked, "bargaining for the life of her lover, willing to surrender all her fortune that he might live, willing perhaps even to strip herself and make herself my slave, to serve me thenceforth with all perfections, if I will but spare him?"
"No, Master," she wept. "I am not a free woman."
"Do you bargain?" he inquired.
"No, Master," she said.
"Do you have anything with which to bargain?" he asked.
"No, Master," she wept. "But I beg you to spare him!"
"Do you really think I am going to leave an enemy behind me?" he asked.
"Please, Master!" she begged.
Mirus regarded him, dully, half conscious. He could not rise.
"He came here," said the bearded man, amused, "it seems, for the blood of a slave, and if I recall the intent of his glance, for that slave." He indicated me. "Is that not so, my dear?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"We have saved your life, then," he said.
I nodded. I supposed they had, or the beasts.
"If we leave this fellow behind us, and he recovers, as he seems a very determined fellow," he said, "I would expect he would resume your pursuit."
"Yes, Master," I said. That seemed quite probable.
"You untied her neck from the railing," said the bearded fellow to Tupita. "Apparently you wanted her free. Very well, free her, then. Finish freeing her."
"Please, no," said Tupita.
"Do not fear," he said. "She will not be free long."
"Please," wept Tupita.
"Now," said the bearded man.
Tupita, weeping, came to where I was, before the railing. Sobbing, fumbling, with difficulty she freed my ankles. It seemed she was loath to free my hands.
"Callisthenes approaches," said the fellow holding his arm. He was looking back over the meadow.
"He will be concerned with the delay," said the bearded man to the small fellow. "We left him with the slave wagon, with Alcinous and Portus."
The approaching fellow hesitated, understandably enough, in seeing the beast. Yet, noting that his fellows stood with it, and that they beckoned him forward, he continued to advance, though with some caution.
"What has happened?" asked the newcomer. "What is that?"
"Do not mind it," said the bearded fellow, lightly. "It is friendly."
"There has been war here," said the other man.
"Alcinous and Portus are anxious to be on their way," said the newcomer. "It will soon be dark." He looked at the body of Borko, in the grass. The collar had been removed by the second beast. "There may be sleen about," he said.
"That is a domestic sleen," said the small fellow.
"It was killed by our friend here," said the wounded man, ironically, indicating the beast that had slain Borko.
"These have been well worth waiting for, have they not?" asked the bearded man.
The newcomer's eyes glistened. "An excellent bag of slaves," he said.
"And surely they are worth at least five silver tarsks apiece," said the small fellow.
"Surely, at least," agreed the newcomer.
"Solid, unclipped silver tarsks," said the small fellow.
"Surely," said the newcomer.
The small fellow looked at the bearded man.
"We had some trouble with these two," said the bearded man, indicating Hendow, and the prostrate Mirus, "but there is nothing to fear now."
The newcomer looked around, apprehensively.
"Are things all right at the wagon?" asked the bearded man.
"Yes," said the newcomer. "There was a traveler on the road a few Ehn ago, but he is gone now."
"Go back to the wagon," said the bearded man. "Tell Alcinous and Portus we will be along in a moment."
He turned about, and retraced his steps across the meadow. The wagon, I supposed, was hidden somewhere in the woods, away from the level area, away from the road.
It had been the good fortune of Callisthenes, Alcinous and Portus, it seemed, not to have been in the meadow earlier.
The wounded man's arm had apparently stopped bleeding, or nearly so. With one hand, and his teeth, he tore his tunic, and bound cloth about his arm. Some blood came through the cloth, but very little, little more than a sudden, fresh stain, then nothing.
He looked down at me. I was still on my knees. Tupita had stopped working at the bonds on my wrists when the newcomer had appeared. My wrists were still bound behind my back. He was the fellow who had looked at me, before, during the dealing. Again, frightened, as before, I opened my knees more widely. My relationship to him was very clearly defined.
He grinned, and I, again, put my head down.
I recalled how the eyes of the other man, too, he who had come from the wagon, had looked upon us, all.
On Earth I had scarcely dared hope that such men might exist, so unabashed, so untrammeled, so powerful, so free, so sexual, such godlike men, men as they could be, men as they should be, true men, but here on Gor they did, and we were their slaves.
"Have you not finished untying her?" asked the bearded man.
"Forgive me, Master," said Tupita, and bent again, swiftly, to her task. It was hard for her, for the knots had been tied by a man.
"Stupid, slow slave," said the bearded man, and came behind me. He thrust Tupita to the side. He then put his blade beside him, on the grass. He then undid the knots. From the fact that he had not cut the fiber I gathered that I was
to be again confined in it. He retrieved his blade. He then stepped back from me, and motioned that I should get up. I did so, unsteadily, for I had been closely bound, hand and foot.
I stood before the rail. Tupita was back of me, and half under the rail, where she had been thrust. She, frightened, was partly on her side, and partly on her elbow. She was very beautiful there, bare-breasted, her neck in the slave collar of Ionicus, about her hips and thighs the brief shreds of the skirt of her work tunic, that tunic sacrificed that I might have at least the little I wore, a slave strip thrust in a narrow belt of rolled cloth. Tela, incredibly luscious, in the rectangle of red silk, which she had had to wear on the orders of Aulus, and Mina and Cara, half-stripped, scarcely less beautiful, bound in that order, still neck-roped to the rail, were to my left.
"Step forward, my half-naked beauty," said the bearded man, coaxingly, gesturing with his hand.
I came out a little from the rail.
"There," he said, pointing, grinning, "is the fellow who followed you, who would have your blood."
I looked at Mirus.
"What a fortunate slave you are, to have him so at your mercy," said the fellow.
I looked at him. I did not really, completely, understand him. Surely they were not going to let me run away. He had told Tupita I would not be free for long. Too, they would surely not be concerned for me. Too, they had paid five tarsks for me, silver tarsks.
"Should you recover, you would follow her again, would you not?" he asked Mirus, crouching down by him, eagerly.
Mirus looked at him weakly, but in fury and pride. "Yes," he said. "I would."
"There," said the bearded fellow, "is the sword of the slave hunter in the grass. We give you our permission to go to it, to pick it up. Yes, you may touch it. You may hold it for a moment or two. Yes, even though you are a slave. You may use it to finish this fellow now. Then you will be finished with him. No longer then do you need to live in terror, shrinking back at every strange sound, every shadow in the darkness."
"Do not, Tuka, I beg you!" cried Tupita. "He cannot move. He is helpless. Do not hurt him!"
"Doubtless she will not make a clean job of it, with her girl's strength," said the bearded man to Mirus, "but I am sure, in time, she will get the job done."
Tupita burst into tears.
I did not even want to go near the sword. It was almost as though it radiated out warnings, and alarms and terrors, and invisible flames that might burn me. It was a weapon! I dared not even approach it.
"Do not be afraid," said the bearded man.
Too, I did not want to touch it because it had been the sword of Hendow. Too, he had used it to save the life of his beloved friend, Mirus, though in doing the deed he must have understood, opening himself to the blade of his enemy as he had, that he had made his own life forfeit. How ironic then, how unthinkable, that I should use that same blade now to kill Mirus.
Mirus turned his head toward me. Even in his weakness, his eyes blazed with hatred. "Pick up the sword," he said. "Use it, while you can!"
I looked at him, sick.
"Do it!" he said.
I looked at him, in misery.
"Expect no mercy from me," he said. "If ever I should be able, I shall seek you out. I shall hunt you. I shall pursue you with the relentlessness of a sleen."
"Go ahead," urged the bearded man, eagerly. "Do not be afraid! Show that you are brave! Show that you are strong! Show what you are made of! Do it! We will admire you! We will praise you!"
I fell to my knees in the grass.
"I may not touch a weapon," I said.
"You have our permission!" said the bearded man.
I shook my head, frightened.
"You are afraid," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said.
"You are a weakling," he said.
"Yes, Master," I said. "But even if I were not a coward and a weakling, I would not do it."
"Brave Tuka!" cried Tupita.
"I am a female slave," I said. "I exist for the pleasure, service and love of men. I may not hurt them. Too, I do not wish to do so. Kill me if you must."
"We will give you your freedom, if you do so," said the bearded man.
"Forgive me, Master. No, Master," I said.
"Put your head down to the grass," he said. "Throw your hair forward, exposing the back of your neck."
I obeyed.
"Please, no, Master!" cried Tupita.
I felt the edge of the sword at the back of my neck. I felt it above the collar, move against the small hairs on the back of my neck. The blade seemed very sharp, for the sturdiness of the weapon.
"Please, Master, do not!" cried Tupita.
"Perhaps you have changed your mind," said the bearded man.
"No, Master. Forgive me, Master," I said.
I felt the blade lift from my neck. I closed my eyes. Then I heard him laugh.
I opened my eyes, startled.
I heard the sword thrust into its sheath, its guard halting its further progress.
"Bara!" he snapped.
I flung myself to my belly in the grass, putting my hands behind me, wrists crossed, and crossing my ankles, too.
I lay there in confusion, in obedience.
He went to pick up the binding fiber which had been removed from my ankles by Tupita, from my wrists, a bit before, by himself.
